Chapter Text
Min Yoongi should have known better than to take a subject that required social interaction.
"Observational Psychology is a hands-on course," Professor Kwon had said at the start of the semester. "You'll all be assigned a subject to observe for a month, tracking their behavioral patterns in response to specific stimuli."
Which, fine. Yoongi had read the syllabus; he knew what he was signing up for. He just hadn't accounted for this part —the goddamn lottery.
A glass bowl filled with folded slips of paper sat at the front of the lecture hall, holding the names of potential subjects—students who had volunteered for the study. One by one, his classmates walked up, fished out a name, and returned to their seats.
Yoongi waited until most of the room had cleared before reluctantly making his way forward. He dipped his fingers into the bowl, swirling the paper slips before pulling one out.
The moment he unfolded it, he sighed. Even Yoongi, who paid minimal attention to campus gossip, knew that name.
Jeon Jungkook.
The athlete. The university’s golden boy. A star basketball player, top of his department despite his grueling training schedule, and possibly one of the most well-liked students on campus. Even professors sang his praises—something about his discipline, his work ethic, his relentless drive.
Yoongi barely interacted with people outside of his immediate circle, but even he knew who Jeon Jungkook was.
Which meant that if he had any hope of keeping a professional distance from his subject, it had just gone out the window.
He exhaled sharply through his nose, staring at the name on the slip of paper like it had personally wronged him.
“Something wrong, Mr. Min?”
Yoongi’s head snapped up. Professor Kwon stood at the front of the lecture hall, hands clasped together, eyes glinting with amusement. He had a habit of picking up on the smallest reactions—a skill that made him an excellent professor but a frustrating observer.
Yoongi schooled his expression into something neutral. “No,” he muttered, folding the slip in half before shoving it into his pocket.
From beside him, Kim Namjoon, his room mate and one of the only people he interacted with, leaned in, glancing at Yoongi’s hand with curiosity. “Who’d you get?”
Yoongi sighed, tipping his chair back slightly. “Jeon Jungkook.”
Namjoon blinked. Then snorted. “Oh, this is gonna be fun.”
Yoongi shot him a glare. “Why?”
“Because,” Namjoon said, grinning, “he’s literally the human embodiment of a golden retriever, and you—” he gestured vaguely at Yoongi “—are you.”
Yoongi scowled.
It wasn’t like he hated people. He just... wasn’t interested in unnecessary interactions. He had enough on his plate—between coursework, trying to find an internship that was actually good and trying to get at least six hours of sleep in their shared dorm without Namjoon keeping the lamp on to scribble in one of his endless books.
Now, on top of all that, he had to spend the next few weeks studying Jeon Jungkook .
Fantastic.
Namjoon, as always, found his suffering amusing. “Man, I wish I could see your first meeting.”
“Shut up,” Yoongi grumbled, slumping back into his seat.
As he slumped back into his seat, arms crossed, he couldn't shake the feeling that this was going to be a pain in the ass.
⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾𖤓 ⋆⁺₊⋆
Yoongi sits in a small, windowless room on the psychology department’s second floor, flipping through the folder Professor Kwon had given him.
Jeon Jungkook.
Age: 21. Basketball scholarship. Projected to be drafted into the national league after graduation.
There’s more—extracurriculars, academic records, physical health reports—but Yoongi barely skims them. He’s more interested in the personal notes attached.
"Subject has volunteered for a positive psychology experiment, requiring daily self-reflection on happiness. Claims to be in good health. Expressed interest in learning more about psychological studies."
Yoongi snorts. What a nerd.
He leans back in his chair, glancing at the clock. Jungkook is already five minutes late.
Yoongi isn’t surprised. Star athletes weren’t exactly known for their punctuality, and Jungkook probably thought this experiment was nothing more than a light extracurricular. Just another thing to slap onto his already dazzling portfolio.
Yoongi sighs, rolling his shoulders. This would probably be a waste of time.
Then, the door swings open, and suddenly, the room is full of energy.
"Min Yoongi-ssi?"
The voice is bright—too bright.
Jungkook steps inside, still in his practice gear, smelling faintly of sweat and something minty. His hair is damp, curling slightly against his forehead, and his duffel bag hangs lazily off one shoulder. There’s an easy confidence in the way he moves, the kind that only comes with knowing that most people already like you before you even speak.
Yoongi barely suppresses a sigh. Of course he’s that type.
“Sit,” he says, gesturing to the chair across from him.
Jungkook obeys immediately, dropping his bag to the floor and plopping down in the chair without an ounce of hesitation. He doesn’t fidget, doesn’t hesitate, just sprawls out comfortably, arms resting on the desk between them like they’re old friends catching up rather than two strangers about to conduct a psychological study.
There’s an ease to him that throws Yoongi off. Most students—even the more confident ones—started these sessions with at least a hint of stiffness, a vague sense of formality. But Jungkook? He looks entirely at home.
“So,” Jungkook starts, his knee bouncing under the desk, “how’s this work? You’re gonna, like, read my brainwaves or something?”
Yoongi blinks. “No.”
“Damn.” Jungkook grins. “Thought I’d finally get superpowers.”
Yoongi stares.
Oh. He’s one of those.
He pinches the bridge of his nose, inhaling slowly. “You’ll be journaling about happiness,” he explains, pushing a blank notebook across the desk. “Every day, you’ll write about what makes you happy, how your days are going, and any emotions tied to it. You’ll bring it to me weekly for evaluation.”
Jungkook picks up the notebook, flipping through the blank pages with mild curiosity. “That’s it?”
Yoongi nods.
“That’s easy.”
Jungkook grins as he grabs a pen from the desk, twirling it between his fingers before lowering it to the first page. He writes something quickly—too quickly to be anything meaningful—then closes the notebook and pushes it back toward Yoongi with a smirk.
There’s something unreadable in his eyes.
A glimmer of mischief. Confidence. Something that makes Yoongi pause.
Yoongi picks up the notebook, flipping to the first page.
Scrawled in large, looping letters, Jungkook has written:
“Basketball.”
Yoongi exhales sharply through his nose, lips twitching. He closes the notebook and leans back, arms crossed over his chest.
“We’ll see.”
⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾𖤓 ⋆⁺₊⋆
Yoongi sighed as he sank into his usual corner at Hiraeth , a cozy hole-in-the-wall café that had become his second home over the years. The place was owned by his former roommate, Kim Seokjin, and run with the help of Seokjin’s boyfriend, Jung Hoseok.
Seokjin had been Yoongi’s first roommate before Namjoon came along. The Kim brothers had a three-year age gap, so when Jin graduated at the top of his culinary program and moved out, Yoongi had needed a new roommate—enter Kim Namjoon.
After earning his degree, Jin had bought the small café near their university when the elderly owners decided to retire. It was a natural choice; the place had history, a steady clientele, and the kind of warmth that made people stay longer than they intended. Students often took up part-time jobs here, and Hoseok handled most of the administrative work.
If Yoongi was in the mood, he sometimes helped out in the kitchen, preferring the quiet rhythm of cooking over the chatter of the café floor. Meanwhile, Namjoon kept an eye on sales and accounts, always finding ways to make their lives easier. It was a well-oiled machine—one Yoongi was grateful for on days like this, when all he wanted was a quiet corner, a hot drink, and no expectations.
Currently, Yoongi was preoccupied with Jungkook’s first week of journal entries.
Day 1:
Made twenty-three shots in a row today. That felt good. Coach said I might break the record if I keep this up. Everyone was hyped about it. Felt kinda nice, not gonna lie.
Also, did you know Kim Taehyung has a Pomeranian in his dorm? Apparently, he snuck it in last semester and somehow hasn’t been caught. The fluffiest thing I’ve ever seen. I wanted to squeeze him, but Tae said I’d have to earn that privilege. (??? How does one earn dog-squeezing rights???)
Day 2:
Had an early morning run before class. Campus looks different when it’s quiet—kinda peaceful, actually. Maybe I should wake up early more often. (Probably won’t.)
Oh, and I stopped by the café near the gym. The old guy at the counter gave me an extra shot of espresso because he “likes my energy.” (???) Am I giving off desperate-for-caffeine vibes??
Day 3:
Coach made us run drills for two hours straight. Thought I was gonna die. (Did not die. But came close.)
Felt better after practice, though. There’s something nice about pushing through when you think you can’t anymore. Like… proof that you’re stronger than you think? Idk, maybe I’m just exhausted and getting philosophical. Also, Namjoon-hyung sat next to me in the library today and started muttering about "capitalist structures failing the modern economy.” Didn’t understand a word, but nodded like I did. Think he was satisfied.
Day 4:
Tried writing a poem today. It was bad. Won’t elaborate.
Day 5:
Coach says I’ve been overworking myself. Told me to “rest properly” this weekend. (What does that even mean???)
Taehyung forced me to go to an art exhibit with him. Thought it’d be boring, but it was kinda cool. There was this one piece—a sculpture of hands reaching out of water—that stuck with me. Looked kinda desperate. Kinda hopeful, too.
Don’t know why it made me feel things. Gonna stop thinking about it.
Yoongi tapped his fingers against the desk, staring at the notebook.
Jungkook’s entries were simple, straightforward—sometimes amusing—but underneath, there were cracks. His happiness, while genuine, felt fleeting, like it was always tied to achievement, movement, distraction. The way he wrote about exhaustion so casually, as if he barely noticed it, made Yoongi’s brows furrow.
He flipped the page, scanning the next few entries, curiosity growing. Yoongi flipped another page, then another, brows furrowing the deeper he read.
Jungkook was a puzzle. On the surface, he was easy to figure out—loud, energetic, the type to light up a room without even trying. But the more Yoongi read, the more he realized how much of that light was smoke and mirrors.
The kid had an entire campus who adored him, a future that people envied, and a talent that couldn’t be denied. But nowhere in these pages did he write about himself in a way that wasn’t tied to what he did for others. What he achieved .
Not once did he say, I am happy because I exist.
Instead, his happiness always had conditions.
I am happy because I made twenty-three shots in a row.
I am happy because I pushed through exhaustion.
I am happy because I kept up.
Yoongi chewed on his bottom lip, flipping to the next entry.
Day 6:
Got lunch with Jimin today. He stole half my fries and said, “You love me anyway.” Can’t even argue. The guy’s impossible to hate.
Practice went well. Didn’t break the record yet, but Coach said I was close. That made me happy.
Oh, also! Some random lady at the park had, like, a hundred birds following her. What kind of Snow White magic?? Anyway, it was cool.
Day 7:
Tired.
That was it. That was the whole entry.
Yoongi ran his fingers over the page, eyes narrowing.
The first six days, Jungkook had tried. He’d written full thoughts, shared little snippets of his life, his happiness, his bright and boundless energy.
But by the seventh day, all he had left to say was Tired.
Yoongi exhaled sharply, leaning back in his chair.
Jungkook was a golden retriever, all sunshine and eagerness—but only if the world was watching. Only if it meant something.
When he was alone—when no one was expecting him to be bright—he had nothing left to give.
And that was interesting.
Yoongi exhaled slowly, shutting the notebook and tapping it against his palm. This project was turning out to be far more complicated than he had anticipated.
“Hyung?”
A soft voice pulled him from his thoughts just as a tray was set down beside him. The familiar scent of his usual latte and the best sandwich on the menu—specially made by Jin himself, every single time —wafted up to him.
“Hi, Jimin,” Yoongi greeted without looking up, already recognizing the voice.
The pink-haired boy slid into the seat across from him, letting out a deep sigh as he settled in. The shop had quieted down, the earlier rush giving way to a lull, leaving the workers a much-needed break. From where he sat, Yoongi could see Hoseok wiping down a front table, sleeves rolled up, expression relaxed. Jin was nowhere to be seen, likely tucked away in the kitchen, prepping for the evening crowd.
“What’s got you looking so deep in thought?” Jimin asked, propping his chin on one hand, eyes sharp despite his lazy posture.
Yoongi hesitated before answering, rolling his cup between his hands. “Nothing. Just my project…” He paused, tapping the closed notebook against the table. “And my subject is Jeon Jungkook.”
Jimin’s reaction was immediate.
“Oh, that kid,” he said with a breathy laugh, shaking his head fondly. “Always pushing himself harder and harder…”
Yoongi raised an eyebrow, intrigued by Jimin’s tone. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
Jimin hummed, tapping a finger against the table. “Not bad exactly. Just… exhausting. Jungkook doesn’t know how to stop. ” He tilted his head, expression softening. “He’s got this whole ‘gotta be the best’ mindset, but it’s not always about him, you know? It’s like… he’s running a race no one asked him to join.”
Yoongi frowned, fingers idly tracing the edge of Jungkook’s journal. That tracked.
“Does he ever talk about himself?” he asked. “Like, outside of basketball or school?”
Jimin blinked, momentarily thrown by the question. Then, slowly, he shook his head. “Not really. He’s always talking about the team, the game, his next goal—but himself? Not so much.” A pause. “Why?”
Yoongi hesitated, then put the journal on the table. Jimin glanced at it but didn’t touch it, respectful enough to know it wasn’t his to pry.
“His entries are… strange,” Yoongi admitted. “At first, they seem normal. He writes about things that make him happy. Friends, basketball, small things like Taehyung’s Pom or a random lady feeding birds. But—” He tapped the cover. “—it’s like he’s performing happiness. Listing it out like a checklist.”
Jimin’s face fell. “That’s…”
“Concerning?” Yoongi supplied.
Jimin sighed. “Yeah.”
They sat in silence for a moment, Jimin’s fingers drumming against the table while Yoongi took a sip of his latte. The warm, familiar taste of Jin’s special brew settled something in his chest.
Then, Jimin leaned forward, resting his chin on his hand. “So? What are you gonna do?”
Yoongi scoffed. “Do I look like his therapist?”
Jimin smirked. “Nah, but you are his assigned observer.”
Yoongi rolled his eyes. “I’m not here to fix him. Just to analyze.”
“Uh-huh.” Jimin’s smirk widened. “And totally not because you’re getting curious.”
Yoongi ignored that, instead flipping open the journal to skim another entry. But Jimin’s words lingered.
Curious?
Yeah. Maybe he was.
Before he could think too much about it, the bell above the cafe door jingled. Yoongi looked up just as Jeon Jungkook himself stepped inside, hair damp from practice, gym bag slung over one shoulder.
He spotted Yoongi immediately and grinned. “Hyung! You’re already here.”
Jimin, still watching Yoongi closely, stifled a laugh. “Oh, this is gonna be fun.”
Yoongi just sighed, rubbing his temples. Something told him Jimin was right.
Somewhere along their informal meetings when passing each other on the campus, Jungkook had started calling him hyung . Yoongi didn’t remember when it began, but he also didn’t have the energy to get him to stop. He hadn't exactly allowed it either, but Jungkook had steamrolled past that unspoken boundary like he did with everything else.
It should have been annoying.
Yoongi should have corrected him.
But he didn’t.
Jungkook strode over without hesitation, dropping into the seat across from Yoongi as Jimin slipped out like they’d been doing this for years instead of this being their second real conversation. His gym bag hit the floor with a dull thud , and he leaned in slightly, peering at the notebook Yoongi had just closed.
“You read it?” Jungkook asked, eyes bright with something between curiosity and mischief. “How’d I do?”
Yoongi stared at him. “It’s not a test.”
Jungkook just grinned. “Do I get points for style? Creativity? Penmanship?”
Jimin snorted, clearly entertained. “You should’ve seen the way Yoongi-hyung was frowning at it,” he said, smirking. “Real intense. Looked like he was trying to crack a secret code.”
Jungkook gasped dramatically. “Hyung, was it that bad?”
Yoongi ignored him, flipping open the notebook again. His gaze flickered between Jungkook’s words and the boy himself. The difference was subtle, but Yoongi noticed it now that he was paying attention.
Here, under the soft lights of the café, with Jimin grinning at him and the comforting hum of conversation around them, Jungkook was easy —all bright eyes and effortless charm, the kind of person who made strangers feel like old friends.
But in his journal, in the quiet of his own thoughts, he was… different.
Still lighthearted, still playful—but there were moments where his energy didn’t reach the words. Like he was writing what he thought should be written, rather than what he actually felt.
Yoongi closed the notebook, tucking that thought away for later.
“Hyung,” Jungkook whined, nudging his foot under the table. “Don’t just sit there. Was it good or not?”
Yoongi sighed, setting the notebook aside. “It was fine.”
“That’s what people say when it’s not fine,” Jungkook pointed out, crossing his arms.
Jimin cackled. “Welcome to the Min Yoongi Experience™. He’ll never give you a straight answer unless you pay him.”
Jungkook laughed at that, shaking his head. “Guess I’ll have to work for it, then.”
Yoongi hummed noncommittally, but his gaze lingered for a second longer.
The Jungkook sitting in front of him and the Jungkook in those pages—there was a gap between them. And without meaning to, Yoongi found himself wanting to understand why.