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Jungkook disliked being in public for too long. He was very conventionally beautiful, if not handsome, and this gained him much unwanted attention. Everyone he knew always dreamt of fame and fortune, of success and recognition, but all that Jungkook wanted was a comfortable life that he would be able to lead uninterrupted by those of which he did not wish the company. This was not to say that he was a snob, but that he was more aptly put antisocial and highly opinionated. He rarely made friends, because he hid nothing of himself and expected others to do no less. It was his senior year of highschool, anyways, and friends were a commodity he could not afford; they provided for little more than distractions from his schoolwork, of which more he found that he really didn't need.

One thing was for certain, though:

He was most certainly in need of a job.

He'd never had time previously to even look for a job, what with procrastination running through his veins like blood and lack of motivation being a definite setback. Now, though, as the final of his school years was drawing to a close like a curtain on the final act, Jungkook found what was running through his veins, rather than procrastination or blood, was instead panic and anxiety, honed upon the expectations of those around him to do something great with his life. His mouth went dry and he perspired a little at the very thought of it.

On that day, Jungkook was walking home from school as he usually did, a sense of dread leering over him like an overcast cloud as usual, but unlike usual, Jungkook heard a sound on the street and stopped. It was faint, but distinct: the sound of a violin, single, playing a solo, then an orchestra's accompaniment alongside. He remembered his mother used to love classical music, the same music that drifted out onto the street from beyond the flower shop's elegant doorway. A small piece of paper, propped against some flowers in the window, read "help wanted" in the delicate, thought-out script of one who spent much time inside their own minds, with little regard for others, and an infinite patience. He took a deep breath, held it, exhaled, and opened the door, whose chime rang sharp and clear, like a tuning fork.

Jungkook, uncomfortable with human contact, stood still and lifeless as a statue, waiting for the owner, but over time grew irritable and gave up, noting the time and wishing to quickly depart from the tense situation. He had a report to write, anyways, and drew from his pocket the materials for a note, upon which he scrawled swiftly something that he felt sounded so stupid, but he didn't wish to stay there any longer to fix the wording on a note the shop owner wouldn't likely even read before throwing away. He left it neatly upon the front desk, and departed, feeling somehow drained of all social abilities, though he had never even seen or met anyone. Something felt off about that entire day from then on.

He hated that little bell above the door to his shop, the chime when someone entered. It was a bit strange, since he did own the shop after all, for him to hate customers, but honestly it was more of a disdain of company. He enjoyed being alone with his flowers, their vibrant colours, their faintly sweet scent that drifted about the room and tickled his senses. They never spoke back to him. They never demanded anything of him but his love and attention. He loved to water his flowers and listen to baroque classical music, keeping good time with his steps and movements, in time with the music. The chime was always off beat. Unwelcome.

That morning, however, the chime of the bell felt different. It felt rushed, uncontrollable, violent, and through that door came bursting a bright chaotic arpeggio of a human being. He was a disarray of limbs and clothes haphazardly strung about as though he'd only just assembled his entire body that morning, and he'd been far too rushed. Probably a teenager, on his way to meet his girlfriend. He unconsciously sneered at that thought, a look of disdain gracing his features before he returned to his natural state of careful distance. It was easier that way.

The boy glanced over the flowers, with little concern for them, looking for the front desk. Upon finding it, he looked confused that the owner was not there to greet his customer. The aforementioned owner stood quietly in the shadows, pensive as always of the pestilent peasants who found themselves in his shop. The boy stood there for a few minutes, growing exasperated. He furrowed his brows, eventually fishing out a piece of paper from his pocket and a pen, his writing perfectly in time with each musical note, the peak of each scripted character matching in time with the upbeat. The owner was growing a mild fascination as the boy grew a mild irritation. He could feel his flowers looking at him, seeking his attention. As he finished the note, the boy placed it neatly in symmetry with the desk, perfectly in sync. He left rushed, but still he looked as though he belonged to the music, not as a player, but a performer of each note, a communicator of the intricacies of each arpeggio.

The owner watched him leave and gazed at the door for some time after he left, then returned to his flowers, brushing his fingers lightly on the soil, caressing his nurtured darlings as a grandparent spoiling their grandchild. Later, as he closed up, he remembered the note. The script was delicate, well practiced, but messy, as though it was a little bit too well practiced, the carpal tunnel of the writer showing through in the scrawled words. It read:
"Hello! I am a senior in highschool, who is in need of a job! My name is Jeon Jungkook, and any of your time would be appreciated!" Barely legible beneath was a phone number. Taehyung took the paper into his hands, feeling the texture of the light but firm handwriting on the opposing side of the sheet.

He pondered over this strange boy for quite some time.

A/N: BEEP BEEP this train feels like it's losing steam to u? not! i already like wrote a lot of this but going back and editing it to like maybe not sound like a total prick is draiiinnnninnnggggg

Any questions feel free to comment or if you just want to talk to me, hmu with a message

xxxo

~Dae~