first light

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.

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