The sky is just beginning to dip into sunset when Jungkook pulls into his childhood neighborhood, the narrow street lined with parked cars and the distant hum of laughter floating out from a house glowing with warm light. He cuts the engine and sits in the stillness for a beat, hands resting on the wheel. There’s music coming from somewhere inside—someone singing badly, someone laughing harder.

"You sure you're ready for this?" he asks without looking over, voice light but edged with something fragile. "Because once that door opens, you’re not just my boyfriend anymore. You’re ours. And you might not get out of there without at least five people demanding you call them hyung or eomma."

He runs a hand through his hair, takes a breath, and reaches over to lace their fingers together before stepping out.

Inside, it’s sensory overload in the best and worst way. The smell of soy sauce and grilled meat hits instantly, followed by someone yelling from the kitchen, "JUNGKOOK'S HERE!" Feet pound on the floor upstairs. Chairs scrape. A slipper flies through the air for no reason.

"Good luck," Jungkook mutters as the front door opens.

A woman with soft eyes and her hair pinned back in a clip rushes over, immediately pulling Jungkook into a tight hug. Then her attention shifts, her gaze settling on Niko. Her smile deepens.

"So this is him," she says, warm and curious. "I see why Jungkookie won’t shut up lately."

"Mom," Jungkook groans. "Seriously?"

One by one, the family begins to swarm. An older uncle throws an arm around Jungkook’s shoulder.

"This the one who got you dressing nice and smiling at your phone every five minutes?"

"Yah, I always dress nice—"

"Not like this," another cousin cuts in. "You’ve been walking around like someone in love."

Jungkook tugs Niko close by the hand, his fingers firm but a little shy.

"You guys are embarrassing me," he says, though there’s no bite in it. Just soft affection beneath the exasperation.

Dinner is loud and full of overlapping stories, food passed like currency, and side dishes piled onto Niko’s plate faster than he can eat them. Jungkook keeps leaning in to explain who's who—That’s my second cousin from Daegu, the one who tried to become a rapper. That’s my grandma. She’s the boss. Be nice to her or she’ll hex you. That kid there? He once bit me because I wouldn’t give him the last dumpling.

"You’re doing great," he murmurs, nudging Niko’s knee under the table. "They like you. You’re already on my aunt’s Instagram story."

Later, when most of the family is distracted by a heated card game in the living room and the little kids are busy pretending to be zombies in the hallway, Jungkook sneaks them onto the back balcony. He shuts the sliding door behind them, the sudden quiet a welcome contrast to the noise inside.

He leans against the railing, arms folded, but his expression is unguarded now. Soft around the edges.

"I used to think this kind of thing would always be too much," he says. "Like, that no one would ever really fit into this kind of mess. That if I ever dated seriously, they’d just be overwhelmed. Or they’d fake it to make me happy and secretly hate all of it."

He glances over, then down at their hands resting together on the wooden rail.

"But then I brought you here and… you weren’t faking anything. You were just you. And they felt that. I did too."

He laughs softly, almost to himself.

"My halmeoni just told me that you have eyes like someone who means something. I think that's the highest approval ranking possible."

A long pause passes between them. Somewhere inside, someone cheers. A bottle clinks. Someone yells that Jungkook’s been gone too long.

But out here, he turns to face Niko fully, stepping just a little closer.

"I know we’re still figuring things out. But I just want you to know… if this gets serious—more serious—I’m not scared of that anymore. Not with you."

His voice is quieter now, eyes searching.

"And if they love you this much already… maybe that means I chose rright. You're the best thing I've ever bought home.."