Chapter Text
The first sign that Park Jimin was losing his mind came at 7:12 a.m. on a Monday when he threatened a laminator. "You and I have had this conversation before," he muttered, crouched beside the machine with one hand braced against the supply room shelf. "If you jam one more time, I'm putting you in the river." When you worked in a prestigious elementary school, your mental breakdowns started early not later during the day. From the beginning, at the crack of dawn, something was guaranteed to test your patience and this was something every staff member came prepared for. It was common knowledge at this point, but the four story building and its surroundings always had something in store that would push you to the edge.
"Mr Park?" The small tiny voice came from the threshold of the supply room; where the door was left wide open for a six year old to bear witness to her class teacher threatening the laminator.
Jimin closed his eyes. Tiny sneakers squeaked behind him. He pasted on a smile before turning around. "Good morning, Yuna." Seven-year-old Han Yuna stood in the doorway clutching a pink lunch bag almost as big as her torso. Her hair clips glittered under the fluorescent lights.
"You're talking to the laminator again," she said carefully, making it clear that this wasn’t the first time she had seen him.
"I wasn't talking to it. I was setting boundaries."
"Oh." Satisfied with that answer, Yuna nodded solemnly and wandered off toward the classroom. Jimin sighed and looked back down at the smoking laminator. The paper inside had folded into itself like a dying star. Wonderful. Perfect. Exactly how he wanted to start the semester.
From somewhere down the hallway came the sound of shrieking children followed by a loud crash and a man yelling, "NO RUNNING WITH SCISSORS, MINSEO! WE TALKED ABOUT THIS!"
Jimin's eye twitched. Jeon Jungkook had arrived. Of course he had, all staff was required to report by 7:00a.m. before the first batch of students were dropped off by their parents. The school year officially started today, which meant Haneul Elementary had transformed into complete chaos before sunrise. Parents flooded the front gates clutching coffee cups and anxiety, children sprinted through hallways like tiny drunk people and teachers smiled through the pain.
Jimin thought about that reel he had reshared on his account which said that children are like your drunk best friends who had no reason and rhyme and walked with the conviction to defy every suggestion, thought and direction you had. He couldn’t help but relate to that with every fibre of his being. He also thought about the fact that Jungkook had replied to that reshare with a series of crying, laughing, and cursing and skull emojis which Jimin had left on seen in his dms
Mr Jeon Jungkook, grade three’s class teacher, apparently, had chosen violence at eight, on this fine morning. Another crash echoed through the corridor and Jimin stood slowly. Then he marched toward the noise with the expression of a man approaching a battlefield. This was worth investigating. Jungkook had a talent for trouble but it was indeed rare to hear it this early in the morning. This was usually a 3:00 O’clock, after lunch kind of ordeal. The second-floor hallway looked exactly the way it always did during the first week of school: bright paper banners, freshly waxed floors, tiny backpacks abandoned like landmines and nervous parents hovering outside classroom doors pretending not to cry. At the far end of the hallway, Jungkook crouched beside a fallen cardboard rocket ship while six children shouted conflicting instructions at him.
"No, the tape goes there."
"You broke it."
"Mr Jeon, Jiwon ate glue."
"He didn't eat glue," Jungkook said. "He licked glue. Different crime."
Jimin stopped walking, examining the situation in front of him. Parents were standing by the hallways bearing witness to this situation and the ridiculousness and immaturity of it annoyed Jimin. Unfortunately, Jungkook noticed Jimin’s presence immediately and the way his face twisted in disappointment.
Their eyes met across the hallway and Jungkook grinned silly, displaying his entire gums and teeth with innocence identical to that his students of seven years carried. Jimin considered turning around and quitting his job but instead he walked closer and crossed his arms. "Why is there a rocket ship?"
"Science corner."
"It's the first day."
"Exactly. Establish whimsy early."
One of Jungkook's students pointed accusingly. "Mr Park's class doesn't have a rocket ship."
Jungkook gasped dramatically. "That's because Mr Park hates fun."
"I don't hate fun."
"You colour-code your whiteboard schedule."
"It improves visual organisation."
"That sentence alone proved my point."
Several children giggled. Traitors. Jimin inhaled slowly through his nose. "Your students are blocking the hallway,” and in a tight low voice he said “there are parents present.”
"Our rocket suffered structural failure." Jungkook completely ignored the second part Jimin said.
"Because you built it out of cardboard."
Jungkook looked genuinely offended. "NASA started somewhere."
Before Jimin could respond, a student sprinted past carrying a fistful of glitter.
"No glitter before nine!" Jungkook yelled, and he was running again but he was a tad bit too late as the child tripped and a cloud of silver exploded directly across the hallway floor. Silence fell. Every teacher in visible range stopped moving. Jimin stared at the glitter coating his polished loafers, and then he looked up very slowly. Jungkook took one cautious step backward.
"Mr Park," he started.
"You have exactly five seconds to explain why your classroom already looks like a craft store homicide."
"Counterpoint. It's educational glitter."
"You're thirty years old."
"And thriving."
"You're a public safety concern."
One of the kids tugged on Jungkook's sleeve. "Mr Jeon, are you getting scolded again?"
"Yes," Jungkook said mournfully. "Mr Park likes bullying me because he's jealous of my youth and natural athleticism."
"You wore a knee brace during field day."
"That was tactical."
Jimin pinched the bridge of his nose. God. This man was exhausting. Unfortunately, he was also annoyingly good at his job. That part irritated Jimin most. Because despite the chaos, Jungkook's students adored him. They clung to him like ducklings. Even now, while glitter died across the hallway and cardboard debris littered the floor, every child around him looked happy; comfortable and safe. Jimin understood why. Jungkook listened when kids talked; not the fake adult listening either but the real listening, like every story mattered.
Jimin preferred slow mornings: where he could greet each child of his with warmth, help them settle down, have idle small talks with the parents about progress and concern, attend to every little one with full attention and teach them with care but Jungkook was like a bubble-gum stuck on his loafer to his routine, bothersome no matter how hard Jimin tried. Jungkook’s mornings were loud and energetic with yelling and shouting, often accompanies by breaking or crashing sounds. This disrupted the slow rhythm of Jimin’s morning without much effort. Most mornings he spent time trying to tell the parents of his students that this was not hazardous, and that it was fairly normal and healthy. He spent his day trying to keep his students from getting distracted with what was happening next door, and trying to find his missing stationary that were often stolen by none other than Mr Jeon Jungkook.
It was infuriating but watching Jungkook’s students always made Jimin’s heart warm, they were truly happy roughhousing with him. This was unfairly attractive, Jimin thought.
No. Absolutely not. Jimin shut that thought down immediately.
Vice Principal Kim Seokjin appeared at the end of the hallway holding an iced coffee and the expression of a man who loved mess as long as it happened to someone else. "What happened here?" he asked.
"Mr Jeon declared war on structure," Jimin said flatly.
Jungkook pointed at the broken rocket ship. "Innovation requires sacrifice."
Jin surveyed the glitter disaster. "Oh, this is a disaster for the janitors. I’m getting an earful from Mr Lee for this definitely,” He sighed at the future that awaited him. “Mr Jeon, Mr Park I expect you both to make up for this in entertainment. This year's gonna be fun." Jin said gleefully.
Jimin narrowed his eyes. "Don't encourage him."
"Too late," Jin said. "I already like the rocket."
"It collapsed."
"Like my mental health during budget meetings. Still meaningful."
Jungkook snorted. Jimin hated that sound too. Not because it was annoying but because it wasn't. That was the problem. Jin sipped his coffee while watching them with far too much interest. "You two are already fighting and it's not even homeroom yet."
"We're not fighting," Jimin said instantly.
"We're definitely fighting," Jungkook said at the same time.
Jin's smile widened. Oh no. That expression never meant anything good.
"You know," Jin said casually, "couples who argue this much usually have unresolved sexual tension."
Jimin nearly choked on oxygen. "Excuse me?" Jin was not one to care about the nuances of workplace appropriate conversations, Jimin knew this but every time he said something out of pocket, Jimin couldn’t help but be shocked at his brazenness. Jungkook on the other hand got along with the Vice Principal very well because of this same reason: they both had no filter.
Several students gasped with the delighted horror unique to children overhearing adult conversations.
Jungkook burst out laughing. "Vice, you can't say that in front of second graders." Jin would’ve preferred the staff to refer to him by name but he held far too much authority for them to succumb to that request. Hence, they called him vice, a middle ground title that didn’t make either party uncomfortable however Jimin still referred to him as VP Kim Seokjin, even though the rest that followed usually were snarky, sarcastic and cynical.
"Why not? They know what tension is."
"That's not the issue!" Jimin looked seconds away from launching himself through the nearest window. Jin shrugged and wandered away like he hadn't detonated a bomb in the hallway before eight-thirty in the morning. The worst part was that Jungkook kept laughing. Leaning against the wall with his eyes crinkled; full-body laughter. Jimin hated that too, mostly because it made him want to smile which was unacceptable and unprofessional.
"Control your classroom," Jimin muttered.
"Control your blood pressure." Then Jungkook bent down to help a student rebuild the cardboard rocket, still grinning to himself. Jimin stared one second too long. He noticed stupid things. Jungkook was dressed in a loose dark green sweater with his sleeves rolled up. There was a tiny star sticker stuck to the back of his sweater. The way he got eye-level with every child automatically, like he never wanted them to feel talked down to. When he leaned forward, Jimin could see a silver of his chest and shoulders, toned and fair with tattoos scattered all across. There was black ink peeking from under his rolled sleeves also but this was something he noticed a while back
Annoying. Deeply annoying. Jimin turned sharply and walked back toward his classroom before his brain embarrassed him further. Behind him, one of Jungkook's students yelled, "Mr Jeon, Mr Park's mad at you again."
Jungkook answered immediately. "I know. It's how he says good morning." Jimin closed his classroom door with unnecessary force.
Inside, everything was perfect. The desks aligned neatly in rows, pastel paper garlands hung from the ceiling, tiny handwritten welcome notes rested on each table beside sharpened pencils and soft instrumental music played quietly near the reading corner. His students trickled in slowly, faces brightening as they entered. That feeling never got old. No matter how exhausted he felt, this part always mattered.
"Mister Park!" A small body launched into his side. Jimin caught Minji automatically before she could crash into the bookshelf. "Good morning to you too."
"My mom says your classroom smells expensive."
"That's because Mr Park is expensive," another student announced confidently.
Jimin blinked. "What does that mean?"
"No one knows, I just heard by mom say this," Yuna admitted. Fair enough.
The room filled with chatter as more students arrived. Nervous first-day energy buzzed through the air. Jimin moved through it easily: checking backpacks, tying shoelaces and remembering names. A parent lingered nervously near the doorway while her son clung to her hand with watery eyes. She was trying to catch Jimin’s eyes and the moment he caught it, he softened. The mother was looking at him desperate, to help her with her child. Jimin walked up and crouched beside the child. "You must be Seungho." The little boy nodded miserably. "I heard you like dinosaurs." A tiny pause and then another nod. Jimin lowered his voice like he was sharing classified information. "Good thing too. Someone hid dinosaur stickers in your desk, very suspicious."
Seungho blinked. "Really?"
"Terrible security breach. We should investigate immediately." Ten seconds later the child had abandoned his mother entirely in favour of searching his desk for contraband stickers. Crisis solved.
Parents relaxed around Jimin quickly. He knew how to do this: how to make classrooms feel safe. It was the one thing he never doubted about himself. Everything else, sure. Not this.
By nine-thirty the hallway settled into relative peace.
Relative being the key word because somewhere nearby Jungkook's class started chanting loudly enough to shake the walls. "THREE. TWO. ONE. BLAST OFF!" A thunderous crash followed.
Jimin stared blankly at the ceiling. One of his students raised a hand politely. "Mr Park?"
"Yes?"
"Do you think Mr Jeon is okay?"
"No," Jimin answered honestly. "I think he needs supervision."
The kids laughed. Then, despite himself, Jimin smiled too. Only a little, just enough to betray him and unfortunately, Namjoon saw it.
Namjoon was the school counsellor that worked with parents, students and staff alike. His days weren’t always busy like Jimin’s or Jungkook’s, his work was more seasonal. Sometimes, the poor man wouldn’t even be able to make time for a cup of coffee but then some days, you would find him lax on the staff lunge couch watching Netflix documentaries. Jimin personally believed that Namjoon was hired due to his nosy personality so that he could extract information and compile it for Jin. He spent an awful lot of time around Jimin and Jungkook’s classroom was Jimin’s observation.
The school counsellor leaned against Jimin's open doorway holding two folders and the kind of knowing expression that made people confess crimes accidentally. "That's interesting," Namjoon said.
"What is?"
"You smiled."
"I do that sometimes."
"Not when discussing Jeon Jungkook."
Jimin scoffed. "Please. He's a headache in human form."
"Mhm." Namjoon didn't even pretend to believe him. This was irritating because Namjoon usually turned out to be right about everything.
Jimin returned to organising worksheets. "Don't you have counselling things to do?"
"I do. But watching your hallway rivalry is better for my mental health."
"There is no rivalry." Right on cue, screaming erupted outside.
Jungkook sprinted past the doorway chasing two children wearing construction paper capes. "NO SWORD FIGHTS BEFORE LUNCH."
Namjoon raised an eyebrow. Jimin pointed silently toward the hallway. "See? This is what I deal with."
"And yet," Namjoon said carefully, "you look more entertained than angry."
"I'm going back to work now."
"Okay." Namjoon started walking away and then he paused. "Oh, by the way. Jungkook spent all morning bragging that his students can beat yours at trivia."
Jimin looked up sharply. "He said what?"
Namjoon hid a smile. "Have a nice day."
It was never established whether Jungkook really declared war on Jimin’s class or was it Namjoon playing with fire however by lunchtime, the hallway war had officially escalated. It started with a spelling game and then somehow turned into a full-scale academic competition involving two classrooms screaming multiplication tables at each other across the corridor.
"THIS ISN'T PEDAGOGICALLY SOUND," Jimin shouted over the chaos.
Jungkook cupped his hands around his mouth. "YOUR CLASS STARTED IT."
"We did not."
One of Jimin's students yelled proudly, "We're winning though."
Across the hallway, Jungkook looked personally offended. "Oh, it's on now."
Hoseok appeared carrying dodge balls for afternoon PE and stopped dead in the middle of the hallway. "Why does this feel like a custody battle?"
"No interference," Jungkook warned immediately.
Hoseok grinned. "Actually I'm rooting for violence."
"Of course you are," Yoongi muttered while walking past with sheet music tucked under one arm.
He paused beside Jimin. Then glanced at Jungkook. Then back at Jimin.
"You two flirt like divorced parents."
Jimin almost dropped his clipboard. "We are not flirting."
"Sure." Yoongi continued walking without another word. Infuriating staff. Every single one of them.
Meanwhile Jungkook leaned against his classroom doorway looking entirely too pleased with himself. "You know, for someone who acts calm all the time, you get competitive really fast."
Jimin crossed his arms. "I don't lose gracefully."
"That's kinda hot."
Silence. Actual silence. Even the children stopped talking. Jungkook froze too, like his mouth had betrayed him in real time. Jimin stared. Jungkook opened his mouth. Closed it. Then said very quickly: "Educationally speaking. In terms of competitive pedagogical frameworks." Nobody bought it. Minji turned slowly to look at Yuna. Yuna turned slowly to look at Minji. Something passed between them. Something that would be printed on a chart by Friday.
Jimin's ears burned. He turned around and walked back into his classroom with enormous dignity. Behind him he heard Hoseok say, at perfectly audible volume: "I give it six weeks."
Jungkook's response was immediate: "I have no idea what you're talking about."
"Sure you don't."
⋆˙⟡ ⋆.˚ ⊹₊⟡ ⋆
Territory Week, as the staff came to call it, began on Tuesday. It was never officially declared. It simply happened, the way most things at Haneul Elementary happened, which was to say: gradually, then all at once. By Tuesday afternoon, Jungkook's class had built a papier-mâché volcano at the entrance to the hallway. Not for any curriculum reason. Just, apparently, to make a point.
"It's a boundary marker," Jungkook explained to Jimin's extremely sceptical face.
"It's a trip hazard."
"It's art."
"It's six centimetres from the fire exit."
"Structural choice."
Jimin moved the volcano three metres to the left. Jungkook moved it back.
They did this four times before Taehyung wandered past from the art room, looked at both of them, and said: "You know, divorced parents usually share custody of the hallway. Statistically." Then he kept walking.
Jimin and Jungkook looked at each other and then at the volcano. Neither moved it again.
By Wednesday, the espionage had begun. Jungkook's students started appearing outside Jimin's classroom door on suspicious bathroom breaks, spending far too long in the corridor. Jimin's students retaliated by sending Yuna to conduct what she called "field observations."
Yuna was seven years old and apparently had a future in intelligence work.
“Mr Park,” she reported gravely during afternoon reading time, “Mr Jeon’s class is making a second rocket ship. I believe they have tape.”
Jimin looked up from the book he was reading aloud to the class. "Thank you, Yuna."
"Also," she added, "Haneul from Mr Jeon's class says you're Mr Jeon's work wife."
The class went very quiet. Jimin closed the book gently. "I'm his what?"
"Work wife. I looked it up. It means you're professionally married but also you're always fighting." Twelve children stared at him with the intense collective focus of small humans who have stumbled onto something fascinating.
"We are not work wives," Jimin said carefully. "Mr Jeon and I are colleagues."
"Colleagues who fight a lot," Seungho observed thoughtfully.
"That's just... collegial tension." Minji wrote something in her notebook. Jimin decided not to ask what.
Then one of Jungkook's boys, Jiwon, who was somehow always in the wrong classroom at the wrong moment, stuck his head around the door and announced: "Mr Jeon says to tell Mr Park that the volcano stays."
“Jiwon honey, tell Mr Jeon,” Jimin said pleasantly, “that the volcano will be repurposed as a lesson in geological erosion if he keeps this up.”
Jiwon disappeared. There was a long pause and then from across the hallway came the sound of Jungkook yelling: "HE CAN'T DO THAT."
Jimin was pleased with the outcome. He felt like he scored a point this round. He smiled at his class. "Back to chapter four." He didn't notice that Minji was still writing and Minji never took class notes.
⋆˙⟡ ⋆.˚ ⊹₊⟡ ⋆
Thursday brought the parent incident.
It was the kind of moment Jimin usually handled alone. He'd always been good at that, deflecting pushy parents with the gentle efficiency of someone who'd spent years perfecting the art of being perfectly pleasant while making absolutely clear that nothing was going to change. This parent was a different category.
Her name was Mrs Oh, and she'd been standing in the hallway outside Jimin's classroom for twenty minutes discussing, in increasing detail, why her son Minjun deserved to sit in the front row specifically because Minjun was exceptional in ways she was happy to elaborate on at length.
Jimin smiled. He nodded. He said all the right things.
Mrs Oh did not stop talking.
He was three minutes away from gently, professionally, absolutely losing his mind when Jungkook appeared at his shoulder. Not loudly or dramatically like he usually did. He just materialised there, warm and solid, and said, with total ease: "Sorry, Mrs Oh, I have to steal him for a second, scheduling thing." Mrs Oh blinked. Jungkook was already looking at Jimin like they had somewhere to be, and before Jimin's brain could catch up with what was happening, Jungkook's hand was at the small of his back, steering him two steps down the hallway with a light, certain touch.
Then Jungkook leaned in and straightened Jimin's nametag, which had gone slightly crooked. His fingers were careful. His attention completely focused on the tiny crooked badge, like it mattered. "Staff meeting," Jungkook told Mrs Oh pleasantly, over his shoulder. "You know how it is. We'll get Minjun sorted, no worries."
Mrs Oh, confronted with two teachers apparently needed elsewhere, did the thing people do when gently outnumbered. She gathered herself and left.
Jungkook stepped back. Checked the nametag. Nodded once. "You're welcome," he said, and walked back to his own classroom before Jimin could say anything.
Jimin stood in the hallway.
His nametag was perfectly straight. Something had shifted, and he couldn't name what, and he absolutely was not going to think about the warm weight of Jungkook's hand at his back. He went back to his classroom. He sat down. He organised markers by colour for fifteen minutes without noticing he was doing it. Down the hall, he heard Jungkook's kids erupt in laughter at something their teacher had done.
Annoying. All of it. Completely annoying.
⋆˙⟡ ⋆.˚ ⊹₊⟡ ⋆
Friday mornings brought coffee shortages, crying first graders, and public humiliation. Sometimes all three at once. Today, unfortunately, Jimin hit the trifecta before eight-thirty.
Friday arrived with the relationship chart. Jimin discovered it at three-fifteen. He was walking past the reading corner when Yuna tugged on his sleeve and presented it to him with the grave ceremony of a small person delivering a state document.
It was A3 size. Hand-drawn. Bordered in stickers and glitter. At the top, in careful capital letters: MR PARK AND MR JEON: A LOVE STORY
Jimin opened his mouth. Nothing came out.
The chart had categories; multiple categories, evidence column, a timeline and a section labelled INCIDENTS that included, among other items: "the glitter (day one)," "the volcano dispute (on-going)," and, in Minji's handwriting, "eye contact during assembly rehearsal (pending confirmation)."
Jimin looked up from the chart. Twelve faces looked back at him with the collective energy of people who had been waiting for this moment. "Where," Jimin said very quietly, "did this come from?"
"We made it," Minji said. "The data supports the hypothesis."
"There is no hypothesis. Mr Jeon and I are colleagues."
Seungho pointed to the chart. "That's what it says here in the denial column." There was, in fact, a denial column, pre-filled with his exact phrasing. Jimin stared at it for a long moment. Then he said: "Where did you get the sticker borders?"
"Mr Jeon's classroom," Yuna said. "He has the good ones." Of course he did. Jimin was still holding the chart, trying to decide what expression to have about this, when Jungkook appeared in the doorway. He looked at Jimin. He looked at the chart. He walked over slowly and took it from Jimin's unresisting hands, read it and turned it sideways to read the footnotes.
Then he started laughing. Not the performitive thing he did in the hallway, not the loud theatrical version he used on parents. This was real: quiet and helpless, eyes crinkling, shoulders shaking, hand pressed briefly to his mouth like he was trying to contain it.
Something about it hit Jimin in the chest, unexpected and specific. And then, despite everything, he laughed too. Just for a second, one real, unguarded second. Jungkook caught it. Their eyes met over the chart and Jungkook's smile went quiet in a different way.
Jimin looked away first. "You need to shut this down," he told the class, who all clearly disagreed.
Jungkook set the chart on the desk. "Honestly? This is the most organised thing in either of our classrooms."
"We have a methodology," Minji said, with dignity.
Jimin reached forward and turned the chart face-down. "No one is confirming any hypotheses. Pack your bags." The children packed. But Jimin didn't miss the look that passed between Minji and Yuna as they left. The look that said: this isn't over.
It absolutely wasn't.
⋆˙⟡ ⋆.˚ ⊹₊⟡ ⋆
Jungkook came back at four-thirty, after the building had emptied. Jimin was still at his desk, marking reading assessments, when the knock came on the open classroom door. Jungkook leaned in the doorway in a different hoodie now, changed out of the day's sweater, carrying two coffees. He crossed the room without asking and set one on the corner of Jimin's desk.
Iced Americano. Extra shot. No sugar.
Jimin looked at the cup and then at Jungkook, who had pulled one of the small student chairs over to a nearby table and sat in it with his long legs folded awkwardly at the knees, looking absolutely ridiculous. Adorable, Jimin thought.
"How do you know my coffee order?" Jimin asked.
Jungkook looked at him like the question was strange. "You get the same thing every morning." That was not an answer to the question but Jimin couldn’t deny the fact that this action considerable warmed his heart.
Jimin picked up the cup anyway.
For a while, neither of them said anything. The hallway outside had gone quiet. The school felt different empty, the way it always did at the end of a first week, like the building was exhaling. "Busy week," Jungkook said finally. It indeed was, the first week was always exhausting, and after that things would adjust and start to flow properly. First week meant distressed students, anxious parents, and trouble in class, fights, cries and tantrums all to be handled by a single teacher across an entire classroom.
"You destroyed a hallway on day one." Jimin said.
"The volcano survived."
"Barely."
Jungkook turned his coffee cup in his hands. "Your kids are something. That chart,” he laughed.
"Please don't say the chart was good."
"The methodology was genuinely impressive."
Jimin looked up from his marking. "The methodology included a category called “eye contact during assembly rehearsal.'"
"We were supposed to have assembly rehearsal?"
"On Thursday. You missed it."
Jungkook winced. "I had the volcano."
"The volcano," Jimin said, "is not a valid excuse for missing mandatory school events."
"What if it had erupted?"
"It's papier-mâché."
"Symbolically. What if it had symbolically erupted."
Jimin put down his pen. He looked at Jungkook sitting in the tiny chair. Jungkook looked back at him and Jimin felt the strange sensation he'd been pushing away all week, the one that kept surfacing at inconvenient moments, the one that went: this is not what rivalry is supposed to feel like.
Rivalry was supposed to be cold. Clean. Simple. Not this. Not sitting in a quiet classroom at five in the evening sharing coffee while a ridiculous man made him laugh about papier-mâché volcanoes.
"You were good with Seungho," Jungkook said, out of nowhere.
Jimin blinked. "What?"
"First day. The crying kid. The dinosaur sticker thing." Jungkook turned his coffee again. "That was good."
It was, Jimin thought, the least expected sentence Jungkook had said all week.
"You got eye-level with everyone," Jimin said, before he could stop himself.
Jungkook looked up. "Your students. When you talked to them. You always got down to their level. They didn't have to look up at you." He paused. "It matters to them."
Something shifted in Jungkook's expression. Not the grin, not the theatrical version. Something quieter.
"Yeah," he said softly. "I know."
Then he smiled, smaller this time, and it had the inconvenient quality of a thing that was completely genuine.
Jimin looked back at his worksheets.
"For the record," Jungkook said, "we're definitely past enemies."
"We were never enemies."
"We weren't?"
"No. Enemies imply I take you seriously."
Jungkook laughed, short and real. "Okay. Friendly rivals, then."
"Colleagues."
"Colleagues who share a hallway and a deeply invested student relationship-tracking operation."
"Don't make it sound like a joint venture."
"It kind of is, though." Jimin didn't answer that. He picked up his pen and went back to his marking. Jungkook stayed in the tiny chair, finishing his coffee, not talking, and somehow that was fine. The quiet settled around them without awkwardness. Which was its own kind of problem?
⋆˙⟡ ⋆.˚ ⊹₊⟡ ⋆
Monday morning. Jimin arrived early, as he always did. He was halfway to his classroom when he stopped walking. The noticeboard outside the staff room had been updated over the weekend. New announcements, event schedules, the usual. He'd walked past noticeboards a thousand times without looking twice.
This time he looked twice.
Because someone had pinned, in the centre of the board, a colour-printed photograph of him and Jungkook from Thursday's multiplication table war. They were facing each other across the hallway, both pointing, both clearly mid-argument and the photo had been helpfully labelled, in red marker: EXHIBIT A.
Around it, in slightly smaller printouts, was a ring of additional photographs. Most of them Jimin didn't remember being taken. There was one from the glitter incident. One from the nametag moment, slightly blurry. Several from the competition, all somehow capturing the exact expression on Jimin's face when Jungkook said 'kinda hot.'
At the top of the board, a small hand-lettered banner read: THE ONGOING INVESTIGATION.
Below the photographs: a new, expanded version of the chart. Printed. Laminated. Colour-coded in a way that was frankly more organised than Jimin's lesson plans.
Jimin read the categories.
TIMELINE OF EVENTS. NOTABLE GLANCES. PROXIMITY INCIDENTS. EVIDENCE OF MUTUAL AWARENESS. And at the bottom, helpfully clarified by Taehyung's third-graders who had apparently collaborated on the project: EMOTIONALLY CONSTIPATED (BOTH).
Jimin heard footsteps behind him. Jungkook stopped at his shoulder and looked at the board. For a long moment, neither of them spoke.
"That's a lot of red string," Jungkook said finally.
"They laminated it."
"They really committed to the bit."
"Mr Jeon," Jimin said. "There is a photograph of my face with the caption 'Denial: Stage 4.'"
"To be fair, it's a very accurate photo."
Jimin turned to look at him. "You are not helping."
"I know." But Jungkook was clearly fighting a smile, which was not appropriate given the circumstances. Jin appeared from the direction of the staff room, also carrying coffee, also clearly having already seen the board.
"Ah," he said pleasantly. "You found it."
"Did you know about this?" Jimin asked.
"I may have provided access to the laminator."
Jimin stared at him.
"In the spirit of student initiative," Jin added. "Very educational. Data collection. Visual presentation."
"I'm going to file a complaint."
"With who? Me? I'm the vice principal." Jin sipped his coffee. "I also want it on record that the string work is very professional. I didn't know they had red string."
"Hoseok," Jungkook said immediately. "He has everything."
Jin nodded sagely. Then looked between them. Then at the board. Then back at them.
"You know," he said, "this becomes significantly easier to deal with if you just give them something to work with. Professionally speaking."
"We're not giving them anything," Jimin said.
"Jimin."
"No."
Jin set his coffee down on the nearest flat surface with the deliberate calm of a man about to ruin somebody else's morning. "The parents' gala is in three weeks."
Jimin frowned immediately. Of course he knew about the gala. Every teacher at Haneul knew about the gala. It was the school's largest annual event: fundraising, networking, donor relations and thinly veiled academic posturing disguised beneath string lights and catered desserts. Parents with money attended, the board of trustees attended, former alumni attended and everyone smiled too hard for three consecutive hours while silently judging one another's professionalism.
It is an exhausting event.
"And?" Jimin asked cautiously.
Jin folded his arms. "And the board is reviewing contract renewals immediately after the gala this year."
The hallway went quieter somehow. Jimin glanced sideways at Jungkook automatically before he could stop himself.
Jungkook's contract was still probationary. Eighteen months at Haneul wasn't enough for permanence yet, everyone knew that and usually it wouldn't have mattered; Jungkook's students adored him, his classroom scores were excellent and parents constantly talked about how much happier their children were in school because of him. Unfortunately, school politics had never cared exclusively about results and Jungkook, despite everything, did not have a particularly good track record with parents.
When he first joined Haneul, he'd been assigned to fifth grade. Academically, he'd been excellent: student engagement skyrocketed, participation improved, test scores stayed consistently high and for the first time in years, students actually wanted to be in class. The children loved him almost immediately. The parents were another story entirely. Jimin still remembered the complaints.
"They need to start taking their education seriously."
"Middle school entrance exams are competitive."
"Children need structure and discipline at this age."
And then the real complaints, buried underneath all the polished language about academics and professionalism.
"A teacher shouldn't look like that around impressionable students."
"He's too young to command authority."
"The piercings are inappropriate."
"The tattoos are distracting."
As though the silver rings in Jungkook's ears somehow cancelled out the fact that he stayed after school tutoring struggling students for free. As though ink beneath his sleeves mattered more than the way children who hated school suddenly started volunteering answers in class. As though enthusiasm itself was something suspicious. None of it had actually been about education. Jimin knew that. Jungkook knew that. The entire staff knew that.
The parents had looked at Jungkook; at the tattoos peeking from rolled sleeves, the eyebrow piercing, the combat boots, the loud laugh and endless energy and decided he couldn't possibly be responsible enough to shape their children into the polished academic success stories they wanted.
So eventually the complaints piled high enough that administration quietly moved him to younger grades where creativity and unconventional teaching methods were considered charming instead of threatening.
Jungkook had laughed about it at the time but Jimin remembered the way his smile hadn't quite reached his eyes.
Jin sighed. "Look, academically? Nobody has concerns about Jungkook. His evaluations are good. His students perform well, they're engaged, attendance is high, behavioural reports are low despite..." He gestured vaguely down the hallway. "...everything."
"Everything?" Jungkook echoed.
"The glitter incidents, the hallway competitions, the papier-mâché volcano that nearly violated three separate safety policies."
"It was educational."
"It emitted smoke, Jungkook."
"Symbolic smoke."
Jin ignored him professionally. "The issue is parent perception." Jimin's expression shifted slightly. There it was. Because that part he understood. Parents loved enthusiasm right until enthusiasm started looking chaotic. Parents loved creativity until creativity involved glue on uniforms and children screaming multiplication tables across hallways like tiny revolutionaries.
"The board thinks he's immature?" Jimin asked quietly.
Jungkook leaned back against the wall beside the evidence board, arms folded loosely across his chest. His expression stayed easy but something in it dimmed around the edges. "Some parents think I run my classroom like a day-care run by caffeine and poor impulse control."
"You let second graders build a rocket unsupervised."
"I supervised emotionally."
"That sentence is exactly the problem."
Jin pointed at Jimin like he'd proven something. "See? You sound like a responsible adult. Parents hear you speak and immediately unclench."
"I do not make people unclench."
"You colour-code newsletters."
"That is called organisation."
"It's called terrifying competence." Jungkook snorted quietly beside them.
Jin continued before Jimin could retaliate. "The point is: individually, Jungkook reads as chaotic to parents who don't actually spend time in his classroom." He paused. "But when the two of you are together? Parents relax."
Jimin blinked. "What?"
"You're calm, structured and reliable. You're basically the patron saint of emotionally stable elementary educators."
"That's not a real thing."
"It should be." Jin gestured between them. "And meanwhile Jungkook makes you visibly less intense. The parents love it. They think you've balanced each other out."
"That is insane."
"Correct," Jin agreed immediately. "Unfortunately school politics are built entirely on insane people making conclusions over coffee."
Jimin opened his mouth and closed it again because annoyingly, horribly, he could already think of examples. Mrs Oh calming down faster when Jungkook interrupted them in the hallway, parents laughing during the multiplication competition instead of complaining because the two of them had turned it into something playful together, the way staff stopped looking worried whenever Jungkook and Jimin were in the same room, like Jimin's presence automatically translated Jungkook into something easier for adults to understand.
Jimin hated that it made sense.
Beside him, Jungkook looked at the evidence board again, specifically at the photograph from Thursday where he was laughing so hard his head had tipped back entirely. "My contract review is next month," he said after a moment, quieter this time. No jokes underneath it. No grin. Just fact.
Jimin looked at him properly then.
Not at the tattoos or the annoying sweaters or the perpetual chaos orbiting him like weather. At the actual person underneath it all. The teacher who crouched to eye level with every student automatically. The teacher whose classroom sounded like bedlam but whose kids never looked afraid. The teacher who stayed late every evening cutting out stars for bulletin boards nobody else would notice. The teacher who was genuinely good at this job, and who apparently knew enough about school politics to realise being good at the job wasn't always enough.
"I can handle teaching," Jungkook said lightly, though the joke didn't fully land. "It's the politics part I'm bad at." Something uncomfortable twisted low in Jimin's chest.
Jin, sensing weakness like a shark sensing blood in water, struck immediately. "The whole school already thinks you're dating," he said. "Half the parent body heard about it from their children weeks ago, at this point you'd barely even be lying."
"Vice Principal Kim Seokjin," Jimin said slowly, "is you seriously suggesting that we pretend to date for a board review?"
"I'm suggesting," Jin corrected smoothly, "that you stop correcting an assumption that already exists."
"That is still manipulation."
"It's strategic public relations."
"It's insane."
"It's three weeks."
"Three weeks of lying to parents."
"Three weeks of allowing people to continue believing something they already believe." Jin tilted his head thoughtfully. "Technically speaking, you would never actually have to say the words."
Jimin stared at him and then at the evidence board: the laminated charts, the colour-coded timelines, the photographs, and the horrifyingly professional use of red string. A third grader had labelled one picture: PROLONGED EYE CONTACT. Jimin wanted to resign.
"Tell him no," he said finally, turning to Jungkook. Jungkook hesitated which was somehow worse than if he'd answered immediately.
"I mean..." He rubbed the back of his neck once. "It's not the worst idea Jin's ever had."
"That is an extraordinarily low standard."
"One time he suggested a petting zoo during exam week,” Jungkook remembered.
"It would've improved morale,” Jin defended.
"It would've introduced goats to standardized testing environments,” Jimin retaliated.
"The children would've remembered it forever." Jimin pressed two fingers briefly to his temple.
“Listen,” Jin said, quieter now, the humour slipping from his voice for the first time that morning. “I may be the vice principal, but most of my authority only extends to day-to-day problems on this campus. Schedules. Discipline. Parents yelling about cafeteria menus.” He exhaled softly. “Real decisions? The ones that matter? Those come from the board, the trustees and whichever parents donate enough money to think they own the building.”
Neither of them interrupted. Jin looked toward Jungkook briefly before continuing. “And the truth is, Jungkook is too valuable for this school to lose.” His tone sharpened slightly then, more certain. “His students thrive. The kids adore him. He’s one of the best teachers we have and everyone in this building knows it.” A pause. “But schools like this care about optics just as much as results.”
Jungkook looked away at that. “If this stupid little act buys him enough goodwill to get through his probation review without the board deciding he’s ‘too unconventional’ to keep around,” Jin said, “then yeah. I’m asking you both to try.” Then more quietly: “Please, Jimin.”
"This is ridiculous."
"Probably," Jungkook admitted. "But it's temporary. And honestly..." He glanced once toward the board again before looking back at Jimin. "People already decided something's happening here."
Jimin's ears felt suspiciously warm. "There is nothing happening here."
"See, the problem is that you sound defensive when you say things like that."
"I sound correct."
"You sound like the denial column." Jimin looked personally betrayed by that sentence.
Jin made a soft thoughtful noise. "That's actually a very good point."
"Stop encouraging him."
"No promises."
A small child sprinted down the hallway behind them yelling something incomprehensible about an eraser and glue but none of them reacted. Years of experience. Jimin exhaled slowly through his nose, "rules."
Jungkook blinked. "Rules?"
"If," Jimin said carefully, pointing once like he was drafting legal documentation, "and I cannot stress this enough, if this hypothetical disaster were to occur, and then we establish boundaries immediately." Jin became incredibly interested in his coffee.
"Okay," Jungkook said slowly. "Boundaries."
"No unnecessary touching."
A beat. Jungkook's mouth twitched. "Define unnecessary."
"Why would you ask that immediately?"
"I'm clarifying the terms and conditions."
"You do not get terms and conditions."
"I feel like fake dating should come with a handbook."
"It absolutely should not."
Jungkook was visibly trying not to laugh now. "Okay, fine, minimal touching. Continue."
"No telling anyone it's fake. Especially not Hoseok."
"Obviously not Hoseok," Jungkook agreed immediately. "He'd make a PowerPoint."
"He'd make merchandise," Jin corrected. Jimin looked briefly exhausted by the people around him.
"And we tell the students nothing," he continued. "If they ask directly, we say it's private."
"That's going to make them significantly worse."
"I know," Jimin said tiredly. "But it's the least dishonest option available."
Jungkook nodded once, more serious now. "Okay."
"And after the gala," Jimin added firmly, "this ends. We go back to being colleagues and this entire thing never happened."
A pause settled between them. Jungkook looked at him steadily for a second too long before nodding.
"Okay," he said quietly. Something about the way he said it made Jimin look away first. The morning bell rang overhead. The school day officially began but for a moment none of them moved. Then Jungkook pushed himself off the wall and adjusted the strap of his bag. "So," he said casually, "does this mean we're officially past friendly rivals now?"
Jimin picked up his things. "Don't push it." Jungkook grinned immediately; full force this time, helpless at the edges. Jimin very deliberately did not look at him while walking away. Behind them, Jin watched the entire interaction with the smug satisfaction of a man witnessing his own successful manipulation in real time. He picked up his phone and opened the staff group chat.
Typed:
they agreed
Then slipped the phone back into his pocket before either of them could see. Behind him, the relationship chart caught the morning light; laminated, colour-coded and horrifyingly thorough.