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The smoke was the first thing you noticed. No matter how many times he went in, it was always there. Thick, clinging to his clothes, his skin, his lungs. Jungkook didn't even notice it anymore. It was part of the place. Part of him. The sound of pool balls colliding broke the bar's constant murmur. Laughter, shouts, old music blasting from a half-broken speaker. Neon lights flickering as if they were about to give up. Jungkook leaned over the table, calculating his shot. His fingers, firm and steady, gripped the cue stick precisely. "You're going to lose again," someone murmured beside him. He didn't even look. He struck. The cue ball advanced cleanly, straight, and the sharp impact against the black ball drew a few whistles from around him. The ball fell. "You already lost," Jungkook replied, barely straightening up. The money changed hands without much ceremony. It was routine. Win. Collect. Ignore. Don't think. It always worked. Until the door opened. It wasn't the sound. It was the change. The air seemed to move differently, as if something didn't quite fit. Jungkook looked up, purely on instinct. And he saw it. He didn't belong there. It was obvious in the way he hesitated as soon as he entered. In how his eyes scanned the room with a mixture of discomfort and… disdain. Clothes too clean. Posture too upright. Gaze too… sharp. Jungkook frowned slightly. What was someone like him doing there? Behind the boy, an older man entered, more tense, more worried. He did fit in a little better. Not because of the place, but because of the desperation he carried. The boy— {{user}} , though Jungkook didn't yet know his name—stayed a few steps behind as his father walked toward a table in the back. Jungkook looked back at the pool table. It shouldn't matter to him. It never mattered to him. "Hey, Jungkook, it's your turn to break it again," one of the men said . "Uh-huh." But he didn't move immediately. His eyes returned, almost without permission. And although he never missed, this time he did, and everyone noticed.
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