The air was crisp with the Chicago autumn settling in. Riverside High School stood tall and modern, with its sleek brick walls and large windows reflecting the golden hues of the season. The campus was alive with energy—students chattering in groups, the clang of lockers slamming shut, and the distant echoes of sneakers squeaking on the gym floor. The cafeteria was a hub of chaos, filled with laughter, gossip, and the distinct sound of trays clattering onto tables.

Among the noise sat Jungkook, the untouchable king of Riverside High. His presence was magnetic; everyone gravitated toward him. Leaning back in his chair with casual ease, his dark eyes held an edge of mischief, framed by thick lashes. His jet-black hair fell messily over his forehead, just grazing the piercing on his lower lip. The sleeve of his white shirt rode up slightly, revealing tattoos snaking down his muscled arm—a stark contrast to the polished silver chain around his neck. At 6 feet tall, he towered over most of his peers, his broad shoulders a testament to his time spent in the gym and on the soccer field. He exuded confidence, charisma, and an air of rebellion, all wrapped into one intoxicating package.

His group of friends matched his energy—loud, brash, and always the center of attention. The girls in their circle were effortlessly gorgeous, all legs and curves, clad in crop tops and jeans that seemed custom-made to fit their frames. Together, they ruled the school like a well-oiled machine, with their sharp comments and sly grins cutting down anyone who dared to cross them.

And then there was you. You weren't nerdy or shy, but you were a far cry from the glittering girls Jungkook surrounded himself with. Your beauty was undeniable—your round cheeks gave you an innocent charm, and your smile could light up a room. But your fuller figure made you a target in a school obsessed with perfection. Today, you sat at your table with your small group of friends, munching on a bag of chips and laughing quietly. You were trying to ignore the stares and whispers, but it wasn't long before the storm found you.

"Hey, fatty! You sure you need another bag of those?" one of Jungkook's friends shouted across the cafeteria, his voice dripping with mockery.

The room erupted in laughter. "Careful, she might break the chair!" another chimed in.

You froze, your face flushing deep red as you clutched the bag of chips in your hand. You didn't dare look up, but the laughter felt like it was closing in on you. Jungkook sat at the center of it all, smirking faintly, his piercing catching the light as he chuckled along with his friends. He didn't say anything, but he didn't stop them either.

Unable to hold back the tears stinging your eyes, you pushed your tray aside and rushed out of the cafeteria. The laughter faded as you disappeared into the hallway, leaving behind your half-eaten snack and your shattered composure.

Outside, the wind had picked up, rustling the leaves scattered across the soccer field. You sat alone on the wooden bleachers, your head buried in your arms as you tried to stifle your sobs. The cold metal pressed against your thighs through your jeans, but you didn't care. All you wanted was to disappear.

Minutes passed before you heard the faint crunch of gravel under sneakers. You glanced up, startled, only to see Jungkook approaching you. He walked with a lazy confidence, his hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans, his tattoos peeking out from beneath his rolled-up sleeves. His dark eyes scanned you carefully, and his lip piercing glinted as he gave a small smirk.

He didn't say anything at first, just stopped a few feet away, his head tilted slightly as if studying you. Finally, he spoke, his voice low and teasing. "You always run off like that?"

You didn't respond. You turned your face to the side, pretending he wasn't really there, as if ignoring him could somehow make him go away. Why was he even here? What did he want? Your fingers tightened on the fabric of your skirt, the lump in your throat growing.

But before you could get lost in your thoughts, you felt it—his hand. His fingers were long and warm against your skin as they lightly pinched your cheeks, making you gasp softly and glance up at him in surprise.

"You're not listening to me, are you, fatty?" His voice was low, almost playful, as he leaned in slightly, still holding your cheeks with a firm but oddly gentle touch.

Your cheeks burned, not just from the nickname but from the way his dark eyes locked onto yours, unreadable yet intense.

"You're really... chubby," he murmured, his tone devoid of the mocking edge you expected. Instead, it sounded softer—different. His gaze flickered down, just for a second, brushing over your lips as if they had caught his attention. But before you could process what was happening, his hand dropped away, and he straightened up abruptly.

He cleared his throat, the sound almost forced, as if trying to reset the moment. "Anyway," he said, his voice louder now, back to that casual, indifferent tone he wore like armor. "I just came to make sure you weren't planning on, I don't know, ratting us out or something. About the teasing. It was just a joke, you know? Nothing serious."

His words stung, even though you weren't sure why. Of course, it wasn't serious to him. It never was. You bit the inside of your cheek, looking away again, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing your tears fall.

But Jungkook lingered, his hands now shoved into his pockets as he looked at you. His arrogance wavered for a moment, and something else flickered across his face. He didn't move to leave—he stayed, as if waiting for you to say something. Or maybe he was waiting for something he didn't even know how to name.