Taehyung’s days were a blur of muted colors and endless silences, but the visit from Jungkook lingered in his mind. He had tried to shake it off, telling himself it was just a cop doing his job, a stranger who had stumbled into his life by accident. But there was something about Jungkook’s presence—something steady, something that hadn’t felt suffocating like everything else.

Still, Taehyung told himself it didn’t matter. He didn’t need anyone to check on him.

The following day, his father dropped him off at campus. Taehyung had insisted he didn’t need the ride, but his parents had stopped listening to him entirely. His mother’s worried eyes followed him as he shut the car door, and her voice—fragile and pleading—rang in his ears: “Try to focus, sweetheart. One step at a time.”

Taehyung felt like screaming. Focus on what? On a life that didn’t feel like his anymore?

As he walked through the gates of the university, the familiar hum of students rushing to their classes surrounded him. Groups of friends chatted, laughter echoing in the hallways. It was like watching a world he used to belong to but had been cast out of, an outsider in his own life.

He drifted through the corridors, his bag hanging loosely off his shoulder. He hadn’t even checked which classes he had today. It didn’t matter. He found an empty lecture hall and sank into a seat in the back row, his notebook and pen untouched in front of him.

The professor’s voice droned on in the distance, but Taehyung wasn’t listening. His gaze was fixed on the desk, where he traced invisible patterns with his finger. His mind kept circling back to the same questions: Why was he here? Why was he doing this? What was the point?

---

Jungkook sat in his car, parked near the police station. He was supposed to be heading home after his shift, but instead, he found himself scrolling through the notes he’d made on Taehyung’s case. There wasn’t much—just basic information: name, age, address, the incident report.

But those sparse details felt heavy, weighted with the unspoken truths they didn’t capture.

“Why am I even doing this?” he muttered to himself.

It wasn’t his job to follow up. He wasn’t a counselor, wasn’t part of any long-term solution for people like Taehyung. He was just a cop. But the thought of leaving Taehyung to fend for himself didn’t sit right with him. There was something about the kid’s silence, his defiance, that made Jungkook feel like there was more to the story.

He made a split-second decision, starting the car and heading toward the university listed in Taehyung’s file.

---

The class ended, and Taehyung stayed in his seat, watching the other students file out. He didn’t have anywhere to be. His next lecture wasn’t for another hour, and the thought of spending it in the crowded cafeteria made his stomach turn.

He was about to leave when he noticed someone standing at the door of the lecture hall.

Jungkook.

For a moment, Taehyung thought he was imagining it. But no, it was him—leaning casually against the doorframe, his dark eyes scanning the room until they landed on Taehyung.

“What are you doing here?” Taehyung asked, his voice low, guarded.

Jungkook walked down the steps, his hands in his jacket pockets. “I wanted to check on you.”

Taehyung’s brow furrowed. “You already did that. Twice now. I don’t need a babysitter.”

“I’m not babysitting,” Jungkook said, his tone calm but firm. “I just... I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

Taehyung scoffed, shaking his head. “You don’t even know me. Why do you care?”

Jungkook hesitated, his gaze steady. “Maybe I don’t know you. But I’ve seen enough people in pain to recognize when someone’s drowning.”

The words hit Taehyung harder than he expected. He looked away, his fingers tightening around the strap of his bag. “Well, congratulations. You figured it out. I’m drowning. Now what?”

Jungkook didn’t flinch at the bitterness in Taehyung’s voice. Instead, he sat down in the seat beside him, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. “You tell me. What do you need?”

Taehyung’s laugh was hollow, humorless. “If I knew that, don’t you think I’d be doing it?”

Jungkook nodded, as if he understood. “Fair enough. But that doesn’t mean you have to figure it out alone.”

For the first time, Taehyung looked at Jungkook directly, his defenses slipping just a little. There was no pity in Jungkook’s eyes, no judgment. Just a quiet determination that felt strangely steadying.

“You don’t get it,” Taehyung said, his voice softer now. “Even if I wanted help, it’s not that simple. People like you—you see someone like me, and you think it’s just about fixing the surface. But it’s not. It’s everything. It’s the way I wake up every day and feel like there’s no point. It’s how I can’t even breathe sometimes because the weight of existing is too much.”

Jungkook’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t interrupt. He let Taehyung’s words hang in the air, raw and unfiltered.

“I’m not some project you can fix, Jungkook,” Taehyung continued. “So stop trying.”

Jungkook leaned back in his seat, exhaling slowly. “I’m not here to fix you, Taehyung. I just... I don’t know. I guess I just don’t want you to feel like no one’s listening.”

Taehyung didn’t respond, his eyes dropping to the floor. For the first time in weeks, he felt something shift inside him—an ache that wasn’t entirely despair.

It wasn’t trust, not yet. But it was something.