Chapter Text
“Human behavior is dominated by unsatisfied needs.”
— Abraham Maslow
The psychology department building always smelled faintly of old paper and rain.
Jimin noticed things like that instinctively. The scent trapped between library pages. The way fluorescent lighting made exhausted students look almost translucent after midnight. The subtle change in someone’s voice when they said I’m fine and meant the exact opposite.
Human beings leaked loneliness constantly.
Most of them just never realized it.
The university library had nearly emptied by now, swallowed by the dull quiet of approaching midnight. Rain slid softly against the tall windows, blurring the city lights outside into streaks of silver and gold.
A half-finished coffee sat beside Jimin’s laptop, cold for over an hour.
He had not noticed.
Across his screen glowed the same sentence he had been rereading for the last several minutes.
Human behavior is dominated by unsatisfied needs.
Maslow.
Simple theory. Simple sentence.
Still, something about it left a strange hollowness beneath his ribs.
Jimin leaned back slowly, rubbing tired eyes before glancing around the library.
Scattered students occupied distant tables. Someone asleep over lecture notes. Someone typing furiously while eating vending machine chips. Someone quietly crying near the sociology shelves while pretending not to be.
Everyone needing something.
Rest. Validation. Attention. Love. Escape.
Maybe people were not nearly as complicated as they wanted to believe.
Maybe every version of human behavior eventually circled back to deprivation.
Jimin stared absently at the rain-streaked windows.
Then his gaze stopped.
Table fourteen.
The boy there had fallen asleep sometime within the last hour.
Jimin had noticed him earlier, though not intentionally. That was the problem with certain people. Some entered spaces loudly. Others bent spaces around themselves quietly.
This boy belonged to the second category.
Dark hoodie. Black headphones resting near his neck. One arm folded beneath his head while a pen remained loosely trapped between long fingers.
Jeon Jungkook.
Business major. Final-year student. Campus golden boy in the most irritatingly understated way possible.
People liked him automatically.
Professors trusted him. Group projects mysteriously improved when he joined them. Even strangers adjusted themselves around him without realizing it.
Jimin disliked people like that.
Or maybe he disliked how easily the world made room for them.
Outside, rain intensified softly against the windows.
Jungkook shifted slightly in his sleep, brows pulling together faintly as though even unconsciousness could not fully relax him.
And suddenly, for reasons Jimin could not explain, that sentence returned to him again.
Unsatisfied needs.
A strange thought surfaced.
What could someone like Jungkook possibly lack?
The thought should have ended there.
Instead, Jimin found himself watching him longer than necessary.
There was exhaustion beneath the polished image.
Not physical exhaustion.
Something quieter than that.
The kind people carried after spending too long becoming exactly who others expected them to be.
Jimin looked away first.
Annoying.
He closed the psychology article and began shoving books into his bag before he could continue psychoanalyzing a stranger across the library.
Midnight had already passed.
The overhead lights dimmed automatically, warning students the building would close soon. Chairs scraped softly against the floor as people packed their belongings with visible exhaustion.
Across the room, Jungkook still had not moved.
For a moment, Jimin considered leaving.
Not his problem.
Then he noticed the untouched energy drink beside Jungkook’s laptop. The unfinished spreadsheets glowing across the screen. The tension still visible in his shoulders even asleep.
Against his better judgment, Jimin stood.
The walk toward table fourteen felt strangely deliberate.
Closer now, Jungkook looked different somehow.
Less intimidating.
Younger.
A faint crease rested permanently between his brows.
Jimin hesitated before lightly tapping the table.
No response.
“Hey,” he said quietly.
Nothing.
Jimin sighed softly through his nose before reaching forward and touching Jungkook’s wrist.
Warm.
The reaction was immediate.
Jungkook jerked awake sharply and grabbed Jimin’s wrist before either of them fully processed what was happening.
For one suspended second, neither moved.
Jimin’s breath caught.
Jungkook’s grip was firm but not painful. Pure instinct.
His eyes were still unfocused from sleep, dark and heavy-lidded beneath messy hair, yet something about the way he looked at Jimin felt unsettlingly intense.
Like he was trying to place him somewhere.
The library suddenly felt too quiet.
Too small.
Jimin became painfully aware of: Jungkook’s hand around his wrist. The warmth of his fingers. Their proximity.
Jungkook released him immediately.
“Sorry,” he muttered, voice rough with sleep.
Jimin stepped back too quickly.
“It’s closing,” he said.
Smooth.
Very normal behavior.
Jungkook blinked once before glancing around the library like someone slowly returning to reality.
“Oh.”
His voice was deeper than Jimin expected.
Jimin hated noticing that.
“Thanks,” Jungkook added quietly.
Jimin nodded once.
That should have been the end of it.
It would have been smarter if it ended there.
Instead, Jungkook’s gaze drifted toward the psychology article still open across Jimin’s laptop screen.
A faint smile touched his mouth.
Not flirtatious.
Not friendly either.
Something quieter. More observant.
“Unsatisfied needs?”
Jungkook murmured. “That’s a depressing thing to study at midnight.”
Jimin should have laughed politely and left.
Instead, he heard himself ask:
“Do you think it’s wrong?”
Jungkook looked at him properly then.
Really looked.
And for the first time that night, Jimin felt understood in a way that made something deep inside him ache.
Jungkook leaned back slowly in his chair, considering the question carefully.
Then he said:
“No.”
Jungkook glanced briefly toward the rain beyond the windows.
“I think most people spend their entire lives starving.”
Silence settled softly between them.
Then he added:
“They just get offended when someone notices.”
Jimin frowned slightly.
“That sounds unnecessarily cynical.”
Jungkook looked amused by that.
“You’re studying psychology at midnight during a thunderstorm.”
His gaze flickered toward the article on Jimin’s laptop.
“You don’t exactly seem optimistic either.”
Jimin opened his mouth, then stopped.
Annoying.
Somehow this stranger had managed to psychoanalyze him within four minutes of waking up.
Jungkook finally stood, shoving his laptop into his bag with lazy movements.
Up close, he looked even more exhausted than before.
He looked at Jungkook with an annoyed expression.
“See?” Jungkook said quietly while pulling on his hoodie. “Now you’re doing it again.”
“Doing what?”
“Observing people like they’re case studies.”
Jimin stared at him.
“And you,” he replied coolly, “seem strangely defensive for someone who was unconscious thirty seconds ago.”
For the first time that night, Jungkook laughed.
Low. Brief. Unexpected.
Then he slung his bag over one shoulder and started toward the exit.
Halfway there, he stopped.
“You should drink better coffee, That one looks terrible ” he said without turning around.
And somehow, impossibly, that irritated Jimin far more than it should have.