Of Rain and Restraint

Jungkook didn’t like mornings.

Not because he hated school. Or people.

He just hated feeling seen when he didn’t know how to respond.

That was the problem.

When he’d bumped into Taehyung earlier that day—books scattered, hands brushing, the boy looking at him like he was some kind of slow-burning answer to a question no one had asked—Jungkook had frozen. Like he always did.

And walked away. Like he always did.

By the time he got to his last period, his hoodie was up and his walls were back in place. But something felt… unfinished.

His thoughts were still stuck on Taehyung’s face.

And that’s when Yoongi slid into the seat next to him without saying a word.

"You're late," Jungkook mumbled without looking up.

"And you look like someone stole your favorite hoodie," Yoongi replied, deadpan.

Jungkook smirked, just barely. He didn’t smile often, but Yoongi always managed to crack through.

They had a quiet kind of friendship. It didn’t rely on talking. Just music, quiet walks, the occasional exchange of sarcasm and gum. Yoongi had taken Jungkook under his wing sometime last year after catching him sketching alone behind the gym during lunch.

He never asked why Jungkook was always alone.

And that’s exactly why Jungkook stayed close.

Yoongi leaned back in his seat, arms crossed, watching Jungkook from the side. “You’re being weird. Even for you.”

Jungkook stayed quiet.

Yoongi didn’t press. He never did.

But he noticed—like always—that Jungkook’s hand kept twitching over his phone, like he wanted to text someone and didn’t know how.

---

Across the school, in the art room...

Taehyung was quiet.

Jimin, his best friend and chaos partner, was spinning a paintbrush between his fingers and side-eyeing him for the tenth time.

“Okay. Spill. What’s going on in that head of yours, Taehyungie?”

Taehyung blinked at him. “Nothing.”

“Liar,” Jimin said gently, brushing a smudge of charcoal from Taehyung’s cheek. “You’ve been staring at the same corner of the ceiling for twenty minutes like it insulted your entire bloodline.”

Taehyung huffed. "I bumped into someone. Like... literally. Books flying. Hand touching. Intense eye contact. Main character moment. And then he just—"

“Let me guess,” Jimin interrupted, amused. “Didn’t say anything and walked away?”

Taehyung groaned, sliding down in his chair. “How did you know?”

Jimin smirked, his voice light. “Because you’ve been whispering Jungkook under your breath like it’s a spell.”

Taehyung covered his face with both hands. “It wasn’t just me, right? It felt like something.”

“Maybe it was.”

Jimin paused, eyes softening. “But some people don’t know how to say something when it matters. Doesn’t mean they didn’t feel it too.”

---

Later that day, in the music room...

Yoongi was playing piano.

Not loudly—just slow chords, drifting half-songs. The kind he played when his brain was too loud and his heart too quiet.

Jungkook sat in the corner, headphones around his neck, sketching something in his notebook. He hadn’t told Yoongi about Taehyung. He didn’t know how.

But Yoongi spoke anyway.

“Whoever he is,” he murmured without looking up, “don’t overthink it.”

Jungkook froze. “What?”

Yoongi’s fingers kept moving. “You wear your silence like armor, Jungkook. But sometimes people look at you and hope it’s a door.”

Jungkook looked down. He hated when Yoongi was right.

The room was quiet for a moment. Then, quietly:

“I didn’t mean to ignore him,” Jungkook muttered. “I just… didn’t know how to respond.”

Yoongi’s voice was soft. “You’re allowed to feel scared. You’re just not allowed to use that fear to hurt someone who didn’t deserve it.”

Jungkook nodded slowly. “So what do I do?”

Yoongi gave a faint smile. “You find a way to open the door. Even if it’s just a crack.”

---

Meanwhile, at the school gates...