Chapter Text
High school was a battlefield—messy, loud, and brimming with more drama than the juiciest weekend K-drama binge.
For Park Jimin, it wasn’t just perilous; it was a 24/7 emotional minefield. Calculus? A sworn nemesis. Bullies? Sneaky landmines. And his heart? The ultimate traitor, staging a coup every time Kim Taehyung, campus heartthrob and walking Greek statue, stepped into view.
Kim Taehyung wasn’t just popular; he was untouchable. Ethereal. The kind of guy who walked down the hall and made it feel like he was gracing a runway.
His boxy grin could disarm the grumpiest teacher, and his deep, honey-toned laugh? Practically a citywide treasure. No one—not even Jimin, nerd extraordinaire and self-proclaimed king of awkwardness—was immune.
Jimin tried to resist.
T ried.
But it was impossible to keep a lid on his feelings when Taehyung looked at him with those eyes—soft and warm, like a morning sunrise—and said things like, “Good morning, Jimin,” in a voice that could probably solve climate change.
Jimin’s brain short-circuited every time. Once, it was so bad, he walked into the wrong classroom, and his friends still wouldn’t let him live it down.
So, Jimin did what any self-respecting lovesick teenager would do: he wrote love notes. Corny, dramatic ones like, “Your smile lights up the room, and I hope you never stop smiling because I might die.”
Absolute cringe. But it was all he had.
He’d fold the notes into messy squares and sneak them into Taehyung’s math textbook or gym locker, heart pounding like a spy on a covert mission.
Only, instead of stealing top secrets, he was gifting his soul. Honestly, it was a miracle he hadn’t been caught yet.
In class, Jimin tried to stay under the radar.
Taehyung, on the other hand, was the sun. Bright, magnetic, and slightly unfair. Even his handwriting was ridiculous—dramatic, looping swirls that made Jimin’s neat, typewriter-perfect notes look soulless.
Sometimes, Jimin would catch glimpses of Taehyung’s notebooks filled with messy doodles of stars, moons, and random words scrawled in the margins. A particular word— Vante —appeared often, tucked between sketches or scribbled as if it were part of his signature.
Jimin had no idea what it meant, but it felt personal, like a secret Taehyung wasn’t sharing. He thought about asking once or twice but never worked up the courage. It didn’t really matter, anyway. Taehyung could have written the dictionary in his swirly script, and Jimin would’ve still thought it was cool.
But Taehyung had a soft spot for Jimin.
It started with Jimin’s legendary clumsiness—a trait so iconic it could have earned him a gold medal if Olympic events included chair-related catastrophes. He wasn’t just clumsy; he was a walking hazard zone.
Tripping over invisible cracks in the floor? Check. Knocking over water bottles in the middle of class? Constantly.
And chairs? Oh, chairs were Jimin’s mortal enemy.
Once, during a particularly chaotic day, he managed to pull a chair out from under himself while trying to sit, landing on the floor with a dramatic thud that sent the entire cafeteria into a fit of laughter.
While everyone else doubled over, Taehyung didn’t laugh. He just crouched beside Jimin, his expression calm but his lips twitching like he was holding back a grin.
“Are you okay?” he asked, offering a hand to pull him up. Then, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, he handed Jimin his unopened milk carton and whispered, “Don’t worry, chairs are overrated anyway.”
It was that moment—Taehyung’s effortless kindness in the face of Jimin’s perpetual disaster—that stuck with him.
But nothing compared to The Dodgeball Incident™. Jimin hated dodgeball—it was basically legalized torture.
One day, a particularly vengeful ball hurtled toward him at Mach speed. He dodged, or tried to, only for his traitorous foot to slip. He landed in a heap, face-first—on Taehyung, who’d been watching from the sidelines.
Taehyung caught him, sort of.
“Oof!” he grunted, breaking Jimin’s fall. “You okay, Jimin?”
His voice was warm and concerned, his hands steadying Jimin’s shoulders. Jimin, red as a tomato, squeaked out, “Fine! Totally fine! Thanks for, uh, catching me!” and scrambled to his feet like a malfunctioning robot.
Taehyung, ever the saint, just smiled. “Careful next time, okay? Don’t want you getting hurt.” His hand lingered just long enough on Jimin’s arm to send him into a mental tailspin.
Then came the library project—a cruel twist of fate that paired Jimin and Taehyung together.
Jimin spent the first ten minutes panicking silently. Meanwhile, Taehyung sprawled across the library table like a particularly handsome cat. When Jimin tried to explain their topic, Taehyung leaned in, far too close for Jimin’s poor heart.
“You know,” Taehyung said, voice soft and teasing, “you’re really cute when you blush.”
Jimin froze. His brain was officially out of service. “I—I’m not blushing!” he stammered, very much blushing. “It’s just hot in here! Library ventilation is... terrible!” His voice cracked mid-sentence, and he wanted to disappear.
Taehyung laughed, a deep, melodious sound that made Jimin’s stomach flip.
“Sure, Jiminie. Whatever you say.” And then—Taehyung reached out and pinched his cheek . Like he was a baby.
“Wha—what are you doing?!” Jimin yelped, slapping Taehyung’s hand away.
“You’re squishy,” Taehyung said matter-of-factly, grinning like the devil himself. “It’s cute.”
Jimin wanted to crawl under the table and never come out. Instead, he spent the rest of the hour refusing to look at Taehyung while his ears burned hotter than the sun.
By the end of the day, Jimin was an emotional wreck.
Between dodgeball and Taehyung’s cheek pinch, his poor heart was on the verge of a breakdown.
But one thing was clear: Kim Taehyung was the best—and worst—thing to ever happen to him.
As the days passed, that thought only grew louder in Jimin’s mind, echoing in every quiet moment and every interaction.
Every glance from Taehyung felt sharper, every laugh warmer, every casual touch charged with an energy Jimin couldn’t quite explain—or escape. It was as if the universe had turned the dial on his feelings, amplifying them until they consumed his every waking thought.
In a desperate attempt to channel the chaos inside him, Jimin did the only thing that gave him relief: he kept sending the letters.
Each one was a piece of his heart—carefully folded and tucked into Taehyung’s locker, never signed, but always unmistakably his.
Writing became his solace, a way to say everything he couldn’t out loud. Even as doubt nagged at him, even as the risk of discovery loomed, he couldn’t stop. The letters had become his lifeline, a fragile connection to something he couldn’t name but was terrified to lose.
And then, as if the universe wasn’t already cruel enough, the countdown to Taehyung’s birthday began.
The buzz around school grew louder with each passing day, reminding Jimin of the invisible clock ticking down to the moment when his feelings might either bloom—or shatter.
The day of Taehyung’s birthday dawned like any other—except for one glaring detail: the entire school was in a frenzy.
By 8 a.m., his locker had become a glittering shrine of affection, a chaotic crime scene of colorful envelopes, shiny gift bags, and balloons clinging to the metal like overzealous admirers.
Students hovered nearby, whispering about who might win the unofficial contest for Best Gift to Kim Taehyung .
From a safe distance, Jimin clutched his own offering: a small box of homemade strawberry cookies tied with a red ribbon.
Compared to the extravagant display, it looked like an apology gift. But Jimin had poured his heart (and a concerning amount of tears) into those cookies, staying up until 2 a.m. after two burned batches and one flour explosion. Surely that had to count for something.
“Breathe, Jimin,” he whispered to himself, fingers tightening around the box. “You’ve got this. Just... don’t trip.”
The universe, apparently feeling merciful, allowed him to sneak over to Taehyung’s locker without incident. His heart raced as he placed the box amid the sea of gifts. A handwritten note lay on top: Happy Birthday, from your secret admirer. He stared at it, second-guessing everything. Is this too cheesy? Should I have written something cooler, like, “From someone who thinks you’re neat”? No, that’s worse.
Before he could spiral further, the bell rang. He bolted around the corner, peeking just enough to see Taehyung’s arrival.
And there he was, strolling into the hallway like a model on a runway.
Taehyung’s boxy grin lit up the space, his favorite oversized sweater making him look irresistibly soft.
Jimin both hated and loved how effortlessly perfect he was. How is he real? he wondered, his heart doing gymnastics as Taehyung approached his locker.
The moment Taehyung opened it, a cascade of balloons nearly smacked him in the face. He laughed—a sound so easy and carefree it sent Jimin’s stomach straight to the floor. Then, Taehyung’s eyes landed on the modest box of cookies, curiosity flickering across his features.
“What’s this?” Taehyung muttered, pulling the box out. He untied the ribbon with deliberate care, lifting the lid to reveal the perfectly baked cookies.
“Strawberries?” He took a cautious bite. His eyes widened, his expression softening into something bordering on bliss. “Oh wow.”
From his hiding spot, Jimin felt a mix of pride and panic. His cookies had been a success, but now he was one awkward gaze away from being discovered. Please don’t look at me, please don’t look at me—
Taehyung’s gaze landed on him.
Jimin froze. His breath hitched, his legs turned to jelly, and for one electrifying second, it felt like the world had shrunk to just the two of them. Was this it? Was he about to be found out?
“Did you like the cookies, Tae?”
And just like that, the moment shattered.
Ha-Eun. Of course.
Jimin’s stomach plummeted as she appeared, gliding into the conversation like she owned the air around her.
Ha-Eun had always been the kind of girl who turned heads without trying—effortlessly charming, dazzlingly confident, and maddeningly perfect at everything she attempted.
She’d been Taehyung’s classmate since 1st year, a fixture in his life that Jimin couldn’t quite get rid of. She wasn’t cruel or unkind—no, that would have been easier to deal with. Instead, Ha-Eun was genuinely nice, which only made it worse because Jimin couldn’t even hate her properly.
Now, she stood before them, her perfectly innocent smile aimed directly at Taehyung. Her gaze flicked briefly to the cookies before landing on Jimin, her expression unreadable.
“You made these?” Taehyung asked, surprise and delight in his voice.
Ha-Eun’s smile widened. “I wanted to do something special for your birthday. I hope you liked them.”
Jimin’s world tilted on its axis. What?! No. No, no, no. Those are MY cookies! His voice betrayed him, leaving him to silently watch as Taehyung’s face softened.
“They’re amazing,” Taehyung said, genuine as ever. He pulled Ha-Eun into a brief hug, still holding Jimin’s cookies.
It was a nightmare. A cruel, slow-motion disaster. Jimin clung to the corner of the hallway, fighting the urge to scream. She didn’t even bake those! She probably thinks baking soda is a cleaning product! But it didn’t matter. To Taehyung, the cookies were hers. And his gratitude? Hers too.
The rest of the day was a blur.
Everywhere Jimin turned, there they were—Ha-Eun laughing at Taehyung’s jokes, brushing his arm, basking in the glow of being the girl who made his birthday special . Taehyung seemed to enjoy her company, and while they didn’t hold hands (thank God), the way he smiled at her felt like a knife twisting in Jimin’s chest.
By lunchtime, Jimin had buried himself in his notes, hoping no one would notice how utterly miserable he looked. His friends tried to pull him into conversation, but he could barely nod.
Across the cafeteria, Taehyung and Ha-Eun shared a tray of fries like they were in a rom-com montage.
The worst part? Ha-Eun wasn’t mean. She wasn’t some villain in a dramatic love triangle. She was just a girl who liked Taehyung too. And that made it unbearable.
That night, as Jimin lay in bed staring at the ceiling, the day replayed in his mind like a broken record. Every laugh, every smile, every bite of his cookies—it was a cruel joke.
“I just wanted to make you happy,” he whispered into the silence. His eyes burned, but he refused to cry. You’re fine, he told himself. You didn’t expect him to fall in love with you anyway.
But deep down, he couldn’t stop thinking about Taehyung’s smile—the one stolen from him. For the first time in a long while, Jimin felt like maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t enough.
He tried to shake the feeling, telling himself it would pass, that it was just another fleeting crush destined to fade into memory. But as the days after Taehyung’s birthday unfolded, reality proved far more complicated.
Jimin had always imagined heartbreak as something cinematic—rain-soaked streets, violins swelling in the background, and a single tear slipping down his cheek as he whispered, “Why, God? Why?”
But reality was nothing like the movies.
Heartbreak wasn’t dramatic; it was slow, dull, and maddening. It sneaked up on him in the quiet moments, like when he opened his locker to find someone had taped a strawberry-scented air freshener inside. (Who even did that?) Or when he spotted Taehyung laughing with Ha-Eun by the lockers, his chest lighting up involuntarily despite the pain that followed.
The worst part wasn’t even seeing them together. No, the worst part was how his stupid, traitorous heart still fluttered every time Taehyung smiled at him.
It hadn’t gotten the memo that they were firmly in the post-apocalypse now. Instead, it sputtered on like an old car engine, fueled by the ridiculous boxy grin that had ruined his life.
And cookies? He couldn’t even look at cookies without feeling personally attacked by the universe.
Avoidance became Jimin’s coping mechanism of choice.
If Taehyung and Ha-Eun were laughing by the water fountain, Jimin made a beeline for the library. If they were sitting together in the cafeteria, Jimin suddenly wasn’t hungry. It wasn’t that he hated Ha-Eun—she was too nice to hate, which made everything worse. But seeing them together was like a punch to the stomach, and Jimin could only take so many punches before crumbling.
So he threw himself into his studies with a vengeance. Equations didn’t judge him for unrequited feelings. History essays didn’t have soulful brown eyes and a lopsided smile. And textbooks, blessedly, didn’t make his heart feel like it was somersaulting in a washing machine.
His grades soared. Teachers started using words like “exceptional” and “impressive.” Even Mrs. Lee, his notoriously grumpy calculus teacher, said, “Great work as always, Jimin,” without so much as a glare. He almost cried.
But no amount of academic excellence could fill the void Taehyung had left. The ache lingered like a bruise—tender and impossible to ignore.
Graduation day arrived in a blur of caps, gowns, and teary-eyed parents. Jimin clutched his diploma, standing on the edge of the crowded hallway, trying to muster some enthusiasm for the milestone. Around him, students hugged and laughed, their faces bright with the promise of new beginnings. Jimin tried to smile along with them, but his heart wasn’t in it.
He was halfway to slipping out unnoticed when a voice stopped him in his tracks.
“Hey, Jimin.”
Taehyung. Of course.
Jimin turned, bracing himself. Taehyung stood a few feet away, his cap tilted at a jaunty angle and his tassel swinging dangerously close to his nose. He looked like he’d walked straight off the set of a teen rom-com: The Cool Guy Who Gets the Girl.
Jimin wanted to hate him. But he couldn’t. Taehyung’s grin was too warm, too genuine, too... Taehyung.
“I heard you’re going to the States,” Taehyung said, his tone casual but tinged with something softer. Hesitation, maybe?
Jimin nodded, adjusting his grip on his diploma like it was a lifeline. “Yeah. It’s just an exchange program. Two years.” His voice wavered slightly, betraying the mix of excitement and apprehension he’d been carrying ever since he got the acceptance letter.
Taehyung’s brows furrowed, and he tilted his head slightly. “Two years isn’t just anything, Jiminie. That’s... a lot of time.”
The words settled between them, heavy and unspoken. Jimin shifted uncomfortably, forcing a smile. “It’s a good opportunity. I mean, how often does something like this come along, right?”
Taehyung nodded, but the tension didn’t ease. The pause stretched between them, silent and awkward, until Taehyung broke it with a quiet, almost hesitant, “I’ll miss you, Jimin.”
The words hit Jimin like a freight train. He stared at Taehyung, his heart lurching painfully. Why would you miss me? You barely noticed me this year. But all he managed was a shaky smile.
“I’ll... miss you too, Tae.”
The decision to study abroad had been easy after The Day of Utter Humiliation.
Leaving meant no more stolen smiles or unspoken hopes. But packing for the States was another story. Every item he folded into his suitcase felt like a goodbye he wasn’t ready to say. The notebook full of unsent love notes? Into the bag. The hoodie Taehyung had complimented once? Folded neatly on top. The strawberry keychain he’d bought on a whim? Clipped to his carry-on because leaving it behind wasn’t an option.
At the airport, Jimin glanced back one last time before boarding. His heart felt heavy, a swirling mess of nerves and regret. For a split second, he thought he saw a familiar silhouette in the crowd—tall, lanky, and utterly unforgettable. But when he blinked, it was gone, and Jimin told himself it was just wishful thinking.
The flight was long, giving him too much time to think. Every moment with Taehyung replayed in his mind, from their first awkward conversation to Taehyung’s smile at graduation. He let himself wonder—just for a moment—what might have happened if he’d been braver.
But the past couldn’t be rewritten. All he could do now was move forward, one step at a time. Still, as the plane climbed into the clouds, a small, irrational part of him held onto hope.
Because if Jimin had learned anything, it was this: life had a funny way of surprising you when you least expected it.