A little introduction:

Taehyung (23) moves forward through time

→ Each meeting is new. Each moment is full of hope.

Jungkook (23) moves backward through time

→ Each meeting is fading. Each goodbye already happened.

Bl/taekook/ The Psychological Tragedy/

It's a story about emotional memory collapse/ A psychological time-warp tragedy/

A soft soulmate obsession/trapped in opposite timelines/7 Chances but not in right time.

...Story begins.(First light)...

POV: Taehyung (Age 23)

Timeline: His beginning - Jungkook's end

Location: Busan Station

Season: Spring

---

The train station didn't hum with life. It lingered.

Everything moved - the clatter of wheels, the shuffle of feet, the voice overhead announcing another delay. But somehow, in the middle of all that motion, Taehyung felt still. Like the rest of the world was a blur, and only his breath was real.

He sat on a bench with his sketchbook open on his lap, pencil between fingers smudged with graphite. His coat was a size too large, his hair an accidental mess, and he had no plan for the day - except to get lost in strangers.

That was always his favorite part of sketching in public. He wasn't chasing beauty. He was chasing accidents - the way someone tilted their head while laughing, or blinked too slowly like they were trying to freeze a moment. He sketched not to capture what people looked like, but how they existed.

This morning, he hadn't drawn anything yet.

Until his gaze found him.

He stood on the platform opposite, just beyond the rails. A boy. Maybe his age. Maybe older. He was wearing a gray hoodie, jeans, and a black backpack slung over one shoulder. His head was lowered, like he was thinking too hard. Or listening to something no one else could hear.

And something about him - the slope of his shoulders, maybe, or the way he stood so quietly in the middle of a rush - made Taehyung reach for his pencil without thinking.

He started with the posture. Broad back, slightly hunched. Loose limbs. Then the head tilt. The hood half-draped. His fingers moved faster, shapes forming before his mind caught up.

He drew the outline of the boy's face from memory. A soft jaw. High cheekbones. Sharp nose. His mouth - unreadable.

Taehyung squinted across the platform, hoping to catch another glance.

But the boy was already staring at him.

And it didn't feel like curiosity.

It felt like... pain.

Their eyes met across two train tracks and a hundred unsaid things. And the boy - he didn't flinch. Didn't look away. Just stood there with that same unspoken ache in his gaze, like Taehyung had done something wrong.

Like this wasn't a beginning at all.

Like it was already the end.

Taehyung's heart lurched.

Then the boy nodded. A small, almost imperceptible movement. Not a greeting. Not a question.

More like a confirmation. A memory.

And then he turned and walked away.

---

"Wait," Taehyung whispered, but it was too late.

The space the boy left behind felt suddenly heavier than the crowd itself.

Taehyung looked down at his sketchbook.

The boy's eyes were there. Sharp and beautiful. Sad and certain. More detailed than anything else on the page. More real than they should've been.

And he didn't even know his name.

---

Later that day...

Taehyung sat cross-legged on his floor, the sketchbook still open in front of him. His tiny apartment smelled like paint and peppermint tea. The sky outside his window was turning the color of fading bruises - lilac and grey, with streaks of gold in between.

He hadn't drawn anything else. Couldn't.

The stranger from the station haunted him. Not in a scary way. In a familiar way.

Like Taehyung had seen him before, in a dream maybe, or in another life.

But how could that be?

He hadn't even spoken to him.

He didn't know his voice. His laugh. His name. Not even his destination.

But Taehyung couldn't shake the ache that settled in his chest like a warning.

Or a wound.

He pressed his fingers to the page and whispered, "Who are you?"

And why do I already miss you?

---

Night fell slowly, like time wasn't sure it wanted to move forward.

Taehyung crawled into bed without brushing his teeth, the sketchbook tucked under his pillow like a secret. He closed his eyes and saw the boy's face again.

That look. Those eyes.

Like someone mourning a memory Taehyung hadn't made yet.

---

Three days passed.

And Taehyung still didn't draw anyone else.

He carried that same sketch with him everywhere - re-sketching the lines, deepening the shadows, trying to bring more life into a stranger he couldn't forget.

Not even really knowing why.

---

Then, on the fourth day...

He saw him again.

Not at the station. Not on a train.

But in a bookstore.

It was just a glimpse - across the aisles, by the philosophy section.

The boy was standing with a paperback in one hand, thumb brushing the edge of the page like he was trying to feel the words.

Taehyung froze behind a shelf of notebooks. His heart began to riot in his chest.

He should go say something. Hi, at least. Or I think I drew you. Or Do we know each other?

But before he could take a step, the boy looked up.

And their eyes met again.

This time, the boy smiled.

It was small. Quiet. But real.

Then, again - he turned and walked away.

---

Taehyung stood there long after the doorbell above the shop rang shut.

And when he looked down, he realized his hands were trembling.

What was this?

Coincidence?

Or was the universe trying to tell him something?

And if it was...

Why did it already feel like a goodbye?

___

That night, he wrote something in his journal - something he hadn't even realized he believed:

"I don't know why I feel like I've lost you already. We've just met."

He didn't write a name.

Because he didn't have one.

But the feeling was too sharp to ignore. Like something already breaking inside a place that had barely begun to exist.

And Taehyung, despite everything, felt it wasn't over.

POV: Jungkook (Age 23)

Timeline: His Chapter 1 → Last Meeting with Taehyung

Location: Busan Station

Season: Spring

---

There was something cruel about time.

Not in the way clocks ticked. Not in the way years passed or skin aged or memories blurred.

But in the way it made goodbyes look like hellos.

In the way it forced him to meet Taehyung again - looking younger, softer, with no memory of the way he'd once loved Jungkook like he was the only real thing in the world.

The boy on the bench had no idea.

Not a clue that Jungkook had already kissed him in the rain.

Held him during a breakdown.

Watched him fall asleep with a smile and wake up forgetting his name.

Now he was here.

Sketching.

Alive in a way Jungkook hadn't seen in a long time.

And Jungkook couldn't breathe.

---

He hadn't meant to be at the station that morning. He was leaving Busan - not for anywhere in particular, just away from where time had become too heavy.

But the train was delayed. Ten minutes. Enough to destroy him.

He saw the boy from across the platform and froze.

There he was. Taehyung.

Looking right at him, but not knowing him.

Sketching like always. Crossed legs. Concentrated frown. That stupid oversized coat. He looked exactly like the first time Jungkook had fallen in love - except this was the last time.

Because Taehyung didn't remember.

But Jungkook did.

He remembered everything.

---

For a while, he didn't move. Just watched from the shadows of the other side.

Maybe Taehyung would notice. Maybe something inside him - some ancient echo of their past - would make him feel something.

And then it happened.

Taehyung looked up.

Right into Jungkook's eyes.

And for one fragile second, neither of them blinked.

The platform disappeared. The noise disappeared. The entire world collapsed into that one stare.

Taehyung tilted his head, confused.

And Jungkook? He nearly cried.

---

Because how do you smile at someone who's forgotten you?

How do you greet someone you've already said goodbye to?

He swallowed the pain, clenched his jaw, and did the only thing he could.

He nodded.

A goodbye. A thank you. A "please fall in love with me again, even if you don't know it."

Then he turned around.

And walked away.

---

Down the stairs. Through the tunnel. Out the gate. Into the city.

Every step felt like ripping pages from a book he hadn't finished reading.

But that's how it always went.

Jungkook walked backward through love - remembering things that hadn't happened yet.

Each encounter was quieter. Each version of Taehyung knew him a little less. Forgot him a little faster.

He had watched their love unravel, one thread at a time, from ending to beginning.

And now there was nothing left to unravel.

This... this was the end.

---

He kept walking.

Past a girl handing out flyers.

Past an old man selling roasted chestnuts.

He reached for the photograph in his jacket pocket - the one he'd folded a thousand times, the edges torn.

It was a picture of Taehyung.

Drawn, not taken. A sketch Jungkook had copied from memory.

The real sketch was long gone now - Taehyung had never kept it, because in his timeline, Jungkook hadn't drawn it yet.

But Jungkook remembered it.

Just like he remembered the rooftop kiss. The museum painting. The confession in the rain. The mismatched birthdays. The way Taehyung had whispered "I love you" like it was the only thing keeping him alive.

Jungkook remembered all of it.

And now?

Now Taehyung didn't even know his name.

---

He didn't go to the train.

Instead, he walked into a bookstore - small, warm, dimly lit, the kind with dust in the corners and clocks that ticked a little too slowly.

He ran his fingers over the spines of poetry collections. He didn't read any of them.

He stood there for a long time.

Then he turned to leave...

...and saw Taehyung walk in.

---

He stopped breathing.

Taehyung didn't see him at first - too busy wiping raindrops off his coat. He moved toward the sketchpads near the back.

Jungkook watched from between shelves.

This Taehyung had never kissed him yet. Never held his face with shaking hands. Never cried into his neck and whispered, "Don't go where I can't find you."

This version didn't love him yet.

But he would.

He always did.

---

Taehyung wandered between aisles, fingers trailing the edges of books.

Jungkook didn't move.

He watched him pick up a thin paperback - something about memories and the persistence of longing. His thumb rubbed the paper gently. Eyes distant.

And then, as if pulled by instinct - he looked up.

Their eyes met again.

Just like at the station.

Except this time, Jungkook smiled.

Small. Quiet.

The kind of smile you give someone when you're letting go without telling them.

He saw Taehyung freeze.

Just for a second.

And that second was everything.

Then Jungkook turned around.

And walked away for the last time.

---

That night, he didn't sleep.

He sat on the rooftop of a rundown hostel, knees pulled to his chest, hoodie up, wind cold.

And he opened the journal.

The one he'd been keeping for Taehyung - all the things he remembered, all the things he knew Tae would forget.

But there was nothing left to write.

Only one page remained.

One sentence.

He hesitated, then scribbled:

"This time... I hope you forget me first."

---

He tore the page out.

Folded it.

Tucked it between the bricks of the rooftop.

A secret.

A final gift.

Maybe one day Taehyung would find it.

Maybe he wouldn't.

Maybe it didn't matter.

Because this wasn't a story that needed to be rewritten.

It was one that needed to stay broken - so that someone, somewhere, would feel it.

Even if they didn't understand why.

POV: Taehyung (Age 23)

Timeline: His 1st → 2nd week

Location: Bookstore, Rooftop Apartment

Season: Spring

---

Taehyung wasn’t the kind of person who believed in fate.

But he did believe in patterns.

The way coffee always dripped a little too fast when he was late. The way his favorite sweater disappeared the one week he actually needed it. The way strangers looked at each other in passing — like some of them had known each other in a different lifetime, and just forgot to remember.

He had never believed in soulmates.

But something about that boy…

Was starting to unravel all his rules.

---

He hadn’t planned on going back to the bookstore. But that same tightness returned to his chest the morning after the station. A feeling like he’d misplaced something — or someone — and the only way to fix it was to retrace his steps.

And that bookstore… it felt like a step.

He went alone, as usual. Hoodie, sketchbook, earbuds in with no music playing.

There was something soothing about the place. Narrow aisles, creaky wood, the scent of old pages and candle wax. The kind of place where time didn’t run forward. It folded softly and sat down beside you.

He made his way to the art section. Then poetry. Then stopped near the journals.

And that’s when it happened.

---

Across the shelf, just for a blink—

there he was again.

The boy from the station.

Dark hair. Grey hoodie. That same quiet sadness.

His hand hovered over a copy of On Memory and Other Inheritances, as if he was deciding whether to open it — or burn it.

Taehyung’s heart jumped.

This was too much of a coincidence.

Or was it?

---

He couldn’t move at first. Could only watch.

His body didn’t trust his brain. Or maybe it was the other way around. But he stood frozen behind a stack of journals, breath stuck somewhere between his throat and chest.

He wanted to say something.

He wanted to know something.

But he didn’t get the chance.

Because just as their eyes met — the boy smiled.

Small. Quiet. Tragic.

Like he was saying goodbye without a word.

Then he turned and left.

Again.

---

Taehyung didn’t follow.

He should have.

But he didn’t.

He just stood there, staring at the empty space where the boy had been, the heat in his chest spreading like spilled ink.

He felt ridiculous.

What was he doing?

This wasn’t a movie.

This wasn’t fate.

It was probably just a coincidence.

Twice.

Right?

So why couldn’t he stop thinking about him?

---

That night, he found himself on the rooftop of his apartment building, sketchbook open on his knees, the city humming quietly below.

He hadn’t drawn all week. The pages were still blank.

He didn’t know where to begin anymore.

He flipped back to the station sketch — the first one — and stared at it like it might blink back.

The boy's eyes.

They still haunted him.

They weren’t just sad.

They were… remembering.

That was what unsettled him most.

How could someone look at you like they already knew the ending?

---

The wind picked up. He held the page down.

His fingers itched for movement, so he turned to a blank sheet and began sketching without thinking.

Not a face this time.

A place.

Bricks. Rusted pipes. Metal railing. Cracked cement tiles.

A rooftop.

And someone sitting there — hood up, back against the wall, arms wrapped around their knees.

He didn’t realize who it was until he finished the shape of the hands.

It was him.

The boy.

Alone.

---

He stared at it for a long time.

Then added a detail he didn’t understand:

A journal next to the boy’s foot, half open.

Blank, except for one line:

“This time… I hope you forget me first.”

Where did that come from?

He’d never heard that sentence before. Never read it. Never imagined it.

But somehow… it felt like a memory.

Like something that should have happened.

Like something that would.

---

He leaned back, closed the book, and stared up at the stars that had started poking through the haze of city light.

“Who are you?” he whispered.

The wind didn’t answer.

But he swore, just for a second—

it felt like someone was listening.

---

The next morning, he walked past the station again.

He didn’t mean to. Not really.

But he slowed near the platform. Eyes scanning. Half hoping.

Nothing.

He lingered. Waited for the next train. And the next.

But the boy never came.

And that’s when Taehyung realized the worst part:

He hadn’t even learned his name.

---

“I don’t know how to miss someone I’ve never had.

But it feels like losing him anyway.”

— Taehyung, Journal Entry