Jeon Jungkook had never believed in hell until he walked into Room 304.

He stepped through the doorway with a heavy duffel bag slung over his shoulder, clutching a rolled-up sketchpad in his hand like it was a shield. The room smelled faintly of cologne and energy drinks. A bass-heavy song thumped from a wireless speaker on the far side, where a stranger—shirtless, glistening with sweat, and wearing nothing but basketball shorts—was dancing in front of a mirror.

Jungkook blinked. Was this… performance art?

No. Just his new roommate.

The guy noticed him in the reflection, grinned, and spun around with an energy that was both dazzling and mildly terrifying.

“You must be Jeon Jungkook,” he said, voice deep and smooth like melted chocolate. “I’m Kim Taehyung. Welcome to Room 304.”

Jungkook bowed stiffly. “Hi.”

He tried not to look too long at the toned chest or the way Taehyung’s smile seemed to glow. Instead, he scanned the chaos behind him—clothes strewn across chairs, an unmade bed with leopard-print sheets, textbooks stacked like precarious Jenga towers, and a neon sign above the desk that read “GRIND NOW, PARTY LATER.”

This was not the quiet, orderly semester Jungkook had envisioned.

“You cool with music while you unpack?” Taehyung asked, already turning back to his speaker.

Jungkook clenched his jaw. “I’d prefer silence.”

Taehyung glanced at him over his shoulder, eyebrows raised in mock offense. “Damn, you’re polite. And intense.”

Jungkook didn’t reply. He dropped his bag on the empty bed near the window and carefully began unpacking, one neatly folded black hoodie at a time.

By the third night, Jungkook had developed a system: noise-canceling headphones, melatonin, and passive-aggressive Post-it notes.

He’d stuck the third one to Taehyung’s speaker that morning:

“Some of us value sleep. Please respect quiet hours.” – JJK

Taehyung responded by turning the volume down… slightly. That night, Jungkook lay awake, staring at the ceiling as EDM pulses echoed through the mattress.

He was regretting not taking the single room that Jimin offered, even if it came with a broken heater.

Jimin had warned him.

“Taehyung? Yeah, he’s a walking contradiction—business major with an artist’s soul. Charming, unpredictable, and loud. You sure about this, Kook?”

He wasn’t anymore.

The next morning, Jungkook dragged himself out of bed with bags under his eyes and charcoal smudges on his fingers from a late-night drawing session. As he shuffled to the shared mini-fridge, he nearly collided with Taehyung, who stood in front of the mirror buttoning a crisp white shirt.

“Whoa,” Taehyung said, catching Jungkook by the wrist before he could fall over. “Zombie alert.”

Jungkook pulled his hand away. “I’m fine.”

“You look like you haven’t slept in days.”

“Maybe because I haven’t.”

There was a pause. For a moment, the air between them buzzed with something unspoken.

Taehyung’s smile faded. “You should’ve said something.”

“I left notes.”

Taehyung looked genuinely sheepish. “Right. The sticky threats.”

“They weren’t threats. Just requests.”

“Passive-aggressive requests,” Taehyung corrected with a laugh. “You ever try just… talking to people?”

Jungkook bit his lip. “Talking doesn’t always work.”

“Well,” Taehyung said, reaching for a bottle of cologne, “guess we’re stuck figuring each other out. You’re quiet. I’m loud. Yin and yang.”

“That’s not how yin and yang works.”

Taehyung sprayed himself and grinned. “Still. Could be fun.”

Jungkook’s only solace came in the form of Hoseok and Jimin, who would often whisk him away to the art studio or the smoothie bar just to escape the Taehyung tornado.

Hoseok, ever the optimist, tried to reframe things.

“Maybe he’s just misunderstood,” he said, sipping his iced coffee.

“He’s a disruption,” Jungkook muttered, sketching frustrated swirls into his notebook.

Jimin leaned over to peek. “You’ve been drawing him a lot lately.”

Jungkook quickly flipped the page. “No, I haven’t.”

“Ohhh,” Hoseok teased, eyebrows wiggling. “Is someone developing a muse?”

Jungkook looked horrified. “Absolutely not.”

Later that week, it rained hard, turning the quad into a reflective pool and canceling all classes. Jungkook returned to Room 304 soaked to the bone, shivering and irritated.

Taehyung was sprawled across his bed, reading a case study aloud into his phone like it was a podcast.

“‘In a saturated market, you must leverage disruption as a catalyst for innovation…’”

Jungkook shut the door behind him a little harder than necessary.

Taehyung paused the recording. “Long day?”

“You think?”

Taehyung eyed him. “You’re dripping everywhere.”

“No shit.”

“You want a towel?”

Jungkook sighed. “Please.”

To his surprise, Taehyung got up, handed him a fresh towel, and even offered one of his dry hoodies.

“Thanks,” Jungkook said reluctantly.

“No problem. You kind of looked like a wet cat.”

Jungkook side-eyed him but said nothing as he peeled off his damp shirt and slipped into the oversized hoodie. It smelled like mint and something warmer, like cedarwood.

He refused to acknowledge how good it felt.

That night, the music stayed off.

Taehyung lay on his bed scrolling through his phone while Jungkook sketched in silence. Occasionally, they’d glance at each other without meaning to, then look away just as quickly.

At one point, Taehyung broke the silence.

“So… you really hate me, huh?”

Jungkook blinked. “What?”

Taehyung’s voice was quieter than usual. “You never smile when I talk. You act like I’m a disease.”

Jungkook sat up. “I don’t hate you.”

“You sure?”

“I just… don’t like noise. Or surprises. Or chaos.”

Taehyung chuckled. “That’s basically my entire personality.”

“Exactly.”

Another pause.

Taehyung leaned back against his pillow. “You ever consider that maybe noise isn’t always bad?”

Jungkook met his gaze. “You ever consider shutting up for five minutes?”

They both stared at each other for a beat.

Then Taehyung laughed. A real laugh, loud and warm.

Jungkook, to his own horror, smiled a little too.

Somewhere between day seven and eight, the war cooled. Taehyung started using headphones. Jungkook stopped leaving sticky notes. They began to coexist, orbiting each other like moons with unpredictable tides.

And on the tenth night, Jungkook opened his sketchbook and, without even realizing it, started drawing Taehyung again—his messy hair, the way he leaned back with one arm behind his head, eyes half-lidded and soft.

He didn’t know what that meant.

Yet.

But he had a feeling Room 304 was going to change a lot more than just his sleeping habits.

____

To be continued

Jungkook stared at the invitation like it had personally offended him.

“Back to School Bash @ Sigma Beta – 9PM till we drop. Dress hot, drink free.”

It had been taped to their dorm room door with neon pink washi tape. Taehyung’s handiwork, no doubt.

"You're going, right?" Taehyung asked, emerging from the closet with a loose white button-down and fitted slacks that should've been illegal. His sleeves were half-rolled, collar undone just enough to hint at the honey toned skin beneath.

Jungkook didn’t look up from his sketchpad. “Hard pass.”

Taehyung cocked his head. “Why? You could use some fun. And people. And daylight.”

“I get plenty of daylight. Through the window. Where people aren't.”

Taehyung chuckled, walking over to the mirror. He ran his fingers through his hair—slightly wavy and parted effortlessly, giving his already striking face an even sharper edge. His eyes, one monolid and one double-lidded, caught the light just right, making it nearly impossible not to look.

Jungkook didn’t look. Not directly.

“You’ll be lonely,” Taehyung said, spritzing cologne. “Your friends are going.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because Hoseok and Jimin texted me.” He held up his phone, smug. “Apparently, they think I’m more fun.”

“That’s because you are noise personified,” Jungkook muttered, shading the jawline of his current sketch.

“Flattering,” Taehyung replied. “Come with me. Just for an hour.”

Jungkook shook his head. “You’ll be shirtless and making out with someone within ten minutes. I’ll pass.”

Taehyung grinned like he’d been complimented. “I’m flattered you think I’m that efficient.”

Later, the door slammed behind Taehyung as he left for the party.

Silence. Finally.

Jungkook exhaled through his nose and rolled onto his bed, blanket tucked up to his chin. His oversized hoodie swallowed his frame, warm and safe.

Still, he stared at the ceiling for a while, eyes tracing cracks he’d memorized by now.

Something about the quiet felt... heavier than usual.

He sighed, rolled over, and buried his face into his pillow.

Five minutes passed.

Then ten.

Then— BZZZZZZZZZZZT.

His phone vibrated violently across the desk.

He groaned and dragged himself over. One new text.

[Jimin 🐣]: “Come to Sigma Beta. I’ll keep you away from the crowd. Taehyung keeps asking if you’re coming 😏”

Jungkook stared at the message.

Then turned off the phone and threw it onto his bed.

And yet, ten minutes later, he was standing in front of the mirror, changing into his least offensive pair of jeans and the only non-black shirt he owned—a muted forest green Henley that Hoseok once said made his eyes pop.

The frat house was pulsing with music when he arrived.

Jungkook winced at the bass and slipped through the crowd like a shadow, muttering polite apologies as he dodged beer pong tables and too-drunk freshmen.

He didn’t stop until he spotted a familiar group near the stairs.

Jimin waved him over excitedly. “I knew you’d come!”

Hoseok turned with a beaming smile. “Look who decided to be social.”

Jungkook shrugged. “Don’t make it a thing.”

But they both pulled him in for a hug anyway.

He noticed Yoongi leaning against the wall next to Jimin, sipping from a red solo cup and looking mildly amused.

Taehyung was nowhere in sight.

“Where is he?” Jungkook asked before he could stop himself.

Jimin raised an eyebrow. “Who?”

“You know who.”

“Oh. So you do want to see him.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“He went upstairs,” Hoseok said, grinning. “Something about changing his shirt because someone spilled tequila on it.”

Jungkook glanced toward the stairs, trying to act casual.

“I’m just going to find the bathroom.”

“Sure you are,” Jimin said.

The upstairs hallway was blessedly quieter.

Jungkook walked slowly, pretending to look for a door labeled “Restroom.” Instead, he paused outside one that was cracked open, light spilling out.

He was about to knock when he heard Taehyung’s voice inside.

“...No, it’s fine. I’ll catch up later.”

A beat of silence.

Then a soft sigh.

Jungkook gently pushed the door open.

Taehyung stood in front of a mirror, shirtless again, dabbing at his shoulder with a towel. His back muscles shifted with each movement, toned and elegant in a way that made Jungkook’s throat go dry.

Taehyung looked up, eyes catching his in the mirror.

One eye monolid, the other double-lidded—mismatched and mesmerizing.

“You came,” he said, blinking in surprise.

“I did,” Jungkook replied awkwardly.

Taehyung turned, leaning against the dresser. “Didn’t think you would.”

“I’m still not sure why I did.”

Taehyung tilted his head. “But you did.”

Jungkook didn’t answer.

They stood in silence for a moment, the kind that wasn’t uncomfortable—just loaded.

“Want to sit?” Taehyung asked, gesturing to the bed behind him.

Jungkook hesitated, then crossed the room and perched on the edge.

“I don’t like parties,” he said quietly.

“I know,” Taehyung replied. “I don’t think you like much of anything.”

“I like quiet. Art. My space.”

“I like people. Chaos. Movement.”

Jungkook looked at him. “I know.”

They shared a look. Taehyung’s gaze softened, dark eyes studying Jungkook like he was trying to read something written between his ribs.

“You’re different from everyone else I’ve met,” Taehyung said after a moment.

“That’s not always a good thing.”

“With you, it is.”

Jungkook’s breath caught.

He didn’t know how they got here—this room, this conversation, this feeling like gravity was subtly shifting under his feet—but he couldn’t bring himself to move.

Taehyung reached over to tug gently at the edge of Jungkook’s sleeve.

“You wear this when you don’t want anyone to see you.”

Jungkook’s voice came out hoarse. “How do you know?”

“Because you’re practically drowning in it,” Taehyung smiled. “And I’ve been paying attention.”

Jungkook swallowed hard.

And then Taehyung said something unexpected.

“Do you want to leave?”

Jungkook blinked. “What?”

“The party. Do you want to go back? To the dorm.”

“With you?”

Taehyung shrugged, almost shy. “Only if you want to.”

Jungkook nodded before he could stop himself.

Back at Room 304, the silence was immediate and heavy in a good way.

They kicked off their shoes, shed their party selves, and slipped back into the strange rhythm they were learning to share.

Jungkook collapsed onto his bed, arms behind his head, staring at the ceiling.

Taehyung mirrored him on the other side of the room, head resting on a pillow.

After a few minutes, Taehyung turned.

“Hey.”

Jungkook looked over. “Yeah?”

“I’m glad you came.”

Jungkook hesitated. Then: “Me too.”

The lights were off now, but the moonlight slipped through the window and cast soft shadows over Taehyung’s face. Jungkook watched the way it kissed the edge of his jaw, how his eyes—those mismatched eyes—remained on him even in the dark.

Something was happening.

He didn’t know what yet.

But it felt like the beginning of a slow burn.

And Jungkook, for once, didn’t want to put it out.

_____

To be continued

Jeon Jungkook liked his laundry schedule.

Every Friday at 7 a.m., he padded down the dorm basement stairs in fuzzy socks and a hoodie, earbuds in, basket balanced on his hip. It was peaceful. Predictable. Exactly how he liked it.

But this Friday morning, as he reached the last step, the air smelled like betrayal.

Fresh detergent. Warm cotton. And... Taehyung.

Jungkook blinked at the sight.

There, standing smugly in front of the only working washing machine, was Kim Taehyung—shirtless, hair a mess, pajama pants low on his hips. A single mismatched sock clung to his ankle like it feared separation.

“Morning,” Taehyung said, as if he hadn’t just committed laundry treason.

Jungkook blinked again. “That’s my machine.”

“Correction,” Taehyung said, tossing in a pair of boxer briefs. “It’s the machine. For everyone.”

Jungkook frowned. “I come here every Friday at seven. You’ve never been here before.”

Taehyung shrugged. “There’s a first time for everything.”

Jungkook stepped forward, arms tightening around his basket. “You did this on purpose.”

A lazy smirk. “Are you accusing me of stalking your laundry habits?”

“You stole my time slot.”

“Didn’t see your name on the washer.”

Jungkook glared, but Taehyung didn’t budge. If anything, he seemed amused by the confrontation, like it was the most fun he’d had all morning.

Which, knowing him, it probably was.

“You know I hate doing laundry late,” Jungkook muttered.

“Didn’t know, actually.” Taehyung leaned back on the counter. “But now I do. Noted.”

Jungkook’s eyes narrowed. “You’re insufferable.”

Taehyung smiled. “And you’re cute when you’re angry.”

That shut him up.

The pink crept up Jungkook’s neck faster than he could suppress it. He turned away, pretending to inspect the dryer that had definitely been broken for a month.

Behind him, Taehyung chuckled. “You can use it after me. I’ll even preheat it for you.”

“It’s not a microwave.”

“Could be. Depends on how long you’re willing to sit on it.”

Jungkook nearly dropped his basket.

Back in the room, Jungkook flopped onto his bed and buried his face in the pillow. He could still smell Taehyung’s detergent. Vanilla cedar. Of course it was something suave and sexy.

Jungkook's was lavender. Soft. Forgettable.

Taehyung strolled in not long after, freshly showered and towel-drying his hair, humming some jazz tune under his breath.

Jungkook didn’t look up.

“You’re still mad,” Taehyung said.

“You hijacked my Friday ritual.”

Taehyung sat on the edge of his own bed, facing Jungkook. “You sound like you lost a holy pilgrimage.”

“I just like routines.”

“And I like messing with you.”

Jungkook finally looked over, eyes sharp. “Why?”

Taehyung’s smirk faded slightly.

Then, softer: “Because you’re the only one who pushes back.”

Jungkook blinked.

Taehyung leaned back on his elbows. “Everyone else either flirts with me or avoids me. You glare and threaten arson with your eyes.”

Jungkook scoffed. “I do not.”

“You kind of do.”

They stared at each other for a moment too long.

Then Jungkook got up and grabbed his sketchpad.

“I need to draw.”

Taehyung watched him settle by the window, legs folded, pencil already dancing across the page.

“You always draw when you’re overwhelmed,” he said casually.

Jungkook froze. “I’m not overwhelmed.”

“You blush when you are.”

Jungkook’s ears turned red.

That evening, Hoseok dropped by with Jackson in tow. Their presence was loud, bright, and exactly what Jungkook needed to drown out the static in his brain.

“You won’t believe the mess someone made in the dance studio,” Hoseok ranted. “Confetti. Actual confetti. Like it’s the damn Oscars.”

Jackson shrugged. “It was for a video. It looked cool.”

“Cool doesn’t mean easy to clean,” Hoseok grumbled.

Jungkook chuckled quietly from his desk. Taehyung, sprawled on his bed, raised an eyebrow.

“You clean together?” he asked, eyes flicking between the two.

Hoseok flushed. “Sometimes.”

Jackson smirked. “We’re a good team.”

Taehyung smirked wider. “I bet.”

Jungkook rolled his eyes. “Can you two flirt somewhere else?”

“Oh please,” Hoseok said. “Like you and Mr. Shirtless over there aren’t constantly undressing each other with your eyes.”

Taehyung grinned. “He’s not wrong.”

Jungkook muttered, “I hate everyone.”

Later, when the room was quiet again, Jungkook lay awake staring at the ceiling. Taehyung’s voice drifted from the other side of the room.

“Hey.”

Jungkook turned his head slightly. “Yeah?”

“Do you really hate me?”

Jungkook was quiet for a long time.

Then: “No.”

Another pause.

“I just don’t know what to do with you.”

Taehyung’s voice was softer now. “Do you want to?”

Jungkook’s heart did that annoying flip-flop thing again.

“I’m trying to figure that out.”

In the moonlight, he saw Taehyung smile. Just a hint.

And then: “Good night, Jungkook.”

“Good night, Taehyung.”

____

To be continued