When we were enemies- part 1|| JJK
You were always first — until Jungkook transferred and took your place. Now he’s your academic rival… and your new stepbrother. Enemies at school. Tension at home. Pride clashing with feelings neither of you want to admit. But rivalry turns into something deeper. And just when you finally choose each other, everything falls apart. Miscommunication. Outside voices. A breakup that feels final. Until weeks later, you find out you’re pregnant. Now the boy who used to be your enemy — and then your everything — has no idea he’s going to be a father. Because love was complicated. But becoming teen parents? That changes everything.
𐙚 Genre: Slow Burn Romance, Enemies to Lovers, Academic Rivalry, Forced Proximity, Step-Sibling Trope (non-biological) Coming of Age, Angst, Emotional Drama, School Romance
𐙚warnings: this story includes bullying, Physical altercation (school fight), Emotional manipulation by side characters, Miscommunication trope, Teen pregnancy, Family tension, Jealousy & possessiveness themes, Smut
𐙚 Paring: Jungkook xx Reader
Present — The Breaking Point
“If you walk away right now… don’t ever come back.”
The words came out sharp, steady — but your heart felt like it was splitting open.
He stood only a few steps from the door.
His fingers hovered over the handle, tense, uncertain. When his eyes met yours, they weren’t just angry.
You didn’t know which hurt more.
You hoped he’d prove you wrong.
“Say it again,” he murmured — soft, controlled. Not shouting. Not cruel. That softness broke something inside you.
And before you could swallow the words back—
(Before the house. Before the fight. Before everything broke.)
You didn’t hate him at first.
Hate is loud. Explosive. Obvious.
What you felt was quieter than that. It was irritation. Competition. The constant need to prove something.
Jeon Jungkook transferred into your school mid-semester, and you noticed him only because everyone else did.
He walked in late on his first day — hands shoved into his jacket pockets, dark hair falling into his eyes like he hadn’t bothered to fix it. The teacher stopped mid-sentence.
Whispers spread instantly.
He wasn’t mysterious. He was just new.
“Can you introduce yourself to the class, please?” the teacher asked.
He gave a small nod, a polite smile tugging at his lips.
“Hello, everyone. My name is Jeon Jungkook. I hope we all get along.”
He bowed slightly. The class clapped. Girls blushed. Boys sized him up. He took the empty seat by the window.
And you hated that you felt it.
Every time the window opened, a faint scent drifted forward — something clean, sharp, almost cold. Like rain hitting pavement. It slipped into your thoughts and wrapped around your focus, distracting you in ways you refused to admit.
“Okay, class, today we’re having a pop quiz.”
The room filled with groans. No one had expected it.
You were first in the class. Always an A+ student. You already knew you had this.
“Clear your desks. No cheating. If I catch anyone cheating, it’s an automatic zero.”
You slid your notebooks into your bag, leaving only a blank sheet of paper and a pencil in front of you.
“Jungkook, since this is your first day, you don’t have to take the test unless you want to. You probably learned this at your old school.”
“It’s fine,” he said calmly. “I’ll take it.”
Ms. Lee nodded and began passing out the papers. The classroom fell silent except for pencils scratching against paper.
You were already halfway finished when something tapped your chair.
You ignored it. A crumpled piece of paper landed on your desk. You stared at it like it might explode. Slowly, you unfolded it.
What’s the answer to number 6?
You slid the paper back without writing anything.
A moment later, it returned.
Your jaw tightened. But you didn’t want to risk the teacher catching you passing notes. So you slipped the paper under your worksheet, hoping he’d finally get the hint this time.
After class, he caught up to you in the hallway.
“You could’ve helped,” he said casually.
“And you could’ve studied,” you replied without stopping.
Silence stretched between you — sharp, charged.
You expected him to argue.
He just walked beside you for a few seconds longer than necessary.
“You’re first in the class, right?” he asked.
“That’s none of your business.”
A small hum of acknowledgment. Not mocking. Not impressed.
“Relax,” he said. “I was just curious.”
“Well, stop being curious.”
He laughed quietly at that.
And you hated that the sound stayed with you longer than it should have.
Just a friction that settled under your skin and refused to leave.
You went home that day irritated for reasons you couldn’t explain.
You had a feeling this wasn’t the last time he’d get under your skin.
The next day felt normal.
You didn’t look back at him once during class. Not when he walked in. Not when he sat down behind you. Not even when his chair scraped lightly against the floor.
You told yourself you didn’t care about the quiz.
Ms. Lee walked in holding a stack of graded papers. The class immediately straightened. Some students perked up with excitement.
“Alright,” she said, tapping the stack against her desk. “I’ve graded your quizzes.”
The room filled with nervous shifting.
You sat up a little taller. She began passing them out row by row. Each paper landing on desks like tiny verdicts.
Your pulse quickened just slightly.
Then your paper slid in front of you.
You never missed anything on pop quizzes. Not when you’d studied. Not when the material was easy.
Your eyes scanned the page quickly until you found it.
The answer you had written.
The correction in red beside it.
Behind you, there was a quiet intake of breath.
But you heard the slight shift of his chair.
You felt him lean forward.
“Ouu,” he said lightly, voice low enough that only you could hear. “Isn’t that the one I asked help for on?”
You didn’t trust your face.
He leaned a little further over his desk.
“Looks like I got it right.”
He turned his paper slightly so you could see it from the corner of your eye.
You almost snapped your pencil in half.
He sounded genuinely amazed. Not arrogant. Not mocking.
Which somehow made it worse.
You finally turned slowly, meeting his eyes.
Bright. Proud. A little surprised.
And you hated that your chest twisted at the sight.
Before you could say anything—
Ms. Lee’s voice cut through the room.
“Looking at these grades… some of you need to work harder. Exams are coming up, and some of these scores don’t look great.”
“The few who did pass — keep it up.”
She glanced down at her grade sheet.
“Jungkook, good job. You are the only one who made a 100 on the quiz.”
You felt it before you saw it.
Someone whispered, “Didn’t she usually get the highest?”
Your grip on your pencil tightened.
You didn’t look at anyone.
Behind you, Jungkook shifted. He wasn’t speaking now.
Just…quiet Ms. Lee continued.
“Y/N, you still did great, but you missed one.”
They weren’t meant to humiliate.
You could feel the heat creeping up your neck.
You had never been second before.
Because he asked you for the answer.
Chairs scraped loudly as students stood.
The noise swallowed the whispers, but you still felt them.
You packed your bag carefully. Controlled.
Before you could stand, a voice came from behind you.
“ Hey, I wasn’t trying to show off.”
He wasn’t smiling anymore.
“I just…” He rubbed the back of his neck slightly. “I didn’t expect to get full marks.”
You searched his face for mockery.
“Congratulations,” you said flatly.
“You’re mad,” he observed.
“I don’t care what you got.”
“You don’t have to lie,” he said quietly.
“You think this is funny?” you snapped under your breath. “You think you can just walk in here and—”
“And what?” he asked, eyebrows lifting slightly.
“Act like you own the place?”
Something flickered there.
“I don’t act like that,” he said.
“You don’t have to. Everyone else does it for you.”
The hallway noise grew louder around you. But the space between you felt still.
“You care way too much about being first,” he said softly.
“And you care way too little about anything,” you shot back.
His jaw clenched. For a second, neither of you moved. Then he stepped aside, giving you space to walk past.
He chuckled but the smile didn’t reach his lips. I hit a nerve “yeah, See you tomorrow,” he said.
But as you walked away, your chest felt unfamiliar.
And somewhere deep down — buried beneath pride and irritation —
For the first time in a long time, someone had matched you.
And you didn’t know whether you wanted to beat him.
By the time lunch came, you had already sat through three classes pretending nothing was wrong.
Pretending the 95 didn’t itch at the back of your mind.
Pretending the whispers hadn’t followed you down the hallway.
You spotted Maya near the cafeteria entrance, laughing with another girl from your math class. The second she locked eyes with you, her entire face lit up.
You couldn’t help it — you chuckled and waved back.
She excused herself and jogged toward you, nearly dropping her phone in the process. When she reached you, she wrapped her arms around your neck.
“I’ve waited for you,” she complained dramatically.
“You saw me in second period,” you deadpanned.
“That doesn’t count. That was academic stress.”
The cafeteria buzzed with noise — trays clattering, chairs scraping, voices overlapping in loud waves. You grabbed your food and followed Maya to your usual table near the windows.
The moment you sat down, she tilted her head at you.
“You look like you swallowed a lemon.”
“I missed one on the quiz.”
She stared at you like you’d just told her the sky turned purple.
“You’re acting like you failed.”
“I don’t fail pop quizzes.”
She leaned back in her chair. “You are actually insane.”
You pushed your food around with your fork.
Her eyes widened slightly. “The new guy?”
Maya slowly leaned forward, intrigued. “Wait. He made the only 100?”
She let out a soft whistle. “Okay… that’s kind of impressive.”
“What?” she defended. “It is!”
Before you could respond, the cafeteria doors opened again.
And like the universe had a sense of humor, there he was.
Jungkook walked in with two guys from your history class. He wasn’t laughing loudly. Wasn’t drawing attention to himself.
He moved easily. Like he’d already settled in. Like this was natural.
“He’s so good-looking,” Maya muttered without thinking.
Your head snapped toward her.
You stabbed at your food harder than necessary.
“He’s kind of mysterious.”
You looked at her in disgust.
Jungkook glanced in your direction briefly.
Your eyes met for half a second.
And that didn’t bothered you not one bit.
Home felt quieter than usual.
You stepped inside and slipped your shoes off near the door.
Your mom was in the kitchen.
You went straight to your room, shut the door, and dropped your book bag onto the floor. It landed with a dull thud.
You flopped onto your bed and stared at the ceiling. Your phone buzzed.
Maya: HE ADDED ME BACK ON INSTAGRAM
You rolled your eyes so hard it almost hurt.
You replied with one emoji.
She sent back a string of laughing faces. You dropped your phone onto your chest and closed your eyes.
You still didn’t like the fact he scored higher than you. It wasn’t jealousy. You told yourself that.
Without letting your brain spiral any further, you forced yourself up and headed for the shower.
Hot water drowned out your thoughts.
After your shower, you changed into comfortable clothes and walked downstairs.
Your dog was waiting near the bottom of the stairs, tail wagging the second he saw you.
You smiled despite yourself.
You knelt slightly to pet his fur, and he leaned into your touch like you were the best part of his day.
You wished you felt that uncomplicated.
You sat at the table as your mom placed the food down.
She smiled and sat across from you. You began eating. It was quiet for a moment.
“How was the quiz? Did you do good?”
“I missed one. I made a 95.”
You didn’t look at her at first.
But the silence stretched.
Her expression wasn’t angry.
“Mm,” she said gently. “That’s different.”
“It’s still good,” she continued. “But make sure you study a little harder, okay? So you won’t make the same mistake again.”
You picked your fork back up and continued eating. But the word mistake echoed louder than it should have.
Something was different. You felt it before you understood it.
In first period, when the teacher asked a question, you raised your hand. You answered confidently.
“So is this perspective also influenced by economic shifts at the time?”
He wasn’t leaning back casually anymore.
Ms. Lee blinked, impressed.
“Good addition, Jungkook.”
You felt your spine straighten.
Later in math, he finished before you.
But when he handed in his paper, he glanced back at you.
At lunch, someone asked a question about an assignment.
“I already finished it,” he said.
This wasn’t the quiet, mildly amused guy from yesterday. This felt intentional.
When class ended, you packed your bag quickly. He caught up to you outside.
“You’re quieter today,” he observed.
“I’m always quiet.” He tilted his head slightly.
“Not when you’re trying to prove something.”
“And what exactly am I trying to prove?”
He stepped closer. Not invading. But close enough that you felt it.
“That you’re better.” The smirk tugged at his lips again.
“You think I’m competing with you?” you asked.
“You started it,” you muttered.
His eyes darkened slightly.
And that was when you realized—This wasn’t accidental anymore.
He wasn’t just matching you.
And you didn’t know whether you wanted to shove him away.
When you walked out the noise of the hallway swallows everything.
Maya finds me by the lockers like she always does.
“Ready?” she asks, already slinging her bag over her shoulder.
I’m supposed to go to her house to help her study. Or technically, she says I’m helping her study. It’s more like we both sit there pretending to focus while talking about everything else.
We wait outside near the school gates for her dad to pick us up. The afternoon air is cool, and students crowd around in loud groups. I try not to look for him.
He’s across the parking lot with a couple of guys from class. Laughing. Relaxed. Like he didn’t just flip my entire sense of control upside down.
A car horn honks lightly.
We both hurry over and get into the backseat.
“Hi, girls,” Mr. Park says warmly.
“Hi, Uncle,” I reply automatically.
It comes out too fast. Too smooth.
He glances at me through the rearview mirror and laughs softly.
“Mm,” he hums. “Is that so?”
Mr. Park has acted like a father to me ever since Maya and I became friends. Kindergarten. That’s how long it’s been.
He’s been there for school plays. Parent-teacher meetings when my mom had work. Birthday candles. Award ceremonies.
I’ve always been grateful for him.
Because I don’t have a father.
When my mom was pregnant with me, he left her for someone else. His first love. The one he said he never stopped loving.
And sometimes — when he posts online — I see them.
Always smiling in achievement posts.
“Proud dad moment,” the captions say.
I once saw my mom looking at one of those posts.
She tried to scroll past it quickly when she noticed me watching.
But I remember what she said later that night.
“You have to work hard, okay? Always be first.”
She smiled when she said it.
It felt like I was in a competition I never signed up for.
A competition with people who didn’t even know I existed. Except my father.
But I could tell it hurt her.
“We’re home,” Mr. Park announces.
We grab our bags and step out, slamming the doors behind us.
“Your mom’s in the kitchen cooking up a storm,” he tells Maya.
We both laugh and head inside.
The house smells warm. Familiar.
Safe. We take our shoes off at the door and step into the kitchen. Maya’s mom turns around from the stove. The second she sees me, she squeals.
“Hiii! I’m so happy you’re here!” I laugh. “It smells so good.”
She pulls me into a quick hug anyway before going back to stirring something on the stove. We chat for a bit — small things. School. Weather. Exams.
For a moment, I forget. Then a voice cuts through the room.
“Long time no see.” I freeze for half a second. I know that voice.
Jimin leans against the doorway, arms crossed, a soft grin on his face.
Maya’s twin brother. I don’t even think before moving.
“Jimin!” I rush over and hug him tightly. He laughs, wrapping his arms around me.
“It’s been a while,” he says.
He’d taken a leave from school for a few weeks. Personal reasons. No one really explained.
“You’re back?” I ask, pulling away to look at him.
Maya suddenly rushes into the kitchen and throws her arms around Jimin again, even though she hugged him two seconds ago.
He’s her twin. Her other half. She’s allowed to be dramatic.
Mr. Park walks over and rubs Jimin’s head, purposely messing up his hair.
“Appa,” Jimin groans, trying to fix it.
Mrs. Park laughs at the sight, eyes shining.
“Okay, guys,” Mrs. Park says brightly. “Food’s done. Come to the table before it gets cold.”
We all gather around the dinner table.
The conversation flows easily — mostly centered around Jimin. What he’s been up to. What he’s missed. Little stories from when he was gone.
We listen like he might disappear again if we don’t.
And sitting there, watching them talk over each other, teasing, smiling…
It genuinely feels like family.
The kind of family dinner I’ve always imagined.
The kind I wished I had at home with just my mom.
No unspoken expectations.
Later that night, everyone slowly heads off to bed.
I decide to stay over and go to school with Maya in the morning.
After finishing the last dish, I wipe my hands on my clothes and set it on the drying rack.
Before I can turn around—
Someone clears their throat.
Jimin is leaning against the wall, arms crossed, smiling at me.
I smile back automatically.
“I’m really happy you’re home,” I tell him.
When we were younger, I used to admire him so much. He was calm, kind, protective. I even had a small crush on him at one point.
Maybe a part of me still does.
He steps closer and gently pats my head.
“Missed you too,” he says softly.
There’s something tired in his eyes, though. Something different.
He walks toward the living room, and I follow.
We sit on the couch, legs stretched out, talking quietly.
School drama. Teachers. Maya being dramatic. Normal things. Then the question slips out before I can stop it.
He looks down at his hands.
“Just needed time,” he says.
There’s something there. Something heavy. But he doesn’t open the door to it.
After a moment, he stands.
“I’m going to bed. You should too.”
He pulls me into another hug.
He presses a gentle kiss to my forehead.
Something in my chest feels tight.
I head into Maya’s room expecting her to already be asleep.
She’s sitting cross-legged on her bed, staring at her phone.
“You’re still up,” I say.
She shrugs. “Couldn’t sleep.”
For a few minutes, we’re quiet.
Then it spills out of me.
“With Jungkook. With… everyone. With my dad’s other kids. I don’t even know them and it feels like I’m constantly trying to prove something.”
My voice cracks slightly.
“I don’t even want to be first anymore. I just don’t want to feel like I’m losing.”
Instead, she squeezes my hand.
After a pause, I ask quietly,trying to change the subject. “Why did Jimin really leave?”
Her expression changes instantly.
Guarded. It was silence before she spoke again.
“I wasn’t supposed to tell anyone,” she says.
She studies me carefully.
The word feels unreal in the room.
“He went to the States to live with our grandmother. They were looking for better doctors. Better treatment.”
“He’s been gone two years,” she whispers. “No one at school knew. We didn’t want anyone treating him differently.”
“I didn’t know,” I breathe.
We sit in silence for a long time. Eventually we lie down. Maya falls asleep quickly.
I stare at the ceiling. Thinking about Jimin. About the way his smile didn’t fully reach his eyes. About how he kept something that heavy inside for so long. About how I was complaining about a 95.
Life suddenly feels… bigger.
And somewhere in the back of my mind —I think about Jungkook. About competition. About pride.
And for the first time…None of it feels as important.
Morning came fast. You wake up and stare at the ceiling, the sun shining brightly through the window. Maya is still sound asleep beside you. You pick up your phone from the nightstand and check the time. It’s seven in the morning.
You sit up and gently push Maya’s shoulder to wake her. She groans and rolls the other way. You laugh.
“Get up before we’re late for school.”
You get up and walk into Maya’s bathroom. Your spare toothbrush is still there—you come over so much that some of your things practically live here. This is basically your second home.
While brushing your teeth, you can’t help thinking about Jimin—his sad eyes when you asked why he left, and Maya’s quiet voice when she told you why he’d been gone for so long.
You wish you had known. You wish they had told you. But at the same time, you understand why they kept it a secret.
After finishing, you splash water on your face to wake yourself up. Maya shuffles into the bathroom, her hair messy as she yawns and reaches for the sink.
“Hey, when are we supposed to take the test again?” Maya asks.
“Tomorrow?!” she says in surprise.
You laugh. Yes—the test is tomorrow. The whole point of you coming over was to help her study.
“Ugh, I totally forgot,” she says. “When Jimin came home, I wasn’t even thinking about the test.” She stares down at her hands.
You feel sorry for her. You understand—you had forgotten too. Seeing him again made everyone’s day.
“Hey, don’t worry about it. We can study during lunch and after school.”
Maya smiles at you and steps forward, wrapping you in a warm hug.
“Thank you,” she whispers, eyes bright. “You’re the best.”
You hug her back, squeezing her gently before letting go.
Just then, there’s a knock at the door.
You pull back and call out, “Come in.”
Maya’s mom steps inside holding a neatly folded uniform.
“Hey, Y/N,” she says with a kind smile. “I took your uniform and washed it—here you go.”
You take it from her, the fabric warm and freshly cleaned in your hands.
“Thank you so much,” you say genuinely, smiling back.
“It was no trouble,” she replies, brushing a stray hair from her face. “Make sure you guys eat something before school. Big day today, right?”
You nod, glancing back at Maya, who’s already heading toward the kitchen with a sleepy but relieved smile.
As you walk down the hall, uniform in hand, you can almost feel today shifting from chaotic to manageable. The sun is higher now, light spilling through the windows and filling the house with warmth. Maya’s mom disappears back into her room, and you both make your way into the kitchen where the smell of toast and scrambled eggs floats through the air.
Maya flips two plates—one for each of you—then looks over with that soft, grateful expression she gets when she’s finally feeling like she has a friend in her corner.
“Seriously,” she says between bites, “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
You laugh, picking up your fork.
“Well,” you say, “we’ve still got a test to conquer. But we’ll face it together.”
She nods, about to respond—
When footsteps echo from the staircase.
Jimin is walking down the stairs.
Hands tucked into his pockets like he used to. Tie slightly loose. Hair still soft from sleep.
You didn’t think he would actually come back to school.
His eyes lift and meet yours instantly.
You swallow before answering.
“Good morning, Jimin.”
You don’t even realize you’re staring until Maya lightly nudges your arm.
Relief washes over you in a quiet wave. Seeing him dressed like that—like nothing ever happened—makes it feel real.
When he reaches the bottom step, he walks straight to Maya and presses a kiss to her forehead.
She beams and hands him a piece of toast.
“You’re coming to school today?” you ask, unable to hide the surprise in your voice.
He glances at you again, toast half-bitten in his hand.
“Yes,” he says simply. “I’m back.”
Those words settle something deep in your chest.
You didn’t realize how scared you were of him disappearing again.
The three of you sit down at the table together. Breakfast feels warmer somehow. Lighter. Mr. Park teases Jimin about keeping up with assignments. Mrs. Park fusses over whether he’s eating enough.
After breakfast, you and Maya head upstairs to get dressed. You change into your uniforms side by side, adjusting collars and smoothing fabric.
While buttoning your shirt, you glance at her reflection in the mirror.
“When did he decide he wanted to go back?” you ask quietly.
Maya pauses for a second.
You hesitate.
“Is that… okay? For him to go? I mean… is he really fine?”
“The doctors cleared him to return. He still has checkups. But they said he can live normally again.”
“Was he scared?” you ask.
Maya’s expression softens.
“Yeah,” she admits. “He didn’t want people looking at him differently. He doesn’t want to be the sick kid. He just wants to be Jimin again.”
Your chest tightens at that.
“I’m glad he’s back,” you whisper.
You both grab your bags and head downstairs.
Jimin is already by the door, hands in his pockets again.
And when he looks at you—
There’s something gentle in his expression.
Like he’s happy you’re here.
Like coming back feels easier because you are.
And for the first time in a long while…
Today doesn’t feel so heavy.
The ride to school is quieter than usual.
Maya sits in the passenger seat, talking softly with her dad about something random—probably to fill the silence. You’re in the backseat next to Jimin.
He’s looking out the window.
His reflection in the glass looks calm… but his hands give him away. They keep fidgeting with the straps of his backpack, tightening and loosening them over and over again.
Your fingers twitch. You want to reach over. You want to hold his hand and tell him it’s okay. That nothing’s changed. That you’re here.
Instead, you lace your own fingers together in your lap and turn your head toward the window too.
The school building comes into view.
The large blue sign stands tall at the front entrance, students already crowding the steps. Laughter. Lockers slamming. Teachers guiding traffic.
Mr. Park pulls up to the curb.
Maya is the first to open her door.
Then you.
You step out and adjust your bag on your shoulder.
At everything waiting for him.
You walk back toward the car slightly and lean down so he can see you through the open door.
And he doesn’t say anything.
Not dramatic. Not panicked. Just quiet fear. Like he’s asking, What if I can’t do this?
You give him the softest smile you can manage.
“Come on,” you say gently. “I’m here. It’s okay.”
He studies your face for a second longer.
Then he smiles back — small, but real.
The fear is still there in his eyes.
He closes the door, walks around the front, and exhales like he’s bracing himself.
Maya comes up behind the two of you, smiling proudly at her brother.
Jimin starts walking first.
You’re about to catch up when Mr. Park calls out from the driver’s seat, window rolled down.
His expression is warm — but worried.
“Look out for him,” he says quietly.
His eyes carry the same fear Jimin’s did.
“Of course,” you reply with a reassuring smile.
With that, you turn and jog a little to catch up to them.
Jimin’s shoulders are still slightly tense as he walks toward the entrance.
You move closer beside him.
But close enough that if he needs you—
The second you walk through the front doors, you feel it.
“He’s back.”
“Oh my God, I forgot about him.”
“Is that really Jimin?”
He’s looking around too. Trying to act normal. Trying to keep his face steady. But you know him. You see the way his jaw tightens. The way his shoulders lift just a little too high.
Before he can freeze up, you move.
You step closer and slip your arms around his.
“Let’s go,” you whisper quietly, grounding him.
He looks down at you for half a second — grateful — then nods.
Maya had already rushed off to her class, waving dramatically and yelling, “Text me!” before disappearing down the hallway.
Luckily, you and Jimin share first period.
You walk together down the hall, slower than usual but steady. Students continue to glance at him, some smiling, some just curious.
When you enter the classroom, conversations immediately quiet down.
The classroom goes quiet the second you both walk in.
He stays standing at the front beside the teacher, hands tucked into the straps of his backpack. You notice the way his fingers flex against the fabric — tight, controlled.
He’s pretending he’s not nervous.
The teacher smiles warmly.
“As you all know, Jimin used to attend here before he went to study in the U.S. And now he’s back with us.”
For a split second, it feels too quiet.
You can almost hear his breathing from where you are sitting.
Jimin bows his head slightly. “Hi… it’s good to be back.”
His voice is steady — but you know him. There’s effort behind it.
Then someone from the back yells, “Welcome back, Jimin-ah!”
Another voice follows. “We missed you!”
The room erupts into cheers and playful claps.
The kind that crinkles his eyes.
The tension in his shoulder's eases, just a little.
You feel yourself relax too.
The teacher gestures toward the empty seat beside you. “You can sit there, Jimin.”
He nods and finally walks down the aisle.
Each step seems more confident than the last.
When he reaches you, he slides into the chair next to yours. His arm brushes against yours for a second — warm, solid, real.
But under the desk, his knee bounces slightly.
Without thinking too much about it, you nudge your leg gently against his to steady him.
And then he gives you the smallest smile.
And for the first time since this morning, you feel like maybe today won’t be as hard as you thought.
Jimin settles into the seat beside you, still adjusting his notebook on the desk.
You try to focus on the lesson.
But you can feel the warmth of him next to you. The faint scent of his cologne. The way his knee had been bouncing earlier — and how it stopped when you nudged him.
You glance at him once more.
neither of you notice the pair of eyes directly behind you.
From where he’s sitting, he sees everything — the slight lean of Jimin toward you, the way your voice softens when you whisper something to him, the way your shoulders relax around him in a way they never do around anyone else.
Especially not around him.
Jungkook’s pen stills mid-sentence.
He doesn’t know Jimin. He doesn’t know the history. All he knows is that the entire class just cheered for this guy — and you’re looking at him like he’s something important.
Your leg nudging Jimin’s.
Something sharp twists in his chest.
Annoyance, he tells himself.
He leans back in his chair, jaw tight.
He doesn’t care who you talk to.
He doesn’t care who you sit with.
So why does his grip on his pen tighten when Jimin laughs quietly at something you say?
Why does he suddenly feel irritated?
His foot taps once against the leg of your chair without him meaning to.
You shift slightly at the movement.
And for a split second, Jungkook wonders if you’ll turn around.
If you’ll look at him the way you just looked at Jimin.
You gather your things, leaning closer to Jimin as you say something too quiet for Jungkook to hear.
The one Jungkook has never seen directed at him.
As you both stand, Jungkook’s eyes flicker between your backs.
Confusion settles in his chest.
And why does it feel like he just walked into something he wasn’t supposed to see?
He doesn’t like the feeling.
And for the first time since transferring—
Jeon Jungkook isn’t thinking about grades or competting.
