He is a phenomenon and he doesn't know it.
Beautiful. Intelligent. Lovable.
His words make him fall in love with him and yet his overthinking self does not comprehend it.
The situation that they are being put in. A teacher. A student. Makes it ha...
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"I did not expect you to be here." He says, there is some type of amusement on his face, brows raised in some shock type of way, though it is somewhat funny. His reaction.
I look at him and give him the detention slip, "Jungkook had been distracted all class and when another student had confronted him. He had rudely retorted, something along the lines of calling her annoying and inappropriately saying the word shit." He reads out loud, a small frown on his face.
He was indignant at how there were so many grammatical mistakes on the slip.
"It's shitty I know," I whisper.
"It's irritating. Seriously almost impertinent, she is a professor, how is it that she does not know how to do this? It is so easy!" He complains, voice stern. Almost furious at how many errors there are.
He sighs a long exasperated sigh. "Sit down please, where I can see you. Finish your essay. It's due tomorrow at six in the morning." He says and he rips the slip, colossal fingers tearing down the paper. Like a heart, he tears it into pieces so small. As if though they never existed.
"I finished it this afternoon during lunch." My voice is soft, almost sultry even when I don't intend it to be. Mr. Park- Jimin turns around and he looks at me for a moment brows raised.
"Then bring it up to my desk, we'll go over it." He says, hands digging into my black leathered expensive bag. Looking through the mess of papers, the miscellaneous folders stacked in a rainbow formation until my fingers graze the patterned plastic of my blue folder. I grasp the two sheets of paper, dark words imprinted onto them. Ink bleeding on the white clean sheet like an open wound.
Walking until I stand in front of him. The sheet is set just centimeters from him. I watch Mr. Park- Jimin grab a chair for me. It is almost uncomfortable, I do not want to sit on the chair. Rather on his lap, yet I understand that I can't it would be infelicitous to do something like that.
I sit on the chair, it is uncomfortable and I knows that he knows how uncomfortable it is just by the view of me moving and shuffling around, trying to make myself comfortable on the rough surface of the chair.
"This is amazing." He looks up and I looks at my paper, I grin. Bunny teeth showing, there is an unquenchable innocence on my face, although it masks what I think. The thoughts I have about the man in front of me, how I want him to grab me with his big arms. Kiss me until I can't breathe.
Take me right there, on his desk. I'll come on it, leave a stain. That stain will always be there, it'll make him think of me until the need to do it again becomes unbearable. Unquenchable.
He'd kiss me again, touch me. Like a starved man. Lips against each other as if fighting for the last drop of water. I'd make him obsessed with me, at least... that is what I hope. That he feels the same desire that I do.
"Really?" I ask, softly and he hums. Setting his palm on the dark wooded desk.
"This morning in another period, I had this student read me their poems. A student of mine had a prosaic poem it had bored the whole class. Even myself. It was easy. Three stanzas about what had happened this summer, I gave them the freedom to write it in any way. Yet, here you are writing me a ten-thousand-word essay and I love it. Absolutely in love. How is it that you do it?" I look at him in the eyes, staring at his face for a moment.
"I was honest, the review and what the book means to me. How beautiful yet, callous it is. Poignant. It made me cry for a while, feel some things I have never really felt. It almost scared me, the story, how it could bring the vulnerable side within me. Was I a blind goat? Did I know that this happened and if I did why didn't I help whoever is going through it or was I just too selfish? Immature to act upon it. Because of that selfishness, did I indirectly end someone's life? I don't know and I assume that I will never know. But if I did, I'd have to live with the pain and guilt for the rest of my life and I don't want that. I really don't. It scares me. How words can bring the most vulnerable side of us. If you do it correctly, you'll be able to relate to it. Know what they feel and that is more terrifying than imagining it." I tell him, he nods and he looks up turning his office chair towards me.
"You are intelligent. Really. How old are you?" He asks.
"19." I tell him and he nods, "How old are you?" I ask and he stops. I understand it might be weird, but I'm curious. I've always been.
"How old do you think I am?" I look at him for a moment, it gives me a chance to stare at him without being discreet about it and I purse my lips.
"Thirty." He grins, yet there is a look on his face as if though he offended.
"I'm thirty-two." He says softly and I nod biting my lip and then grinning when I see the time. I stand up and I walk not where my belonging are and I grab them. Put my bag over my shoulder.
"My time is over, I'll see you tomorrow. Goodnight Mr. Park." I say and I don't let him say goodbye. No. Goodbye would mean that I'd never see him again. That is what I least wanted.
