JIMIN.
“Good morning, Yoongi.” The words felt clumsy, a hopeful offering delivered too quietly. He watched Yoongi settle into the desk beside his own, the familiar weight of his presence a small comfort after weeks of silent observation. A tentative smile bloomed on Jimin’s face, waiting for a response.
“Morning, Jimin.” The reply was a murmur, a fleeting acknowledgment. A quick smile touched Yoongi’s lips, then vanished.
And that was it. The exchange felt complete, yet painfully insufficient.
Jimin’s mind raced, searching for something, anything, to fill the void. The courage to simply *greet* Yoongi had taken months to muster. To have it end with such a brief exchange felt…deflating.
A wave of unexpected pride washed over him. Yoongi remembered his name. It was a small thing, a fleeting recognition, but it felt monumental.
Yoongi spent most of his time lost in thought, his gaze fixed on some distant point beyond the classroom walls. Jimin wondered what occupied him, who held his attention. Was he thinking of someone else? Did he ever, even for a moment, glance at Jimin?
No. It was foolish to hope for such a thing. Jimin was indulging in fantasies, building castles in the air.
Someone, *anyone*, possessed Yoongi’s attention. Jimin envied them with a quiet ache. He watched Yoongi, and wished he could simply be noticed.
He couldn’t pinpoint when this fascination had begun. It felt like the first day of junior year, the moment he discovered they’d be seated together. It was a quiet, insidious crush, the kind that blooms slowly, steadily, until it becomes an undeniable force. Everything Yoongi did—the way he tilted his head, the way his fingers tapped against his notebook—only intensified the pull.
Yoongi wasn’t a diligent student. He doodled aimlessly in his notebook, drifted off mid-lesson, or simply stared into the abyss. Lately, Jimin had noticed a subtle sadness clinging to him, a weight in his shoulders. If he wasn’t already, Jimin would be admitting to himself that he’d already been stalking him. The thought of reaching out, of asking what troubled him, had crossed his mind.
But he hadn’t.
He was too shy, too aware of the distance between them. The question remained unasked, the worry unspoken.
“Hey.” The raspy voice startled Jimin, making him jump. Yoongi flinched as well, then a small chuckle escaped his lips. “Sorry. I just wanted to ask if I could borrow a pencil.” A shy smile curved his lips, sending a shiver down Jimin’s spine.
“O-oh… Y-yeah, of course.” Jimin stammered, fumbling through his pencil case. He found one, a worn, familiar friend. He extended his hand, trembling slightly. “Here.”
“Thanks.” Yoongi accepted the pencil, his fingers brushing against Jimin’s for a fleeting moment. He turned his attention to the blank paper, began to scribble aimlessly, dotting the page with random marks.
“No… No problem.” Jimin replied, watching Yoongi’s hand move across the paper. It wasn’t a drawing, not exactly. Just aimless doodles, born of boredom. Yet, Jimin found himself utterly captivated. The curve of Yoongi’s lips, the gentle arc of his wrist… Everything about him felt mesmerizing. It wasn’t healthy, he knew. But he couldn’t stop himself from watching.
“Good morning, class.” The teacher’s voice cut through the silence. Yoongi quickly folded his paper, tucking it into his backpack. He didn’t return the pencil, but Jimin didn’t mind. He had a reason to speak to him again.
The teacher checked attendance, then turned her back to the class to write the day’s lesson on the board. Yoongi’s eyes lost focus, drifting away into his own private world. Jimin found himself staring once more, lost in the quiet rhythm of watching him.
Sometimes, he wondered if Yoongi ever noticed his gaze. But he knew, deep down, that Yoongi’s attention was elsewhere, lost in thoughts that would never include a fleeting glance in Jimin’s direction.