Hi, can you do 25 with Yoongi please ? Thank you
Yoongi, 25; “I don’t always hide beneath your desk, sir, but when I do I feel very safe” AU
You’re quickly starting to figure out that this game makes everyone paranoid. Granted, anything titled “Assassin” is probably going to do that, but when it’s campus-wide and literally anyone could be out to kill you, things get a lot worse. You’ve heard about these games going on for up to two months, because there are certain limitations on when someone can and can’t be killed, and the upperclassmen have gotten quite good at the loopholes. This is your first year, and the few upperclassmen that you know are impressed that you’ve already killed three targets; the youngest grade are usually the first to go.
But now…you’ve heard from a reliable source that the person targeting you shares your dorm, and so you’ve taken it upon yourself to hide until lights out, because then you can slip up to your room in darkness and lock the door. You killed your third target just the other day, and they passed on their target’s name so you could make plans, so all you have to do is wait for your morning class tomorrow—you know for a fact they’re zombified in the morning, and the teachers put up with the game before class officially starts.
You’re huddled beneath the desk by the doors to the dorm, the one manned by students for shitty pay but a chance to do homework and occasionally let someone into the building when they’ve forgotten their ID. Whoever works the desk at the moment is away, presumably in the bathroom or on break or something, so you sit somewhat anxiously, terrified to even pull out your phone lest you get distracted and don’t notice your killer approaching.
The sound of footsteps approaching has your breath catching in your throat, especially when they near the desk and suddenly you can see a pair of ratty black Converse and black jeans walk up to the desk. It’s a guy, that much you can tell, so you relax just a little because you know your assassin is a girl in junior year, but you’d rather not be found for as long as possible.
So when the guy sits and scoots his chair up to the desk, you shift as quietly as you can to make room for his Converse. You misjudge the space you have, though, and one of your feet hits the underside of the desk and you wince and freeze and stare with wide eyes as a pale hand appears, followed shortly by a blond head, and the guy slides out of his chair to crouch by the desk and raise an eyebrow at you.
“Waiting until lights out?”
He’s whispering, and you’re grateful if a little surprised; he’s definitely an upperclassman, and they usually band together to defeat the lower grades until it’s a competition between the elder students. When you nod he flashes a little smile and you have to admit to yourself that he’s really attractive, all pale skin and piercing dark eyes and gummy smile.
“I won’t give you away, don’t worry. Make yourself comfortable and I’ll keep anyone else away from you.”
Your shoulders slump in relief as you sigh, and he just smiles reassuringly again and disappears back to his work. It takes a few minutes for you to relax enough to do anything but study his Converse and the scuffs and what could be paint stains on them, the hems of his jeans stretched from obviously having been worn quite often, and he’s got nice calf muscles. Listen, that’s the only thing you have to look at, so of course you’re bound to notice things like that. Eventually you pull your phone from your pocket and proceed to play games on it, and with some trial and error you work out a little system with the guy working at the desk, where any time you need to shift or make a little bit of noise you tap on his ankle and he starts typing on the clattery keyboard to disguise whatever sounds you make.
He becomes a comforting presence, him and his pretty legs and old shoes and the pianist's’ hands that appear every now and then in a thumbs-up that stays until you give one in return so he can be sure you’re okay, and after an hour and a half he drops a packet of snacks casually and you know it’s meant for you because right after that he starts playing music from the little speaker you saw when you first crawled under this desk, some hip-hop thing you think might be from that junior that constantly has his original stuff on the student radio station. It masks the crinkle of the wrapping and the noise you make while you eat, though you try to be as quiet as possible, and then, finally, when you think your world has shrunk to only include this desk and this boy’s legs and cramps in your knees from being curled up for too long, he slips from his chair to grin at you once more.
“You made it,” he whispers, with another of those gummy smiles. “Lights out is in about thirty seconds, and I’ll walk you back to your room if you want.”
You smile at him in return. “Thank you so much for this.”
He shrugs. “I always did hate that the underclassmen have such a shitty chance at this. Might as well help where I can.”
He reaches out one of those slender hands to you and helps you from your spot, steadies you when your legs almost give out in protest as you stand for the first time in about three hours, chuckles when you draw back in embarrassment when you throw your arms around him to keep from falling. He nods to the other guy coming to replace him for the night shift, flicks the lights off in the hallways that you walk through as you lead the way to your room. You stop outside your door, turn to him and squint at his features in the dim lighting.
“I don’t always hide beneath your desk, sir, but when I do I feel very safe.”
He chuckles again and you think you might melt, because the sound is low and throaty and really attractive. “You’re welcome any day for as long as this game goes. I work the same hours every day, and you can bring homework or something if you want.”
You grin. “I might take you up on that offer.” You can’t really tell, but the smile he wears now might just be pleased.
“I’m Yoongi,” he says finally. “Min Yoongi.” He interrupts when you start to say your name. “I know. I was the one to let you in the building that day it was raining and you looked like you were going to cry and you told me your laptop got dropped in a puddle and had the only copy of that paper that was due in like two hours, and I’ve thought you were cute ever since then, especially when you wander downstairs to get coffee at two in the morning. Underclassmen shouldn’t pull all-nighters that often.”
Now you’re glad it’s dark, for more than just the rules of the game of Assassin, so he can’t see the embarrassment on your features.
“Just a tip, avoid crowded spaces for as long as you survive in this game. Less chance of your assassin sneaking up on you just by way of the crush of people. But after that, you could also take me up on the offer to get coffee at a more reasonable hour?”
A week later someone’s sprinting by you, presumably to get to class on time, and runs a finger across the back of your neck, wheels around and smirks at you and comes to get your target from you, and you’re not even entirely upset because it means you get coffee with Yoongi the next day when it could have been another week, and after that you no longer bother hiding under his desk but set up a comfortable spot on the floor by the desk so you can study while he works.
The kiss he gives you when you leave for the summer is almost enough to get you through the months until you’re back in the same dorm and his arms, this time already planning to team up to win the game when it comes around at the end of the year.
This is,,,,late and probably not the best, but hello I am back from quite a break and who knows how reliable I will be once school starts again and I am managing every theatre show but I will do my best I swear to not disappear like this again. Wow. My sincerest apologies.
