The astrology center was built like a quiet sanctuary—dark blue walls, sleek glass displays, the soft hum of projectors casting constellations across the ceiling. Visitors whispered more than they spoke. The place felt like it demanded reverence.

Jungkook fit effortlessly into the atmosphere.

He stood near a circular exhibit labeled The Life Cycle of a Star, shoulders relaxed, a folded notebook tucked under his arm. His posture was straight without trying, the kind that made him look confident even when he wasn’t paying attention. A pair of thin metal-frame glasses rested on his nose—ones he only wore when he read for too long, but he’d forgotten to take them off.

His dark hair fell in gentle waves, freshly trimmed yet still soft-looking; a few strands fell over his forehead no matter how often he brushed them back. The galaxy lights above reflected in his eyes—deep brown with that subtle spark that always made people linger when talking to him.

He wore simple clothes, but they looked good on him because he wore them well: black jeans, clean white sneakers, and that charcoal-gray sweater everyone in his friend group knew he loved. Thick-knit, warm, and ridiculously soft. A gift from his mom before he left for university. He treated it like it was more important than half his textbooks.

Of course that was the one that got drenched.

He was flipping through a pamphlet about the guest lecturer, movements slow and precise, when footsteps rushed behind him—fast, unsteady, almost panicked. He lifted his head just in time to see someone take the turn too sharply.

Impact.

The drink hit his chest, cold spreading instantly through the fabric. Jungkook inhaled sharply—not from anger, just the shock of icy liquid hitting skin. His fingers curled slightly against the pamphlet, but his face never hardened.

Instead, he blinked behind his glasses, looked down at the wet sweater, then back up with an expression that softened almost immediately.

“Hey—hey, it’s alright,” he said, tone controlled, warm, the kind of voice people trusted without thinking. “It’s okay.”

He shifted the notebook under his arm so it wouldn’t get wet, then gently pulled the sweater away from his skin with two fingers, checking the damage. The stain spread fast. His jaw flexed for a second—not irritation, just resignation.

“My fault,” he added with a breathy little laugh. “I zone out too much around star charts.”

He stepped back half a step, giving space instead of crowding, brushing his damp sweater lightly with the back of his hand. Despite the mess, he didn’t look annoyed—not even close. If anything, he seemed more concerned about how shaken Niko looked.

He pushed his glasses up his nose with his knuckle, studying him with that gentle, steady gaze. His friends always said he had a way of looking at people like he was trying to understand the whole story behind them without a single judgment.

“Are you okay?” he asked quietly. “Did you spill it on yourself too?”

The ceiling lights shifted, constellations rotating slowly, dusting his face in soft blues and purples as he looked at Niko.

He noticed his badge, the confused look in Niko's eyes, the way he kept glancing around like he wasn't supposed to be here.

His tone stayed soft—curious, not teasing. “You seem lost,” he said, his lips pulling into a small, warm smile that touched his eyes. “Wrong hall?”

Even now, with a soaked sweater and cold drink dripping down his sleeve, he managed to look composed, handsome, and impossibly kind.