Him and I-Part 1|| Jeon Jungkook
Summary: A quiet, misunderstood boy hides behind his hoodie and silence, enduring bullying at school and abuse at home. You’re just a normal girl—friendly, kind, and observant—but when you notice him, something in you refuses to look away. Drawn into his world of pain, loneliness, and resilience, you find yourself determined to stand by his side, even when the world turns against both of you.
Together, you navigate the harshness of high school, the cruelty of your peers, and the darkness that follows him home. Against all odds, you become each other’s refuge, your bond intensifying into a fierce, all-consuming love—the kind that drives the world away and leaves only the two of you.
He’s willing to bare every scar he’s ever hidden, and you’re willing to love every single one of them. It’s you and him forever and always
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a/n: This story contains sensitive themes including bullying, abuse, and mental health struggles. Please read with care. This fic was born at an ungodly hour when I was supposed to be sleeping and my brain decided ✨pain + romance✨ was a great idea. What started as a random thought turned into a story about two people finding comfort in each other when the world feels cruel.
It’s raw, emotional, and imperfect—but it’s also about loyalty, healing, and choosing someone even when everything else falls apart.
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𐙚 Genre: Dark Romance, Teen/young adult, Slow burn romance, Angst and Drama.
𐙚 Warnings: 18+, mature themes, dark content, abandonment, Bullying (verbal and physical),Emotional abuse,Physical abuse/domestic violence, Alcohol and drug use, smoking,Mental health struggles self harm!!(depression, isolation),Strong language, Some sexual content (will appear later in the story)please read this at your own risk
𐙚 Pairing: Dom!Jungkook xx Sub!Reader(female)
The bell rang, and the hallway erupted with the usual chaos. Lockers slamming, sneakers squeaking, and the constant hum of chatter made the space feel alive. I laughed with my friends, Lisa and Jennie , as we walked toward our lockers, sharing jokes about the math test we’d barely survived. It was a normal day, one of those days you didn’t think about too deeply—until he walked in.
He came in late, slipping through the doors like he didn’t want anyone to notice him. His hands were buried deep in the pockets of his hoodie, shoulders slightly hunched. Dark hair fell over his eyes, and his gaze stayed fixed on the floor.
I didn’t notice him at first. There were always students moving in and out, so it wasn’t unusual to miss someone. But then, as I laughed at something Jennie said, I glanced to the corner of the hallway.
He was sitting there, alone. Always alone. Head down, hoodie pulled low over his face, like he wanted the world to forget he existed.
“You okay? You’re staring again,” Lisa said, nudging me.
I shook my head quickly. “What? No, I—” I trailed off, because the truth was, there was something about him I couldn’t stop looking at. Not because he was handsome—though, clearly, he was—but because he seemed… small. Vulnerable. Like the weight of everything was resting on his shoulders and no one even noticed.
He didn’t speak, didn’t look up, didn’t acknowledge anyone. That was the thing about him—he wasn’t just quiet. He existed on a completely different plane from everyone else.
I found myself unconsciously watching as he made his way down the hallway, backpack slung low, shoulders stiff. Students shifted out of his path, some whispering, some laughing quietly behind their hands. And yet he didn’t flinch. He didn’t fight. He just… kept walking.
By the time I realized I’d been staring too long, he had disappeared into the crowd near the back of the school, slipping past classrooms without a sound.
“Who is that?” Jennie asked, leaning over to look down the hall.
“I don’t know,” I said softly, though my stomach twisted. There was something about him, something I couldn’t place. Something that made me want to reach out, even though I knew better.
The rest of the day passed in a blur of notes, classes, and small conversations with my friends. But in the back of my mind, that corner of the hallway—the quiet figure, the hoodie, the hair falling into his eyes—kept replaying over and over.
I didn’t know his name. I didn’t know anything about him. But somehow, I already felt like I wanted to.
The next day, the halls felt heavier somehow. Maybe it was just me noticing things I hadn’t before.
I was walking with Lisa, talking about weekend plans, when I saw him. He was carrying his tray of food, moving slowly toward an empty table at the back of the lunchroom, hoodie pulled over his head as usual.
A group of students was waiting for him, Jackson smirking at the front. Before Jungkook could even reach the table, Jackson stepped out and tripped him deliberately.
He stumbled forward, arms flailing, and the tray went flying across the floor. Lunch spilled everywhere—sandwiches, fruit, milk—landing in a messy puddle. The room erupted in laughter, sharp and cruel, cutting through the usual chatter.
I wanted to jump up, rush over, grab his tray, help him, say something. Anything.
But Lisa grabbed my arm, shaking her head. “Don’t. Just leave it. It’s not your problem. He’s fine. Just let it go.”
I forced myself to stay seated, heart pounding, eyes glued to him as he silently knelt to gather what he could. His hoodie was pulled up tighter now, hiding more of his face. He didn’t say a word to Jackson, didn’t glance at anyone. He just picked up what he could and slowly walked toward the back, shoulders hunched like he was carrying the world on them.
Through the rest of the day, I couldn’t stop thinking about him. Every time someone pushed him, whispered something, or laughed at him, my chest twisted with helplessness. I wanted to protect him, even though I barely knew him.
It was ridiculous. And I hated that I couldn’t shake it.
I walked into the house, my book bag still slung over my shoulder. The smell of alcohol hit me almost immediately—my dad had started drinking earlier—and the smoke mixed with it, thick and choking. I had gotten use to it already.
“Back already, huh?” His voice was rough, slurred just enough to sting.
“Yeah,” I mumbled, keeping my gaze on the floor.
He was sitting on the couch, lights off, the only light coming from the sun spilling through the window and the faint glow of the TV. He took a long drag from his cigarette, exhaling smoke lazily.
“Did you get what I told you to get?” he asked, eyes narrowing.
I breathed slowly, trying not to flinch. I walked closer to him and pulled out the drugs he had sent me to pick up from one of his plugs.
His smirk was sharp as he stood up, tapping the side of my head a little harder than necessary. “Good,” he said, voice smug.
I looked down at him, but before I could say anything, he waved a hand. “Get out of my face.”
I obeyed silently, stepping back and letting him lean into the couch. The tension hung heavy in the air.
At home, it was always like this—drunk father, cigarette smoke, shouting. No one noticed. No one cared. No one ever would. I had no friends to tell, no one to vent to. The bullying at school was my problem alone, but it didn’t matter to him anyway.
My mother had left when I was young, running off for someone else. I barely remembered her face. The house had always been empty. And now, with him, it felt smaller, darker, colder than ever.
I trudged up the stairs to my room, slamming the door behind me. The hoodie came off, and I let out a long breath, the tension in my shoulders easing slightly. My book bag fell to the floor with a soft thud. I looked around my room—it was dark, cold, lonely. The walls seemed to echo my own isolation.
I went to the bathroom and turned on the shower, letting the hot water wash over me. I moved slowly, almost reluctantly, running my hands over my body. Every bruise from my father’s beatings was visible under the water, angry purples and blues that refused to fade.
I closed my eyes, letting the water hide my tears. Alone. Always alone. That was my life.
The water eventually went cold.
I turned the shower off and stepped out, grabbing a towel and wrapping it around my waist. The bathroom mirror was fogged up, but I still avoided it. I already knew what I’d see—bruises blooming across my skin, reminders of everything I couldn’t escape.
I dressed slowly, pulling on an old T-shirt and sweatpants. When I stepped back into my room, the silence hit harder than anything else. No voices. No laughter. Just the hum of the house settling around me like it always did.
I reached into my desk drawer and pulled out a cigarette. I cracked the window open just enough and lit it, taking a slow drag. The smoke burned my lungs, but I welcomed it. It gave me something to focus on. Something to feel.
I sat on the edge of my bed, staring at the floor while the smoke drifted out into the night air. Tomorrow would be the same. School. Hallways. Locker room. Jackson. Laughter. Silence.
I grabbed my notebook from my bag and flipped it open, pencil already tucked between the pages. My hands moved without thinking, sketching faces I never looked at directly. Shadows. Eyes downcast. A boy standing alone in the corner of a room.
I stopped when I realized the boy looked too much like me.
I closed the notebook and laid back on my bed, staring up at the ceiling. My chest felt heavy, tight, like something was pressing down on it from the inside.
I didn’t belong anywhere.
And I was tired of pretending it didn’t hurt.
I woke up before my alarm
The house was quiet in that uneasy way it always was in the mornings, like it was holding its breath. I got dressed without thinking—same hoodie, same jeans—pulling the fabric over my head like armor. I didn’t look in the mirror. There was no point.
I stepped quietly into the living room on my way out.
My dad was sprawled across the couch, body stretched out awkwardly, mouth slightly open. The TV was still on, some late-night show playing to no one. An ashtray sat on the table beside him, a cigarette burned down to the filter. Empty beer bottles littered the floor, some tipped over, some rolling when I brushed past them.
I stood there for a second longer than I should have, watching his chest rise and fall slowly. Then I turned away, grabbed my bag, and pulled the door shut behind me.
The bus ride to school was long and silent. I took my usual seat by the window, resting my head against the cool glass. Houses passed by. Trees blurred together. Families eating breakfast, lights on, doors opening. I wondered what it felt like to wake up somewhere warm. Somewhere safe.
At school, I slid into my seat in the back corner of class. Hoodie on. Head down. My pencil tapped lightly against the desk—once, twice, again. I didn’t hear a word the teacher said. My mind drifted in and out, time passing without meaning.
The bell rang. Then another. And then it was time for gym. The locker room smelled like sweat and deodorant, loud with laughter and locker doors slamming.
I moved quietly, heading straight for my locker, keeping my eyes down. I reached for my gym clothes—and froze. The locker was empty. My shirt, my shorts, everything I needed for class was gone.
My chest tightened. I hadn’t taken my hoodie off yet. I wouldn’t. Not with the bruises still dark against my skin. I stood there for a moment too long, fingers gripping the metal edge of the locker, already knowing who was behind it.
That’s when I felt it—that shift in the air. That feeling that meant I wasn’t alone anymore.
I turned too late. My clothes were gone. Hoodie. Shirt. Everything. I scanned the room, panic creeping up my spine, eyes darting between lockers, benches, laughing faces.
“Relax,” someone said, snickering. “It’s just a joke.”
The coach’s whistle blew from outside. “Everyone out! Track day. Two miles. It’s graded.”
I stood there for a second longer, hoping—stupidly—that my clothes would reappear. They didn’t. Laughter echoed around me, low and cruel.
Outside, the air was cold against my skin. I lined up with everyone else, wearing nothing but my regular clothes. I could feel eyes on me immediately. Whispers started before the whistle even blew.
“Doesn’t he know he’ll smell?”
“God, that’s disgusting.”
Each step felt heavier than the last. My lungs burned, sweat soaking through my clothes, clinging to me in the worst way. I could hear laughter from the sidelines, people pointing,
When it was over, my legs were shaking, breath coming out uneven. I bent over, hands on my knees, sweat dripping down my face. I straightened slowly, ignoring the looks, the comments, the way people shifted away from me.
I walked back inside alone, shoulders tight, head down, carrying the weight of it all like I always did. Humiliation. Shame. Silence.
And no matter how much it hurt—
The door creaked open, and before anyone even looked up, people started reacting. Hands came up to noses. Chairs shifted. Whispers spread across the room like wildfire.
His hoodie looked heavier somehow, darkened with sweat, clinging in places it shouldn’t have. He kept his head down, shoulders tight, walking straight to his seat in the corner like nothing was wrong. Like this wasn’t happening.
It was last period. Everyone was tired. Everyone was cruel.
He sat down slowly, not meeting anyone’s eyes.
The teacher paused mid-sentence, her gaze flicking between the class and Jungkook. The room went quiet in that uncomfortable way, the kind that made everything worse.
“Jungkook,” she said gently. “What happened?”
“I forgot my gym clothes,” he said simply.
That was it. No explanation. No excuses.
A few people laughed. Someone behind me whispered something I couldn’t quite hear, but I didn’t need to. My chest tightened anyway.
I looked around the room—faces twisted in amusement, disgust, judgment. My heart ached in a way I wasn’t prepared for. He wasn’t doing anything wrong. He was just sitting there, trying to get through the day.
The teacher cleared her throat. “Why don’t you grab your things and go to the office for now. It’s… causing a bit of a disruption.”
She didn’t look at him when she said it.
Jungkook nodded once. He didn’t argue. Didn’t react. He reached down, picked up his bag, and stood. The room felt smaller as he walked past the desks.
More whispers. More covered noses.
I watched him leave, my hands clenched in my lap, frustration burning under my skin. I wanted to say something. Do something. But I didn’t.
The door shut behind him, and the class slowly went back to normal like nothing had happened.
But for me, nothing felt normal anymore.
I walked to the office slowly.
Not because it was far—but because my chest hurt in a way that made each step feel heavier than the last. I kept my head down, fingers curled into the straps of my bag, holding on to the one thing I could still control: moving forward.
When I pushed the office door open, the secretary looked up with a practiced smile that faltered almost immediately.
Her nose wrinkled before she could stop it.
“Oh,” she said, blinking. “Uh—why are you here?”
“I was told to come,” I said quietly.
She nodded, but her attention kept drifting, the discomfort obvious now. Another staff member glanced over, then away just as fast.
They didn’t ask questions.
They didn’t ask about gym.
They didn’t ask about Jackson.
“Why don’t you head home for the day,” she said, already reaching for a pass. “You can… clean up and rest.”
I took the slip and left without another word.
Especially when my father was there.
The silence at school was cruel, but the silence at home was worse—thick with smoke and empty bottles and the sound of the TV talking to no one. I couldn’t breathe there. Not really.
So I turned the opposite direction.
My feet carried me somewhere familiar, somewhere no one knew about. A path worn down by my own steps over time. Trees closed in around me, muffling the noise of the world until everything felt softer, slower.
It wasn’t much. Just a small clearing tucked away where the light filtered through leaves just right. The air smelled clean. Earthy. Real. There was a fallen log I always sat on, the wood smooth from years of use.
I dropped my bag beside me and pulled out my notebook, flipping past pages filled with half-finished sketches, dark lines and quiet moments trapped in graphite. My pencil felt right in my hand—steady, familiar.
This was where I disappeared.
I started drawing without thinking. Lines forming shapes. Faces without names. Feelings I couldn’t say out loud turning into something I could see. Every stroke loosened the tightness in my chest just a little.
No one smelled me before they saw me.
Time slipped by unnoticed.
For now, nothing existed outside this clearing. No school. No gym. No house filled with smoke and shouting. Just the sound of graphite against paper and the steady rhythm of my breathing finally evening out.
I stayed there until the light began to shift, until even the trees seemed to tell me it wouldn’t last forever.
But for the moment—I was okay.
The final bell rings, sharp and sudden, but it doesn’t pull me out of my thoughts.
I pack my bag slowly, movements automatic, my mind stuck on something I can’t quite name. Every laugh in the room feels louder than usual. Every whisper feels heavier. And no matter how hard I try to focus on anything else, my attention keeps drifting to the same place.
The boy who never looks up.
I don’t even realize I’m staring until Lisa nudges my arm.
“You coming out tonight?” she asks, already throwing her bag over her shoulder. “Everyone’s going. Probably the mall or something.”
I shake my head. “I’m tired. I just wanna go home.”
She tilts her head, studying me for a second. “You sure? You’ve been quiet all day.”
“Yeah,” I say softly, forcing a smile. “I’m sure.”
“Okay. Text me later then.”
I watch her walk away with the others, their laughter echoing down the hallway. Normally, I’d follow. Normally, I wouldn’t think twice.
At home, the door barely closes before my mom appears, smiling like she always does. She presses a kiss to my forehead, warm and familiar.
“Your dad’s at the store,” she says, heading back toward the kitchen. “I’m making dinner. He forgot a few things.”
I nod and head upstairs, my bag slipping off my shoulder the moment I reach my room. It lands on the floor as I fall back onto my bed, staring up at the ceiling for a moment before grabbing my phone.
Instagram loads. Stories flip by—group selfies, food pics, people laughing together. I smile a little. I’m glad they’re having fun.
Feeling restless, I pushed myself off the bed and went to the bathroom for a shower. The warm water hit my skin and washed away the stress of the day. Steam filled the room as I leaned back, letting my muscles relax. I thought about nothing and everything at once, letting the rhythm of the water calm my mind.
Once I was done, I toweled off and changed into my pajamas. I sat at my vanity, drying my hair and glancing back at my phone. I scrolled Instagram again, catching up with my friends’ fun night. I smiled at them, happy they were enjoying themselves, but then I caught myself scrolling a little too far.
A picture taken without permission. The boy from class, head down, caught in the middle of a moment he didn’t choose. The caption is cruel, meant to embarrass. Like it’s some kind of joke.
I sigh and lock my phone, tossing it onto the bed beside me.
Something twists in my chest. Hot. Uncomfortable.
Tired of pretending I don’t notice. Tired of looking away because it’s easier. Tired of people thinking they can treat someone like that and call it humor.
This time, I wasn’t going to ignore it.
This time… I was going to step in.
Even if it meant putting myself in the line of fire.
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a/n Thanks for reading come back for part 2 !!
