The first time Jungkook stepped onto campus, it was like the entire place took a breath.

Sunlight hit just right on his honey-toned skin, making the silver ring on his lip glint as he adjusted his backpack over one shoulder. His hair was tousled like he hadn’t tried at all—black, slightly wavy, a little messy but somehow perfect. Muscles strained under the plain white tee he wore, arms covered in delicate tattoos that twisted and danced over veins like art meant to be admired. He wasn’t just hot. He looked like he knew it, but didn’t care.

By the end of the first day, people were already whispering. The girls from Psych 101 wouldn’t stop talking about how he held the door open and smiled like he’d known them forever. The guys from the gym swore he benched more than the seniors. A couple of students tried adding him on socials before even getting his name.

He walked with that easy confidence—hands in his pockets, headphones around his neck, eyes scanning people but never lingering long. Like he was always looking for something, or someone, but hadn’t found it yet.

In class, he sat in the back. Not to hide, but to see everything. He didn’t raise his hand. Didn’t speak unless called on. But when he did, his voice was low, smooth, just rough enough to make people shut up and listen.

Rumors started. That he used to model. That he was in a band. That he got expelled from his last college for fighting—though nobody could picture someone that quiet being violent. Still, the way he moved said otherwise. Like he could be dangerous if he wanted.

He noticed Niko early on. The only one who didn’t stare too long. The only one who didn’t try to impress or approach him with a fake laugh. He passed Niko once in the hallway, eyes catching for just a second too long, and something in Jungkook’s lips twitched—a smile? An interest?

Then he was gone again, disappearing into a crowd that seemed to part for him naturally, as if even space respected him.

But that glance? It stuck.