The train screeched to a halt, the sound slicing through the heavy dusk air. Jungkook adjusted the strap of his duffel bag, eyes darting between the peeling station signs and the trickle of strangers weaving through the crowd. The city smelled like dust and possibility, like a story just waiting to begin.

He was here for a new start. University. Independence. A chance to breathe without everyone watching him like he was supposed to have it all figured out.

But the station wasn’t kind to dreamers—it swallowed them whole.

“Move,” someone muttered, bumping past him. Jungkook blinked, cheeks heating, and shuffled toward the exit, still clutching his bag like a lifeline.

And then he saw him.

Leaning casually against a cracked pillar, camera in hand, was a boy who looked like he belonged to another world. Loose button-up fluttering in the evening breeze, hair curling lazily into his eyes, lips tilted into the kind of smile that made time stutter. He was taking photos—not of the crowd, but of the empty spaces between. The corners no one noticed. The light nobody chased.

Jungkook froze. Something about the boy’s stillness in all this chaos tugged at him.

As if feeling the weight of his gaze, the stranger lifted his head. Their eyes locked.

For a heartbeat, Jungkook forgot how to breathe.

The boy lowered his camera, tilting his head with curiosity. Then, without hesitation, he walked over—slow, unhurried, like he had all the time in the world.

“You,” the boy said, voice warm, rich like velvet. “Don’t move.”

Jungkook blinked, stunned. “What?”

The boy lifted his camera again, a smirk ghosting his lips. “The light looks perfect on you right now.”

And before Jungkook could protest, the shutter clicked.

The moment was caught—forever sealed in grain and glass—while Jungkook’s heart hammered against his ribs like it wanted to escape.

He didn’t know this stranger’s name. Didn’t know why his chest suddenly ached, why the air around them felt heavier, charged.

But later, when he lay awake in his new dorm room replaying the moment in his head, he would remember one thing with startling clarity.

The boy with the camera had eyes like the dusk sky—deep, endless, and filled with possibilities

And his smile had already changed everything.

The dorm smelled faintly of floor wax. Jungkook dropped his bag by the bed assigned to him—bottom bunk, corner of the room. The sheets were thin, the walls scuffed with years of student lives layered over each other. It was nothing like home. But then again, that was the point.

He tugged at his hoodie strings, scanning the room. Empty. Quiet. Good. Maybe he’d get a moment to breathe.

But the door creaked open before he could even sit down.

“Guess we’re roommates,” came that same velvet voice, and Jungkook’s head snapped up so fast it hurt.

The boy with the camera.

His curls were damp from a shower somewhere down the hall, shirt half-buttoned, camera slung over his shoulder like it was part of him. When he smiled, Jungkook’s stomach turned traitorously.

“You—” Jungkook blurted, then stopped. His voice cracked like a kid’s. Heat flushed his ears.

The boy leaned against the doorframe, amused. “Me. Taehyung.” He said . “And you?”

“Jungkook,” he muttered, trying to sound casual, failing miserably.

Taehyung’s gaze flickered around the room, then back to him. “Which bed?”

Jungkook pointed stiffly.

“Perfect,” Taehyung said, tossing his bag on the top bunk above Jungkook’s without hesitation. The springs groaned, dust drifting down. He flopped onto the mattress like he owned it, one long arm hanging lazily over the edge, camera dangling from his fingers.

Jungkook swallowed. “You—you take pictures of random people a lot?”

“Not random,” Taehyung replied, eyes half-lidded. “Only when the light insists.”

Jungkook blinked. “The… light?”

“Mm.” A pause, then that quiet smirk. “Like earlier. Station lights hitting your face. Couldn’t ignore it.”

Jungkook stared at the floor, heart hammering. Nobody had ever looked at him like that before—like he was something worth capturing.

“Don’t worry,” Taehyung added, sensing his discomfort. “I won’t post it. It’s just… for me.”

The words landed heavier than Jungkook expected.

For me.

He curled his fists in his lap, trying to hide the way his pulse jumped.

Silence stretched between them, thick but not awkward. Just… charged. The sound of Taehyung’s camera clicking open filled the air as he fiddled with it absentmindedly, like even in stillness, he was searching for beauty.

Jungkook thought he should say something, anything—but the words tangled in his throat.

That night, as the dorm lights went out and Taehyung’s soft breathing above lulled him to a restless half-sleep, Jungkook stared at the cracks in the ceiling and wondered—

What had he just gotten himself into?

Morning crept into the dorm through half-broken blinds, striping Jungkook’s blanket in pale gold. He woke to the rhythmic sound of clicking above him.

Taehyung was already awake, stretched out on the top bunk, camera balanced in his hands. His hair was messy, his shirt rumpled, but he looked like he belonged in some art film—completely at ease in his own disarray.

“Do you always wake up this early?” Jungkook mumbled, voice rough with sleep.

“Only when the light’s good,” Taehyung said without looking down. Another click. Another angle. “Mornings are greedy. They don’t wait for anyone.”

Jungkook rubbed his eyes, not sure if he understood. But the words stayed with him anyway.

Later that day, the cafeteria was a blur of noise—students shouting over tables, the clang of trays, the sharp smell of fried food. Jungkook picked the quietest corner he could find, tray balanced awkwardly in his hands.

He had just sat down when Taehyung appeared, sliding into the seat across from him like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Hi,” Taehyung said, already stealing one of Jungkook’s fries.

Jungkook frowned. “Do you… know anyone else here?”

Taehyung chewed thoughtfully, gaze sweeping across the room. “Plenty of faces. No names worth remembering yet.” He leaned forward, chin in hand, studying Jungkook. “Except yours.”

Jungkook nearly choked on his water.

The library was quieter than Jungkook expected. Rows of books stretched into shadows, the smell of paper and dust settling into his lungs. He’d come here to study, maybe even escape the chaos of the cafeteria.

What he hadn’t expected was to find Taehyung sprawled across a corner table, sketchbook open, pen tapping against his bottom lip.

“Don’t you have class?” Jungkook asked, setting his bag down two tables away.

Taehyung looked up, smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Don’t you?”

Jungkook shifted. “I’m between.”

“Me too,” Taehyung said easily, then pointed at the empty chair across from him. “Sit here. The silence feels different when you’re over there.”

Jungkook hesitated, then—against better judgment—sat.

For a while, the only sound was pages turning. Jungkook scribbled notes, refusing to be distracted. But out of the corner of his eye, he caught Taehyung sketching. Not buildings. Not objects. People.

Or rather—one person.

His chest tightened when he realized the curve of the jaw, the slope of the shoulders, the way the hair fell forward—it was him.

“You—” Jungkook whispered harshly, reaching across the table. “You’re drawing me?”

Taehyung didn’t even flinch. “Studying you.”

“That’s—weird,” Jungkook muttered, heat crawling up his neck.

“Maybe.” Taehyung leaned forward, eyes locked on his. “But weird things are usually honest.”

Jungkook’s pulse stuttered. He wanted to argue, but the words tangled in his throat. Instead, he shoved his notebook back into his bag.

“I have class,” he lied, standing so quickly his chair screeched.

Taehyung’s voice followed him, low and steady. “You’ll let me finish the sketch one day.”

That night, the dorm was thick with silence. Taehyung lay on the top bunk, humming softly, fingers tapping against the edge of his camera.

Jungkook curled beneath his blanket, heart pounding in the quiet. He hated how the words replayed in his head. Studying you.

He hated even more the part of him that wanted to see the sketch.

When Taehyung whispered his name into the dark—just once, like testing how it sounded—Jungkook didn’t answer.

But he didn’t sleep either.

By the end of the first week, Jungkook thought maybe he’d figured Taehyung out.

He wasn’t normal, that was clear. He skipped classes more often than he attended, slept at odd hours, and filled their dorm with quiet hums and half-finished sketches. He collected moments like other people collected coins.

But he wasn’t careless. He noticed things—small things. The way Jungkook tapped his pencil when he was nervous. The way he always avoided eye contact in crowded rooms. The way he chewed his lip when he wanted to say something but couldn’t.

It was unnerving.

And it came to a head in the laundry room.

Jungkook was loading his clothes into the machine when Taehyung appeared, leaning lazily against the wall like he had been waiting.

“You don’t like people touching your stuff, do you?” Taehyung asked casually, eyes on the shirts Jungkook was shoving into the washer.

Jungkook stiffened. “What?”

“You fold your laundry before washing it.” Taehyung tilted his head, voice soft but sharp. “Most people just throw it in.”

Jungkook flushed, suddenly hyper-aware of his own movements. “So what if I do?”

Taehyung shrugged. “Just means you like control.”

Something snapped. Jungkook slammed the washer shut harder than necessary. “You don’t know me.”

The words hung in the air, harsher than he meant.

For once, Taehyung didn’t smirk. His gaze flickered, something unreadable passing over his face before he looked away.

“You’re right,” Taehyung said quietly. “Not yet.”

Silence stretched. Jungkook’s chest burned with guilt, but his pride held his tongue hostage. He turned back to the machine, pretending the cycle starting was the only sound that mattered.

When he finally risked a glance over his shoulder, Taehyung was gone.

The silence stretched longer than Jungkook expected.

For two days, Taehyung didn’t linger in the dorm the way he usually did. He came in late, left early, moved quietly. No humming. No sketches. No stolen glances.

It should’ve been a relief. But instead, the quiet pressed on Jungkook’s chest like a weight.

By the third evening, he couldn’t take it anymore. He sat at his desk, textbooks open but unread, pretending to study while Taehyung flipped idly through a photography magazine on his bunk.

The tension in the room buzzed louder than the ceiling fan.

Finally, Jungkook blurted, “About the laundry room…”

Taehyung didn’t look up. “What about it?”

Jungkook gripped his pen so tight his knuckles ached. “I didn’t mean it like that. When I said you don’t know me.”

A pause. Pages turned.

Taehyung’s voice was soft when it came. “But it’s true.”

Jungkook looked up. Taehyung’s eyes weren’t sharp this time—they were tired, like he was carrying something heavier than their argument.

The words slipped out before Jungkook could stop them. “Then… maybe try to.”

For the first time in days, Taehyung’s lips curved into the faintest smile. Small. Fragile. Real.

The moment passed quickly—he leaned back, flipping the magazine shut. “Alright,” he said lightly, like a promise hidden in plain sight.

Jungkook exhaled, tension draining from his shoulders.

That night, when the dorm finally sank into darkness, Jungkook thought he felt the faintest vibration through the bunk frame above him—Taehyung humming again, just under his breath.

It was enough to let him sleep.