"I want to hear the sound of my name coming from your voice."

~GOT7

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So, what's your poison? Cosmopolitan? Tequila sunrise? Whiskey on the rocks? You have your pick for the night. That is, whatever the Dogwood has to serve, anyway.

You currently have your arms looped around your friends', one on the left and one on the right, being as loud and obnoxious as possible in the middle of 6th Street. I struggle to keep up from a safe distance; I forgot how unbearable the Austin nightlife is on a Friday night.

The world is my oyster when it comes to the internet, and once again, I find your whereabouts through a simple location tag. With a little more digging, I find that you're rather close to me, so I think, why shouldn't I see what you're up to? After all, you let your location be visible to everyone who follows you.

Thank god for the 21st century.

The one on the left of you, a slim girl with short, auburn hair, keeps pulling on your arm.

"Stop walking so fast!" she whines. "You know you have longer legs than me!" You sigh, exasperated.

"How about you stop walking so slow? You don't want someone to take up our usual spot, do you?"

"No, I guess not..." she murmurs. She still clings to you like you're her favorite doll. "Anyway, I'm really glad we came out tonight, even though Kookie couldn't join us. We need to get together more often."

Oh, good. I didn't want to look after my competition tonight, anyway.

The one on your right—a bright, cherry-haired boy—scoffs. There's something in the way he carries himself that screams good breeding.

"We go out almost every Friday night, Lily! And, besides, some of us have a GPA to protect. I can't afford to lose any more brain cells than I already have from hanging out with you," he jokes.

Rolling her eyes, Lily replies, "Trust me, you can afford it. You could afford, like, five Prada stores if you wanted to."

"You know I hate it when you talk about my financial affairs!"

"Is that what you call it now? I thought last week's euphemism for rich as all hell was pecuniary matters."

"Nana, tell Lily to stop bullying me!" he cries, stomping his feet against the pavement.

You motion to the entrance of The Dogwood, a bright smile adorning your face.

"Alright, come on, kids. Save the fighting for the last half of the night," you say, and they obey, if only to stop wasting their breath and get wasted on alcohol. Keeping my footsteps as light as possible, I follow in shortly afterward.

It's like a jungle once we enter, and I barely resist the urge to walk right back out.

Tigers lick their chops as they stalk their scantily-clad prey from afar. Monkeys shriek and babble incoherent nonsense at anyone who will listen, already drunk on their own hubris. Chameleons blend into the background, invisible to those around them by choice and forever going unnoticed. Once the peacocks are turning the other direction, they use the opportunity to get their sly fingers around a watch or necklace as if it's the most natural thing in the world.

Perhaps those who can blend into the background are the most dangerous of all.

Once everyone sits down, you get the bartender's attention.

"You guys do malibu sunsets here?" you ask him, and he flashes you a flirtatious smile.

He replies, "We do now, beautiful," and turns back around to fix you the drink. I can't miss the slightly disgusted look that plagues your face. I take it that this isn't the first time you've heard unsolicited advances toward you.

But can you blame him? Your lithe body looks so sinful in that crop top, and there's something so sensual in the way you tap your nails against the wood. It drives me crazy looking at you from so far away, and I can think of a thousand ways of taking you right here and now.

As your other friends order their drinks, you take out your phone from your purse. My eyebrows shoot up; this could be the chance to execute the plan I never knew I had. I inch toward you, my body as tense as a bowstring in fear of being spotted, but this is too important to not take the risk. I lean in all the more closer, enough to smell your hair.

Rose and honey. Oh, and a touch of tea tree.

You type in your code, fast as lightning, but I manage to catch it.

0917. It's undoubtedly your birthday. September 17th. I'll have to remember that.

You purse your lips at something at your screen, then put your phone back in your purse, turning to the bar and sip on your malibu sunset with your head down as your fingers caress the stem of the glass. The swirling colors of lemon and peach are not indicative of your mood.

Now, I wouldn't be a good partner if I didn't pay attention to your needs, if I didn't read your body language, would I?

I know exactly what you need, and I'll take care of it. I'll take care of you.

I mutter a quick excuse me as I bump your shoulder, earning a rather harsh glare from you.

Don't give me that look, Naomi. This is all for you. You'll see soon enough.

And besides, you shouldn't be looking at me. You should currently be digging through your purse wondering where your phone went, not knowing that the rude stranger not only bumped into you, but swiped it in the process.

I smirk. Amateur hour.

I type in your passcode, and immediately, your whole world is open to me. From your background screen to your most intimate text messages, I can see it all. Despite myself, I get curious, and I start to snoop through the photos in your album, and boy, was I in for a surprise.

At first, it's not anything special, with pictures of family, friends, and the occasional selfie sprinkled in for good measure. You seem to have multiple copies of the same photo, something that drives me crazy as a neat freak.

Then, I stumble upon the hidden album. I've never used it on my phone, but it turns out, you use it quite a bit. When I type in the passcode required to access it, a treasure trove of "information" comes up. You know, the type of things you'd expect to find in a hidden album.

Oh, Naomi. Up close and personal like this, it's so much better than the little glimpse of skin I saw through your window.

I never knew phone cameras could capture so many angles. You're a flexible little thing, aren't you?

I shift around uncomfortably as I feel my jeans tightening around my crotch. Not here. Not now.

"Hey, do you know where my phone is?" I hear you ask in the distance.

"I thought you just had it," Hoseok replies with an air of nonchalance. "Did you check on the bar table?" You nod your head, getting more frantic by the second.

"You think I left it out on a table or something? I swear I just had it..."

Fuck. Gotta move faster. Exiting out of your camera roll, I go to your texts and search for anything that could point me in the right direction.

What would you name him? Daddy, or maybe a simple heart? No, I know you. You would keep it simple, plain, even, making it stand out in the throng of kissy faces and food emojis you throw around for every other contact. You would be ashamed to add someone like that to the normalcy of your life, thus removing every trace of humanity in the display name, until it becomes nothing more than an alert for future "appointments".

I scroll through chat after chat, (I mean, really, would it kill you to delete something once in a while?) trying not to pry into places that would distract me. It almost becomes too much to resist, but then, I hear your panicked voice penetrating my concentration, and I'm forced to leave my curiosity unsated.

Finally, I find him, marked as Professor Kim.

Bingo.

The messages back and forth are sparse, buoys of blue amidst a sea of grey. His texts are mostly thanking you for last night, or telling you we should do this again sometime. The last ones are from yesterday, about 20 minutes after he left your dorm.

Jesus. He can't even wait an hour before texting you. That's what's called desperation, Naomi.

Professor Kim
I had fun tonight ;)

Naomi
me 2.

Naomi
client list ETA...?

Professor Kim
Sent.

Ah, so that's what you were pursing your lips at. Despite myself, a small smile tugs on my lips; he's obviously disappointed that you don't display the same enthusiasm for the deed.

Once I assess your text speak, so to say, I type out a new message.

Naomi
wanna meet up?

The reply is swift. He probably has a separate ringtone for you, or something, that waste of good bone structure.

Professor Kim
Now?

Pig. He would have left his wife and kid in the middle of the night to meet a college girl.

Naomi
nooo i'm legit swamped with hw lol...
maybe tomorrow?

Professor Kim
Sure. Where and when?

Naomi
mmm does 11PM at amy's ice cream on soco work for you?

Professor Kim
Yes. I'll see you then.

After deleting my messages and his, I sneak up behind you—your friends oblivious to my being there—and slip the phone back into your purse. After a long night of drinking your sorrows away, you'll find it where it belonged, thinking yourself to be the fool all along.

I take one last peek at you before I leave. You look like an angel with your head thrown back, laughing at a dumb joke you never would have found funny if you were sober. Your periwinkle hair shines even in the hazy glow of the bar, and I find myself falling irrevocably more in love with you.

I turn toward the flickering exit sign. I would stay longer, but there's a problem I have to take care of first.

And then, we'll have all the time in the world. Just you and me.

I walk out of the bar, readying myself for the enormous task ahead.

See you soon, Professor.

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안녕 여러분! What did you think
about this chapter? Good? Bad?
Somehow both? Let me know in the
comments below!

I wonder what'll happen to Namjoon...
guess you'll have to find out 👀

QOTD: what is your fav track from
MOTS:7?

I LOVE My Time. Oh my god.
I mean I love all of them, but
there's something about that song
that really speaks to me. Filter is also
a great one!

Until next time, happy reading!

Love,
Haneul