Two Days Later – Behind the College Gym

Jungkook stood with his fists clenched, back against the brick wall of the gym. His hoodie was half-zipped, earbuds forgotten, his eyes dark and sharp with one goal in mind:

Find out who exposed you.

It wasn’t just about proving his innocence now — it was about defending your name. Your peace. The place you loved.

And no one touched what he cared about.

He’d asked around, quietly. Watched people. Heard the whispers.

And then—he got the name.

Min Jae.

A student from your class. Always sat in the back. The kind who spoke too little but watched too much.

Jungkook remembered how Min Jae had once asked about you.

“Why do you hang around that nerd, bro?”

The way he’d laughed, said you were weird.

And how Jungkook had coldly replied, “Watch your mouth.”

Now he knew.

And he was pissed.

Jungkook spotted him near the bike racks, laughing with a group.

He didn’t wait.

Didn’t hesitate.

He walked straight up and grabbed Min Jae by the collar, slamming him against the wall. Gasps and footsteps stopped around them.

“You told the staff about the art room, didn’t you?” Jungkook growled, voice low but lethal.

Min Jae struggled in his grip. “W-What the hell—?”

“Don’t play dumb,” Jungkook spat. “You followed me. You saw where she went. And you ran your mouth.”

Min Jae’s eyes widened. “I didn’t think they’d destroy it, I just—! I heard you talking about it one day, okay?! You looked so into her I thought… maybe she was your weakness.”

Jungkook’s eyes turned black with fury.

“So you ruined it because of jealousy?” he seethed.

“Y-You’re Jeon Jungkook,” Min Jae stammered. “You never cared about anyone. No girl, no friend, nothing. But suddenly it’s her this, her that—what the hell am I supposed to think?!”

“You’re supposed to mind your business,” Jungkook snapped. “She trusted me. You took that and burned it down.”

He released him with a shove, eyes wild with disgust.

“I don’t care what your excuse is,” Jungkook muttered. “But you’re going to fix this.”

“H-How?”

“You’re going to the dean and tell him the truth. That you lied. That she never broke rules. That she just needed a quiet place,” he hissed. “If you don’t—”

Jungkook leaned in close, deadly calm.

“—you’ll wish getting kicked out was your biggest problem.”

Min Jae nodded frantically, rubbing his collar. “Okay—okay! I’ll do it. Just back off.”

Jungkook didn’t say another word.

He turned and walked away, eyes still stormy, rage still burning.

But underneath it all… something else was rising.

Relief.

Because now, he could finally go to you.

Clear.

Honest.

And worthy again.

Later That Day – Library Steps

You sat with your knees drawn up, headphones in, trying to draw again — but your heart wasn’t in it.

The sketchbook lay open… but the pencil didn’t move.

“YN.”

You looked up.

Jungkook stood there — breathing heavy, a little winded — his eyes locked on yours.

You pulled the headphones down slowly. “What…?”

“I found who did it.”

Your lips parted in shock.

“Min Jae,” he said. “He overheard me talking about you. Got jealous. Thought you made me soft.”

You blinked fast. “So it wasn’t you…”

His jaw tightened, eyes pained. “I told you it wasn’t. But I had to prove it.”

He stepped forward, crouching down in front of you, hands on his knees.

“He’s going to the dean tomorrow. He’s confessing everything. They’ll know you didn’t break any rules. That you were just trying to… breathe.”

You stared at him, voice shaking. “Why did you go so far?”

He looked at you like it was the simplest thing in the world.

“Because you matter to me,” he said. “And I can’t stand seeing you cry over something you love.”

A tear slipped from your eye — but this one wasn’t from pain.

It was from relief.

And hope.

Jungkook reached into his hoodie pocket and pulled something out: a small folded paper.

You unfolded it.

It was a sketched floor plan.

"There's a storage shed behind the music block,” he said. “Old. Unused. I pulled a few strings. It's yours now. Keys are in here."

Your eyes widened.

"A new room," he said softly. “No one will touch it. No one will know but you and me.”

He waited, watching you closely, his voice nearly a whisper now.

"Can I come see your art again... sometime?"

Your heart melted completely.

Jungkook had just finished talking. His voice had gone soft, his words laced with sincerity as he told you about the new space he’d secured for your art. His hoodie rustled as he pulled the sketched map from his pocket — a plan to give you back what someone had stolen.

But you didn’t answer.

You just started crying.

At first, he panicked.

“Y-YN?” He leaned in closer, eyes widening as your tears streamed down without warning. “Wait—did I do something wrong? Did I say something wrong?”

He reached for your face instinctively, but you shook your head furiously, sobbing harder.

“I’m sorry… I’m so sorry,” you choked out. “I was wrong about you. I—I slapped you…”

Your hand reached out and took his — small and trembling in his much bigger palm.

The second you touched him, his entire body froze.

Like static under his skin.

Like fire and feathers.

His heart stuttered, and his breath caught in his throat.

Butterflies exploded in his stomach — something he hadn’t felt in years.

You sniffled, voice weak, but honest.

“Slap me back… if you want. I deserve it. I didn’t believe you. I hurt you.”

Jungkook stared at you, stunned.

“What?” he whispered.

Your eyes dropped, and you nodded slowly. “Just once. I’ll close my eyes. I won’t cry again, I promise.”

And then…

You closed your eyes.

Waiting for it.

Heart pounding.

But it never came.

Instead—

A warm, calloused palm gently cupped your cheek.

Your eyes opened in surprise.

Jungkook’s face was close, his brows drawn together in pain — not for himself, but for you.

“Slap you?” he murmured. “You think I could ever hit you?”

You blinked fast, more tears rolling down.

His thumb brushed across your cheek, wiping them away one by one.

He smiled, soft and crooked.

“Your slap didn’t hurt me, YN,” he said with a quiet chuckle. “Not even a little.”

His gaze dropped to your hand in his.

“How can someone with hands this soft hit hard?” he whispered.

You tried to speak, but he gently shushed you.

“I’m not mad at you. I could never be,” he said, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “I care too much.”

Your eyes searched his, lips parting slightly.

And then—he leaned just a little closer.

So close you could feel his breath. So close your heart skipped like wild drumbeats in your chest.

“But you don’t ever have to cry like that again,” he said. “Not as long as I’m around.”

You nodded slowly, and this time, the tears that fell weren’t from guilt — they were from how safe he made you feel.

The New Art Room – Hidden Behind the Music Block

The soft glow of late afternoon light spilled through the dusty windows of the old storage shed Jungkook had turned into a sanctuary — for you.

Cleaned, quiet, and filled with the faint scent of fresh wood and paint, it didn’t look like a shed anymore. There were shelves now, a cozy rug, fairy lights strung sloppily overhead, and your art supplies stacked neatly in one corner.

It was beautiful.

But not nearly as beautiful as the way he stood there, grinning shyly as he held open the door for you.

“Welcome to your new kingdom, my little nerd,” he whispered with a crooked smile.

You stepped in slowly, your heart squeezing. It was warm. Gentle. Perfect.

You turned to him, eyes glossy again—but this time from happiness.

“You really did all this… for me?”

He scratched the back of his neck, pretending to play it cool. “Yeah, well… wasn’t gonna let you cry over paint and paper again.”

Your lips quivered with a soft laugh. “It was more than paint.”

“I know,” he said, voice softer now.

You sat cross-legged on the rug, sketchbook in your lap, your pencil dancing again. Jungkook sat beside you, watching in silence as you focused.

Every now and then he stole a glance at your face — the way your lips parted slightly when you concentrated, how you chewed the edge of the eraser without realizing.

“I missed this,” you whispered.

He looked at you. “Drawing?”

You shook your head slowly. “Feeling like… me.”

His heart clenched.

Then, shyly, you tilted the sketchbook toward him.

He blinked — it was him again. But this time, it was the version of him from this moment. Sitting beside you. Soft. At peace.

“You’ve got me memorized,” he teased, but it was clear how touched he was.

You smiled sheepishly. “You have a… draw-able face.”

He leaned in closer, smirking. “Oh yeah? Let me try then.”

You raised an eyebrow. “You can draw?”

He shrugged. “I used to paint. Haven’t done it in a while.”

You blinked in surprise. “Show me.”

Fifteen Minutes Later

You sat behind him now as he leaned over a small canvas. You watched his fingers grip the brush, smooth and precise as strokes of color bloomed across the surface.

He was quiet, focused — eyebrows furrowed, jaw slightly clenched — the very same expressions you’d sketched a dozen times.

And yet now, watching him create, made your heart ache in a different way.

“You’re really good,” you whispered.

He didn’t look up. “Told you.”

“What made you stop?”

He hesitated.

“My mom used to paint,” he said, voice soft. “She left… when I was twelve. Took her brushes with her. Felt wrong picking mine back up.”

You stayed quiet, then gently reached out — placing your hand on his.

He looked at you.

And something in the air shifted.

Slow.

Tender.

He put the brush down and turned toward you.

“You made me want to try again,” he murmured.

You stared into his eyes, and for a long second… no one said a word.

He reached up — carefully — tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear, fingers lingering near your cheek.

Your breath caught.

“I think I’m falling for you, little artist,” he whispered.

You looked at him, stunned, lips parted.

And then, without overthinking, without fear — you leaned in.

Your lips met.

Soft. Shy. But filled with everything you both couldn’t say.

Your fingers curled into the sleeve of his hoodie. His hand cupped the back of your neck.

It was quiet.

It was real.

When you finally pulled back, cheeks flushed and hearts pounding, he smiled his bunny smile again.

“Let’s paint something ugly next,” he whispered playfully.

You laughed through a tear. “Like what?”

He grinned.

“My jealous face whenever someone else looks at you.”

The end...