Chapter 1: Welcome to Class 2-B

Jungkook adjusted his blazer for the tenth time that morning, staring at his reflection in the cracked mirror outside the boys' restroom. His tie was already crooked, and he looked like he hadn’t slept—which, to be fair, was true. Transferring mid-year into a new high school wasn’t exactly his idea of fun.

New uniforms, new faces, new routines—and the unfamiliar weight of countless eyes.

Don’t trip. Don’t talk. Don’t stand out, he recited internally as he made his way to the classroom.

Class 2-B was buzzing with noise. Laughter bounced off the walls, paper balls flew overhead, and someone was taping a banana to the fan. Jungkook’s steps slowed as he took it all in. He hated this already.

“Ah, you must be the new student,” the teacher said with the exhausted brightness of someone who had dealt with this chaos too long. “Everyone, attention!”

The class barely listened, until one loud voice cut through.

“Is he a ghost or are you all just ignoring him on purpose?”

A tall boy with messy dark hair stood at the back of the classroom, spinning a pen between his fingers. His voice carried without effort, and his smirk was the kind that could both charm and punch you at the same time.

“Kim Taehyung,” the teacher sighed. “Please don’t start.”

“Oh, I haven’t even started,” Taehyung said with a lazy stretch, eyes not leaving Jungkook.

Jungkook kept his head low and introduced himself. “Jeon Jungkook. I just moved here from Busan.”

“You're from Busan?” a girl whispered nearby. “He doesn’t even have an accent…”

“He’s cute,” another murmured. “But like… weirdly quiet.”

Jungkook felt his ears burn.

“You can sit by the window—next to Taehyung,” the teacher announced.

Of course. Of course he would.

As Jungkook took the seat beside him, Taehyung leaned in slightly and grinned. “Hey. New kid. Welcome to hell.”

Jungkook blinked. “Thanks?”

“I’m the boss around here. You’ll cry in a week. Two, if you’re stubborn.”

“…That’s comforting.”

Taehyung poked his arm. “You’re built like a puppy. Do you bite or just bark?”

“I don’t talk much.”

“Even better,” Taehyung said, leaning back with a dramatic sigh. “I’ll do the talking. You just sit there and look tragic.”

Jungkook tried his best to ignore him. He failed. Taehyung was impossible to ignore.

By lunch, Taehyung had already nicknamed him “Bunny” because of his front teeth, stolen his chocolate milk “for tax reasons,” and loudly declared to the whole class that Jungkook probably wrote poetry about loneliness.

“He just looks like a heartbroken poet, doesn’t he?” Taehyung said, flicking a grape at Jungkook’s head.

Jungkook scowled and swatted it away. “Do you always pick on new students?”

“Nah,” Taehyung replied, grinning. “Only the interesting ones.”

The bullying was mostly harmless. Teasing. Mockery. Silly dares like “lick the whiteboard” or “sing your name.” But Jungkook noticed a strange pattern.

Whenever someone else tried to take it too far—push him against a locker, make fun of his family, rip his notebook—Taehyung was there. Instantly. Silently.

A sharp glare. A quiet warning. A well-placed desk leg that tripped the bully when no one was looking.

Jungkook didn’t know what to make of it.

“You’re confusing,” he finally said one afternoon as Taehyung stole his juice again.

Taehyung cocked his head. “I’ve been called worse.”

“You tease me all the time, but then you stop others from doing the same.”

Taehyung shrugged. “That’s my job.”

“Why?”

“Because no one’s allowed to mess with my toy but me.”

Jungkook stared. “I’m not a toy.”

“You kinda are.”

“And if I punch you?”

Taehyung grinned wider. “Then I’ll deserve it.”

Later that week, Jungkook found himself in the hallway alone when the real trouble started.

Three older students cornered him near the lockers.

“Well, well,” one sneered. “The baby bunny’s all alone.”

“I heard he thinks he’s better than us. Transfers think they’re hot stuff.”

Jungkook didn’t reply. He tried to walk past them, but one shoved him back.

“You mute, too?”

Jungkook braced himself—when suddenly someone yanked the guy’s collar from behind and slammed him against the wall.

Taehyung.

“Try that again,” he said softly, voice low and dangerous, “and I’ll break your hand in three places. Maybe four if I’m feeling poetic.”

The hallway fell quiet. The seniors backed off, grumbling.

Jungkook stared, stunned. “Why…?”

Taehyung turned to him, eyes flickering with something unreadable. “Did they hurt you?”

“No. Just words.”

“Good,” Taehyung said. Then he paused. “Still hurts, though, doesn’t it?”

Jungkook looked away.

And then Taehyung said something that didn’t match his usual voice—soft, almost accidental.

“When I see you like that… it feels like someone’s punching my chest from the inside.”

Jungkook looked back at him in surprise.

Taehyung blinked like he didn’t realize he’d said it out loud. He cleared his throat, shoved his hands in his pockets, and stepped away.

“You’re annoying,” he said, back to normal. “Don’t make me feel weird things.”

And just like that, he walked away—leaving Jungkook with a heart beating far too fast, and a hundred more questions than answers.

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