A/N: So I did it, after weeks of suffering. I don’t really like it so I might rewrite it next month when I actually have time bc the smut sucks. But aside from that, this is dedicated to my internet potato buddy Elle AKA @thedemigoddeatheater! HAPPY BIRTHDAY MEME QUEEN! (also, excuse any errors,I was in a bit of a rush, but I’ll go back and edit everything over the weekend)
forgetting is so long”
The velvet envelope you reveal from your pocket feels like
tangible guilt in your hands. Even with all of its bend and creases, battered
around in the delivery process, it remains a symbol of a promising future, of
the goal you’d been trying to reach.
Panic urges you to rip it to shreds.
Instead, you just about shove the mail across the kitchen table to
Namjoon, who only quirks a quizzical eyebrow at your bewildered expression. A
moment of silence passes as he reads the address, does a double take, and meets
your expectant gaze with a dazed expression of his own.
“Holy shit,” Namjoon whispers, running his thumb along the crease
of the envelope in awe. He lets out a low whistle. “Holy shit!”
“Yeah, I know,” you scowl, burying your face in your hands.
Namjoon leans back in his chair and flicks open the envelope,
letting the paper slip into his open palm. After skimming through the
document, he makes a funny expression.
“What was it again, that you did to get this?” He asks. “A letter
of recommendation? A full ride scholarship to the most prestigious
performing art school in the country?”
You can only groan in response, the words making your stomach
coil. “What kind of ‘prodigal showmanship and excellency’ did you
display at Jeon Jungkook’s apartment, exactly?”
Reaching across the table to smack your roommate in the arm, you
hear him laugh as he flinches away and tosses the letter back onto the table.
You don’t bother to move your hands from your face, even as Namjoon comes
around to drag your chair from the kitchen table to face him, bracing his hands
on the back of the chair as he leans over you.
“Hey, kid,” He murmurs. “I’m proud of you,”
“Who are you calling kid?” Your face flushes red and you aim a
kick at his leg, mumbling, “You’re only a few years older than me,”
Namjoon simply winces through gritted teeth and ignores the pain
to gather you into a hug. You reluctantly reciprocate, curling your fingers
into the material of his flannel. The two of you stand like this for a moment,
and you’re afraid to let go; afraid of him seeing the shameful look he already
knows is there. Your friend pokes you in the ribs to bring you back to reality,
and you bite your tongue to conceal your squeak.
“So what are you going to do about it?” He prods, and when you
don’t reply, he holds you at arm’s length, a hand gripping your chin to force
your attention on him. “You have to thank him eventually,”
You sigh forlornly, running a tired hand through your hair and
shrugging off his hold. “I know, I will,”