Bulletproof

5b. Stella

He stares ahead at the horizon, dangerously oblivious to the footsteps behind him.

"Bang," she says as she seats herself beside him on the edge of the roof. "You'd be dead on German shores with reflexes like that."

"I heard you," he responds simply.

She pushes his shoulder. "No you didn't." He shakes his head and chuckles under his breath. "What are you thinking about?"

"What do you think?"

"Nam, I can appreciate that this is your thoughtful spot, but I don't think I'll ever stop hoping that one day you'll use this place to think about beauty instead of problems."

But her sentiment might as well have fallen on deaf ears. "All those men," he continues, "they wanted to stay home and watch the rest of us fight."

She scans the horizon with him. "It's not always as simple as that. You know that."

"That's not the point." She watches his profile as he puts one foot on the ledge and rests an arm on his knee. "The recruits, if you can even call them that, that we get shipped out to meet tomorrow are going to have their own best interests at heart, patriots or not. They aren't in the right mindset for war. They don't think like soldiers, and if they never wanted to in the first place--you can't make a team out of a group of people like that." He rubs at a spot on his arm. "The President thought he was swelling our numbers, but all he's done is sentence a thousand civilians to a life as part of our death toll." He looks at her with hard, unforgiving eyes. "They're all going to die. Every single one of them."

She is quiet for a minute, judging what all the hidden thoughts racing around his skull might be. "It's your job to make sure they don't."

"I can't take responsibility for that. You should know that about me by now. I make messes--I never clean them up."

She rolls her eyes. "God, will you stop that? Camouflaging fear behind the tough guy act doesn't actually work for your state of mind or your image. It's okay to just be scared that there's a bunch of people counting on you to keep a squadron of ill-prepared men alive. Just be scared, okay?"

He narrows his eyes at her for a moment before his lips curl in a genuine smile. She smiles back, knowing that she is the only person in this place who can break the ice of his façade.

"I'm pretty sure West Point taught me not to be afraid, right?"

She laughs. "Yeah, you're right. From what my brother told me, that was kind of a requirement in Mrs. Owens' class." She cocks her head and swings her dangling feet. "But it's just us right now, Namjoon. You can forget what the academy taught you for five minutes, okay?"

He nods and looks down at the pavement far below her feet.

"I don't think...I've ever been afraid of falling myself," he starts, his voice low and tired. "But how am I supposed to live with myself if I make a career, make a life, out of cutting down other men and watching them fall?"

She chews the inside of her lip and sticks her legs out straight over the roof's edge. "I don't know. When I think about it that way, I don't know why you and my brother chose to accept spots at this school. I don't know how you're supposed to bear that burden and live." She stretches her arms above her head. "But if I think about the pictures of your mom and the pictures of me in my brother's room and all the pictures in yearbooks of all the people we went to high school with--you're protecting them. There are people out there who want to kill them. They don't even know them, and they think they should die just because they're American. It's not fair that you have to watch men and women die in battle, but I guess it's more fair than watching the innocents die at home."

"Yeah..." he murmurs. He is silent for a moment before he asks, "How many do you think we can get back in one piece?"

She suddenly wants to lean against his shoulder and feel herself move with the rhythm of his breathing. She wants him to embrace her and say he'll miss her--and not just "miss" her, but miss her. After all, who knows how long it will be until she sees him again? But she has never been as brave as her brother.

"A lot," she finally replies, praying he is among them.

Namjoon swings his body around and slides off the ledge to stand on the roof itself. He leans back on his hands, and his fingers are so close to hers, it is almost painful.

"You think you'll keep busy here on campus without this ass to entertain you?" His dark eyes crinkle in a smirk as he speaks.

"I'm not going to have to clean up after you for six months? I don't know how I'll ever get by with so much free time!" They both laugh loudly, but inside, she feels like crying.

When her brother had been accepted to West Point four years ago, back when she had been a frail sixteen year-old girl with failing health, Tyler had pulled every string he could to get her accepted into clinical trials with the academy's science department. They reluctantly agreed, but she knew the school was ready to evict her as soon as the opportunity arose. And with Tyler shipping out two weeks ago and the last person who would be willing to champion her cause shipping out tomorrow, it was only a matter of days before the administration brought down the hammer.

But even if Namjoon wasn't leaving, he would still be in the dark. He has no idea how much of a stretch it was for her to remain on campus as long as she had, and he certainly has no idea that her departure is as imminent as his.

She is so lost in remorseful thought she doesn't notice his shift toward her. All she knows is, without warning, Namjoon's soft lips are brushing hers. She gasps, and the breath draws in the musky scent of him. His hand gently pulls the back of her head closer to him as his tongue searches for space beyond the break in her teeth. It escalates quickly, his palms running up the back of her shirt as her fingers trace his jaw and fumble with the buttons on his. She wraps her legs tightly around his waist, and his strong arms hoist her light frame off the ledge.

Every breath feels like her last as bursts of joy overtake her body at the sudden revelation. She gets to really say goodbye with all the silent words she always wanted to use, gets to tell him he's got a reason to return, gets to show him what he's fighting for.

He loves me. He loves me.

"I didn't know," he gasps, smiling, between her lips, "you loved me, too."

"Come back to me, Namjoon," she exhales shakily as his kisses trail lower down her neck, hot breaths tickling the skin over her ribs.

As the two of them entangle themselves in a mass of limbs and last-chance love, casting his cleanly pressed blue shirt aside, he whispers one last wish.

"Wait for me."