Hot Streak // (BTS Jikook)

Twelve

I had never experienced what people called being "starstruck." But, as Jimin slid over the leather seat a few inches closer to me, I felt the space in my throat slowly growing smaller.

A few million things were running through my mind, making it near impossible to focus on anything that was happening right in front of me.

"Kookie?" Jimin said again, this time his sweet smile was less cute and more sexy. I felt a sharp embarrassed exhale leave my mouth. My cheeks burned hot and red.

Fuck you, Namjoon.

Despite the suffocating social anxiety that was grasping at my vocal cords, I managed to squeak out a greeting.

"Hey, you."

It was unoriginal and very short, but my main concern was that I at least sounded somewhat mentally sound.

He turned his head away to find his seatbelt, fidgeting with it until it clicked into place. The few seconds he released me from his suave stare I used to gather myself, wiping my eyes, clearing my throat, adjusting my seat, and patting down my shirt.

"You can kill me later, Kookie." Namjoon said as he pulled out of the parking lot, he seemed incredibly pleased with himself.

Fifteen seconds of silence went by before I felt an invisible aura around me that screamed "Talk to him, you idiot" – it loomed over me as I snuck glances toward Jimin's direction. He was answering a question that Natasha had asked him about where he bought his shoes.

"I love your style." She complimented him, asking for his Instagram handle.

I used every second he was distracted to come up with interesting things to say, words to use to break the ice, show him that I was at least close to who he thought I was in person.

Every time I tried to speak, I would notice his plump, soft lips as he spoke, almost dancing in front of me.

His smile was even more endearing than I had originally thought, and as he giggled I felt my heart triple in size, he looked like he had little galaxies sparkling in his eyes.

A couple minutes later, before it got too painstakingly awkward, I seized an opportunity to break the ice: his cellphone, which was burning a hole in my pocket.

"Jimin, your phone." I offered, holding out the black device.

Jimin smiled mischievously, "There's my baby." He whispered as he retrieved the phone. I shamefully admit that in that moment I couldn't help but imagine he was talking about me being his baby with that torturous grin.

"Thanks for taking care of my phone, by the way." He said, shoving the phone into his jacket pocket. He took mine out in the same motion.

"Thanks." I said, waving the phone playfully at him after he gave it to me.

The feeling of being starstruck hadn't completely dissipated yet; Jimin's presence was overwhelming. Up until now he was a handsome reverie, a really sweet, sweet idea of a boy. He was a familiar buzz in my pocket that sent butterflies stampeding through my chest, he was a handsome selfie that displayed for only 6 seconds at a time before disappearing forever.

But now, here he was, a real human person – who smelled incredible, by the way. I wish I had an excuse to get closer to him, I wanted to feel him against my skin, even for a second, just for the selfish sake of saying I could.

As if he were reading my thoughts, Jimin's next action took me by surprise.

"C'mere" he said, tugging at my arm, pulling me into a hug. I gladly let him pull me in, until his arms were wrapped firmly around me and I could feel the strength of his shoulders caving in around me. Jimin's entire body was warm, and every inch of his muscular frame was firm but so soft.