chapter || 9 || misunderstand
1571 Words
Just then, the bathroom door opens.
Jimin steps out. He's clad only in low-slung grey sweatpants, his hair damp and slicked back, water droplets tracing lines down his throat. He's in the middle of a post-shower routine, and the shirt in his hand is unbuttoned, revealing a hard, perfectly sculpted chest and defined abdominal muscles. Your eyes widen to saucers. You point a shaky finger at him.
"W-what did you do to me, huh?!"
A cold, challenging smirk stretches across his lips. He takes a slow, deliberate step
closer, starting to button his shirt, each movement unnecessarily drawn out.
"What did I do, you ask? You should be asking yourself."
You blink, trying to connect the dots in your spinning head. "I... I don't know. Maybe I don't remember."
He pauses, eyes narrowed. "You don't remember?"
"No!" you practically squeak, trying desperately to focus anywhere but the alluring expanse of his chest.
He lets out a mocking chuckle. "Then try harder to remember... specifically, how you were screaming my name last night."
Your eyes pop wide. "huh..huh?? , hold on. Wait, what exactly did you just say?"
Jimin stops buttoning, leaving the top three buttons undone. He fixes you with an intense look. "I said you were screaming my name. Something like... 'Jimin! Please, faster!'"
A terrible feeling washes over you. Your throat constricts. You quickly scramble closer on the mattress, grabbing a handful of his sleeve.
"What?! What are you crazy?! I....I was drunk! You took advantage of me! How dare you?! I’ll report you! You pervert! You stupid man! I hate you! I knew from the start you were a creep!"
You start pounding his chest with your fist, a flurry of panicked, ineffectual blows. He lets you continue for a long moment, simply absorbing the impact, before his patience finally snaps.
He clamps both hands tightly around your wrists. His gaze is icy, burning into your eyes as he holds you still.
"Stop it! You asked for it! Don't blame me!"
"And you let me do it?! How dare you! How could you! Why!" Tears well up as you look down at the massive shirt swallowing your frame. "You even changed my clothes?! Pervert! Stupid! Aaaaa!"
You practically scream the last word, but he gives you one sharp shake to stop the hysterical outburst.
"Stop. Stop your screaming and crying like I r*ped you," he says, his voice suddenly soft, almost bored. "I didn't."
You blink, the tears freezing in your eyes. "What? But... but you said I asked for it..."
"You asked for me to carry you up to my room."
You blink again, your brain struggling to
process the sudden shift. "Huh?"
"Yeah," he says, a muscle twitching in his jaw. He releases your wrists, turning smoothly to grab his wallet and keys from the dresser. "You said, 'Go fast! Upstairs! I'm sleepy and sick!'"
A huge, shaky breath of relief rushes out of you.
He turns to leave, but stops at the door, turning his head just slightly to speak over his shoulder.
"And just so we’re clear, I am not a pervert. You're not my type."
The relief instantly evaporates, replaced by a surge of heat in your cheeks. You’re embarrassed you falsely accused him, but the casual dismissal sends your jaw dropping in a mixture of disbelief and genuine anger.
"Well, you're not my type either, you i***t!" you call after him, but the sound of the door clicking shut is the only reply.
..............................................................................
The next morning, you walk with slow, deliberate steps toward your classroom. You grip the strap of your messenger bag so tightly your knuckles are white. You let out a shaky sigh and push the classroom door open. You find your way to the usual row. But as you approach your seat...the one you've occupied beside irem is taken.... a sudden, cold knot tightens in your stomach. There are only two desks pushed together now. Just a few days ago, it had been three, angled in that familiar semi-circle you and irem occupied. Now, Irem and Yujin are huddled close, their heads bent, laughing easily over some secret. They didn't wait. They didn't save a spot. you try to push the stinging thought away and force a cheerful note into your voice.
"Hey, Irem!" You then turn your gaze slightly. "And Yujin."
They both look up, exchanging a quick, weighted glance before offering you synchronized, polite smiles.
Irem slowly pushes her chair back and stands up. You frown, the small, almost formal movement sending a ripple of unease through you. Your heart gives a tiny, fearful skip.
"Actually..." Irem begins, her voice softer than usual. "Ms. Kang made us sit together for the project. So... you can sit in the back. S-sorry." She lowers her eyes to the floor, her hands twisting nervously.
Yujin sighs dramatically and pulls Irem back down by the arm. "Ah, Irem, sit. Anyway, so what happened after that? You were telling me about your brother..."
They resume their conversation as if you were never there. You stare at the two girls...your best friend and the girl who now occupies your space. A sharp, ugly sting of betrayal mixed with confusion cuts through you. You can't believe it...
Forcing a bright, but completely hollow, smile onto your face, you nod curtly. You turn away from them and walk several silent rows back, sinking into an empty desk.
..............................................................................
[ At cafeteria ]
The cafeteria is a roaring sea of chatter and clanking trays, but you feel completely isolated. You are sitting at a small table, eating alone, your head heavy with the events of the morning. You hadn't spoken a single word to anyone all day. You sigh, pushing your tray away; you simply can’t eat anymore. You lift your head, and your eyes immediately lock onto a familiar figure cutting through the crowd.
Jimin.
He’s walking with that same confident, detached swagger, sipping a juice carton. As usual, he’s surrounded by a small entourage....two of his friends and a strikingly beautiful girl whose hand he isn't quite holding, but whose attention he clearly commands. Whispers and admiring glances follow him like a tide.
Your mouth is half-full, and you curse under your breath, the word muffled by the food: "Bastard."
You decide you're done. You grab your tray and push back your chair, standing up. As you pivot to leave, your feet catch on the base of the bench, and you trip It happens in slow motion. You stumble, arms flailing, and you pitch forward, hitting the ground with a clumsy thud on your stomach. Your tray rockets out of your grasp. Food....soggy rice, sauce, and bits of chopped vegetables....flies everywhere.
You don't register the mess on the floor until you see the stain spreading across the white shirt of the person who had just been walking by. You gasp. Half your lunch has splattered all over Jimin.
The noise of the cafeteria dies instantly, replaced by a deafening silence. Every eye in the room is fixed on the messy disaster at the center. In a far corner, Yujin and Irem turn their heads. Yujin covers her mouth, her shoulders shaking with barely contained giggles. Irem only stares, a flicker of genuine worry in her eyes, but she makes no move to help.
Jimin stands motionless, the juice carton still in his hand, a streak of bright red sauce dripping down the front of his pristine shirt. He clenches his jaw, his eyes dangerously cold. He slowly looks down at you, sprawled on the tile floor, then back up at the catastrophic state of his clothes. Anger boils in his gaze.
the girl standing beside Jimin.... eyes already narrowed in judgment looks down at your messy form and smirks.
One of the boys in his group, clearly a devoted follower, speaks up with an exaggerated whine. "Aish, look what she did to our Jimin!"
The blonde girl steps closer to Jimin, tossing her hair back. "s**t. You better get ready for a punishment, sweetie."
Another girl calls out from the small crowd forming around them, "Jimin! Are you going to do something?!"
The chorus of voices, all directed at him and fueling the chaos, seems to intensify his already boiling rage. But his gaze never leaves you.
You slowly push yourself up, brushing rice and sauce bits off the front of your shirt. You survey the disastrous scene...the fallen tray, the ruined lunch, the stain on his chest....and then look up at him. Your own exhaustion and frustration from the day rise to the surface, overriding your fear. You make an annoyed, defiant face.
"O-okay, I apologize," you mutter, gesturing vaguely at the mess. "But... it’s not entirely my fault! You know how clumsy I am."
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