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The subway doors hissed open with the usual chaos of a weekday morning—people spilling out, others shoving in, a blur of coats, elbows, and exhausted sighs. The car smelled faintly of coffee, metal, and the collective despair of commuters.
Jungkook tucked his thermos tighter against his chest, chasing warmth from the cold air that rushed in. He had his usual corner seat—the one near the window, with just enough space to people-watch without being obvious about it.
As the doors started to close, someone darted in at the last second—a guy about Jungkook’s age, a little out of breath, toast in one hand, phone in the other, and a messenger bag threatening to knock over anyone within a two-foot radius.
The newcomer glanced around for a seat, but the train jolted forward before he could decide. He grabbed one of the dangling handles overhead, clutching it with a white-knuckled grip as he tried not to spill crumbs on his sweater.
Jungkook should’ve gone back to scrolling through his phone like a normal person. He didn’t.
Because this guy was… distractingly pretty. Like I didn’t know commuters could look like that pretty.
And for some reason, instead of sitting in the empty seat right next to Jungkook, he chose to stand—right in front of him. Which felt like a personal attack.
Jungkook took a slow sip from his thermos, pretending not to notice the way the guy’s toast wobbled dangerously every time the train hit a bump.
He gave it ten seconds before saying something.
“Hey,” Jungkook started, leaning forward slightly, “you can have my seat if you want.”
The man turned, startled, eyes flicking down to where Jungkook sat. His gaze was sharp and skeptical in a way that made Jungkook feel like he’d just offered a scam.
“What?” the guy asked flatly.
“What?” Jungkook echoed, confused. “I said you can have my seat.”
The man raised a brow. “There’s literally an empty one next to you.”
Jungkook blinked. “…Right. I just thought maybe you didn’t want to sit next to me.”
The guy huffed out a laugh—half disbelief, half amusement—and took another bite of his toast instead of replying. Jungkook frowned, already narrating his own humiliation in real-time.
“Okay, so I’m right,” he muttered to himself.
The boy looked back, smirking now. “No. You’re just an overthinker.” He shifted closer, the train swaying beneath them. “Fine. I’ll sit next to you.”
He plopped down beside Jungkook with the kind of attitude that made even sitting look defiant. Then, as if to emphasize how unbothered he was, he reached into his bag, pulled out a bottle of hand sanitizer, and started applying it like he was disinfecting himself from the conversation.
Jungkook bit back a smile. Everything about him was annoyingly cute.
“So,” Jungkook said, watching him. “Is that your way of asserting dominance?”
The man capped his sanitizer, glancing at him sideways. “Maybe. Is this your way of flirting?”
Jungkook blinked. “Flirting? I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Mhm.” The boy tilted his head, lips quirking. “You just give your seat to any guy in sight?”
“Well, let’s see…” Jungkook hummed, setting his thermos between his thighs. He brought his hands to his face like binoculars and pretended to scan the subway car.
The boy groaned. “Oh my god.”
“What?” Jungkook said innocently, lowering his hands to pick up his coffee again. “Nope. No one else I’d give my seat to.” He took a long, exaggerated sip. “Guess you’re special.”
The boy’s laughter was instant and bright, cutting through the usual drone of the train. “So you are flirting,” he teased.
Jungkook was about to deny it again when the train slowed for the next stop. But the guy—thankfully—didn’t move to leave. Jungkook swore the heavens had granted him extra minutes.
“Don’t flatter yourself,” Jungkook muttered, just as the doors opened and an elderly woman hobbled in. Without thinking, he stood and offered her his seat.
She smiled and patted his arm in thanks. Jungkook smiled back, then turned toward the boy—Jimin, though he didn’t know that yet—who was now looking up at him with a smug little grin.
“I thought you said you wouldn’t give your seat up for anyone,” the boy said, crossing his arms.
“Okay,” Jungkook admitted, pouting. “Maybe just one person.”
The boy laughed again, soft and genuine this time. Jungkook wanted to hear it on loop. Unfortunately, the train hit a sudden jolt, and before he could steady himself—
Thud.
He hit the floor. Hard. His thermos rolled dramatically across the aisle.
The boy absolutely lost it, laughing so hard he doubled over. The older woman beside him, unimpressed, elbowed him sharply. “Aren’t you going to help the young man up?”
“Uh—yes, ma’am,” the boy said quickly, still giggling as he offered Jungkook a hand.
With a graceless heave, Jungkook was upright again.
“Thanks… uh—” he started.
“Jimin,” the boy said, picking up Jungkook’s thermos and handing it back.
“Jungkook,” he replied.
Jimin smiled, tucking a loose strand of hair behind his ear. “Well, Jungkook, this is my stop.” He pulled a sticky note and pen from his bag, scribbled something, and stuck it to Jungkook’s thermos.
“Call me,” he said simply, before stepping off the train and disappearing into the crowd.
Jungkook just stood there, clutching his coffee and his pride.
It wasn’t until the next stop that it hit him—he’d lost his own game.
Although… he did get Jimin’s number.
Maybe that counted as a win.