Lifetime

Imagine

I'd given up on researching again by the following week, until the end of Mr. Kim's Tuesday class when I was the last student left in the room with him, scrambling to unplug my computer from charging and pack my bag as quickly as possible.

He reached into his typically empty bag, moving from his desk to stand in front of my seat, the two books in his hand thudding against the table as he set them down.

I looked up from rolling up my charger, setting it down and running a hand over the old, worn covers of the books. Only one word was scrawled onto the one on top, the title "Donum."

"It means gift in Latin. You seemed interested in that painting at the exhibit and I thought you might want to write your final paper on the history of witchcraft within art. There isn't much research, but I had these two books in my collection that might be helpful if you are." He took the one that was on top, glancing at the cover again before putting it down. "This one is filled with history, an account of encounters like the one depicted in the painting. The other gives more information about the art and artists."

My heart pounded with a combination of its own rhythm and the one only he could bring, strengthening as he looked at me for a response. I stammered a little, the boundary I was holding with him thinning. "Thanks, I'll get them back to you." I slung my bag over my shoulder, tucking the books into the crook of my arm and dashing from the classroom with the same urgency as when I left the exhibit.

Everything in my head felt complicated. I rushed home, the cover of the book hidden behind my palm, shutting out my temptation to devour every page. His intention in lending them to me had been pure, but I feared that they would only lead to more disappointment, non-answers to questions I wasn't even sure I had.

I put them in the top of my closet where I kept the box of my family's history, choosing ignorance for the time being and pushing myself into studies for my other classes. The amount of mental energy I spent between grappling with the urge to let both the legend and Namjoon consume me was draining, Faye calling me out by Friday night.

"Let's go out." She tossed a skirt and top at me, one piece landing on my head, more cutouts than fabric.

I tugged the skirt so that it fell into my lap, holding up a finger to her as I finished the sentence I'd been reading. "Just let me finish this chapter." I already knew from the way she stood, leaned into my doorway with her arms crossed over her chest, that she had a rebuttal.

"We've barely been out since you started school, and we need to get your mind off all this complicated artsy, mythy, soulmatey shit." She retorted, lifting up the perfect pair of shoes to go with the outfit she threw my way.

With less than half of my body covered, the air felt like someone tossing a brick at me. We caught a cab to one of the nightclubs we visited on weekends that we needed to loosen up, claiming a small table by the bar when we arrived.

After two drinks and a shot sent by a couple of men at the bar, my mind was more on the music than the prophecy, Faye leaning into my ear as we danced together. "Your soulmate is engaged and you've got years until the next, so you should have fun while you can." She called out over the music, spinning me around so that she danced behind me. In theory I agreed with her, but while I focused on the beat of the music and succumbed to the rhythm, I thought of the one I felt with Namjoon, imagining the same surrender.

We left the club when the taste of alcohol became more nauseating than inviting, Faye leaving her number with the guy she'd been dancing with, another hopeful but hopeless bachelor since she ended things with Lee.

By the time we made it back to the apartment the alcohol started to fade, on that line between allowing me to forget and making sure he conquered every part of my mind. Faye crashed immediately, falling fully-clothed onto her bed. I took off her lashes and pulled a blanket over her, having a serving of wine to stay over the edge, at a comfort where everything wasn't clouded with him.

Even the clay glazed cup that I drank from made me think of him, the indented mark that Faye pressed into it during her attempt at pottery reminding me of the dimples that appeared with every twitch of his lips. At the bottom of the cup there was nothing to occupy me and I left my slippers on, tugging my coat over my shoulders as I snuck out in the direction of his apartment building.

My fingertips were numb by the time I stepped through the front doors of his building, shivering as I tapped my hand against the concierge bell.

"How may I help you?" The middle-aged man in a uniform button up furrowed his brow.

"Would you let Mr. Kim Namjoon know that he has a guest?" I gave him my best smile, working to ensure I kept my balance and that my words didn't slur.

His confused look remained but he picked up the phone, holding out a hand to gesture toward the lounge area. "Sure, please have a seat while I try to reach him." He seemed hesitant but concerned.

My foot tapped against the floor impatiently while I waited, and I stood when the elevator doors opened, catching myself on the chair with the sudden change in stability.

"Seline?" Namjoon's mouth pressed into a hard line as he took a few strides toward me.

Seeing him made me want to run, my resistance even lower with the alcohol coursing through my veins. "I–I'm not quite sure why I'm here." I muttered, turning for the door and nearly losing my balance.

He grabbed my arm to steady me, his touch a drum of thunder. "You're freezing and drunk. Come upstairs to warm up and I'll drive you home." He sent a nod toward the concierge as he escorted me to the elevator.

On the ride to the tenth floor I leaned against the wall, the first time I'd seen him outside of his usual professional dress, donning basketball shorts and a sweatshirt that hung over his shoulders in a way that had me holding on to the railing.

He walked sideways, keeping an eye out to ensure I didn't lose my footing and opening a door at the end of the hall quietly. "Take a seat." He instructed once we were inside, an electric fireplace in the corner and half-graded copies of our first exams spread over the coffee table.

I plopped down on the couch, putting my head in my hands as I tried to come up with any reason for appearing at his building in the middle of the night other than being drunk and desperate to see him.

"I should go. This is unprofessional." I darted from my seat again, rubbing my hands together as if trying to prove I was warm.

"Relax, I'll drive you home once you've sobered up. It would be more unprofessional of me to knowingly send a student away in this state." He stood in front of me, holding out a piping cup of tea.

His hand touched mine when I took the mug from him and for the first time I noticed his physical response to my presence, his fingers flexing as he pulled them away. "Where's your fiancé?" I looked around, remembering that this could cause trouble for him.

"She's visiting family for a few weeks." He answered, raising a brow at me. "Is there a reason you came here?"

The tea and fire warmed me but the pulsing that came with him only served to push the alcohol through my system with more intensity, my confession coming out in a gabbled flow of words. "I needed to see you. I mean, you're like my soulmate you know? I was already imagining but it's way easier to imagine with you there, like when I'm in class, and I needed to imagine with you here because that's as good as it's going to get."

"Imagine what?" He replied quickly, puzzled by my response.

My intoxication left no room for thinking before speaking. "That you don't have a fiancé and that maybe you aren't my professor in case that would be a barrier too, but mostly the fiancé thing. I have to imagine." I sighed, my cheeks flushing when I realized how close he was, how easy it was to meet his eye with just a glance up.

He held my gaze and didn't say another word. When he licked his lips, his eyes flickering down to mine, I knew he was picturing it too, imagining a connection that couldn't be.