BTS IMAGINES AND SCENARIOS

One liter of tears✿(Kim Seokjin/Jin)

Chapter 1 – The Spring Rain

It was raining the morning Y/n first saw him.
Not the heavy, angry kind of rain that ruins umbrellas, but the kind that hangs softly in the air, as if the clouds themselves are thinking too hard to cry. The sky was pale and slow; the pavement shimmered like glass.

Y/n ran with her bag pressed against her chest, shoes splashing through puddles. She was late again. Her mother’s voice still echoed from the kitchen—“You’ll catch a cold if you keep skipping breakfast!”—but Y/n had only smiled, stuffed her toast in her pocket, and dashed into the world.

By the school gate, someone stood with a crooked umbrella. His tie was loose, his hair damp, and he looked vaguely amused watching everyone rush inside. That was Seokjin. He caught her glance for half a second, offered his umbrella without a word, and when she shook her head and laughed, he grinned like it was the first real smile he’d had all morning.

That tiny exchange was nothing special. But later, when she remembered it, it felt like the start of everything.

Class passed in a quiet routine. Y/n scribbled in her notebook, her handwriting sharp and confident. She liked tidy lines, clean answers, things that made sense. Her favorite subjects were literature and biology—the heart and the body, both full of mysteries she wanted to understand.

After lunch, her friends dragged her outside. The rain had thinned into mist, wrapping the world in silver. They joked, traded snacks, and took pictures with an old digital camera. And in the corner of one photo, Seokjin appeared by chance—half-smile, half-shadow.

That evening, she noticed her hand trembling when she tried to write. Just a small shake, barely there. She frowned, flexed her fingers, and told herself it was fatigue. Exams were close; maybe she was just tired.

She didn’t mention it at dinner. Her parents were talking about her younger brother’s soccer match, and the table was full of noise and warmth. For a moment, she felt a strange ache—an urge to freeze that moment and live inside it forever.

Later, lying in bed, she could still hear the rain tapping the roof. She thought of the boy with the crooked umbrella and wondered if he ever felt like the world was moving too fast.

Outside, the night softened. Inside, Y/n’s fingers trembled again. But this time, she didn’t notice. She was already asleep, dreaming of something she couldn’t name.