Chapter 1: First Impressions and Noise Complaints

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

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