Yoongi was nowhere to be found when Namjoon entered their apartment, so today, he occupied the couch. Placing the sheets of paper on the coffee table, he went to the kitchen to make some coffee. Tomorrow was the next session of his project, so he needed to finish all those texts today.

After two hours of reading and commenting, the door cracked open and a red-cheeked, smiling Yoongi walked in. Namjoon looked at his flatmate in open disbelieve. The vampire had moved his ass out of the castle? In daylight?

Namjoon awoke from his frozen state of staring when he heard a soft bark. On a short red leash that dangled from Yoongi's wrist hung a small dog that looked like a teddy bear. Just different. But with the same fur.

"What the fuck, Yoongi," he blurted.

Looking at the dog, he shook his head in disbelief.

"You always told me to get someone to take care of," his roomy said and smiled happily. "So, I bought a puppy."

"I can see that," Namjoon replied, unsure of what to think.

"I already took him for a walk two times, and I bought vegetables on the way," his flatmate brabbled.

Namjoon nodded absentmindedly. "Hopefully, he won't starve you like he starves himself while working," he talked to the puppy.

"His name's Holly," Yoongi announced proudly and unleashed the new flatmate. The small dog came running over to Namjoon and sniffed his feet.

"I won't clean after him, I won't feed him, I won't take him for a walk," Namjoon clarified, "He's completely and utterly your responsibility."

Yoongi rolled his eyes but mumbled a 'Got it' before he followed his dog to where Namjoon sat.

"No Holly, stop!" he heard his flatmate and his eyes snapped back to the dog. The puppy was eating his project. Hell no!

><

After rescuing his papers from the dog, Namjoon had resumed reading and was about to reach the bottom of the stack. Two more comments later, he picked up the knitted sheet of his special student and began to read.

The pages of the book he was reading rustled softly when he skipped to the next one. It was a wondrous sight because his strong hands with the long slim fingers that normally broke the chalk by holding it too tightly, caressed the paper like he was touching the wings of a butterfly. The hand that was not occupied by holding the book was propped on the table, playing with his rubber. Those never-resting fingers were the part that gave away his everlasting restlessness, which normally would manifest itself in his habit of touching his lips while thinking and gesturing wildly while talking.

The habit of touching his mouth, in fact, was what had forced my attention on his lips over and over again. Their almost perfect round shape was every girl's dream of possessing and every boy's dream of kissing. I never saw such perfect lips before. They seemed to carry a softness that was beyond the physical, they made him look gentle.

But if his lips had caused me to stare at him, his eyes were the reason I feared to do so. Above his slightly up-pointing nose, guarded by straight thick eyebrows, rested two eyes with soft dark lashes which currently were lowered on his book and flickered over the lines that seemed to absorb his mind. The soft wing-shaped bow of his eyelids hid the power of the mahogany orbs underneath. He might occur clumsy or even dorky sometimes, but when he would look at you, all the ungracefulness was gone, suddenly replaced by the unwavering and analyzing gaze of a smart man.

Locking eyes with him, for me, was like opening the doors to a giant old library. The suffocating feeling of being small and unworthy in front of closely packed knowledge and old wisdom had me question his age whenever he would spare me a glance. And his crooked smiles, too, seemed to carry the shrewdness worthy of several long lifes. This contrasted quite beautifully with the almost childlike awe or confusion which occasionally wiped away all signs of age and superiority.

He carried the ambivalence like a second skin, was its personification. He was an old child, a grown-up who still possessed the power of curiosity. Maybe that was why he preferred the student-like outfit which he wore like an invisibility cloak. He was trapped between being a teacher and feeling like a student.

More often than not, I found myself searching for the man with the juvenile undercut and the fiddling hands while I walked the hallways with my friends, always scared to meet the deep as an ocean mahogany eyes that held this addicting glint of irony, always longing for those gentle lips on mine.

Namjoon wrestled down the emotions that fought inside his chest and forced himself to look at this text like a professional. It was much more than he had expected after the disastrous attempt of a sex scene from last time. The boy had some talent. And though he went slightly overboard with including habits and an interpretation of those, the outcome was stunning. The kid had an eye for details. 

Namjoon concluded that making the students concentrate on one person instead of a whole scene had been a good idea, albeit Taehyung's text made him nervous. He was not sure if he really wanted a sex scene with himself as the protagonist, because it was obviously him Taehyung had described, but things must and Namjoon had a plan. He wrote some comments on the knitted sheet and stowed the paper in his briefcase like the others. Next, he would make them rewrite their first scene.

>><<

It feels like I'm bragging about my own texts. This feels kinda strange. Didn't think that through.