My Light, My Jimin

Chapter 9: Psychologist

YOONGI

Usually, I'm not easily distracted. I've spent the last several years on my life with such precision on my goals, staying persistent and desperate to stay on top.

I've built myself from the ground up and still go out of my way to impress others. It's my reputation of being quiet but helpful that got me where I am today, and for the longest time, I had no interest in changing my ways.

But for the first time in my life, my mind wanders, and no matter how hard I try, I can't drag it back to what I should be focusing on.

I'm sitting at my desk looking over a mass email sent to every staff on campus asking for help setting up a Trivia Night on Friday. It's a last-minute request, and as always, everyone suddenly loses interest to check their emails. I've been debating myself if I should ignore it and toss it in the spam folder, but my eyes linger above the computer screen where Jimin sits at his desk working on homework.

He arrived early this morning, and as he wanted, changed the date. When the board was deemed with a new day, he asked if I had to be somewhere. I answered honestly no, and he politely asked if he could work until class started, promising to me that he'd be quiet.

He could have conducted an entire parade and I'd still let him inside.

And here he is now, hovering over his desk in a black t-shirt and dark jeans. It's a wonder how he's survived the cooler winds of mid September. The small scratches of his pencil hitting the paper and the faint sound of voices outside the classroom is all there is between him and I.

As if suspecting I'm thinking of him, he looks over to me. "Are you sure you don't know geometry?"

I lift my brows. "Even if I did, I couldn't do your work for you."

"Worth a shot," he smirks.

Shutting down my computer screen, I turn to him instead, shifting in my seat. "Are your other classes giving you trouble?"

"It's been fine so far." He pauses and then says, "I honestly thought this class would be the hardest."

I incline my head, suddenly curious. "Why is that?"

Jimin shrugs. "You have a reputation of being cold. Some people say you're hard to talk to."

I go still. I'm not sure what to do in response. I'm not an idiot; I know there are students of mine who think less of me, but hearing those words from Jimin hurts more than I care to admit. Still, he looks me up and down, doing some sort of assessment.

I nod, watching his gaze.

"Do you think that?"

This time, his eyes flash, and his shoulders rise just the slightest. I wonder if he realizes just how much he gives away by how his body responds to my questions.

"I have you as my teacher," he says, "so I have the advantage of seeing you differently."

"'Differently'?"

"When you're worried about a student, whether it be about school or home life, you listen and give advice like a psychologist." He looks down at his papers. "Most teachers wouldn't think anything of it. Another student whining about life? Join the party. But not you. It's never felt like that with you."

I freeze. As always, his words speak right to the core of me, but these do not feel like a mere compliment and instead feel like they're chosen specifically for me, lighting me up from the inside with warmth. "No one would ever call me a psychologist."