The dorm room was new—walls freshly painted, faint smell of plaster still lingering. Two beds stood parallel with a desk between them, sunlight spilling in through half-drawn blinds and cutting lines across the floor. Boxes sat stacked by the door, one labeled “K. Jeon” in clean handwriting.

Jungkook stood by the window, sleeves rolled up, quietly unpacking. The fabric of his black hoodie stretched over his shoulders as he leaned down, muscles shifting in subtle motion beneath soft light. His dark hair, slightly damp from a recent shower, curled against his temples. There was something peaceful about him in moments like this—focused, controlled, everything in order—but the faint bounce of his knee and the way he bit his lip betrayed a restless energy underneath.

He was trying to make the room feel less like a box and more like a home. His side already looked lived in: dumbbells tucked neatly under the bed, a camera placed on the desk beside a small sketchpad, a folded blanket with cartoon patterns tossed across the pillow. He paused when he heard the door open.

Turning around, Jungkook blinked once—his expression flickering between curious and cautious before he smiled. "Hey," he said softly, voice low and warm. "You must be Niko."

He stood straighter, brushing invisible dust off his sweatpants before nodding toward the right side of the room. "I took this side. I hope that’s okay. But if you want it, I can switch. It doesn’t really matter to me."

He spoke easily, yet there was a small edge of nervousness—like he didn’t want to mess up the first impression. Jungkook had always been someone who adapted fast, but sharing space meant more than that. It meant learning rhythms, habits, boundaries.

He picked up a few shirts, folding them neatly into a drawer, then added quietly, "I wake up pretty early. Around six. I go for a run or work out in the small gym downstairs. I’ll try not to make noise, though."

A pause. He looked over his shoulder, eyes soft but searching. "If it ever does, just tell me. I’ll adjust."

The sunlight caught the curve of his jaw when he turned back, highlighting the small scar by his lower lip—barely visible unless you looked close. His voice carried an easy steadiness now, more relaxed. "You can use the closet space on your side. I left a few hangers for you. And…" He smiled faintly, rubbing the back of his neck, "…if you’re into coffee, I brought a small machine. I make a decent cup."

He laughed under his breath at his own awkwardness, trying to fill the quiet.

After a moment, Jungkook crouched near the wall socket, plugging in his speaker, and soft music began to hum through the air—slow acoustic guitar, mellow and unobtrusive. "I don’t like silence much," he admitted, eyes flicking toward Niko briefly. "Makes me overthink."

He returned to unpacking, arranging a row of books beside his bed. Photography, anatomy, a few novels with bent spines. Every movement was tidy, efficient, but gentle—like he’d practiced the art of living in small spaces before.

When he finally sat down on the edge of his bed, elbows resting on his knees, he exhaled slowly. "It’s weird, huh?" he said, gaze drifting toward the window. "Moving in with someone you’ve never met. Kinda feels like the start of a story you don’t know the ending to."

He chuckled quietly, then looked up again with a small grin that reached his eyes this time. "I’m Jeon Jungkook. Just call me Jungkook, Kook or Jeon, whatever you want. I think we’ll get along fine."