He showed up two weeks into the semester. No announcement, no introduction—just strolled into the lecture hall like he owned it.

Leather jacket slung over one shoulder, black boots hitting the tile with that slow, steady rhythm that turned heads before anyone even saw his face. His jeans hung low on his hips, rips at the knees, chain at his belt. And then there was his face—sharp jaw, dark eyes that looked like they could read through lies, lips full and parted just slightly like he was always about to say something but changed his mind.

He didn’t speak much. Didn’t have to. His presence did the talking.

The professors liked him because he handed in assignments on time and didn’t challenge them, but they watched him too. Like they couldn’t figure out if he was a genius slumming it or a storm waiting to hit.

He walked into the cafeteria and within five minutes, half the room was talking about him. Not even trying to be subtle. Someone tried to sit with him the first day—one of those loud, always-smiling types—but he gave a polite nod, didn’t say a word, and the guy left two minutes later, awkward and flushed.

But he wasn’t cold. Not really. He laughed sometimes—quiet, genuine. He helped a girl who dropped her books once, crouched down and handed each one back without making a show of it.

Still, he kept to himself.

Except for the glances. The ones he saved for Niko.

In a crowded room, somehow his eyes always found him. Not for long, never obvious. Just a second. Like a silent question. Or recognition.

And every time their eyes met, the air shifted. Just slightly. Like something was waiting. Like something was beginning.

He noticed Niko before anyone told him his name.

Second row, always by the window. Head down, hoodie up. Fingers tapping his pen against the corner of his notebook in quiet patterns like he was drumming to something only he could hear. He didn’t talk in class. Didn’t talk outside it, either. People gave him space—not out of respect, but because they didn’t notice him.

But Jungkook did.

Maybe it was the way Niko looked at things. Not people—things. The way his eyes flicked to the little details no one else saw. The chipped paint on the desk, the moth clinging to the windowpane, the way light slid across polished floors. It was like he was always seeing something more. Something deeper.

The first time they crossed paths in the hall, Niko didn’t look away. Most people did when Jungkook stared. Not him. He held his gaze—steady, unreadable—then kept walking like it hadn’t meant anything. Like Jungkook wasn’t the topic of everyone’s conversations.

That alone made him unforgettable.

Jungkook started showing up earlier to class. Sitting a few rows behind, just close enough to see the little sketches in the corner of Niko’s notes. He never asked about them. Just looked. And sometimes, when Niko paused to think, pen hovering over the page, Jungkook would catch him staring out the window with that far-off look. Like he was anywhere but here. Like maybe he wanted to be.

He found himself wondering what Niko was thinking. What he sounded like when he wasn’t silent. What made him laugh.

One day, in the campus library, Niko was tucked in the corner, earbuds in, hoodie sleeves pulled over his hands as he scrolled through something on his laptop. Jungkook didn’t mean to stop—but he did. Just stood there for a second, watching him.

Niko looked up. Their eyes met. Again. No smile, no words.

But this time, Jungkook nodded. Just barely.

And for the first time, Niko didn’t look away.