Taehyung’s POV:
The familiar, grating shouts of my parents woke me, echoing through the thin walls of our small house. It was a daily occurrence, a soundtrack to my life. But today, the usual despair was laced with a strange, insistent memory. The memory of *him*. Jeon Jungkook.
I dragged myself out of bed, the routine a dull ache of repetition. As the warm water streamed over my skin, my mind drifted back to last night. The sensation of his lips on mine, the gentle pressure of his touch, the way his eyes held mine—a gaze that made me feel, for a fleeting moment, beautiful.
It had been mere hours since we’d met, yet I felt a pull, a burgeoning affection that felt both terrifying and exhilarating. A familiar ache settled in my chest, the realization that this might be a single, impossible encounter.
Then, a phrase he’d spoken resurfaced. “We will meet again, beautiful.”
*Beautiful.* The word felt foreign, a cruel mockery when applied to me.
I turned off the tap and stepped out of the shower, turning to face my reflection. The mirror offered a harsh assessment. Too gaunt. Unkempt, brown hair falling across my face. Bruises lingered beneath my eyes. *Unbeautiful.*
I pulled on my worn-out sweats and headed out, quickly descending the stairs, avoiding the escalating argument upstairs, and escaping the confines of our small house.
Walking toward the bus stop, I glanced at our neighborhood—a landscape of poverty and crime. Our dilapidated house stood as a testament to our misfortune.
It hadn’t always been this way. I remembered a time of stability, of a functional family, of friends, of a life filled with simple joys. But my father’s job loss had shattered everything.
The ensuing financial strain had forced us to move here, to this desolate corner of the city. The first fight between my parents had erupted shortly after, a wound that had never fully healed. This neighborhood had brought only despair.
The bus arrived, its doors hissing open. I handed the driver my fare, finding a seat near the back. My gaze drifted towards the aisle, and my heart lurched.
There he was. Jungkook. Hair perfectly styled, dressed in a crisp business suit. He looked impossibly handsome.
“J-Jungkook,” I breathed, barely audible.
His eyes met mine. Those dark, intense eyes.
He smirked, a slow, knowing curve of his lips. “I told you we would meet again.”
Panic flared as I realized the bus was approaching my stop. I glanced back at him, his gaze unwavering, burning with an intensity that sent shivers down my spine.
He leaned in, his lips brushing against mine. I responded without thinking, desperate to feel that connection again.
He broke the kiss, and I realized the bus had arrived at my stop. I tried to stand, but his grip on my arm was firm, preventing my escape.
“What time does your school end?” he asked, his gaze fixed on my backpack.
“3…3:00. Wait—why didn’t you take your car today?”
“Eh, didn’t feel like it.”
He brushed his lips against mine once more, a fleeting touch. “See you later, Tae.”
The bus doors closed, and I stumbled off, my cheeks burning with a blush I couldn’t suppress.
I walked toward school, a dazed smile plastered on my face, and the weight of a secret, exhilarating hope blooming in my chest.