Saved || A Jungkook fanfic

9.

(This chapter contains trigger warnings)

He had changed.

Taehyung and Namjoon lost their parents.

His father had... problems. Too many of them.

Mental demons that gnawed away at whatever was left of his humanity, until one day, he snapped. He shot his wife first. Then himself.

I didn't sugarcoat it. I just let the words spill, sharp and raw, before I lost the nerve to say them at all.

Jungkook remained quiet. He had been quiet this whole time. But I kept talking. Because if I stopped, I was afraid I wouldn't start again.

"I met Taehyung before it happened. Second year of university. We had the same class together."

A small, almost wistful smile pulled at my lips.

"I still remember the first thing he ever said to me."

__

Somehow, I made it into the classroom without dropping my books. A minor victory.

The room was just like every other at the university—massive, sterile, with stark white walls that stretched too high. Six rows of desks formed a horseshoe around the professor's podium, which stood in front of a long blackboard spanning half the wall. Stacks of papers and planners cluttered the professor's desk in the corner, a controlled chaos that hinted at a long semester ahead.

I chose a seat in the back, away from the crowd. My usual safety zone.

Slowly, the room filled. Murmurs of students meeting, reuniting, groaning about the workload to come. Then, just as the professor started speaking—

The door burst open.

A collective gasp rippled through the classroom as a tall boy strode in, chest rising and falling from the sprint to class. Silver hair caught the light, framing a face that looked like it belonged on a magazine cover rather than in a dimly lit lecture hall. A simple black hoodie and jeans did nothing to dull the effortless charisma rolling off him in waves.

The professor muttered something under his breath as the boy—unapologetically, yet somehow still apologetically—rushed to take the last empty seat.

The one next to me.

Our eyes met as he slid into the chair. My fingers curled instinctively around the edge of my desk. His arm brushed mine in the process, and a spark of something unnameable shot down my spine.

"Sorry," he murmured, his voice hushed, low, like we were sharing a secret.

Then, he smiled. A peculiar, rectangular grin that was both endearing and utterly disarming. My breath hitched.

"Wow," I whispered before I could stop myself.

He raised an eyebrow, amusement flickering across his face.

"Oh, so you must really love American Literature, huh?" The whisper was gone. His voice was deeper now, smooth like velvet.

Heat crawled up my neck. I nodded, deciding to play along. "I like anything better than calculus."

A low chuckle escaped him, and my heart stuttered in response.

"I can't argue with you there." He leaned in slightly, extending a hand. "I'm Taehyung."