Fragments of light

Morning crept into the dorm through half-broken blinds, striping Jungkook’s blanket in pale gold. He woke to the rhythmic sound of clicking above him.

Taehyung was already awake, stretched out on the top bunk, camera balanced in his hands. His hair was messy, his shirt rumpled, but he looked like he belonged in some art film—completely at ease in his own disarray.

“Do you always wake up this early?” Jungkook mumbled, voice rough with sleep.

“Only when the light’s good,” Taehyung said without looking down. Another click. Another angle. “Mornings are greedy. They don’t wait for anyone.”

Jungkook rubbed his eyes, not sure if he understood. But the words stayed with him anyway.

Later that day, the cafeteria was a blur of noise—students shouting over tables, the clang of trays, the sharp smell of fried food. Jungkook picked the quietest corner he could find, tray balanced awkwardly in his hands.

He had just sat down when Taehyung appeared, sliding into the seat across from him like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Hi,” Taehyung said, already stealing one of Jungkook’s fries.

Jungkook frowned. “Do you… know anyone else here?”

Taehyung chewed thoughtfully, gaze sweeping across the room. “Plenty of faces. No names worth remembering yet.” He leaned forward, chin in hand, studying Jungkook. “Except yours.”

Jungkook nearly choked on his water.

The library was quieter than Jungkook expected. Rows of books stretched into shadows, the smell of paper and dust settling into his lungs. He’d come here to study, maybe even escape the chaos of the cafeteria.

What he hadn’t expected was to find Taehyung sprawled across a corner table, sketchbook open, pen tapping against his bottom lip.

“Don’t you have class?” Jungkook asked, setting his bag down two tables away.

Taehyung looked up, smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Don’t you?”

Jungkook shifted. “I’m between.”

“Me too,” Taehyung said easily, then pointed at the empty chair across from him. “Sit here. The silence feels different when you’re over there.”

Jungkook hesitated, then—against better judgment—sat.

For a while, the only sound was pages turning. Jungkook scribbled notes, refusing to be distracted. But out of the corner of his eye, he caught Taehyung sketching. Not buildings. Not objects. People.

Or rather—one person.

His chest tightened when he realized the curve of the jaw, the slope of the shoulders, the way the hair fell forward—it was him.

“You—” Jungkook whispered harshly, reaching across the table. “You’re drawing me?”

Taehyung didn’t even flinch. “Studying you.”

“That’s—weird,” Jungkook muttered, heat crawling up his neck.

“Maybe.” Taehyung leaned forward, eyes locked on his. “But weird things are usually honest.”

Jungkook’s pulse stuttered. He wanted to argue, but the words tangled in his throat. Instead, he shoved his notebook back into his bag.

“I have class,” he lied, standing so quickly his chair screeched.

Taehyung’s voice followed him, low and steady. “You’ll let me finish the sketch one day.”

That night, the dorm was thick with silence. Taehyung lay on the top bunk, humming softly, fingers tapping against the edge of his camera.

Jungkook curled beneath his blanket, heart pounding in the quiet. He hated how the words replayed in his head. Studying you.

He hated even more the part of him that wanted to see the sketch.