Chapter Text
The late afternoon sun hung low over Hongdae, painting the bustling streets in shades of warm orange that clashed beautifully with the first flickers of neon signs starting to buzz to life. Jungkook adjusted the strap of his backpack, feeling the weight of everything he owned digging into his shoulders. It wasn’t much—just some clothes, his favorite camera, a couple of sketchbooks, and the small pill case he never left home without. Twenty-one years old, fresh out of Busan, and here he was, standing in the middle of Seoul like it was some kind of dream he’d finally stepped into.
He took a slow breath, letting the chaos wash over him. The air smelled like street food vendors frying tteokbokki, exhaust from passing scooters, and that faint metallic tang of the city after a light rain earlier. Students laughed in clusters, street performers tuned their guitars, and colorful shop signs promised everything from bubble tea to vintage clothes. His heart thumped with a mix of excitement and nerves. Partial scholarship for fine arts and photography at the university a few stops away—this was his shot. No more quiet coastal town routines. No more people treating him like the kid who might fall asleep mid-conversation if he pushed too hard.
A little old woman nearby struggled with two heavy grocery bags, her steps slow and careful as she approached the crosswalk. Jungkook didn’t even think twice. He jogged over, offering a gentle smile that crinkled the corners of his doe eyes.
“Halmeoni, let me help you with those,” he said softly, already reaching for the bags. His voice still carried that slight Busan lilt, warm and polite.
The woman blinked up at him, surprised, then chuckled. “Oh, you’re a good boy. My arms aren’t what they used to be.”
He took the bags easily, one in each hand, and walked beside her as the light changed. The crowd moved around them—people chatting on phones, rushing home from work. Jungkook kept his pace matched to hers, chatting lightly about the weather and how pretty the street decorations looked this time of year. He liked this part of himself, the part that could still reach out without expecting anything back. It made the move feel less lonely.
Then came the sharp screech of tires.
A sleek black car whipped around the corner too fast, engine purring low and aggressive. It swerved close—too close—missing them by barely a meter. Jungkook’s arm shot out instinctively, pulling the woman back a step as his heart slammed against his ribs. The bags nearly slipped from his grip.
For a second, everything froze. Then his temper, usually buried under layers of sleepy calm and determination, flared hot.
“Yah!” He planted his feet right in front of the car as it slowed, blocking its path without a second thought. His voice came out firm but not screaming, the kind of tone that demanded attention without losing control. “You almost hit us! Slow down—there are people here!”
The car’s tinted window hummed down smoothly. Inside, Min Yoongi sat in the back seat, one hand still gripping his phone where he’d been dealing with the latest headache from a rival crew trying to tail them through the district. His driver had been pushing it, trying to shake the shadow. Yoongi had been two seconds from snapping at the man when this kid—this absolute kid—stood there glaring at him like he had every right to.
Jungkook met his gaze head-on. Those wide, honest eyes, framed by soft dark hair that fell slightly into them, didn’t waver. There was no recognition there, no fear of who Yoongi was. Just pure, stubborn indignation. A bunny with teeth, Yoongi thought, something unfamiliar and warm uncoiling low in his chest. The boy’s cheeks were still flushed from the near-miss, lips parted slightly as he caught his breath. Brave. Reckless. Endlessly cute.
Yoongi’s sharp jaw tightened for a moment, but the expected irritation never came. Instead, the corner of his mouth twitched upward in the ghost of a smile. He leaned forward slightly, elbow resting on the open window frame, voice low and smooth like aged whiskey.
“You’re not wrong, kid.”
The words hung between them. Jungkook blinked, caught off guard by the calm response. He’d expected yelling, maybe some rich asshole throwing money at the problem or threatening him. Not this. The man in the car had sharp features, pale skin, and eyes that looked like they’d seen too much, yet right now they were fixed on him with an intensity that made heat creep up the back of Jungkook’s neck.
Yoongi reached into his coat pocket, pulled out a sleek black card with nothing but a phone number written on it in elegant, precise handwriting. He extended it between two fingers.
“Call if you ever need anything. Or if you just want to yell at me again.”
Jungkook stared at the card, then at the man. His bunny-like smile was nowhere in sight now—he was still processing. “I… what?”
But the window was already gliding back up. The car eased forward gently this time, careful not to jostle anyone, and slipped into the flow of traffic. Jungkook stood there on the crosswalk, one hand still holding the old woman’s groceries, the other clutching the mysterious card.
“Halmeoni, did you see that?” he muttered, half to himself.
The woman patted his arm with a knowing little laugh. “Handsome one, wasn’t he? Be careful with men like that, dear. They come with storms.”
Jungkook helped her the rest of the way across, delivered her bags to her apartment building a block away, and waved her off with another soft smile. Only when he was alone again did he look down at the card in his hand. The number was written in black ink, clean and confident. No name. Just the digits and the faint scent of expensive cologne that had transferred from the man’s fingers.
He shoved it into his backpack pocket, shaking his head. “Weird day,” he whispered to himself, rubbing at his eyes. The familiar heaviness was starting to tug at the edges of his mind—the kind that warned him he’d need to take his medication soon and find a safe place to rest. The bus ride from Busan had been long. The city was louder than he expected. But he couldn’t help the small flutter in his chest when he thought about those cold eyes softening for just a second.
Meanwhile, a few streets away, Yoongi leaned back against the leather seat, fingers drumming lightly on his knee. His driver kept glancing nervously in the rearview mirror.
“Boss, I’m sorry about that. I was trying to—”
“Drive properly next time,” Yoongi cut him off quietly, but there was no real bite in it. His mind was elsewhere. On that boy. The way he’d stood his ground without knowing whose path he’d stepped into. Bangtan didn’t get challenged like that. Not by someone so soft-looking. Not by someone whose eyes held no calculation, just raw honesty.
He pulled out his phone and sent a quick message to the group chat.
Yoongi: New development in Hongdae. Keep an eye out for a kid with bunny smile and death wish. Might be worth watching.
He didn’t explain further. Didn’t need to. The others would understand soon enough. Something had shifted in that brief collision, something dangerous and addictive. Yoongi stared out the window as the city lights blurred past, a rare, quiet smile lingering on his lips.
Jungkook, meanwhile, found his way to the small goshiwon he’d rented near campus. He dropped his backpack by the door, kicked off his shoes, and flopped onto the narrow bed with a long sigh. The card was still in his pocket. He pulled it out again, turning it over in his fingers under the dim lamp light.
“Probably some rich guy who thinks throwing numbers at people solves everything,” he mumbled, but he didn’t throw it away. Instead, he set it on the small desk beside his camera. Tomorrow was orientation. New life. He wasn’t here for distractions, no matter how intriguing those sharp eyes had been.
Still, as he took his medication and felt the familiar pull of sleep coming on, Jungkook couldn’t quite shake the feeling that the city had already noticed him. And maybe, just maybe, he’d noticed it back. lamp light