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Namjoon really didn’t want to go to the housewarming party next door. Like really really didn’t want to go. But they have a kid your age, Namjoon his mother had nagged – so what? He’d probably meet the other kid in the library, at the bus stop, in class, or, if he was feeling really adventurous one day, at the park. Why did he have to go awkwardly introduce himself to some new kid on the first day he moved in? Housewarming parties were for a bunch of adults to mill around, complain about the neighborhood teenagers, gossip about the weird old guy living down the street, and inconspicuously scope each other’s baked goods out for the baking competition every year. He’d rather stay inside and read or do his summer homework than hear one more word from his mother about how Ms. Miller’s cupcakes had one-quarter teaspoon too much sugar. No thanks.
But they just moved from Korea! his mother persisted when Namjoon rolled his eyes. Guess he could be awkward with the new kid in two languages instead of one. Awesome. Just awesome. Besides, just because they’re both Korean doesn’t mean he’s automatically going to become best friends with him. Jin, Yoongi, Hoseok, Jungkook, and Taehyung weren’t his only friends because they were Korean. No way. They just understood him.
He only relented when his mother threatened to make him clean the bathrooms if he didn’t go to next door with her. With options of (1) clean the bathrooms or (2) be socially awkward and eat free food, he begrudgingly chose the latter. It was close—real close. Maybe the new kid wasn’t totally awful, he tried to assure himself while lacing up his shoes. Maybe he liked to read books, maybe he wanted to join math club, maybe he had more videogames than the three his parents let him buy? He had to have some sort of redeeming quality, he convinced himself while waiting for his mother at the door.
And so that’s how he found himself standing at new kid’s front door with a plate full of chocolate-chip cookies that his mom made. It was the first American recipe she mastered, so she made them every time someone new moved in. She of course insisted that he had to present them to the neighbors because she loved to torture him. You need to make new friends, his mother scolded him during the short walk over—what if he already liked his old friends? She was always so difficult. She didn’t understand him.
Making it past the front door wasn’t so bad; his mom did most of the talking to new kid’s mom, only getting around to Namjoon after they had both raved about how the flowered hedges between their houses were blooming well this year and all that other boring yard stuff. Hydrangeas and petunias and dandelion weeds… pfft, this is why he didn’t want to go. At this rate, he’d never be released from his mother’s vice grip on his social life. Eventually, Mrs. Park insisted that he come introduce himself to her son; honestly, it didn’t seem like such a bad idea considering how hot and muggy it was outside and how cool and refreshing it was inside.
No adults yet—they must have been early. Mrs. Park guided them toward the kitchen, and Namjoon finally spotted the elusive new kid at the dining room table. He was the one that brought about this entire trip to social awkwardness hell and back, he grumbled. Namjoon was hoping to just say hi, complain about having to do homework to his mom, and then leave.
It was never that easy. New kid had chestnut-brown hair that was styled to reveal a little bit of his forehead. His cheeks were a little chubby, and he looked like he was deep in thought because he was biting on his lower lip while playing with a pen that for some reason made his hands look really small. Actually, everything about him looked small: the way his eyes were squinting at the paper as if it would give him a better view of the homework in front of him, the way his legs tucked into the chair beneath him without even straining to fit them there, the way he hunched over his assignment like only two things existed in the world, him and his homework. New kid finally looked up when his mother walked over and whispered something quietly into his ear.
“Namjoon, this is Jimin,” Mrs. Park said in English, hovering near her son. Jimin waved from his seat, a large smile spreading across his face that made his eyes disappear into little slits. “He doesn’t know any English,” his mother explained.
He nodded in response, starting to walk over toward the table where Jimin was working. There was something about this kid, the way he acted and the way he carried himself, that made him seem like the wide-eyed naïve student who treated everyone like they were his friend. He seemed so gullible, so trusting. Jimin followed him with his eyes, and he could tell there was a glimmer of awe in them. It was kinda annoying, but also kinda cute.
“Hi, I’m Namjoon,” he introduced himself in Korean while taking a seat across from the other boy. His voice was level and sober, devoid of any excitement about having to do this.
If Jimin sensed it, he didn’t care: “I’m Jimin!” he excitedly replied in Korean. “Are you in high school?”
“Yeah, I’m a senior,” Namjoon disinterestedly answered. The other kid’s voice was light and airy and full of energy; he wanted to pretend like it wasn’t the most adorably annoying thing ever, and so far it was going okay.
“Oh, that makes you my hyung! I’m a sophomore.”
He just nodded. Maybe Jimin will do all the talking—thankfully, he did. Jimin took the silence as an invitation, a challenge maybe: “I just got here from Korea today. It was such a long flight, there was so much turbulence. My mom gave me a sleeping pill, and I honestly don’t even remember landing or driving here. But now I’m wide awake!” he giggled. “All of my stuff still hasn’t arrived yet, so I’m sleeping on the floor tonight, if I can sleep at all.”
“Is that why you’re doing homework?” Just make it through this, Namjoon, he told himself. Jimin definitely did not remind him of a cute puppy, nope. Just focus on homework. The end goal is homework at home. Homework at home.
“Yeah, I have a lot of homework and nothing else to do.”
“Do you really not know any English?”
The younger boy looked away, probably embarrassed. “Yeah. I really want to le—”
Jimin was interrupted mid-sentence by his stomach crying out for food, and the chestnut-hair boy blushed again.
“Hmm.” Namjoon got up and walked over to their two moms who were talking in the kitchen, leaving a confused Jimin alone at the table.
“Namjoon! You shouldn’t leave Jimin alone like that!” his mother scolded him in English.
“Well, um, actually Jimin said he was hungry so I was wondering if we could go down the ice cream place down the street? I could show him around the neighborhood on the way there, too.”
His mom’s face instantly softened as he pulled out her wallet from her purse: “Oh, I’m sorry honey, that sounds like a great idea.”
“I agree,” Jimin’s mom nodded.
“Here’s some money for the ice cream. Don’t be gone too long!”
“Sure thing,” he replied nonchalantly, walking back over to Jimin while shoving the money in his pocket.
“Wanna go get ice cream?” he asked, trying to keep himself composed.
Jimin’s eyes lit up. The kid really was a big fluffball of sunshine: overly optimistic, perfectly studious, genuinely caring, and adorably small. His head bobbed excitedly as he nodded yes to his hyung, fluffy brown hair flying all over his head. Why did he sign up for this?
“Let’s go,” Namjoon instructed, heading toward the door. It was only when Jimin caught up to him that he realized just how small the younger boy was: he was a full head shorter than him. It was almost endearing how small and cuddly Jimin looked. If only he didn’t have to hate him, he told himself.
“The ice cream shop is just down the street, Jiminnie,” Namjoon commented as they exited Jimin’s house, surprising even himself with the appended pet name. It took him three months to start using “Tae” instead of “Taehyung” and here he was actually coming up with a nickname in five seconds on his own. “It’s like three minutes away,” voice shaking as he finished explaining.
“Wow, so close!” he replied. “I’m going to get so fat living here,” Jimin continued while giggling. He couldn’t help but smile back while they were walking.
“Your dimples are so cute, hyung!” Namjoon blushed.
That did it. Why was he falling so hard for this cute little Korean boy? He had met him not even five minutes ago, and he was already giving him pet names, his heart was fluttering whenever the kid shared his infectious smile, and he was grinning like an idiot whenever he laughed—it was so unlike him. Usually it took him months to actually befriend someone, and like hell he was going to let his mom win by becoming friends with Park Jimin in the course of an hour. He would not let her have that victory, even if it meant collateral damage to little brown-haired sophomore. Taking a few deep breaths, he composed himself so that he could put his original plan in action—a lesson to his mom never to try and make friends for him again. Sorry, Jimin.
“Anyways, I figured I would teach you your first English word, Jiminnie,” he said coolly, voice getting much icier.
“Oooo, what is it?” Jimin was excited, eyes lighting up again and mouth starting to gape open a bit. Keep cool, Namjoon.
“This is the word for ‘hello’ in English. Repeat after me:”
“You’re pretty,” Namjoon smugly enunciated in English.
“Yorepritty?” Jimin tried, hooking the words together and placing a lot of emphasis on the first syllable.
Namjoon shook his head: “You’re,” he started.
“You’re,” Jimin repeated.
“Pretty.”
“Pretty.”
Namjoon smiled, nodding his head in approval.
“You’re pretty!” Jimin recited again, proud of learning his first English word. Er, first two words.
“Great job, Jiminnie,” Namjoon fawned in Korean, ruffling the younger’s hair adoringly. Jimin beamed back at him. Shit, keep it together Namjoon.
“Thank you, hyung!”
Jimin ran up ahead to where the ice cream parlor was, probably noticing the sign with an ice cream cone-shaped logo. He was so excited for ice cream—and to use his new word. With Namjoon a fair bit back, Jimin walked up to some random dude chaining his bicycle up in front of the shop:
“You’re pretty,” he excitedly greeted.
The guy only looked back at him confusedly, finishing chaining his bike hurriedly and speed-walking away, sparing only a momentary look over the shoulder to poor Jimin.
Yet the brunette seemed unfazed. He beamed at Namjoon as the older caught up and then rushed inside the store ahead of him. The plan was working, Namjoon assured himself, but something felt wrong in the pit of his stomach.
Jimin and Namjoon were the only two inside the small ice cream shop. The owner knew Namjoon from his frequent—maybe too frequent—visits, smiling at the older boy.
“Hello, Namjoon,” the older lady welcomed him. “Did you bring a friend?”
“You’re pretty!” Jimin interjected.
“Oh, um, he’s not really my friend,” Namjoon tried to assure the confused woman. “He just got here from Korea, so I wanted to show him around the neighborhood. He gets English words confused a lot,” he tried to explain.
“Ah, I see,” she replied, still slightly startled. “Well, what would you like, hun?”
In Korean, Namjoon started to explain which flavors were which, adding how the lady had said hi back in English with a different word. Jimin eventually decided on mint chocolate chip and Namjoon got his usual order: cake batter. Starting to walk back home from the ice cream parlor, Jimin devoured his ice cream, licking the cone like an excited puppy. Namjoon ordinarily would have eaten his ice cream fast too, but something was making him lose his appetite.
After eating the last of his waffle cone, Jimin danced up ahead of Namjoon, skipping around the sidewalk. It was so endearingly cute, but Namjoon snapped out of his trance once the cake batter-flavored ice cream started melting onto his finger gripping his own waffle cone. He licked at the liquidy dessert until something made him stop:
“You’re pretty!~ You’re pretty!~” Jimin started singing up ahead of him, earning weird glares and glances from other people walking down the street.
Namjoon felt a little sick again, dumping his ice cream in a trash can before Jimin ran back to him.
“Thank you so much hyung for teaching me my first English word!~” he said in Korean, eyes still bright and happy. He was completely oblivious to all the confused stares.
“Yeah, uh, no problem.”
“Will you teach me more words, hyung?”
“Maybe when we get home, Jiminnie.”
“Shit,” he said under his breath in English. Jimin just hummed as they walked back in silence to Jimin’s house.
As soon as the flowered hedges drew within view, Jimin skipped on up ahead again, slipping his shoes off hurriedly just inside the house before running past all the adults who were visitng now and into the kitchen to find their mothers. Namjoon had barely made it into the house when Jimin started to ramble about their adventure to the ice cream parlor. The sinking feeling was getting worse.
“Wow, you’re back so soon!” Mrs. Park commented in Korean.
“Yeah, the ice cream shop was really close! And the ice cream was really good, I ate it all on the way back. Namjoon-hyung taught me how to say ‘hello’ in English, too!”
“Oh really?”
“Yeah!”
“You’re pretty,” Jimin said in English.
Namjoon arrived in the kitchen just in time to see Mrs. Park’s face get all confused and his own mom’s face turn from a smile to a frown. He was so dead.
“Minnie, that doesn’t mean hello,” Jimin’s mom explained in Korean. “That means ‘you’re pretty.’”
“Wait, but Namjoon-hyung told me it meant ‘hello.’” Jimin looked back at his hyung standing behind him. Namjoon couldn’t even look at the hurt puppy-dog eyes, instead staring at the hardwood floor beneath him. “Namjoon-hyung, did – did you lie?” he asked, voice cracking.
He couldn’t say anything—not to kicked-puppy Jimin. He could only look back at the younger boy with wide, apologetic eyes, seeing his mother seething behind Jimin and a concerned Mrs. Park. With the words stuck in his throat, he could tell Jimin was caving in front of him, eyes getting glassier and wetter until the younger boy just broke. Jimin ran out of the kitchen toward the hallway leading to the bedrooms, his own eyes not leaving Jimin’s floppy brown sad hair. He didn’t even get a moment to process what had happened before his mother started unloading on him in English.
“Namjoon, how dare you!? I trust you to go get ice cream with him for ten minutes and you completely embarrass him in front of god knows how many people! You need to go apologize to him this instant!”
“O-okay,” Namjoon conceded, dragging himself toward the hallway Jimin ran down.
“This instant, Namjoon” she repeated, her voice venomous with anger. “I’m so sorry, I don’t know what got into him,” he could hear his mom starting to say to Mrs. Park in the kitchen while he hightailed it toward the bedrooms in the back of the house.
Making his way past sealed cardboard boxes littering the floor, he kept walking until he passed a room that sounded like it had faint sniffling behind it. Shit, did he really do that? Why? Jimin was so nice and he had to make him look like an idiot. What kind of hyung was he?
Knocking quietly, he heard the audible sniffling stop but there was no response. He knocked again, but there was still no answer. He opened the door quietly to find a chestnut-brown hair splayed across a pillow while Jimin laid face-down on his bed. Exasperated muffled sobs were still escaping from the younger boy, who was shaking ever-so-slightly in place. Shit, he really did do this to poor Jiminnie.
“Jimin, I’m sorry,” he started in Korean, closing the door behind him.
Another sob. No response.
“I’m really really sorry,” he continued, sitting on the foot of the bed. “I was angry at my mom for making me come over today, but I took it out on you, and I’m sorry. You were nothing but nice to me, and all I did was ignore how kind you were and embarrass you in public.”
No sob this time. Still no response.
“Honestly, you’re the pretty one. Inside and outside. I’m just an ugly loser, inside and out. Especially for doing that to you.”
Jimin let a muffled gasp escape, slowly sitting up at the head of the bed to look back at his hyung with puffy and red eyes.
“If you still want me to teach you English, I will. No mean jokes this time, I promise.”
“Okay,” Jimin mumbled back.
“Okay?”
“Yeah, okay. I want you to teach me English.”
Namjoon smiled real wide, and Jimin scooted closer to him on the bed with a small smile of his own.
“Your dimples are pretty,” he cooed.