Euphoric Endeavours [3]
vampire bts, poly ot7 x uni student yn
Through a series of curious happenstances, the Boys of Bangtan - your campus' most popular and most handsome group of individuals - set their sights on you, a regular student with a stubborn streak and a wayward mouth.
Strangely enough, the mere sight of them sets your instincts off, red-lights flashing in your brain - danger, danger, danger, danger.
It's too bad that they can't seem to leave you alone, though. They like you too much.
Masterlist / i dont have a tag list / find me on twitter / word count: 3k
Chapter 3 - ‘Obstinate’
Waking up extra early on the only day that you have a late class is a torturous task. You force your eyes open, to the sound of waves crashes against the shore, a wind-chime ringing loudly from beneath your fluffy pillow, and get ready for work at the café.
After a lukewarm shower to wake yourself up, you pin your hair back in two braids, throwing on your brown work shirt beneath a soft sweater, protecting you from the chilly weather outside your apartment. Peeking a head into your housemate’s bedroom, you leave her with a kiss on her forehead, to which she whines and swats at you, weakly, before falling back into unconsciousness.
“Cutie,” you mumble, before closing her door and leaving, coffee in a large insulated tumbler and you rush down the street to the bus stop. You’d left some in the coffee machine for the rest of them to paw at once they dragged themselves out of bed, like usual.
“Morning, YN,” your manager sing-songs as you walk in, the bitter, crisp smell of coffee a welcoming and familiar scent that strangely calms your nerves. You don’t know why, but since your encounter with Hoseok, and by consequence, Taehyung and Jungkook, you’ve felt strangely out of sorts.
You know that you’re being silly, but when you’re walking home alone, you can’t help but glance over your shoulder, feeling eyes on you everywhere you go. Shrugging off your paranoia, you give her as bright a smile as you can afford considering the early hour, to which she returns, politely.
“Morning, Areum-ssi,” you reply, unravelling your scarf as you pass her by. “What time did you get in?”
“Not even an hour,” she replies, cheerily.
You quickly deposit your coat, gloves and scarves in the lockers in the back office, kicking into your work shoes that you kept there for safe keeping, and lock it up, before joining your manager on the shop floor, taking the dish rag from her. You say, fairly, “I’ll carry on with the set-up, you can go and organise the till and documents for the day.”
She gives you a thankful smile before doing just that. You sweep and mop the floors, set-up the coffee machines, make sure all the mugs and cups have been washed and stacked, and refill the plastic and paper cup pile so you don’t run out, working up quite the sweat while you do so. You’re just about to replenish the sugar packets when your manager comes out.
“I’ll open the doors for the morning shift,” she says, dangling the keys, playfully. “You get off at 12.”
You nod, thankful. “I appreciate you letting me swap at such short notice.”
“I understand, I get that it’s hard sometimes. I appreciate you coming in at all,” she says, pointedly.
“Is Byung-mi still not coming in on time?” You ask, with a knowing smile. The eighteen-year old had an issue with punctuality, much to your irritation.
“I might have to have another word with her about it,” she says, with a tightening of her lips. She isn’t comfortable with confronting staff. Considering her soft and gentle affect makes it hard to be assertive with employees and clients alike, you understand her plight.
As you’re wiping down the coffee pipes, you feel a presence behind you, and when you turn back to the till area, you find a sleepy-eyed student, rubbing at their eyes and yawning widely.
You greet them, with a sunny grin. “Morning! Anything I can help you with?”
Your shift goes by quickly, and half an hour before you’re supposed to clock out, you find yourself battling a long queue of people.
You’re tossing some straw wrappers in the trash, not looking at the customer, when you ask, “I’m sorry for your wait, what can I help you with?”
A soft voice, rough with a lack of sleep, and tinged with a drawl you find vaguely familiar, says, “Large black coffee, no sugar. One green tea, two pumpkin spiced lattes and a caffe mocha. One hot chocolate with extra cream.”
Another voice, higher in pitch and an infinitely livelier, tacks on, “Don’t forget the medium chai tea. He'll be murder to deal with if you forget it again."
You grab two cups and ask, “The names?”
You look at him through your lashes and are surprised by just how strikingly beautiful he is. Contrary to the slow way he talks, his appearance reminds you of that of a well-groomed cat. His eyes are sharp and are a rich brown colour, swirling like the black coffee sitting in the strainer behind you, and his lips are tinged with a blush rose pink, as he nibbles on his lower lip, absently.
The man by his side is taller, and prior to seeing him, you would have never used the word stunning to describe a man, but somehow, he embodies every inch of the typical idol look you’d lusted over in magazines with Young-mi. He’s the kind of handsome that doesn’t make sense belonging to a human being. You feel, with his plump lips, child-like wide eyes and a gently curved smile, he could ask anyone for anything and they’d give it to him without a second thought. His hair is dark, with a little forehead exposed and he’s eyeing you back, eyelids fluttering, seemingly intrigued.
“Just Yoongi is fine,” he says, brusquely, pulling you out of your reverie.
You jerk, in surprise, and scratch the name onto the cups and pass the order on to the boy manning the coffee machine. Finally, you find your voice, and stammer, “N-No problem, coming right up.”
The shorter of the two has pale skin, and his cheeks and ears pink due to the chill outside. His white blond hair is hidden under a black cap, left backwards on his head. He’s wearing a long-line coat, touching his knees. On his long but thin legs, he’s wearing dark jeans with holes at the knees, and on his feet, you can see comfy looking leather sneakers, with a thick white trim on the bottom and white laces.
The other is dressed formally, in a white button up shirt, tucked into some black fitted slacks and smart shoes, with a long-line camel coat over his shoulders and a briefcase in his hand. He looks every bit of the model you’re sure he is, and you notice that the women and men around you keep tossing him what they believe to be covert glances, instead of eating their breakfasts.
You would probably be doing the same thing, if you weren’t at work.
“How much is that going to be?” The paler one – Yoongi – prompts, quirking a straight brow slightly.
You realise you’ve just been staring at them vacantly, and you feel your ears burn in shame over being caught. Something about the blond strikes you as familiar, but you can’t put your finger on it.
With shaky hands, you tap out the order onto the till and say, “S-Sorry, uh, that’ll be 24 thousand won, please.”
He taps his card without sparing you another glance and shifts to the side, hoisting the backpack on his shoulder higher as he waits for his drinks. Unable to help yourself, you toss them covert glances every few seconds, taking in the blonde’s languid aura. You don’t know why he’s so familiar, but he is, and it’s going to bug you.
The taller one is just standing, with his hand in his pocket, scanning the confectioneries in the front glass case by the till, his eyes observing the treats with interest. You wouldn’t have thought someone so handsome and slender would ever touch goodies, but he seems to be a hairsbreadth away from buying the whole tray.
In the distance, you hear the dinging of the bell by the door, signalling the entry of another wave of customers, but you don’t pay it any mind, trying to focus on your task at hand.
A painfully familiar voice rings out, making your spine go ram-rod straight in surprise, “Jin-hyung, Yoongi-hyung! Did you get it?”
“Yes, Tae, I got your message and bought your stupid tea,” you overhear Yoongi say, his tone one-note, but you can hear the fondness as plain as day in his voice. “You could’ve just waited outside.”
“You did almost forget,” Jin tacks on, unhelpfully.
Taehyung throws his arms around Yoongi’s shoulders and pouts, deeply. “It's too cold outside, hyung!”
You continue to serve, ignoring them like the black plague, refusing to so much as glance in their direction, but that didn’t seem to save you.
“…YN?”
You feel your eyes close as you let out a frustrated puff of air, trying to maintain an air of professionalism. “Yes?”
“I didn’t know you worked here?” He says, leaning against the counter, blinking up at you with pretty dark brown eyes. He’s left the headband at home, you presume, because his shaggy hair is out free. He’s wearing a button up coat, grey in colour, and a cream scarf wrapped around his neck, with a portfolio case in his hand, a unique hand-drawn design scrawled across both sides, reminding you of the sky painted in Munch’s ‘The Scream’.
The lady that’s next in the queue doesn’t even seem to care about being held up, too enthralled by his handsomeness, staring unabashedly at the man, who doesn’t spare her a glance.
Yoongi’s seems intrigued as he asks, “Oh, this is the girl you and Hoseok were talking about?”
They discussed you?
Taehyung nods, excitedly, gesturing to you with a bright boxy smile. Yoongi eyes you, top-to-toe, before he makes a soft noise. A ‘hm’. What’s that supposed to mean?
You give the lady a quick, tight smile, before you say to Taehyung, giving him a pointed look, “I’ve got customers, so, I’m sorry, but can I carry on serving?”
“But then I won’t get to see your pretty face, will I?” He asks, playfully batting his eyelashes your way.
You popped a spot on your forehead this morning, so the red inflamed mark is clear to anyone who looks at you – too much stress, not enough sleep – and while that doesn’t make you less pretty, you’ve certainly had days where you felt more confident.
“I appreciate that, but I really, really have to keep working,” you say, giving him a hard look before turning your attention back to the woman in the queue. “How can I help you?”
She goes about ordering, but the tall handsome boy pouts at you, huffing purposefully, looking a picture of pathetic. He points a finger in your direction and says, “Jin-hyung, YNie doesn’t want to be nice to me.”
“I know, I know, kiddo,” Jin says, playfully, handing him one set of the cup holders. “Let’s get our drinks and leave YN to get her work done, alright?”
You think, there must be a God-
“She’s always going to be here, so we can always come back, can’t we?”
On second thought, there can’t be, because really, you’ve done nothing to warrant this kind of trouble in your life. Honest. You try and be a good person, but clearly, clearly, you’ve upset a powerful, celestial being in your past life.
“You’re right, hyung,” Taehyung says, grin returning as if it never left. “See ya later, YN! Have a good day!”
Jin tosses you a two-finger salute as he exits the shop and Yoongi leaves you with a parting look filled with an emotion that you can’t distinguish, and you feel unsteady on your feet as soon as they leave.
“How do you know those three sex-bombs?” Your colleague, Minhyuk, asks once you’ve grabbed your things and are getting ready to go to your one-pm creative writing class. He bumps his hip with yours and gives you a knowing look, to which your roll your eyes, so hard that you almost pass out.
“I don’t,” you tell him, but you can see he doesn’t believe you. “Honestly! I don’t!”
He scoffs. “Fine, be that way! But if I had hotties of that calibre interested in me, I certainly wouldn’t be able to keep it secret.”
“There is no secret!” You yell, but he’s already turned his back to you and has disappeared into the back, leaving you with your thoughts and a tingling feeling down your spine.
After you sign out, you leave, waving at your colleagues and some of the familiar customers that you recognise, and make the journey to your university – not a far walk from your workplace.
You have to rush into your class, taking the stairs quickly to find your usual spot, eyes glued to your phone screen the entire way.
“Is everyone seated? Good, good. Quiet down,” your professor says, adjusting her glasses on her nose. “Everyone, look at the rubric. The assessment of the year, a presentation after eight weeks of preparation with a partner, equally weighted. Transcript and visual aid is also essential. Partners have already been assigned, so after class, look at the list outside the lecture theatre.”
You tune out most of the lecture, instead making a light plan for the presentation, already having a few authors and novels in mind.
When you focus, you realise that the book that the professor is discussing has already been consumed by you prior to attending university, so it’s not difficult for you to refocus and make your notes. You praise the Google Gods for padding the gaps in your knowledge, and you spend the lecture bouncing between your assignments, making sparse notes and scanning Twitter whenever you find yourself zoning out.
Before long, you realise everyone is packing up to leave for their next class, and you scramble to do the same. Having long-drained your coffee and having replaced it with the rich expensive cocoa that you use at your job and having finished that too during the lecture, your bladder screams at you to empty it.
Avoiding the huddle outside of the lecture theatre, you sprint to the bathroom and do your business quickly. Once you finish, you wash your hands and return to the lecture theatre, to see who you’ve been paired with. You’re grateful that you’ve got such a relaxed personality, and for the most part, you get along with everyone – although you wouldn’t consider many of them your friends, and merely acquaintances.
Scanning the names quickly, you speedily find your own, and your knees almost buckle at the name that’s typed out beside your own.
Kim Taehyung.
You hadn’t noticed the brown-haired model in your class this afternoon, in fact, you hadn’t ever noticed him in your class at all, so to see his name next to yours – it’s inconceivable.
“Howdy, partner,” a voice murmurs from your side, and you jerk away to realise that the very man who plagues your thoughts is directly beside you. He gives you an exaggerated once over before he remarks, voice as soft and mellifluous as ever, like thick treacle running over a flat surface, “Oh, you finally noticed me, huh?”
Without his coat on, you only see the long lines of his body; long fingers, long legs, long arms that cross over his broad chest.
“You aren’t even in this class,” you tell him, certain.
He rolls his eyes, and even that action is pretty. You curse him in your head. “I sure am. You don’t pay attention to anybody behind you, do you? Too busy on social media, I guess.”
“That’s an invasion of privacy,” you gasp out.
He laughs, head thrown back in amusement, and it sounds like flowers blooming. That doesn’t even make sense, and yet, it - he - strikes you silent. “It’s not if I happened upon the information by accident. I sit directly behind you, and you’re short. It’s not my fault.” He holds his hands up, to assuage his culpability, and says, “Not that you can prove anyway.”
“Whatever,” you snap, spinning on your heels. “I don’t have time for this.”
“That’s okay. We have two whole months to get to know each other,” he says, pushing off the wall and falling in-step with you. “What class do you have next?”
Glancing at him, suspiciously, you query, “Why do you care?”
“I want to get to know you,” he admits, with a shrug. “Is that a crime?”
“I’ve never spoken to you in the whole time I’ve been at this university,” you tell him. “And now, after the incident with your idiot brother, all I’m seeing is your face. What a coincidence.”
His eyes get sharp when you mention Hoseok, but he doesn’t say anything. The smile doesn’t even leave his face, to the point where it becomes alarming.
“It’s not often that I find someone I think is interesting, so I can’t help but be drawn to you,” he replies, simply. You pause outside of your next anthropology class – history of female sexuality – and crane your neck to stare up at him, brow puckering. He’s too close to you, you can smell his expensive cologne and it makes your head spin. In a bold move, he ducks down a little, so you can count the lashes framing his expressive brown eyes. “Is that so bad?”
You feel yourself swallow, feeling pathetic and small for how quick your ire extinguishes into a shy flutter of butterflies in your tummy. Although he and his brothers set you on edge, something about their aura separates them from the rest of your peers, making them intrinsically special – and dangerous, a voice whispers in your mind. You would be a liar if you said that he wasn’t painfully handsome. And, handsome men had a direct line to your genitals, apparently.
“J-Just… Leave me alone,” you tell him, twisting out from under him and shouldering into your classroom.
He pokes his head in, watching you climb the stairs to the available seat, and he yells, “So, I’ll pick you up tonight, then, cutie?”
You freeze all over, feeling eyes glue to the back of your head. Stiffly, you toss a vitriolic glare his way, but the only response you get is a soft giggle and the lingering scent of Dior Homme on your clothes.
- end -
(1), (2), (3), (4), (5), (6), (7), (8), (9), (10), (11), (12), (13), (14), (15), (16), (17)
