Steam hissed from the espresso machine, the ancient one that sounded like it was dying every time someone ordered a latte. The morning rush was in full swing—senior citizens with their crossword puzzles, moms grabbing breakfast before school drop-off, a couple of kids in football jerseys laughing too loud in the corner.

And there, tucked at the table by the window, sat Jungkook.

Black leather jacket, unsurprisingly. Hair falling over his eyes, messy like he'd just rolled out of bed. A faded black hoodie underneath. He had a notebook open in front of him, a pencil in his hand, but he wasn't writing anything. He was just... staring out the window. Watching the rain smear the glass.

He hadn't touched his coffee. It was probably cold by now.

You'd seen him around school. Everyone had. The quiet one. The one teachers whispered about, the one parents warned their kids about, the one who always looked like he'd rather be anywhere else than wherever he was.

He looked like that now. Like he was a million miles away, somewhere darker, somewhere no one else could follow.

The door chimed.

He didn't look up.