Chickadee - A Yoonmin Fanfiction

Part 10

• Yoongi •

Dear Mr Ahn,

Here are a few of the images from my shoot with Jimin. Bear in mind that this is not the finalized work, but I believe I have my themes well established. If for any reason you believe that my concept deserves less than an A+, do inform me of what to change.

Your student, Min Yoongi.

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I attach a couple of my better pictures to the email, sending it off without bothering to proof read anything.

A dark haired waitress brings me my espresso. "Who was that with you yesterday?" She asks, smiling. "He ordered a crazy drink."

"Oh, that was just...a friend." I say, fiddling with my charger chord. "He has weird taste."

"I thought it was kind of cute." The girl says, blushing slightly. "Do you think you could get me his number?"

I stare at her. "I don't think you're his type."

She must hear the disapproval in my tone, because her expression straightens immediately. Setting my coffee on the table, she dips her head. "Sorry. If you need anything else, let me know."

I never did like that waitress.

The door to the cafe jingles. I look up in time to see a windswept Jimin jumping up and down on one leg, trying his best to remove a tight fitting leather boot. In Korea, it is customary to take off your footwear before entering a building, but the way he is going about it is a little...unconventional. Suppressing a grin, I pull up the editing program on my computer.

He came back.

I don't know why I'm surprised. Of course, Jimin would want to have a say in the editing process. They're his pictures, after all, but still, I thought he would be bored with me by now.

I know it's stupid, but I spent almost half of yesterday evening thinking of questions I wanted to ask him. I feel like there is a lot more to Jimin than meets the eye, but I'm going to start with the most obvious topic; his dancing.

Jimin walks over to my table, his face flickering between happiness and uncertainty. I wish there was something I could do to put him at ease in my presence. It's frustrating to feel like we have to start our relationship from the very beginning every time we say hello.

Despite my worries, things are immediately less formal between us. Jimin tells me about the blustery walk over, and I push him to accept a ride home at the end of the day. We work on the pictures at a slower pace, stopping often to talk about Jimin's dancing and my course syllabus.

It turns out that he has been specially selected for this performance from a group of thirty other students, most of whom are at a higher grade level than he is. Jimin doesn't exactly say it, but I can tell that he is the prodigy of his academy.

I listen to him talk about the hours of hard work it takes to practice and finalize a dance choreography. Jimin never takes a day off, which shows a work ethic I can respect, but also concerns me. The guy needs a break.

"What is this?" Jimin asks, gesturing to a bracelet hidden under the cuff of my sweater.

"Oh," I say, untying the beaded strand. "It's from my trip to the seaside. I did a bit of travelling when I was seventeen and stayed by the ocean for a couple of weeks." I drop the piece of jewelry in his palm. "It's kind of relaxing to play with, that's why I wear it."

He traces his fingers against the soft beads. "It's really beautiful."

"Can I ask you a question?" I say, leaning back against the padded bench.