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bonvoyagenoona · 4 years

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Office Hours (M) | 01: Introduction

Office Hours | Masterpost

Word Count: 12,204 | read on ao3

Rating: 18+ / Explicit / Mature

Content Warnings: Soft and hard smut, workplace/office romance, talk of divorce and heartache, Namjoon is a meanie

Summary

When you’re an early career researcher who has just broken up with the love of your life, who is desperately trying to keep your lab afloat, and who is still embattled in a years-long feud with the hotshot professor down the hall for the only tenured spot that will make itself available at this top tier university in at least the next decade, you really don’t have any choice but to save the emotions for another time. You don’t expect them to bubble up and out of you when you have a particularly rough day, and you certainly don’t expect refuge in the arms of your rival. But crazier things have happened in darkened hallways and behind closed office doors.

Chapter Excerpt

When you feel eyes on you, you look up and see just Namjoon and his beer bottle standing there, you feel the friendly competition vibe dissipate and morph back into the cutthroat rivalry you’ve been embroiled in for the past few years.

You swear that he’s sneering at you.

You take a deep breath. “I saw you looking at me like that earlier, and if you’ve come here to make fun of me for enjoying this so much, then you can leave, because I’ve had a hell of a day, and it’s mostly because of other stuff, but it’s partially because you brought up the publications race to Si-hyuk, and I just needed a win,” you say.

Namjoon steps closer, and now that his face is lit a little better, you see that he’s not sneering. He’s genuinely smiling at you, like he did on his first day.

“I just came here to say…”

You stare at him. “Yeah?”

“Just… Congrats, I guess,” he says, straight-faced, extending his hand for a handshake.

Taglist 💜: permanent @purpleheartsfortae @btseditsworld | office hours @iron-sass @jwlmnbt @spookyricewithsoysauce @bangtaened-army @aliceollormusic (reply here if you want to be added!)

01: Introduction

The zipper is not just the zipper. The zipper is actually the collective parts of fabric and metal that come together. The two pieces of metal at the start of the zipper track are called top stops, which makes sense. The teeth of the zipper track are actually called elements. Those elements are stitched along what is called the tape, often made out of polyester. In closed-end zippers, the elements lead down to what is known as the bottom stop, which is a similarly apt name. For open-end zippers, the tape leads down to the box pin, which fastens with the insert pin to connect the track.

There are even more names to the parts of the small metal chunk that gets all the zipper glory.

What you limit your definition of a zipper to is actually just the slider. The slider brings the teeth of the zipper together by running its body underneath the tape, collecting the teeth in what is known as its throats. The body houses a loop on the front called the crown. And attached to the crown is the familiar soda can-like pull tab.

That’s actually what you’re cursing at when you say, “Your fucking zipper broke.” The entire zipper is still intact. Technically, only the pull-tab broke. In your haste, it had snapped off of the crown.

“Just rip it,” Namjoon whispers in the dark, fumbling for his fly.

His hands are too wonderfully big and clumsy to hold the slider by the sides to get it to travel all the way down to the box pin.

You push his hands away to grab the belt of his slacks. Bunching up the fabric in your fists, you try to pry apart the elements from each other, but they’re locked tight.

“It’s too hard,” you complain.

“You should feel what’s going on underneath,” Namjoon mutters, making you smile.

“Scissors?”

Namjoon’s eyes pop open.

“I’m not going to cut it off,” you laugh. “That would be the opposite of what we both want. But I’m going to need access to it here pretty soon, or else I’m going to go insane.”

Namjoon’s already turned around, reaching for his pen cup and pulling a pair of scissors to hand to you.

You hack away at the tough fabric of his expensive slacks. Almost immediately, Namjoon grabs both edges of the cut and easily rips a jagged tear down the thinner fabric to his thigh. He keeps his eyes on you as he does it. You know because you’ve trained your eyes on him, and the way he’s smoldering at you is making you even wetter.

“I owe you a new pair,” you say.

He scoffs. “You think that’s what I care about right now?”

Those strong hands reach out for you, and you feel his palms cushion the back of your head as his fingers tangle into your hair. He pulls you to him, and your lips lock in another rough kiss. You smirk at the jingle of Namjoon’s belt buckle hitting the linoleum floor.

He follows, taking no time at all to fall to his knees. It’s his turn to struggle with you, trying to pull your skirt all the way up.

“These fucking tight skirts that you wear,” you hear him grumble.

“Pencil skirts?” you ask, shivering at his touch on your thighs.

“They’re called pencil skirts?” he asks incredulously, licking his lips.

You laugh and recognize the look on his face. It’s the same look you get on your face when you think about men in suits with suede elbow patches cradling unorganized leather folios as they broodingly walk along the university grounds. You get a little too excited when you think about back-to-school supplies, and creating syllabi, and marking tests. Even with how jaded you are, and with all the stress that the semester brings, there’s a core part of you that has always romanticized what it is to be an academic.

When you take your hands off of his shoulder, he looks up at you questioningly. But as he hears you undo your own zipper in the back, he smiles, reassured. He waits until you look back down at him and smile, and he slowly pulls the fabric down, quickly learning how sweaty your thighs have become.

Your legs still pressed tightly together, he licks both of your inner thighs in one steady line from where your knees are touching up to your wet pussy. As he kisses your flesh through your soaking panties, your head starts to feel drowsy, and too heavy. He keeps kissing and licking you as his hands run down your legs again, and he grasps both of your ankles tightly, almost choking them off from your legs. He tugs upward on your ankle, and you move with him as he forces your knee to rise and bend. He slowly and carefully straightens your leg by tugging on your ankle and moving it to the side. He sets your foot down on the ground again, having cleared the tight ring of fabric that is your skirt on the floor. Your stance is broader now as a result, and his mouth is opening wider. You moan suddenly, and his eyes flash open as he looks up at you. He smiles, and you feel him use his tongue to gather the bunched up, dripping fabric of your underwear into a small bundle. He clamps down around it with his teeth, and he slowly drags the cloth down your legs to your knees.

You moan again, watching him. You’ve never been seduced this way. After seeing him do that, you wonder if you’ve ever been seduced at all.

He smirks and rises to your mound again, licking and sucking even harder now that he has full access to all of you. He finds your clit, and he latches to it with his lips. You threaten to lurch forward and lose balance, but he keeps his tight grasp around both of your ankles. You’ve worked with Namjoon for a while, and you know how tall he is, but you realize how long of a torso and how long of arms he has to be able to eat you out like this while keeping you firmly planted on the ground.

You wonder what this means for the other parts of him. You hope they’re just as long and strong.

You’re starting to overheat. Your sweat isn’t beading anymore. Streams are rolling down from your forehead and the back of your neck, and down your spine.

“You’re gonna… Namjoon, you’re gonna make me…” you whisper. But you’re unable to finish the sentence. It feels so good, and you suddenly feel really embarrassed.

“Gonna make you what?” he asks in a low voice, smacking his lips as he slurps up your juices.

You whimper and try to find another way to tell him. “Fuck, Joon. You’re really good at that.”

“Don’t change the subject,” he says. “What did you think I was going to make you do?”

You sigh, annoyed. “Namjoon.”

“I wanna hear you say it,” he says, smirking.

You shake your head.

“Well, I guess I’ll never know, then.”

You grab his head and push his face into your pussy, muffling his laughter.

“Make me come,” you say.

“Mmm,” Namjoon whispers, keeping his face there when you relax your grip on him. He reaches up and claws at your blouse. You understand him, and you unbutton it quickly, throwing it aside and kneading your breasts as he moves against you. His tongue finds a spot that you feel like hasn’t been activated in ages, and you come with your entire body.

Namjoon drinks it all in, and when you look like you’re about to wobble and fall over, he stands and wraps his arms around you, kissing your neck as your mouth hangs open to help you catch your breath.

“You look amazing,” he whispers. “Your body. Your tits. God, your cunt. It tasted amazing.”

Your hands slide under Namjoon’s sweater, and he pulls it off of him. You stare at his muscular chest and arms, surprised at how much he’s changed from the rail-thin newbie you met all those years ago.

Your fingers raise a trail of goosebumps wherever they travel across Namjoon’s skin, and he groans when your hands near his massive cock, looking bigger and bigger as it twitches with excitement. He’s watching you, waiting to see what you’re going to do now. You put up a stone wall, hiding that you’re a little out of practice.

Lick your palms, you think. Or spit. Maybe he’s into spitting. But for some reason, you rub your hand against your pussy, using your fingers to clean yourself out of you. You cover yourself in your warmth and juices, and then you place your hand around Namjoon’s shaft.

His eyes grow with surprise. They clasp shut again when you start to rub him, equal parts massaging and teasing.

“That was one of the hottest things I’ve ever seen,” he says, concentrating so hard on your touch.

You feel him growing in your grasp. You’re going to need him inside you sooner rather than later, and if all you offer is your hand, then your 8 AM class will roll around before you get his dick inside of you.

You kneel down now, going to kick off your shoes to get more comfortable.

“Wait,” Namjoon whispers urgently. “Um, can you maybe… leave them on?”

You smirk as you wrap your lips around him. You remember that you’re wearing your showstopping emerald green pumps, the ones that tie at your ankle with a satin bow. You think of his hands grasped so tightly around your ankles. You like the thought of getting to know his kinks.

You reposition your body so that he can see your shoes as you work, and his moans get raspier.

These heels. They always get the job done.

His cock tastes so good. A little tart. Sweet, even. Like something you already know. Like fruit. Apples. Something that you thought would be boring in its mundane knowability, but that truly refreshes you once you’ve allowed yourself a taste.

His breath hitches. “That’s so good. C’mon. Get up here. Let me fuck you.”

You stand, and he picks you up, placing you on his desk and shuffling papers out of the way. You laugh to yourself because you know that he’s stacking the papers in whatever order he’s laid out in his mind. If he doesn’t, he’ll forget and lose a day’s work. You so strongly relate. It brings you closer to him, somehow.

He smiles at you, thanking you for being patient, and knowing that you understand. He loves that you understand. And then he kisses you, pressing up against you, feeling every inch of your skin with every inch of his.

You spread your legs, and he steps into you. He lowers you onto your back, and you wrap your legs around his hips. He runs his hands down your legs and smiles when he meets the satin bows keeping your shoes on. He runs his hands back up your sides and rests them on the desk on either side of your head.

He pushes into you now, slowly and rhythmically, helping you get comfortable around him. You’re so tight, but you grow quickly, and he bites down on your lip when you clench.

His eyes pop open.

“Shit, if you do that, I’m going to come right away,” he whispers.

“Mmm, I just wanted to see your eyes again,” you shrug, smiling.

Namjoon laughs. He doesn’t know how to tell you in the moment, but he finds you so intoxicatingly saccharine.

You move against him now, and he meets you, your bodies coming together over and over, slapping, and later, bruising.

You want him deeper.

You wriggle out of his tight grip, and when he pulls back to arch and grind into you, you reposition your legs to go over his shoulders when he leans back down.

He moans at the quick glimpse of your heels, and then he ruts his hips into you, making you squeal. He bends down and plants himself between your breasts, turning his head to kiss and suck on them alternately as you groan encouragingly. He fucks you at an intense pace, sweat dripping down his entire body and glistening in the lights from the streetlamps on the grounds outside.

You’re getting so tantalizingly close.

He runs his hands down your thighs and hooks his thumbs into the bend of your knees. He spreads your legs and straightens them in the air.

“Hold this still,” Namjoon tells you, digging his fingers into your left ankle to show you what he means.

You nod, only able to babble at this point.

Namjoon turns to your right leg and runs his hands up to your ankle. As he continues pumping into you, he slowly undoes the satin bow, running one of the strips of fabric through his fingers. He delicately removes your shoe and sets it on the desk next to you. He smiles at you, and he reaches over to do the same with your other shoe, leaving a trail of kisses down from your ankle to your knee.

He bites his lip and looks into your eyes, hovering over you.

“I’m gonna come again,” you whine.

“And again, and again, and again,” Namjoon whispers, kissing you on your cheek, on your neck, on your lips.

Neither of you stop until you’ve explored every corner of his office and start to notice the morning rays streaming in through the shades and making horizontal, thin, yellow lines. Both of you are on the floor, on your backs, bodies spent and aching, tired eyes staring up at the sunlit patterns on the old, cheap ceiling.

You can already hear your fellow faculty grumbling into their offices and some students chattering eagerly throughout the halls, all of them getting ready for another day of learning.

Namjoon checks his watch. “Guess we’re both canceling our 8 AM classes,” he whispers.

You laugh softly. “After that, I’m canceling my whole day.”

“Good. Me too, then.”

You turn your heads to look at each other.

Just over twenty-four hours ago, both of you were looking into each others’ eyes from across a conference room table, screaming that the other would shut up. Now, you realize that there are so many more questions to ask, and that you desperately want to find out each other’s answers.

The faculty lounge is misnamed. The walls are a yellowing eggshell color. There’s no couch or chairs or space for relaxation. There is a small kitchen, with one old, dirty, neglected fridge that you all know has rotting remnants of food from professors past, but no one has bothered to open its doors in decades, all of you instead circumnavigating the problem by buying mini-fridges for your offices and labs.

You’ve never seen anybody lounge in here. You’ve only seen fellow professors screaming at each other over budgets, reagents, machines, students, and grant proposals.

Professor Bang Si-hyuk, the chair of your department, is staring listlessly at the empty wall directly across from him, at the other end of a long, rectangular conference table, where professors are screaming about exactly those things.

Just another Thursday staff meeting.

Though, there is a new character in the cast. You share a glance with the only other junior faculty member sitting across from you. It’s only his first week, but he met your gaze with a similar look to the one on Si-hyuk’s face, seemingly resigned to a disappointing fate. Now, he’s awkwardly looking at the table, picking at the corner of plastic that has over time separated from the wood it was meant to protect.

“Can everyone be quiet, please?” Si-hyuk asks. He knows how useless it is. He knows that no one can hear him.

Or, at least, that’s what he thinks.

As junior faculty, you’re sitting at the end of the table closest to the door. But you’re so perceptive that you actually can hear him ask for everyone’s attention.

You pity him. And the yelling is really starting to get to you. You’d had enough of it the night before, with your husband.

You get up and switch all the harsh, fluorescent lights off, and everybody finally stops talking.

You wait for a moment, and before anyone can talk again, you switch the lights back on, choosing to turn on just half of the light switches.

Si-hyuk smiles warmly at you and thanks you. “She’s the only level-headed one of you lot,” Si-hyuk adds, sending a disparaging look around the room.

His eyes settle on the professor sitting across from you.

“It’s probably a good thing for you two to get acquainted,” Si-hyuk tells him, nodding over to you.

You give the new guy a warm glance, and he shares a friendly smile back.

“As you all know, Dr. Kim Namjoon is joining our faculty this semester, and he’ll be taking over the Introduction to Neuroscience class sections, as well as Professor Emeritus Cho’s music and cognition class,” Si-hyuk explains. “He brings with him his Music and Memory lab and equipment, including two graduate students named---”

Si-hyuk puts on his glasses and searches for their names on the paper in front of him.

“Park Jimin and Kim Taehyung,” Namjoon replies. You think you see a fond smile on his face when he shares their names. It’s refreshing to see a fellow professor not jaded enough to have completely given up on his proteges.

Si-hyuk smiles too, finding the positivity infectious. “Excited to see what you’ll add to our department, Namjoon.”

“Thank you,” Namjoon answers. “Really excited to be here.”

“Speaking of the late Professor Cho,” Si-gyuk goes on, “thank you to all of you who donated to his family and attended his remembrance services this summer. He was a great and singular mind. Our field has lost someone irreplaceable. And I’d like to take a moment of silence now to honor him.”

You bow your head and close your eyes, but you hear a couple of whispers. You open your eyes and look around the table. Only Si-hyuk’s and Namjoon’s eyes are closed. Everybody else is staring daggers into everyone around them, playing out their arguments with hand gestures and shakes of their heads.

The moment passes, and Si-hyuk continues. “Now, I know you’re all wondering what will happen to Professor’ Cho’s funding and resources.”

The table finally falls truly silent, rapt with attention.

Vultures, you think.

“Well, I’ve chosen to retain the funding and equally disperse it among all of our senior faculty members,” Si-hyuk shares.

You sigh.

“However, as a compromise,” Si-hyuk replies, not missing your disappointment, “I’ve decided that the next tenure award will only be open to our junior members.”

“What?” one senior member exclaims angrily, jumping to his feet. “I’ve been in this department for ten years longer than anyone else here! You’ve made me promises, Si-hyuk!”

This is the one thing that the senior members can agree on, and their voices raise in chorus instead of discordance.

You and Namjoon exchange glances.

“You hangin’ in there?” you ask quietly.

Namjoon frowns, and his eyes bulge open. Poor thing had no idea what was coming.

“And, Sejin, you haven’t published in nearly that much time, but let’s not get into it now,” Si-hyuk replies, brandishing his famous passive aggressiveness.

You gulp. It’s painful to watch, and even more painful to receive. The comment sends Sejin slinking back into his chair.

“One of my last conversations with Professor Cho was about how we have allowed toxicity to extend its horrible branches into our department. You’re all insanely competitive, and you talk in snide remarks instead of sentences. It’s a disgrace to the department that Professor Cho founded.”

You see Sejin roll his eyes.

“So,” Si-hyuk continues, “I’m keeping tenure on the line for two years. In that time, the junior member that proves themselves to be a similarly irreplaceable mind for our faculty will be put on the fast-track to a tenured position.”

In the moment, you wanted to highlight how making this a competitive endeavor was merely allowing the vicious, toxic cycle to continue flourishing.

But that meeting was approximately 156 Thursdays ago.

In the three years you’ve been in the department together, you and Namjoon have been working at an unrelenting pace, churning out study after study, paper after paper, conference talk after conference talk, all to be the first to Si-hyuk’s ridiculous and ever-shifting list of demands.

Each year, the finish line unfairly moves a little further away. Si-hyuk looks at both of you on Thursdays and continues playing the passive-aggressive fool. Did he say that the first junior faculty member to secure a total of $1 million in funding would get tenure? He laughs and clarifies that he meant that the first to get to $2 million would. Did he say five publications in a year? He shakes his head. You’ve misunderstood. This university expects the best out of its professors. Twenty publications in a year will get you straight to tenure. And when you and Namjoon inevitably fail to hit these impossible targets, the cycle starts all over again.

The relationship that you and Namjoon have with each other is affected deeply. What started out as a perfectly nice and friendly camaraderie has turned into a threatening, unhealthy, and in some instances, nightmare-inducing, rivalry.

It’s why you look at your husband bizarrely every time he asks, “Why do you let Namjoon get to you so much?”

“He’s the one thing standing in my way,” you always say.

Of course, you say it less often. There’s no one to say it to anymore. Jin’s your ex-husband now. He’s still employed at the university, but his work in romance languages and linguistics isn’t as fraught with this kind of competition. There’s still worth in the weight of words in his line of work. Only three words mean anything for you: publish or perish.

Jin didn’t get that, and he found it unbearable to try and keep up with you and your blind ambition. Evidence of that was already creeping up into your arguments, even before Professor Cho died, Namjoon arrived, and Si-hyuk put this whole catastrophic career nosedive into motion. Yours was thankfully an amicable divorce. But now, in the silence of the evenings, as you’re uploading grades, or thinking about your research, you miss hearing him remind you, “There’s more than enough for each of us to discover something really amazing.”

From time to time, you recognize that it is a shame that you and Namjoon aren’t on friendlier terms. You respect his body of work. And he seems to be one of the good professors. The ones who stay after class to answer questions. The ones who hold extra office hours for hard-working students who just need a bit of extra help. The ones who walk with their students to the counseling center when it all gets to be too much.

But on this particular Thursday, it’s war as usual.

Namjoon clambers into your leg, pinning the skin of your thigh between the base of his chair’s armrest and the leg of the conference table.

You sneer at him, and he shrugs.

“Alright, let’s make today quick,” Si-hyuk proclaims. “I have a 10 AM tee time.”

You all scowl. Si-hyuk has become so detached from the work that he isn’t even hiding his escapades to the golf course anymore.

“We still haven’t done anything about the lights in the corner lecture hall,” Sejin says, bizarrely always eager to be the first in Si-hyuk’s line of fire.

“Then change them,” Si-hyuk says simply.

“With what budget?”

“Your own. We don’t have enough to replace them right now.”

“My own budget?” Sejin asks. “To pay for industrial fluorescent lights? In a lecture hall that seats 500?”

“It’s either that or wait until the next semester.”

“It’s the first day of this semester,” Sejin keeps on. “You’re telling me we’re already out of budget?”

“It’s cute that you think we get a new budget every semester,” Si-hyuk says, distracted by his phone. “Honestly, Sejin. You should know better by now.”

“Can we discuss class size limits?” someone else asks.

“Adora, class sizes are already set,” Si-hyuk reminds her.

“I know, but I’m really overloaded,” Adora responds. “Having six statistics lab sessions for four graduate TAs to cover is ridiculous, and now the registrars are pushing even more people in. How are our students supposed to juggle that and their own coursework and research?”

“They’re smart. They’ll figure it out,” Si-hyuk quips. “Is that all? If so, I’m going to grab some breakfast and---”

“I just wanted to announce that I have another publication,” Namjoon interrupts, glancing over at you to make sure that you’re paying attention.

“Mmhmm,” Si-hyuk says, his eyes still glued to his phone.

“So that means that I now have the lead at eight publications just this year,” Namjoon says, grinning at you.

You sigh. You were just tied at seven. To be fair, seven publications in one calendar year is appallingly high. You might have even immediately gotten a tenured position anywhere else. If there were positions anywhere else.

“What was the number I gave you last?” Si-hyuk asks.

Namjoon gulps. “Fifty.”

“This academic year?”

“This calendar year,” Namjoon says, exchanging a worried glance with you.

“No, that can’t be right. It’s fifty per academic year,” Si-hyuk replies.

He looks up at both of you.

“Given that it’s the first day of the semester, it sounds like you’re both tied again. At zero.”

You successfully extinguish the impulse to kick Namjoon hard in the shin, but the look on your face communicates the harsh message. Namjoon sighs and takes his glasses off, pinching the bridge of his nose.

If only he hadn’t said anything.

Si-hyuk stands. “Well…”

He looks around the table. You wonder what he’ll say to start the semester. You wonder if it’ll be inspirational, like the first year you were there. You wonder if there’s any glimpse of the man who hired you.

“...Toodles.”

Si-hyuk takes his leave, and you dejectedly collect your things.

“Most of my classes are in that fucking lecture hall,” Sejin mutters to himself, as he pushes past you.

You shrug off the morning meeting with relative ease and take a deep breath. You look up at the sprawling lecture hall and smile.

It’s showtime.

“Morning, everyone,” you say. “This is course 4331, Cognitive Neuroscience, so if you’re in the wrong class, take the next couple of minutes to make your way to wherever you need to be. No judgment. We’ve all been there. We’ll pretend we don’t see you.”

The class laughs, and a few people skitter into the hall, one of them even sheepishly laughing and waving to everyone as they go.

You continue, “If you’re remaining seated, it means that you’ve taken all your intro psych courses, and perhaps even done research assistantships in one of the psych labs on campus. So you know that this is not an anatomically correct picture.”

You click to your first slide, which shows a famous picture of Homer Simpson with a peanut-sized brain. Your class chuckles.

“And, if you’re still remaining seated, it might mean that you’re entertaining pursuing cognitive neuroscience in grad school, so that you can move from this understanding of the brain, to this.”

You press the button on your clicker, and the gif morphs into an animation of some recent fMRI data that you’ve collected.

“This course is meant to give you a glimpse into that world. You’re going to learn not just about certain neural correlates of different types of cognitive phenomena, but also what it takes to set up the kind of research design needed to uncover these findings. The pace and rigor will be a little tougher, but I know you’ll all be up for the challenge.”

You spend the rest of the class going through the syllabus and answering questions, keeping the mood light so as not to overload your students. And you finish out by starting the first lecture. Class ends the way it usually does, with most students moving onto their next class, and some students lining up to introduce themselves to you.

The last one is a student you haven’t seen before, which strikes you as strange. By the time psychology majors make it to your advanced classes, you recognize most of their faces.

“Hello Professor,” he says shyly. “My name is Jeon Jungkook, and I’m a senior. I know it’s only the first day of the semester, but I wanted to tell you that I really enjoyed class today. You’re really funny. All the memes and jokes. It made it easy to pay attention.”

You smile. “Oh, well, that’s very nice of you. I’m glad you think I’m funny. I’ll be damned if I don’t fit a meme into every lecture.”

He laughs and smiles back, but then he looks a little worried, his eyes crinkling and his eyebrows slanting up.

“Do you have a question?” you ask, unsure of how to interpret his confused expression.

“Yeah, it’s just…”

He holds out his phone to you and points out his class schedule.

“I think I’m enrolled in the wrong class,” he says. “I’m not a psychology major. I’m a music major, and I was trying to get into the other Professor Kim’s Music and Cognition class for my science credit, but I think the registrar mixed the titles up? Or maybe your names?”

You sigh, thinking momentarily of Jin finishing up his class, just like you are. You really should get your last name changed back to your maiden name soon. You curse that there are so many Kims.

“Why didn’t you slip out the door earlier?” You ask it in a friendly voice, but you’re a little annoyed that this student has made you think of your ex-husband and your rival in the same breath.

But Jungkook sets it right with a smile, a shrug, and, “You made me laugh, so I stayed to check you out.”

He blushes fiercely.

“I meant your class! I stayed to check your class out.”

You conjure all the professionalism it takes not to enjoy the soft Freudian slip and the twisted, nervous pout that it falls from.

“No worries,” you say. “Do you have some free time? I can walk you to his office. He should be there now.”

“Thank you!” Jungkook exclaims, his eyes bright and excited.

The Psychology department is trapped in its own time. The beige brick, windowless labs, and austere lines are remnants of its arrival on the scene in the 1960s and 1970s. The facilities were surely state-of-the-art back then, but as trends have changed in the research world, your poor building has been left behind by the university and overlooked even by its own leadership. It’s a shame. So much of the world could be so much healthier if people just invested in understanding people’s minds with an air of joyful discovery, without judgment.

Jungkook must be thinking the same thing about your building.

“I’ve never had any classes here,” he says, as you step into the elevator.

The labs upstairs are a little better. You’ve been blessed with numerous grants funding your research, which has allowed you to transform your space. Instead of blackboards, you have whiteboards. Instead of projectors, you have wireless displays. EEG and other testing equipment lay abound.

“Is that your lab?” he asks, noticing your lab “family picture” on the door.

“Yep,” you say, grinning at the picture of you and your students, Hoseok and Yoongi. In the picture, you’re laughing as Hoseok sticks the small birthday cake that you got for Yoongi into Yoongi’s ear. Yoongi’s grimace directly to the camera as it’s happening is a priceless, delightful moment that you’re so glad was captured. The three of you have been working together for a while, both of them serving as undergraduate lab assistants before starting their own grad careers, choosing to stay on with you. You’ve seen each other through various ups and downs, not just related to the work you do, but to your lives as well.

“You guys seem really fun,” Jungkook laughs, as you pass the lab and head down the hall.

“We are,” you admit.

You and Jungkook come to a stop at Namjoon’s open office door. You knock quietly and paint on a fake smile, the one that you both have agreed to use with each other when students (other than your grad students) are around.

He looks up and flashes his own fake smile back.

“Professor Kim,” he greets you, knowing how much you hate hearing it.

“Professor Kim,” you echo back. “And that’s actually why I’m here.”

You gesture to Jungkook, standing with you in the hallway, looking shy.

“This is Jeon Jungkook,” you introduce. “He’s a music major. He’s trying to get into your Music and Cognition class, but the registrar must have mixed us up. Do you still have room for him?”

“Sure,” Namjoon says, waving Jungkook into his office.

Jungkook turns to you. “Thanks so much for your help,” he says. “Would it be OK if I dropped by every now and then, asked some questions about the work that you do? I really am interested in it.”

“You’re always welcome,” you say with a genuine grin. “You know where to find us.”

He smiles and walks over to Namjoon, and you feel Namjoon’s gloating eyes on you. He’s won another student over. From your class. You even personally chaperoned the student over to him. Technically, you still have Namjoon beat by 20 in total enrollment, but you hate that he has something new to hang over your head. You know he’ll bring it up the first chance that he gets.

You return to your office to set your things down before you move next door to your lab, which is where you do the bulk of your work. You like your office, but you don’t use it much outside of heads-down time when working on manuscripts, or to meet with students.

You much prefer doing your analyses in your lab, where you, Hoseok, and Yoongi can chat as you work, sparking ideas in one another and catching things on the fly.

Yoongi walks in soon after, clearly having just rolled out of bed. You don’t care what time it is. Your own grad school advisor was so stringent about lab times and practices that it turned you off from developing any sort of meaningful relationship with her, and you know your skillset suffered as a result. You sometimes wonder if you’re too lax, but you know that Yoongi and Hoseok are hard workers who always deliver great results and discussion. As long as that continues to foster the kind of growth that they’ve had over the years, you’re happy.

“Starting the semester on a Thursday always throws me off,” Yoongi says, slumping down into his seat at his desk. “I got to campus today and was like, ‘Who are all these people?’”

“I know what you mean,” you laugh. University campuses always have a different quality to them over summer and holiday breaks. You like how quiet it gets. You share knowing nods with the dedicated people who remain. It’s almost like you can feel everyone thinking with each other.

Hoseok returns from his class and sits at his desk, setting his coffee down, ducking his head and shoulder out of his messenger bag strap, and sadly shaking his head.

“What is it?” Yoongi asks.

“I just saw Jimin and Taehyung,” he says. “They’ve got two of the stats courses. It’s a complete jungle.”

“Are they packing classes again?” Yoongi asks, as he and Hoseok turn to you.

“Sounds like it,” you say. “Adora mentioned it being a problem at our staff meeting today.”

Yoongi clicks his tongue. “Well, I’m glad you got me and Yoongi assigned to the small weekly seminars.”

“Everyone else is pissed at us, though,” Hoseok adds. “Most of all, Jimin and Taehyung.”

Jimin and Taehyung have every right to be pissed. Taking a huge statistics class load will affect their research significantly. Unlike the weekly seminars, which are quite free-form and open only to upperclassmen, statistics classes require several exams, a paper, and one major project. The two of them will be extremely busy with additional grading and classroom management duties, plus the unexpected increases in section size limits. It boggles the mind how many ways universities will exploit their graduate students to keep from hiring more expensive faculty and staff.

You feel bad for thinking it, but at least that also means that Namjoon is at a disadvantage for publications.

“We take it in turns,” you say, knowing the ebbs and flows of grad school and trying to feel less guilty. “There might be a semester where your class load skyrockets. Try to have some empathy.”

“Not this year,” Yoongi says. “I’m defending my dissertation and getting the hell out of here.”

“When should I expect that next draft, then?” you joke.

“Uh… soon,” Yoongi says, shrinking a bit and turning back to his computer.

You and Hoseok chuckle, not because you doubt him, but because Yoongi has hit whatever the grad school version of senioritis is.

You’re glad, though. It means that he’s ready.

A wave of nostalgia washes over you, and you look over at Hoseok and Yoongi, typing away at their computers.

You remember how nervous Yoongi looked when you showed him how to set up the parameters for preprocessing his brain imaging data. He commented that it looked so complicated. Whenever you see him complete this step for a project, you think you see a flash of that worry, just for a second. It goes away when he starts the steps that he’s long since memorized. You admire that he’s come so far and started to make a name for himself without losing who he was at his core.

You also remember how thrilled Hoseok seemed when you unveiled the new EEG equipment. He seemed to delight in the participant recruitment stage, making easy conversation with them as he walked them through what was often a very messy and confusing process, what with the caps and gels and electrodes. From the first day of data collection to the last day of manuscript edits, Hoseok always brought that excitement to your work, reminding you to celebrate the small wins, too.

You haven’t celebrated the small wins in some time.

“Hey,” you say, “you know what we haven’t done in a while?”

“Cleaned the faculty fridge?” Hoseok asks, as Yoongi makes a face.

“Thursday pub trivia night,” you say.

Yoongi and Hoseok exchange glances and smile, but then they look like they’re trying to calm down a little.

“Are you… are you saying you want to go?” Yoongi asks carefully, just to check.

You’re touched by how excited they seem. You’re a close lab, and you’re more of an older sister-figure to your grad students given your relatively small age gap. For better or worse, this means that you’ve all shared more of your personal lives with each other. That time Yoongi seemed to be struggling with stress and anxiety. That semester Hoseok was arguing with a family member. That summer, when Jin quietly served you with divorce papers.

“Yes,” you say. “You guys wanna go tonight?”

“That sounds really nice, actually,” Hoseok replies.

You smile. “Then dinner and drinks on me.”

The manuscript is starting to take a more defined shape, and you smile at the feeling of accomplishment swelling in your chest. Your more recent work is some of the most creative stuff you’ve submitted, and you hope that this article gets accepted to your target journal. It’s a reputable one, with a high impact factor. You wonder if that might count for anything in helping you get the edge over Namjoon.

Someone knocks on the door, and you turn to see Jin standing in your doorway. He looks amazing in his tweed suit, tie just a little loose. You picture him adjusting it on his walk across campus.

“Hey,” he says.

You turn back to your computer.

“Hey.”

“Of course you’re still here. It’s only 6:30,” Jin remarks sarcastically.

You sigh.

“Busy?” he asks, after clearing his throat.

“Kind of.”

Jin slowly ambles over to you, standing just behind you, and reads over your shoulder.

“New publication?”

“Not so loud,” you whisper, eyes darting over to the still-open door.

Jin nods. “Right. Sorry.”

He sits on the inside of your desk, an eyelash’s distance away from you, and he looks so good that you almost jump on top of him. You wish you weren’t still attracted to your ex-husband, but he’s objectively and devastatingly gorgeous. You of all people should know that there’s no fighting fact.

“You look nice,” he says, and you wonder if he thinks the same thing. His eyes slope over you, from your emerald green blouse, black pencil skirt, and matching emerald green pumps.

You smirk to yourself. You wore this outfit, and those shoes, for this very moment. You hoped they’d get the job done.

“What do you want, Jin?”

“Just… wanted to say… happy first day of school,” he says.

You roll your eyes.

“And,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck, “uh, I’m… I’m seeing someone. It’s not anyone you know...”

Your mouth goes dry, your chest tightens, and you get a little disoriented. You can hear him talking, but you aren’t sure what he’s saying, exactly. You get the sense that you’re keeping up pretenses well if Jin is still speaking. You snap yourself out of it while he’s finishing up.

“...serious, so I thought I should tell you.”

“You’re seeing someone, and it’s getting serious,” you echo, hoping that’s enough to summarize what he’s said.

“I mean, basically, yeah,” Jin says.

“It’s serious, two months after our divorce,” you can’t help but add.

Jin sighs. “I just told you. I didn’t even know her when you and I were together. I just happened to meet her at some book reading. But yeah, it’s moving pretty fast.”

You swivel your chair around and look up at him. “Well, congrats, I guess,” you say.

Jin blinks. “That’s not---”

“Also, just a note for the future, when you come to me with this kind of news -- could you maybe not sit on my desk?”

He looks down and sees that aside from being so intimately close to you, he’s crumpled your notes.

He jumps to his feet and laughs sheepishly. “Sorry, I’m just used to---”

“Well, it’s serious, so you probably shouldn’t be sitting on other people’s desks,” you say, turning back to your computer.

He straightens.

“Right.”

“In fact, you don’t even need to come to me with this kind of news,” you say, barely masking the hurt. “It’s not like I’m owed that information.”

“You’re not?” Jin asks.

“No. Do you think you are?”

Jin blinks.

“Well?” you ask.

“I-I mean,” Jin stutters, looking at the ground, “I, well, I’d like to know if you…”

He looks back at you.

“Are you dating someone?”

You pause and look at the ceiling.

“...No.”

“Well, what does that mean?” Jin asks, getting flustered.

“What do you think it means?”

“It definitely doesn’t mean ‘no’,” he says, annoyed.

“Does it matter?” you ask.

Jin narrows his eyes at you. “Fine. I get it. Bye.”

He turns on his heel, and he walks into the hall. You try not to watch him go, but you turn your head just as Jin bumps into Namjoon in the hall.

“Sorry, man,” Namjoon says, taking a small step back. His head was down, buried in thought as he was reading a stack of papers.

Jin scoffs. He straightens his suit, and then he walks away.

Namjoon turns to see you, your eyes having softened at Jin’s departure. When Namjoon’s gaze meets yours, you look quickly away, back to your screen, feeling exposed.

You don’t know how long he’s been standing there eavesdropping. Thankfully, Namjoon doesn’t say anything. In your periphery, you can see that he lingers for a moment, but then he continues down the hall, to his office.

You wonder how mad Yoongi and Hoseok will be if you cancel on them. After a moment, you save your work, close everything down, and slip into your coat. You shoulder your purse and walk over to the lab, where Yoongi and Hoseok are also gathering their things.

Before you open your mouth, Hoseok cheers at you, and Yoongi says, “I’ve been looking forward to this all day. I’m starving.”

You button up your lips and decide right there and then to power through the evening.

The walk to the pub isn’t that long, and you chat about the day you’ve had as you go. Hoseok tells you about a student who got psychologists and psychics mixed up while answering a question. Yoongi shares some results from his most recent comparison tests. You mention Jungkook, and Yoongi and Hoseok mutter about Namjoon, fully supporting you and deeply invested in the lab rivalry.

“Ugh, speaking of,” Hoseok says, as you enter the pub.

You see Namjoon, Jimin, and Taehyung in a booth, sharing drinks and writing their names on a quiz sheet.

You wonder if this night can get any worse.

“They’re even in our usual spot,” Yoongi says. “It’s insulting.”

Jimin catches sight of you, and he whispers to Taehyung and Namjoon. They look at you, Jimin and Taehyung smirking playfully, even giving you a friendly wave. Namjoon smiles happily at Yoongi and Hoseok. His face falls flat when he looks at you.

“Shake it off, boys,” you say, narrowing your eyes at him. “Focus on the task at hand. We are The Neuromantics, and we are out for complete domination.”

Yoongi and Hoseok nod, and you all slide into the corner booth in the back, giving you a clear shot to the quiz master, as well as to Namjoon’s table.

You haven’t studied general trivia in a while, so you know you’re going to be a little rusty at the start. You all definitely have science covered. You know you’ve got pop culture, entertainment, and literature covered. Hoseok’s thankfully there to balance your weaknesses in languages, especially without Jin around. You hope Yoongi’s aptitude in history and philosophy not only scores you some correct answers, but that his similarly strategic mind will help you make good decisions about how to weigh your answers against the points that you’ll bet.

After he gets settled, Hoseok walks over to the quiz master to give him your team name. The quiz master gives a little wave, remarking on how it’s been a while since he’s seen you last. Hoseok makes some friendly small talk, and then grabs a quiz sheet and some answer cards. He joins you at the booth, where you all place your orders with the waiter.

“The first question topic is Art!”

The pub stills, everyone settling down to hear the question.

You and Namjoon scowl at each other.

“Easy now,” Yoongi cautions you, catching the deadly look in your eye.

“Famous for her jewelry, what character was the inspiration for Dutch painter Johannes Vermeer’s painting of the same name?”

The quiz master turns on a song to give you all some thinking time and background music. You don’t need any of it. You gesture for the answer card and quickly write, Girl with a Pearl Earring.

Hoseok takes the answer card and turns it in, racing with Jimin to get there first and nearly toppling the quiz master over.

As they rush back to their seats, embarrassed, the quiz master picks up his microphone and says, “Friendly reminder that you don’t have to be first to turn in your answer, just make sure that your answer is correct.”

The song ends, and the quiz master announces that everyone got the question right, and you’re glad Yoongi told you to bet 3 points on the first question.

“The next question topic is Sports!”

“Even better,” you say, writing a “1” next to the points that you’ll bet on this one. Yoongi covers all basketball questions, but if it’s anything else, all three of you are hopeless.

“Which country has appeared at every World Cup Finals since the first in 1930?” the quiz master asks.

“World Cup?” you ask. “Is that hockey?”

“That’s the Stanley Cup,” Yoongi laughs.

“The World Cup is football,” Hoseok says, looking at him.

“Do you know?” Yoongi asks.

“Not for sure,” Hoseok admits. “If I had to guess, I’d say---”

“Write it down,” you remind him, sliding the answer card over. He writes Brazil on the blank and, on his way to the quiz master, narrowly misses colliding with the waiter approaching with your drinks.

He sets them down on the table: three whiskeys, two neat, and one on the rocks.

“That’s not what we ordered,” Yoongi says, confused.

“I changed the order,” you say, leaving the whiskey neats for Yoongi and Hoseok.

“Really?” Yoongi asks excitedly. “Thanks!”

Hoseok returns, and you raise your glasses. He picks up his drink and grins at the happy surprise. “I thought this was just trivia night. Are we celebrating something?

Yoongi watches as you down almost half of your drink in one gulp.

“I thought we were, but now I’m not so sure,” Yoongi remarks.

“Relax,” you say, setting your glass down. “I just haven’t had a nice drink in a while.”

“Sure,” Hoseok says. “I thought I saw Professor Kim leave your office earlier. It couldn’t have anything to do with that, could it?”

You shrug, and Yoongi nudges Hoseok to stop probing.

“Well, screw him, anyway,” Hoseok says, to end it.

You smile at him. You try not to think of the new person who actually is screwing him.

The song dies down, and the quiz master pipes back up. “The third question topic is Science!”

“Science!” the pub cheers, in keeping with pub trivia night tradition.

“What is the six-foot unit of measurement for calculating water depth?”

The next song starts. It’s slower than the others.

“Knot?” Hoseok tries, forgetting not to say answers out loud.

“No, that’s speed,” Yoongi says. “Maybe it’s a league? Y’know, like, 20,000 of them under the sea?”

The question and the whisky send you back to the last time you sailed on Jin’s boat. It was a year ago, the last time you allowed yourself a real summer vacation. You were cuddled together, watching the sunset, covered by a blanket, and surrounded by Jin’s strong arms. It was a rare, happy point in a marriage that was startling to buckle. You had just made love and told each other that it was all still worth saving. That you still loved each other. Jin’s lips were by your ears, nibbling them. “Can you imagine anything better than this?” you asked. And he whispered, “I can’t even fathom it.” You pushed back against him and his lame joke, and he kissed you so sweetly that you thought you might cry.

You gesture for the answer sheet, and you write fathom in the blank.

Suddenly, you’re rising to your feet, dropping the answer into the answer bucket, and veering off to the bathroom. You allow yourself thirty seconds to feel all of whatever pain and heat is rising in your throat, stinging in your eyes, and shaking your lungs. And then you wash your hands, splash some water on your face, and go back outside like the trooper that you are.

You pass by Namjoon’s table.

“We’re tied yet again,” Namjoon mutters, with a smirk.

“Not for long,” you spit at him, and Jimin and Taehyung exchange looks. You think you see Taehyung whisper something to Jimin that makes Jimin giggle and Namjoon look at him with scorn, but you pay it no mind.

You’re wrong, though. You stay tied until the very end.

“We’ve got a head-to-head showdown here between The Neuromantics and Synapse, Crackle, Pop!” the quiz master announces. He finds your two booths and smiles at you. “This competition is going to depend on how you assign your points to this last question! Are you ready?”

Each of your slightly tipsy booths cheer.

“What about it, gang? Are we ready to see them through?” the quiz master calls to the rest of the pub.

They cheer. It’s been a particularly epic night, with challenges, corrections, and controversial calls.

“The last question topic is Music!” the quiz master exclaims.

“We’re fucked,” Hoseok mutters.

“Shush,” you say, pen poised, never one to give up.

“In his song Ain’t No Sunshine, how many times does Bill Withers sing the phrase ‘I know’ in the third verse?”

The six of you still in the competition all immediately start playing the song in your head and counting, the task made difficult by the quiz master playing a completely different song.

“I got 22?” Hoseok asks, his face bright red from all the four rounds of drinks you’ve had.

“I got 27,” Yoongi says.

“I’m pretty sure it’s 25,” you say.

“Split the difference?” Hoseok asks. “26?”

Yoongi exhales. “I’m comfortable with that.” He looks at you. “What do you think?”

“Let’s do it,” you say, your heart pumping. “How many points?”

Yoongi grins. “All of them.”

“What?” Hoseok exclaims. “What if we get it wrong? Then we fall to last place!”

“Go big or go home,” Yoongi says, shrugging and finishing his third beer.

You nod. “I like where your head’s at, Yoongi.”

You fill out the answer card, and Hoseok runs the answer up to the quiz master.

Namjoon looks worried at the speed with which you’ve come up with the answer. You flash a smile at him and raise your bottle of beer. He shakes his head, shoots you a smirk, and turns back to his booth.

Taehyung turns in the answer, and the quiz master clears his throat.

“Alright folks, let’s see what we’ve got!”

He holds out both answer cards and checks your responses. He smiles. “Well, we’ve got a clear winner!”

You, Yoongi, and Hoseok exchange glances and start getting excited.

Namjoon, Taehyung, and Jimin lean forward in their seats, almost as if getting ready to jump up.

“One team says it’s 22,” the quiz master says.

Yoongi looks at Hoseok. “If that ends up being the right answer, you’re gonna be pissed at us tomorrow, aren’t you?”

“Yup,” Hoseok says.

“The other team says it’s 26,” the quiz master goes on. “And both teams have bet all their points.”

Namjoon glances back toward you.

“The answer is… 26!”

You, Yoongi, and Hoseok cheer, yelling and drumming on the table. You even quickly stomp your feet, your emerald heels clacking against the wooden floor.

The three of you get up to collect your prize: a gift card for $50.

But the real prize is the victory lap in front of Namjoon and his team.

Namjoon is tearing up his answer card into little pieces, half-smiling at you as you march up to the front.

Hoseok thanks the quiz master and takes the gift card. The whole pub cheers. You even see Namjoon clapping for you.

As you walk back to your booth, Hoseok eyes the pile of torn bits of card. He reaches over, collects it in his fist, and throws it in the air like confetti, making all six of you laugh.

“Last round on us?” Yoongi asks Jimin and Taehyung, and you smile at Yoongi heeding your words about empathy.

“Hell yeah!” Jimin says, as Taehyung smiles and nods.

“Well, you all have fun,” you say. “I’m just gonna finish my drink and then head out.”

“You sure?” Hoseok asks. “It’s late. We can walk you back to your car on campus when you go.”

“I’ll be fine,” you say, looking at everyone, even Namjoon. “Great game. See you tomorrow.”

“Thanks again, Professor!” Yoongi cheers, both him and Hoseok giving you high-fives.

Taehyung eagerly leans over Jimin to give you a high-five too, and you chuckle.

You walk back over to your booth, and Yoongi and Hoseok follow you to get their things before joining Taehyung and Jimin at the bar.

You pull out your phone and begin to scroll through your emails, just in case any reviewers of your submitted manuscripts have updates for you.

You swear that he’s sneering at you.

You take a deep breath. “I saw you looking at me like that earlier, and if you’ve come here to make fun of me for enjoying this so much, then you can fuck right off because I’ve had a hell of a day, and it’s mostly because of other stuff, but it’s partially because you brought up the publications race to Si-hyuk, and I just needed a win,” you say.

Namjoon steps closer, and now that his face is lit a little better, you see that he’s not sneering. He’s genuinely smiling at you, like he did on his first day.

“I just came here to say…”

You stare at him. “Yeah?”

“Just… Congrats, I guess,” he says, straight-faced, extending his hand for a handshake.

You smirk. Which turns into a smile. Which turns into a laugh.

“You asshole,” you say, accepting his hand.

Namjoon laughs softly, shaking your hand gently and taking a drink from his beer bottle.

“Can I sit?”

“Fine.”

He joins you, and you sigh and stretch. The tealight flame dances in his glasses.

You wince. “How much of that did you hear?”

“With Jin?” Namjoon asks.

“Yeah.”

“Not much.”

“Bullshit.”

“OK, all of it,” he says. “You weren’t being loud. And I wasn’t trying to eavesdrop.”

“Bullshit,” you say again, shooting him an unamused smile.

“I wanted to make sure it wasn’t going to turn into something else,” Namjoon says resolutely.

You know what he means. Jin’s shown up to your office unannounced before. It unfortunately was the same day that the dean was visiting to hear Si-hyuk’s case for increased resources and budget. Jin was yelling in the hallway, and you had to hide him in your office to calm him down while Namjoon and Si-hyuk rerouted the dean away.

You didn’t get the money. Not necessarily because of Jin. But if the dean had noticed, it certainly wouldn't have helped.

“Are you OK?” he asks.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” you say.

“OK, well, let’s talk about something else,” Namjoon says, and you can tell that he already has a topic in mind.

“I knew you were going there,” you say, rolling your eyes.

“Where?”

“Jeon Jungkook.”

“Who?”

“That student that I brought you,” you say.

Namjoon blinks. “Oh, right. Yeah.”

“That’s not where you were headed?”

“No?”

“I swore you’d bring that up the first moment you got.”

“You’re still ahead of me by, like, 20,” Namjoon says. “I don’t gloat until I have a reason to.”

You sigh. Why are you so punchy tonight?

“Sorry,” you say. “I’m being… I’m just a little…”

“I get it,” Namjoon says. “Me too. We’ve been doing this thing for so long that it’s like I don’t even really know how to talk to you like a person.”

You nod. “That’s exactly how I feel.”

He takes another swig from his bottle. You used to have a great rapport. You would eat lunch together and spend the time orienting Namjoon to all the usual stuff. On the first day, it was stuff like where the bathrooms were, or how early to get to the faculty parking lot to ensure a good spot. After the first month, it was stuff like restaurant and art gallery recommendations. By the end of the first semester, though, things had soured.

“The Neuromantics,” Namjoon laughs. “That’s good.”

“Synapse, Crackle, Pop,” you chuckle back. “That’s funny. You come up with that?”

“Yeah,” Namjoon says, grinning. “You?”

You nod.

“Are you a fan of that era? The fashion? The music? Duran Duran? A Flock of Seagulls?”

“Both. Boy George,” you say. “My mom was a huge Boy George fan in the 80s.”

“She has good taste,” Namjoon says, eyeing your blouse. “Seems like you do, too.”

You feel embarrassed, but you’re not sure why.

“Well, anyhow, tonight was fun,” you say.

“Yeah, you really had us going,” Namjoon says. “You have no idea how soul-crushing it was to lose on a music question.”

“Oh, we knew,” you say, smiling smugly.

“It kind of made me wonder…”

He stops himself and checks in with you before he goes on. It’s like he isn’t sure if he should say what he’s supposed to say.

“Wonder what?” you ask.

“I don’t know. Like… what could we have been had we not let work get to us?”

He smiles sadly as he finishes the thought.

You lean back in your seat. “Probably friends, or something,” you say. “I really liked hanging out with you. In the beginning.”

“Me too.”

You feel safer as the conversation stretches on. Seeing Namjoon by candlelight instead of fluorescent light is making it easier to humanize him. He’s just so daunting at work.

“I’ve thought about this a few times, actually,” you dare to admit, the realization propelling you forward in your seat. “I really respect your work. Especially that study looking at older adult associative memory differences in experts versus novices in musical training. It was a unique study.”

“Thanks,” Namjoon says, brightening. “I’m a fan of your work as well. That one paper… identifying left dorsolateral prefrontal cortex activity in source memory formation during distracting tasks. It was an elegant argument.”

You smile. You thought so, too.

“It’s kind of one of the reasons I thought to apply here,” he shares.

“Really?”

“Yeah,” Namjoon says. “My university was shuttering so many departments to make room for the stuff that’s making money. Y’know, computer science, data science, business. I thought it was great to see you and the department flourishing.”

He clears his throat.

“Or, at least, seem to flourish.”

“I know things are a little bleak right now, but we still technically are flourishing,” you say. “Seven and eight publications in a year? I’ve never been that productive or successful.”

Namjoon nods. “I guess that’s true.”

“You’re also good with students,” you say. “I saw what happened with your undergrad research assistant… the one who was crying in the stairwell?”

“Yeah, she was going through a rough patch.”

“I saw you walking with her to the counseling center,” you say. “I was on my way back from one of my classes in the Life Sciences building. You didn’t just drop her off. You actually stayed with her.”

Namjoon nods and smiles.

He looks at the table.

“I know about Yoongi.”

“You do?” you ask.

“He told me about it once. I was maybe saying some…” Namjoon looks uncomfortable. “Some competitive things about you,” is how he decides to phrase it.

You shrug it off. So have you.

“Yoongi was in the hall and stood up for you,” Namjoon says. “He found me later and asked me not to have those kinds of conversations in the open. And then he told me that I was wrong. That you weren’t as cold as you maybe seemed to me at the time. That you opened your home to let him crash for a while. And that you opened your wallet to help him get the medical support he needed.”

You both fiddle with the labels on your beer bottles.

“Sometimes we’re all they have,” you say mournfully, and Namjoon nods.

You watch each other. It’s surprisingly comfortable to be around one another. Almost too easy.

“If things had been different,” he says, “I think we definitely would have been friends.”

A couple of undergraduate students creep up behind Namjoon. Your eyes flick over to them, prompting Namjoon to turn around.

“Hi, Professor 11,” one giggles, before they scamper off.

Namjoon turns around, blushing fiercely and smiling awkwardly.

“What was that?” you ask, eyes wide, mouth salivating at the chance to mock him.

“It’s nothing,” he mutters.

“It’s definitely something,” you laugh. “They’re still staring at you.”

Namjoon sighs. “Have you heard of Hot or Not for Teacher?”

“What the fuck?” you ask. You haven’t, but it already sounds terrible.

“It’s exactly what you think it is,” Namjoon says.

You pick up your phone and find the website. It’s just a search bar, and when you search Namjoon’s name, you’re taken to a page with hundreds of posts and ratings. Students are sharing notes about his classes and what to expect, which you think is nice. But there’s also a rating scale at the top in the shape of a volcano, and it’s meant to calculate how attractive the students think that professor is. The scale goes from 0 to 10. Apparently, 11s are saved for the likes of Namjoon, who has received so many 10s that his volcano icon is animated, bursting and dripping with lava.

“Jesus,” you say. “This is incredibly demeaning and completely against the spirit of what we do.”

Namjoon smirks. “Just search for yourself. You know you want to.”

You frown.

You do.

You secretly fear that you’re a 0.

You truthfully expect a 5 or 6. You know how to put yourself together, especially when you have the right accessories.

And you find out you’re a 10.

“What?” you ask. “That can’t be right.”

Namjoon smiles at you. “Hmm.”

“Hmm, what?” you ask, annoyed.

“You didn’t question my rating a second ago. Does that mean you agree that I’m an 11?”

For the first time in quite some time, you’re speechless. You sit there, poised as if you have something to say, but you don’t.

He laughs and takes it as a compliment. “So, what’s your rating?”

“10,” you say, still confused.

“No, that’s right. If anything, it’s low,” Namjoon says with a flirty smirk before he takes another sip.

Your heart thumps.

You stare at him blankly.

“But… but students are always weird around me,” you say. “Like Taehyung. I caught him saying something about me to Jimin earlier.”

“He was talking about how attractive you are,” Namjoon snickers. “And, since you brought him up, there’s your pet Jeon Jungkook.”

“My pet?”

“Yeah. He, uh, given our names, he...”

You can’t explain it, but it’s not like you feel sad every time Jin comes up. It hits you randomly, in waves. And in this context, it’s not so sore.

“Did he ask you if we were married?” you ask.

Namjoon laughs, relieved. “Yeah. And then he asked if you were single. And when I didn’t answer that, he muttered something else.” He looks a bit embarrassed. “It was something that was meant as a compliment.”

“Yeah, right,” you say, though you do think of Jungkook’s cute slip from earlier.

“Do you… do you really not know?” Namjoon asks, looking at you seriously now.

“Know? What? What is there to know?” you ask.

He leans forward and gestures to you to meet him halfway.

Before he speaks, he notices something. His fingers climb into your hair and pluck a piece of his answer card confetti from it. He sets it down on the table, and he touches it with the tip of his index finger, swirling it in a slow, small circle on the tabletop.

His eyes are inescapable.

“Well, whether you believe it or not, you’re a hot professor.”

You blush.

You both settle back in your seats. You spend the next few minutes just reading each other. This whole mood is way different than any other moment in time that you’ve shared. No one’s yelling. No one’s scowling. You’re just… smiling.

“I think I’m gonna go,” you say, feeling nervous.

“It’s late,” Namjoon says. “Can I walk you to your car?”

You try to shield how excited that makes you. “Um, sure.”

For some reason, you think to scan the pub for Yoongi and Hoseok. You don’t see them or Jimin and Taehyung anywhere.

You slip your coats on and head out the back. Just in case.

You walk at a slow pace, side by side, staring straight ahead. You keep your arms to yourself, his hands in his pockets, and your arms crossed over your chest to keep out the cold.

The campus is beautiful and still at night. Street lamps help light the way. There’s also the soft, blue glow of the emergency stations every so often, like mile markers on your journey. You know you will pass about three more before the path splits, one leading to your building, and the other leading to the faculty parking lot.

“Are your feet OK?” Namjoon asks, glancing down at your heels.

“Oh, they’re fine. Thanks for asking, though,” you say.

Namjoon nods.

“I like campus at night,” he goes on. “I like it when it’s quiet. Like when the students are away for break. It’s so peaceful.”

“Yeah,” you agree. “It has a magical quality to it.”

Namjoon smiles. “Yeah.”

“But have I kept you out too late?” you ask. “Do you have a long drive?”

“No, I live just over half an hour south of here,” he responds. “You?”

“About five miles east,” you say.

“That’s practically no commute!” he says in astonishment.

“Yeah, right,” you say, “with as congested as it gets here? Especially in the mornings?”

He nods.

You walk for a little while longer.

“Can I ask you a personal question?” he says.

The way he prefaces the question clues you into the fact that this question will probably be the Jin question. You don’t feel particularly pained by it now, thanks to the alcohol, and maybe a little thanks to the flirting. There’s no one around, so you venture into this territory with him.

“What do you want to know?”

Namjoon looks at the ground again.

“What happened with Jin? You seemed so perfect for each other.”

You know that’s how it seemed. Because that’s how it was for a while.

“I think I drove him crazy,” you answer. “He just… didn’t get me.”

“Oh.” Namjoon looks at you. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s OK,” you say, looking back at him. “It’s for the best.”

You walk a little more, and as you near the fork in the path, Namjoon clicks his tongue.

“Shit. Do you mind if we take a quick detour?” he asks. “I just remembered that I left my phone in my office earlier. I was going to get it on my way back after trivia.”

“I don’t mind,” you say, and you follow him back to your building.

You smile at each other when you get on the elevator.

The hallway is completely dark when you reach your floor. When it’s earlier in the evening, the lights are activated by motion sensors. Because it’s so late, they’re off for the night.

“Hang on,” you say, pulling out your phone and guiding the way.

Namjoon sighs. “It’s a good thing you came with me,” he says.

You head over to his office, and he unlocks the door. You stand in the hallway as he uses the light from the street lamps coming in from his window to retrace his steps.

“Can you see?” you ask.

Namjoon bumps his knee on the edge of his bookshelf.

“I’ll take that as a no,” you say.

He curses to himself, and you laugh. You find him so handsome like this, slightly irritated, but generally good-natured, sleeves rolled up, eyes looking determined, his body outlined by the lamp light.

“Here,” you say softly, trying to stifle the heat rising from your core, “let me help.”

You enter his office, and for some reason, you close the door quietly behind you. You sidle up to him, by his desk, and shine the light for him to see.

“Here it is,” Namjoon says, finding it by his pen cup.

He turns around, and he startles at how close you are.

You linger, but then you become self-conscious, so you move to step back.

To your surprise, Namjoon sets his phone down and reaches his hand out for you, grasping your elbow and pulling you into him.

“Jin’s a fucking idiot,” he whispers to you. “You drive me crazy. Every day. In the best, most all-consuming way.”

You look up at him in wonder.

Suddenly, you’re kissing, and you’re surprised at how good it feels. You feel his hands running all over your body, like they’ve been curious about it all along. You love how warm he feels, exuding some kind of strange, inebriating energy that’s impossible to ignore or resist. It penetrates you, making your muscles tingle as his hold on you gets tighter and more urgent.

And then your hands reach down for Namjoon’s tricky zipper.

Read | 02: Syllabus →

Office Hours | Masterpost