Someplace Like Home |n.j

11.

Nami
where r u right now?

-
I'm on my way

Nami
okay

Another notification blocks the top of my view. With an exhale, I click on it and watch the screen get taken to another chat.

Hoseok
she's japanese isn't she?

Hoseok
she had an accent

-
and?

Hoseok
nothing

Hoseok
what do you mean 'and'

Hoseok
you know

-
I'm leaving you on read

Hoseok
saying you're leaving me on read is not the same as actually leaving me on read

seen

Arriving at Nami's door, my knuckles collide with the familiar wood coated with stained white paint. It opens after mere seconds, the doorframe groaning as it did.

"Hey," Nami seemed unprepared, stumbling against the door with an awkward grin on her face. I scratch the back of my head, raising a brow, "Is this a bad time?"

She quickly shook her head and welcomed me in by opening the door further, then stepping back to unblock the entrance. Nami kept her word when she told me she could show me her previous projects.

"Most of them are on my SSDs, but I have some on my computer, 'just ones I like to look at often." I bent down to untie my shoelaces as she treaded into her studio, heading to her computer that rested atop the tray on the floor.

My eyes wandered to her nevertheless, ignoring the shoelaces beneath me. I watched as her small body moved around, her hair flowing along busily. My lips curved upwards on its own. What I really had to fight back wasn't the smile, but the sudden urge to hug her.

We've had sex two times, and I find myself around her so often now. Every little interaction, every look in her eyes, every butterfly in my stomach, and every heavy beat of my heart told me we were a couple. I've felt every curve of her body, memorized where every mole was placed, locked myself into the depths of her hypnotizing orbs, and yet we are far from what I imagined we could be. Ever since, there's a sting in my chest that wasn't there before her.

"Namjoon?" With a flow of heat rushing to my ears, I hastily drop my head back down and successfully remove my shoes. Stepping past the bed, I couldn't help but give it a glance, in thought of what's happened on it not long ago. Nami probably doesn't think half as much as I do about it. I eventually make my way over, sitting cross-legged just as she did. My eyes darted curiously at her computer screen, seeing folders upon folders of work, and I remember her saying that this was just 'some'.

It makes sense, she's an experienced designer with six years worth of projects. Seeing her archive of works only made me raise further suspicion on her lifestyle. The studio isn't exactly 'pleasant'. Now that I'm even more sure her career is far from being on a downward slope, the puzzle pieces seem much harder to piece together. She doesn't have to live like this, so why does she?

"I should probably show you this," She mumbled, clicking into a file on her desktop, "Since you've already seen the drafts."