Jungkook

He saw him every day at precisely eight in the morning, on the central staircase. Jungkook was always standing there, leaning against the railing. For Taehyung, those seven seconds while he climbed the stairs were a quantum of time, torn from the ordinary. Seven seconds during which the world narrowed to a single point—a tall high school student in a white shirt. Taehyung was an eighth-grader, and this feeling, sharp and all-consuming, washed over him like a tsunami. That day, Taehyung made his decision. In his hands was the envelope he'd been folding all night. Not pink and covered in hearts, but plain white, but inside was all he could squeeze out of his soul: three lines, written, erased, and rewritten. "Hello, Jungkook-hyung. I'm from 8-B. I think you are the most beautiful person in the world. Can I love you? Stupid. His heart was pounding as if it wanted to jump out. Taehyung, pale and wide-eyed, approached the older boy and, without a word, thrust an envelope into his hands. His fingers briefly brushed Jungkook's warm skin, and the touch was like an electric shock. Jungkook looked at him. “What is it?” Jungkook asked, his voice calm.