Chapter 2: Mockery and Morning Routines

Jungkook had developed a habit—and not a particularly healthy one.

Every morning, before leaving home, he stood in front of the mirror and whispered, “Don’t react.”

It was his shield. If he didn’t react, they couldn’t laugh. If he didn’t flinch, he wouldn’t break.

But no mantra in the world could prepare him for Kim Taehyung’s brand of morning chaos.

“Bunny!” came the familiar call as Jungkook stepped into Class 2-B. “You’ve arrived. Late, slow, and looking like you just rolled out of a tragic poem.”

Jungkook kept walking, ignoring the smirking faces, but Taehyung wasn’t deterred.

“Hey, where’s my morning juice tax?” Taehyung asked, spinning around in his chair with all the subtlety of a peacock on Red Bull. “You know the rules, Jungkookie. Pay up.”

Jungkook slumped into his seat. “You’re not my tax collector.”

“Wrong. I’m your emotional landlord,” Taehyung replied, tapping the table. “Rent is due in sarcasm and citrus-based drinks.”

Jungkook reluctantly handed him his orange juice without a word.

“See? You’re learning.” Taehyung leaned over with a grin. “Say it. Just once. ‘Taehyung, you’re the highlight of my miserable life.’ Come on, I won’t record it. Probably.”

Jungkook glared. “You need professional help.”

Taehyung gasped dramatically. “Was that... sass? From the shy poet? Be still, my heart!”

Across the room, someone muttered under their breath. “God, can they just kiss already?”

Taehyung whipped around. “Who said that? You wanna die?”

Jungkook flushed scarlet. “Ignore them.”

“Oh, I always ignore them,” Taehyung said with a wave. “They’re background noise. You, though? You're the main event.”

Jungkook wanted the earth to open and swallow him whole.

That day’s classes were a blur—geometry, biology, literature. The only constants were the faint ache in Jungkook’s chest and the occasional jab from Taehyung.

“Your handwriting is so neat,” Taehyung said during lit class. “Is it, like, illegal levels of effort?”

Jungkook ignored him.

“You know,” Taehyung continued, whispering while the teacher lectured about symbolism, “you could sell your notes. Or auction them. I’d pay—if I didn’t already have free access by sitting next to you.”

“I hope you trip over your own ego,” Jungkook whispered back.

Taehyung grinned. “Oh good. You’re warming up to me.”

Lunch break. Jungkook escaped to the rooftop.

He liked it there—the wind, the quiet, the illusion of being above everything. But today, even the rooftop betrayed him.

Taehyung showed up five minutes later with two onigiri in hand.

“How’d you find me?” Jungkook asked warily.

Taehyung shrugged. “You smell like existential dread. Easy to track.”

Jungkook blinked. “...That’s not even possible.”

Taehyung flopped down beside him and offered one of the rice balls. “Truce?”

Jungkook took it, reluctantly. “You’re being weird.”

“I’m always weird.”

“Weirder.”

Taehyung took a bite of his food, chewing thoughtfully. “I was thinking…”

“Oh no.”

“…Thinking,” he repeated, undeterred, “that maybe I should tone it down a bit.”

Jungkook raised an eyebrow. “Tone what down?”

“The teasing. The poking. The excellent psychological torment.”

Jungkook stared at him, stunned.

“I’m not saying I will,” Taehyung clarified quickly. “I’m just saying… I thought about it.”

“Why?”

Taehyung didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he tilted his head toward the open sky.

“Because when you flinch,” he said quietly, “it feels like I’ve kicked a puppy.”

Jungkook looked away. “Maybe stop kicking puppies, then.”

“…Maybe I don’t know how.”

There was a long silence. The breeze fluttered through their hair. The school bell rang in the distance, warning them lunch was nearly over.

Jungkook broke the silence first. “I’m not a puppy.”

“I know,” Taehyung said. “But you look like one. And I’m terrible with delicate things.”

Jungkook glanced at him. “Then maybe stop pretending you don’t care.”

Taehyung stood up abruptly. “You say that like it’s easy.”

And before Jungkook could reply, he was gone again, leaving behind half an onigiri and too many unspoken thoughts.

That evening, Jungkook wrote in his journal for the first time in weeks.

Taehyung’s confusing. He acts like a jerk but jumps in like a hero. He smiles when I glare. He pokes at my silence and then defends it with fists. I don’t get him. But when he’s around…

He paused. His pen hovered above the page.

…I feel like someone’s finally looking.

He closed the journal.

And smiled.

Just a little.

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