The Magic Shop: A BTS Short Story Compilation

Part 1: Strangers and Tangerines

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There's that prickly sensation again.

Goosebumps dotting your arm, you look up from your laptop where you're working on your novel. He was looking at you again. It's the same boy from last week. Like before, he sat across the tiny room at the corner table next to a dust-coated window. As soon as your eyes meet, he freezes, then swerves his gaze to the hardwood floor, the straggly potted plant by the bookshelf, the book he's reading. Anywhere but at you, which is ridiculous, because he's already been caught.

Not for the first time, you wonder what's wrong with him. The thought he's stalking you crosses your mind, but just as quickly, you wave it off. You're a plain old maid dressed in a loose and ratty old sweater paired with equally old jeans, hair askew in a messy bun, with the last dredges of the day's makeup barely covering the flaws on your face. There is no way anyone in their right mind will stalk someone like you.

What if he's staring because he's judging the way you look?

In a panic, you take a compact powder and a tube of lipstick from your bag. Halfway through swiping on the rosy shade, you stop. Why does it matter what he thinks? It's not like you know him. He's a stranger. But you've always cared too much about people's opinions. Even if you say you don't, you just do.

Angry with yourself, you shove your cosmetics back into the depths of your oversized tote and cast him a glare. Unfortunately for you, he now seemed to be preoccupied with whatever it was he was reading. Well then, you thought, if he thinks it's okay to stare at a stranger, let's see how he feels when treated the same way.

You start your stare fest by noting how he's dressed in an oversized black sweater, the sleeves almost swallowing his hands. Even though he's hunched over the table, you can tell he's tall from the way his long legs, clad in black cargo pants, stretch in front of him. Squinting, you try to make out his appearance, but since the book covered most of his face, all you saw was an overgrown mop of wavy dark brown hair. Pursing your lips, you narrow in on the book title thinking it may give you an indication of the kind of person he is. But because you're nearsighted, you have to lean over the table to make out the words.

Naruto?

From afar, you see his hands tighten.

Aha! Maybe he's not as unaffected as he's playing out to be. You lean even farther until the edge of the table digs into your thighs. While you adjust your position, the book lowers and you're confronted by the most gorgeous face you've ever seen in your life. A painter, armed with brushes, might seek to capture its fascinating study of contrasts with clever mixtures of colors. You, a software programmer moonlighting as a writer, grapple for the right words. You attempt to describe the impact of bright almond eyes framed by dark eyebrows. A tall, prominent nose is offset by the delicate, gentle curve of his lips. The hair you earlier labeled as mop-like becomes soft swathes of silk dulling the sharp angles of his jaw.

All these flood your mind in the span of seconds.

Because you are so immersed, you don't notice how your weak arms waver. Suddenly, you're falling, chest hitting the table. Your teacup clatters against its saucer. A high-pitched squeak escapes your mouth. A wave of embarrassment floods you and leaves your skin aflame. This is why you really should exercise more than once a month!

Unable to face reality, you keep your head down. Maybe he'll pretend nothing happened. But then you hear the muffled sound of footfalls. Despite being an atheist, you desperately pray for a black hole to appear and swallow you into oblivion.

"Hey, are you okay?"

A melodious baritone tickles your ears with its velvety timbre. Of course, he has the perfect voice to match his face. After all, the world is unfair. Beautiful people are bestowed with multiple talents, while plain people like you end up being mediocre through and through.

A light touch brushes against your shoulder. Startled by the electricity that zaps you, you jump in your seat. Much to your utter horror, your chair flips backward so you flail your arms and titter midair in a futile attempt to regain balance. Just as you squeeze your eyes shut, prepared to hit the ground, you're yanked forward and land smack against something hard.

For a long time, you're immobile, only able to focus on regaining your breath. Your mind is a blurry whirl of events, like a movie in fast forward. Silently, you curse the dry winter air and static electricity. Amidst it all, a fresh scent begins to penetrate your senses. It reminds you of winters at your grandparents' house in Jeju, when the sea breeze is infused with the delectable fragrance of ripe tangerines. Seeking its source, you bury your nose deeper.

A sharp intake of breath brings you back to the present. You realize how you've been nuzzling against a stranger's neck while being engulfed in his arms. Absolutely aghast, you push away and start walking backward. "I'm really sorry. Oh my god..." You look around trying to gather your thoughts and your things. At least no one else is there to witness what a creepy fool you've been. "Really, really sorry."

You utter a string of apologies with each move you make. Looking completely bewildered, he doesn't respond. You consider it a blessing, knowing you'll die of shame if he says anything at all. When you've finally packed your laptop and your bag, you give him one last apologetic bow and flee the scene.

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A/N: What are your thoughts so far? If you enjoyed this, don't forget to vote and leave your comments! ;)