The concept of beauty felt almost clinical – a noun, dissected and categorized. Whether to be beautiful, or not, existed solely within the eye of the beholder. Even those who wouldn't normally consider Kim Seokjin their type conceded to his beauty.
Jin understood this. He enjoyed the subtle game of flirtation, even with friends. He relished the blush that bloomed on cheeks as he teased them, a warmth that spread with a gentle pressure. It was a small indulgence, a quiet pleasure.
Perhaps it made him something of a player. Perhaps hearts were broken in the process. Perhaps he earned resentment. But he savored every moment.
He turned his attention to Taehyung, who had harbored a quiet crush for some time. The initial obstacle – Taehyung’s proclaimed straightness – and the second, Jin’s disinterest, hadn't deterred him.
Jin enjoyed the subtle torment of flirting with Taehyung. The boy flushed easily, stumbling over his words whenever Jin’s attention lingered. It was an effect that Jin found particularly satisfying.
Namjoon watched the exchange, a cynical detachment in his gaze. He didn't particularly like Seokjin; the man struck him as arrogant.
But Namjoon resented the feeling of having his own ass shoved into a corner. He resented the smugness of Kim Seokjin, and the way the others seemed to tolerate it.
He claimed to be straight, like the others. Namjoon, too, claimed the same, even though he knew it was a lie. He wasn’t willing to offer anyone another reason to bully him. He wasn't willing to give them another target.
Pushing his glasses higher on his nose, Namjoon hurried towards the door. The bell was about to ring. He always left early, dreading the crush of bodies in the hallway, the jostling and shoving that followed him to class.
Jin stood up, laughing at something Jimin had said. He pulled himself out of his chair and headed towards the bathroom, knowing he wasn't supposed to use the hallway one, but it was cleaner than the others.
Entering the hall, he checked his phone, noting the emptiness. He walked towards the bathroom, and collided with a body.
“Fuck you,” he muttered, anger flaring. His head struck the marble floor, and he fell, a body falling on top of him.
Ignoring the sharp pain that bloomed in his skull, he awkwardly pulled himself up and froze. It was Namjoon.
Fuck his life.
Groaning, Jin looked up and his eyes met Namjoon’s wide, startled gaze. “I- I…” The bell rang, and Namjoon stared down at Jin, still on the floor, his eyes squeezed shut, wincing in pain.
“I-I…” he started again, then abandoned the effort. He left. He left Kim Seokjin on the floor, and ran.