In which a workaholic and hopeless romantic Kim Namjoon starts chatting with a stranger on a dating app. Little does he know that the person he is talking to is far from a stranger...
Reader x Namjoon/ College AU / Social Media
Your heart raced with excitement as you thought about the day you had ahead of you. There were still a few more hours before you would have to get ready for tonight's event and you weren't really sure what you were supposed to do with yourself until then. You couldn't get the idea of the concert out of your head, playing through every possible scenario that could ever be imagined.
You were going to get to see him again. Namjoon. Quite possibly one of your favorite people. You knew the power he had to make you smile and you were beyond thrilled to be able to see him in his element. Not at the party or in the cafe. Not on the roof or in the driver seat of his car. No, you'd get to see him up on that stage, radiating the confidence and talent that you knew he had. You had no doubts. That boy was destined for greatness and every part of your being was ready to see that through for him.
You wanted to support him.
You wanted to be with him.
But you knew. You knew there was absolutely no way he'd want to be with you, of all people.
You—the bookworm nerd with no aspirations, no dreams. You—the shy girl who rarely ever left the house and opted for the safety of a hot latte and a plush blanket. You—the girl who'd rather drag out an outrageous lie than unmask herself from behind a dreary screen.
Your mind had thoroughly analyzed the concept. You knew how it ended. Once he found out who you were—the real you, the unedited version, the first-draft—he'd move on to bigger and better things. You were too scared to let that ending play out.
So, you knew exactly which role you had to play. You had read enough books and drafted enough characters in your mind to know how to be someone else. In person, you'd be Hayoung. Hell, maybe he'd even fall for her if given enough of a chance. Online, you'd still toy with the idea of being yourself, just to feel it out. You'd enjoy it while you could because you knew everything would unravel once he found out the truth.
And sure, it was selfish. But you were never the bigger person. You always took the easy way out.
As your mind continued to mull over the subject, you felt the pressure in the middle of your chest. Similar to the anxiety you never could quite nab, the pressure halted your breathing and weighed you down entirely. You knew what it was. You knew it was the guilt.
You choked it back down, flipping yourself over in your bed so that you could reach for your phone on the bedside table. You took the magic little device into your hand and turned to the only thing you knew could make you feel better. You pawed for your little notebook which also rested on the table and flipped to the most recent pages. You typed rapidly on the little screen and hit send faster than you could think not to.
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He answered you faster than you ever could have expected, almost as if he was waiting for you to keep talking with him. You figured that he was probably rehearsing or whatever to get ready for his big performance and that you probably shouldn't be bothering him, but you truly couldn't stop yourself. If you were going to be the awful person you knew yourself to be, it didn't really matter. You just needed him. And in the end, it was his choice to answer you, so maybe you weren't as bad as you made yourself to be. Still bad, but he was enabling you. Whatever the case, you still wanted to talk to him—needed to talk to him.
