The Crash

Mornings always felt a little too loud for Taehyung.

It wasn’t that he hated school exactly. He liked certain things—the art room that always smelled like dust and paint, the rooftop when no one else was there, the way the sun warmed the stairwell walls in second period. But the rest of it? The noise, the people, the pressure to be both seen and unseen at the same time—it all made him feel like he was wearing a sweater that didn’t fit, constantly tugging at the sleeves but never able to take it off.

He walked into Daegu High that Monday with his earphones in, half-late and only mildly caring. One of his earbuds kept slipping out because he forgot the rubber tip at home, and he was balancing way too many things—sketchpad under one arm, books tucked to his chest, and his phone lighting up with a message from Hyejin asking where he was.

It wasn’t his fault. He got caught up watching the rain outside his window and then forgot to pack his bag properly. So now he was rushing through the corridor, muttering to himself, trying to ignore the pounding rhythm of a pop song in his left ear.

And then he crashed straight into someone.

Books flew from his hands like startled birds, hitting the floor with a slap that echoed through the hallway.

“Ah, crap—” Taehyung gasped, immediately crouching down. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t see—”

He looked up—and froze.

Of course. Of all the people to run into, it had to be Jeon Jungkook.

Quiet, unreadable, frustratingly cool Jungkook. The boy everyone talked about but who barely spoke. He was crouched too, already gathering the fallen books with quick, practiced movements like this wasn’t the first time someone had clumsily crashed into him.

Taehyung’s breath caught in his throat. There wasn’t really a reason for it. Just... Jungkook had these eyes. Sharp, dark, quiet. The kind of quiet that made you nervous, not because it was empty—but because it felt like he was thinking a hundred things he’d never say out loud.

“Thanks,” Taehyung said awkwardly as Jungkook handed him the last book.

Jungkook didn’t reply. Not a single word.

No eye contact. No glance. No half-smile. Just... silence.

He slid his earphones back in and walked away.

Taehyung sat there for a moment longer, blinking, heat blooming in his chest like something sharp and confusing.

Did that just happen?

He stood up slowly, brushing off his jeans. The hallway was still buzzing around him—first years laughing, teachers scolding students for not tucking in their shirts—but he felt oddly still. Frozen in place.

Why hadn’t Jungkook said anything? Did he not hear him? Was he mad? Did he think Taehyung did it on purpose?

That would be stupid. But... it stuck in his mind the rest of the day like something half-remembered from a dream.

---

By lunch, the rumor had already spread.

“Taehyung, is it true?”

He looked up from his lunchbox to find Minseo grinning at him across the cafeteria table. “What’s true?”

“That you have a crush on Jungkook.”

Taehyung almost choked on his rice.

“Excuse me?!”

Minseo giggled. “Seriously. You guys totally had a moment this morning. Nari saw it happen. You were blushing.”

“I wasn’t blushing,” he snapped, though he absolutely had been, probably from sheer embarrassment.

“She said your hand touched his.”

“For like half a second!”

“Still,” another girl said, leaning in. “That’s so cute though. You and Jungkook... I can kind of see it.”

Taehyung felt like the world was tilting sideways. It wasn’t happening. This wasn’t real.

“What is wrong with all of you?” he groaned, dragging his hands down his face. “There’s nothing going on. I dropped my books. He helped. That’s it.”

Still, the whispers continued. He could hear them in the hallway when he passed. See the way people smiled behind their hands. Some of it was playful. Some of it was mocking. All of it made him want to curl up in a locker and disappear.

The worst part? Jungkook hadn’t said anything. He hadn’t even looked his way.

---

That afternoon, Taehyung found himself walking behind Jungkook after the last bell rang. It wasn’t on purpose—they just happened to take the same street home. A quiet neighborhood road lined with ginkgo trees and closed-up corner stores. The rain had started again, soft and thin like mist, clinging to Taehyung’s hoodie.

He thought about calling out to him.

Maybe just to apologize again. Or explain the rumor wasn’t his fault. Or... maybe just to hear his voice once.

But Jungkook didn’t turn around. Didn’t seem to notice him.

Or maybe he was just pretending not to.

Taehyung stared at his back, wondering why his chest felt so tight. Wondering why it bothered him so much that Jungkook hadn’t even looked at him since that morning.

They weren’t friends. They weren’t anything.

So why did it feel like he’d done something wrong?

---

That night, Taehyung lay on his bed, the ceiling blurring above him, unread messages glowing on his phone. He thought about the way Jungkook’s hand had brushed his. The silence. The way it had lingered.

He wasn’t sure if he liked Jungkook.

But he was absolutely sure he didn’t like this feeling.

The worst part wasn’t being teased. It wasn’t the rumor.

It was how Jungkook hadn’t said a word.

And how Taehyung couldn't stop waiting for one.

---

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