Chapter Text
Taehyung knew very little of Park Jimin except for her name and the unsettling fact that she never seemed to sleep. Taehyung didn’t sleep much either, but he knew the reason for that. He doubted that two people with anxiety-induced insomnia were likely to live on the same floor, let alone be neighbors, so he could rule that explanation out with 95% certainty (since he could never be too certain).
Park Jimin was his neighbor across the hall. She was the only one on the floor who’d written her name in perfect script beneath her door number, 315, so naturally everyone on the floor “knew” her. Of her, at least. She’d made cookies a few weeks ago on the day she moved in and left them outside everyone’s door.
Taehyung had tried to thank her many times - he’d never been able to find an oatmeal cookie that good ever since he had hers - but Park Jimin was never, ever home.
At first, he thought she was an old lady (who else makes oatmeal cookies?) but Park Jimin would be the most active old lady Taehyung had ever encountered. He’d never seen Park Jimin and doubted that anyone had. She left her apartment at 7 in the morning and returned at 7 at night for one hour before leaving again. Then, she’d return around 3AM and do it all over again the next day. Taehyung thought that she might not leave in the night on weekdays, but he’d been spending evenings in the art rooms at university for some sketching practice and had yet to catch her taking a day off - even weekends.
Taehyung felt a bit strange knowing Jimin’s schedule, but it wasn’t by choice. He didn’t sleep much, if at all, so he could almost always hear Jimin coming and going from her place across the hall. If he was home when she was, he didn’t want to disturb her sleeping (the hours of 4-7AM were definitely not appropriate for a first meeting) and she likely spent the one hour between 7 and 8 eating or something else important.
So, due to his own obligations and more-so because of his crippling social anxiety, Taehyung knew Park Jimin from a distance. But, fate was finally bringing them together at last, hence Tae’s recent fascination with her.
Late the previous week, Taehyung had posted an ad for a model on his apartment’s announcement board. His art professor decided to dedicate the whole spring semester to figure drawing. As an abstract mind, this was not Taehyung’s strong suit. But, as a perfectionist, Taehyung immediately sought help. His professor had recommended getting someone to model for him in his spare time (as if he had much of that).
Still, he thought he’d give it a try. He’d make time in order to get it right.
Though he very much considered himself an artist, Taehyung had a less-than-prospective future in graphic design. The advertisement was simply titled: “Model Needed for Nude Sketching Practice.” He added his name, room, and phone number beneath it. It looked so suspicious when he’d finished, he thought the apartment staff would throw it out before anyone could call.
Surprisingly, it survived for three long days. As Taehyung passed through the lobby on the fourth day, someone had finally taken it down.
Taehyung lumbered up the stairs with a sigh, opting just to print another (maybe a slightly more inviting version this time…) and start the waiting game over again, but he paused at his door when he noticed a note taped to it.
I’ll be your model. When do you want me?
The note was signed with the familiar name and handwriting he saw each day below apartment number 315. Park Jimin.
Taehyung figured that surely, a cookie-making woman with perfect handwriting would make a lovely nude model and wrote her back.
Tonight at 7?
He slipped the note under her door and began hurriedly deep-cleaning his apartment for the impending arrival of Park Jimin.
She never confirmed the time, but Taehyung knew it was her free hour. Besides, it was a Monday - and maybe, just once, she wouldn’t go out.
Or, she could. Taehyung wondered which was worse. Sketching her in an hour would be nearly impossible for him, especially if she wanted to have a conversation first. But if she didn’t leave at 8, that meant he had to make conversation after and he really wasn’t any good at that.
He focused on cleaning up his place instead. Taehyung’s mother had told him that he’d single-handedly defined the word “organized chaos” but he’d always told her “that is two words” and his room was “never as messy as she made it out to be.” Staring at the piles of canvases, sketchbooks, and art supplies littered around his apartment, Taehyung supposed she might’ve been right.
He’d done one good thing when he’d moved, which was keeping the bedroom the bedroom. It was plain and semi-tidy, with only a few hanging pictures and the same, brown comforter from Taehyung’s former college dorm. He kept all his art stuff outside of it since less clutter helped him clear his mind a bit when trying to sleep. Painting helped him relax too of course, but only when he was actually painting.
Taehyung had taken up art in the first place to help his anxiety, to get his feelings out somewhere physical instead of compiling them all in his head. It helped to think in colors and lines instead of school and people and talking. Taehyung hated talking. Sometimes he wished he didn’t talk at all, so he would never have to spend all night worrying about something he’d said.
But painting was nice since it didn’t involve talking. That’s why it could help him relax, and help him sleep. And alcohol. Alcohol helped too.
Which is why he drank a beer before Park Jimin came. To settle his nerves.
When the clock hit 7:05, he drank another because he wondered if she’d gotten the note, or if she was busy today, but he worried most of all that he’d have to talk with her and the alcohol made him a little less worried about all that.
Taehyung set up an easel and a stool, and hung a sheet against the wall to make a plain backdrop. He really looked like a professional - well, he would , if he stopped chewing on the end of his pencil.
At 7:11, someone knocked on the door.
Taehyung took a deep breath and straightened his clothes. He rehearsed his greeting on the way across the living room, reassured himself he was calm and she was willing to model so there was really nothing to worry about, and he opened the door before he could back out of the whole thing.
Unfortunately, Taehyung forgot to breathe and all words left his mind.
The prettiest boy Taehyung had ever met was standing right in front of him.