as a creative, jungkook's mind is attune to the ways he can make any situation far more interesting for himself. he's not too sure whether this is a talent, or a coping mechanism, but either way it's a form of creativity.

tuesday mornings mean maths class, and the only way to savour that precious time is to skip and do much more productive things like honing the art skills he was born with rather than letting his brain turn to sludge the second the teacher puts any number in front of him higher than like, one hundred.

one of the many things jungkook has decided about school, other than that all academic subjects are a modern-day form of torture, is that it's really, really boring. and what makes it even worse is there is nothing to look at in the damn place.

so really, he's doing the entire faculty a favour by sitting on the cold linoleum floor, next to a row of lockers, doodling an intricate rose on the wall. it gives the students something to look at in this grim barren wasteland that is literally sucking the souls from their bodies each passing day. he's just trying to make life more bearable for the other students here, he's doing a good thing.

but that doesn't stop him scrambling for his markers the second her hears the door to the hall crash open and footsteps tracking down the linoleum towards him.

'shit,' jungkook hisses, trying to blend into the scenery. he shoves his markers into his backpack hurriedly. there's ink bleeding into the calluses of his palms, he'll have to scrub them something fierce to get it out before his parents see. the footsteps get closer and jungkook chances a look up to see a figure lugging a large box under one arm. god, if it's a teacher he is so screwed.

'hey! kid!' a voice calls, a drawling twang to the end of it. jungkook flinches, tucks further into the corner, hopes like fuck the man doesn't see him. more footsteps sound, getting closer.

'yes, you, the one in the corner defacing the wall. i see you. get out here.' shit shit shit, jungkook is dead, he is so dead. he stumbles to his feet without thinking, heart rate accelerating, the man has him arms full, maybe jungkook can outrun him.

'don't run.' the voice is behind him and jungkook freezes like a deer caught in headlights. he turns slowly so he's facing the man, everything on high alert. dark eyes half obscured by feathery bangs pierce into jungkook, have his heart stuttering a little. the man isn't much really, thin, shorter than jungkook despite clearly being older, but despite his size there's an imposing air about him that inspires a burst of fear. jungkook takes a step back on instinct.

'i said don't run,' the man drawls, tone growing slightly irritable, 'do i look like a fucking teacher to you?'

he really doesn't, and that allows jungkook to soften a little. if he was a teacher, he'd be a different breed to the sort of dead-eyed zombies here. he's interesting looking, has the sorta face that jungkook itches to draw. it'd be a challenge to illustrate someone so fine-featured and pretty and yet still convey that cut-throat air with so much as a look.

jungkook tries to commit the look to memory, knows he's going to attempt it later if he gets the chance. maybe he'll skip biology and do it then. that sounds like a good idea.

the man's still looking at him expectantly, and jungkook realises that he hasn't replied. he averts his gaze, feels his palms get clammy.

the thing is, jungkook doesn't like talking to people. he never knows what to say, the appropriate responses, what's considered 'going too far.' so he elects to just not talk if he can and it's gotten to the point that when he does talk to people, to strangers, his voice quivers something fierce and he stumbles over all the syllables like an infant first learning the language.

because of this quietness, paired with the sullen appearance he gives off, everyone around him tends to draw one of two conclusions: the first is that he's stupid, (and really jungkook can't argue there, his grades scrape him by, but they're nothing to be proud of.) the second, is that he's some antisocial asshole who thinks he's too good for everyone else, and jungkook wouldn't begin to know the way to debate that. so he doesn't talk to people and people don't talk to him and that's just how it is.

but the man doesn't know that.

'are you a student then?' jungkook mumbles to the ground, just knowing that this guy is going to dismiss him as that second option, not that he really cares, so long as it gets him out of here as soon as possible.

the man doesn't look like a student either. the staff here give jungkook enough grief for his three measly ear piercings. he's pretty sure threadbare jeans and a ragged hoodie don't fit the strict uniform regulations.

'no,' the man says. 'i'm the schmuck who's donating some of his old equipment to the music department. didn't know the fuckers would make me carry it there myself, though did i?'

he drums his fingers against the box under his arms, raises his eyebrows as jungkook's eyes round, another prompt for conversation.

'why donate it here?' jungkook asks and his voice still has that damnable tremble to it, but he's a little louder this time in an attempt to mimic some of that easy confidence the man has.

'selling it's a hassle,' the man shrugs. 'and here, because there's no way in fuck i'm giving it to that punk-ass music school for rich kids that charge you a year's worth of salary for a measly education. i'm rooting too much for the under-dog or some shit. anyway, the music department. the fuck is it?'

'it's on the other side of the school,' jungkook says, cocking his head in that general direction. 'b-block, i think.'

'figures,' the man says, blowing his fringe off his face. 'well. have fun defacing that wall, kid. hope it gets you places.'

he turns and strolls down the rest of the corridor, leaving jungkook to deflate on the spot, thanking every known deity that today isn't the day he gets expelled. he books it out of the corridor as fast as he can, markers rattling in his bag, because he is not keen to tempt fate twice in one day, no thank-you.

it's not like jungkook makes a habit out of cutting class, well, he doesn't mean to at least. it's just he's so obviously not an academic in any shape or form and this is a far more ideal way to spend his time.

and this isn't the worst thing he could be doing. he could be doing drugs. really hard drugs. like heroin. or cocaine. he could be snorting crack cocaine right now, if he so desired but instead he's doing a harmless drawing. on the wall of a bathroom stall, granted, but it's not a bad drawing if jungkook says so himself.

jungkook adjusts himself on the toilet seat, stretches the cricks in his back before leaning in to add some more details. the drawing is of a man, semi-realistic for that of a line-drawing. he'd considered drawing a girl before realising the backlash it could have, guys writing crude comments, defacing the drawing to make it more perverted. jungkook takes pride in his work and yes, the drawing is technically on something that doesn't belong to him and it's not situated in the classiest of places, but he is proud goddamnit and he doesn't want someone coming along and dirtying it with their bullshit.

he cross-hatches in some shading in the folds of the man's clothing, thickens some of the lines on one side to add a cartoonish sense of depth. music assails his ears, louder than it should be, probably, but it helps him immerse in the task in front of him. when you struggle with forming a sentence without feeling like your insides are being sucked into a blackhole you use other means to communicate, even if no-one wants to listen and that's what drawing is, a means of communication.

he pulls back to observe his work. grunts in affirmation, it looks alright, he's pleased with the result. he reaches into his bag, pulls out a bottle of water and raises it to his lips. he's about to chug the contents down when he pauses, glancing outside the stall.

his heart jolts when his eyes meet with another pair, narrowed and judgemental and familiar of all things. leaning against the basin, arms crossed over his chest is the man from a couple weeks back, the one who'd caught jungkook doodling a rose in the d-block hallway.

the man doesn't say anything for a while and there's no way in fuck jungkook's starting a conversation. he can barely remember the last time he did that. there's a familiar itch in his fingertips again, cutting through the rush of anxiety in his veins. there's a sketch of the man's face in the back of his history book, a slight scowl, critical and imposing. but seeing his face in person again, he realises it's all wrong. the features aren't fine enough, too soft in the drawing, and there's none of the sharpness in his eyes. he takes his time drinking in the man's face, he'll attempt it again later and get it right this time if it kills him.

'you again, huh?' jungkook jumps as the elder squints over at him, cocks his head to the side. 'do you not own paper? or are you just under the illusion that you're a badass or something?'

cheeks tinting pink, jungkook fumbles for a comeback, but he's got nothing. he tries for a glare instead, but the man simply scoffs at him.

'my money's on the badass option,' he strolls up to the stall with a lethargic swagger, and jungkook shuffles back on instinct. 'how are you defacing school property this time? if it's a dick or a set of tits i'll be disappointed.'

he peers inside the stall and stills at the sight.

'fucking hell.'

jungkook blinks at him, heart jumping for the second time. 'what?'

his eyes swoop to the drawing, assessing for anything majorly off. they catch on the poorly fore-shortened arms and he frowns, fingers fidgeting around the marker. he messed up this drawing too. he has the stupid urge to leap up and cover the drawing before the man can open his mouth and make some wry, cutting comments on—

'you're talented,' the elder says, suddenly, snagging jungkook from his thoughts. 'you're actually talented. you should be selling this shit.'

it's a compliment. jungkook... he's not used to compliments. no-one talks to him. he doesn't talk to anyone. no-one—save his aunt eunmi, the only person he really feels he can even somewhat talk to— even knows he draws. he's blushing to the tips of his ears when the elder turns to him. feels warm all over.

'the stall isn't mine, i can't sell it,' his mouth forms the words on it's own accord and jungkook clamps his mouth shut. this is what his brother meant about him needing a filter, but he just... panics.

he waits for the man's expression to grow cloudy, for him to walk off with a roll of his eyes.

instead, he surprises jungkook by sniggering.

'yeah well, perhaps if you drew on your own stuff rather than vandalising your school's, you could make some money.'

he points to the bottle in jungkook's hand. 'that water?'

jungkook frowns, sloshing the contents of the bottle. 'yeah...' he says slowly. 'what else would it be?'

'vodka, maybe?' the man says and jungkook gawks, because seriously, fucking vodka? the man shrugs at his bewilderment. 'i dunno. a pierced, antisocial kid tagging the bathroom stalls during class time drinking vodka? sounds like a familiar high school experience to me.'

'yours?' jungkook finds himself asking.

'not entirely. music's my thing, remember?' jungkook blinks, unable to tear his gaze away, eyeing the man carefully as he leans back into the stall, assessing the drawing once again. 'what are you gonna do with your talent?'

the question comes from nowhere. jungkook's heart throbs in his gut, the word talent ringing in his ears like the chime of a church bell. then, the weight of the question crashes down and he realises at once that he doesn't have an answer much more than 'nothing' and that doesn't seem the kinda thing this guy would want to hear.

'you're not supposed to be in here,' he says, because it's something to say. 'the bathrooms are for students.

'oh shit,' the man says, in a mock-scandalised tone. 'you're not gonna tell on me, are you?'

jungkook frowns, bottom lip jutting out just a bit. 'what are you doing here anyway? i thought you were just dropping music equipment off last time.'

'couldn't get enough of your shy tortured artist routine,' the elder says monotonously without missing a beat. 'so thought i'd come back, get my fix of cuteness like a junkie or some shit.' the corner of his lips twitch in a smirk at the flush in jungkook's cheeks. 'jesus, you really do turn red, don't you? i was kidding, don't hurt yourself. i'm just here to drop off some more equipment.'

jungkook nods slowly, letting that information sink in as he mulls the facts over. music equipment is expensive, right? that stuff can't be cheap, you have to be someone if you're willing to donate perfectly good stuff to a school.

'so you make music for a living?'

'i do.'

'what kind?'

'hip-hop.'

'are you any good?'

'pretty fucking good,' the elder says with a snort. 'you know, for a kid who asks a lot of questions you have a lot of trouble answering mine.'

jungkook pinches his lips together, looking away. 'sorry.'

'don't be. it was a big question i guess.' he leans against the bathroom stall, eyes calculating something jungkook can't really put a pin on, 'here's an easier one. what's your name?'

some of the tension eases in jungkook's chest and he looks up again to meet the elder's gaze.

'i'm jeon jungkook. you?'

'min yoongi.' eyes flick once more to the drawing and soften into something like appreciation. 'god, you're talented. you better do something with it. i'll go nuts if you don't.'

jungkook blinks up at him, watches the man peel off the edge of the stall and back up towards the door.

'and for hell's sake, kid,' the man, yoongi, says with a sigh. 'invest in a fucking sketch book. no-one's gonna take a look at pixelated photos of bathroom stalls and take you seriously.'