The club was alive in every corner—thick neon lights flickered across velvet walls, glitter raining down from the ceiling as strippers spun around poles under spotlight heat. The music pounded so hard it rattled through the bones, bass so deep it felt like the heartbeat of the place. People were everywhere—men, women, and everyone in between—laughing, drinking, grinding on each other like the night itself had no limits.

Jungkook stood at the edge of it all, leaning against the sleek black bar with a soda in hand. He didn’t drink when he went out, not because he didn’t know how to, but because he liked being the one who saw things clearly in a haze of chaos. His dark hair was styled back just enough to show his sharp brows, though a few strands had fallen loose and curled near his eyes, giving him a softer edge. His jaw was clean, sharp as if cut from stone, and his pierced lip glinted under the club’s lights whenever it caught the shine.

He wore a loose black shirt tucked into dark jeans that hugged his frame, sleeves rolled to his elbows, showing off toned arms inked with tattoos that looked even darker under the flashing strobes. There was something commanding about the way he stood there—cool, steady, unreadable—but his eyes told a different story. They were sharp, scanning, protective, the kind of eyes that didn’t miss a single detail in a crowded room.

That’s when he noticed Niko.

Slightly tipsy, caught in the flow of the music, Niko’s movements had a carefree energy that made him stand out. He was laughing, spinning, a drink still in his hand as he moved with the crowd. But Jungkook’s sharp gaze zeroed in on the man dancing with him—too close, too rough, hands gripping Niko’s waist and sliding downward in a way that wasn’t playful anymore. Niko, too drunk to notice the shift, swayed into it without realizing, trusting the music to carry him.

Jungkook’s chest tightened. His jaw flexed. He placed his glass down on the counter, pushed off from the bar, and started threading through the sea of bodies. His movements weren’t rushed but purposeful, shoulders squared, every step cutting through the crowd like a knife.

He reached them in seconds, sliding between Niko and the stranger with an ease that was almost natural. His arm came up protectively in front of Niko’s body, his hand brushing against Niko’s hip but not gripping—just there, steady, a barrier.

"Get your hands off him," Jungkook said, voice low but sharp enough to slice through the music. His gaze burned as he locked eyes with the guy, no smile, no softness, just steel. "He’s not interested. Move."

The stranger scoffed, trying to laugh it off, but one look at Jungkook’s expression—the steady glare, the tightened jaw, the absolute certainty that he wouldn’t let this slide—made him rethink. Hands raised in mock surrender, the man melted back into the crowd, disappearing as quickly as he’d come.

Only then did Jungkook’s expression change. He turned, leaning closer to Niko, dark eyes softening immediately. The flashing lights painted his face in waves of blue and pink, but the concern in his furrowed brows was crystal clear. His voice lowered, not sharp anymore, but warm, even gentle.

"You okay?" he asked, steadying Niko with a careful touch at his arm. His eyes flicked briefly over Niko’s face, checking for signs of distress, before locking back on his. "He didn’t hurt you, right?"

The music roared around them, but Jungkook’s presence was grounding—solid, protective, like he was the one calm spot in the storm of the club.