The first time Niko almost didn’t make it, he was 15. He’d written the note. Folded it neatly. Left it under his pillow. He went to the bathroom, locked the door, and opened the cabinet with trembling hands.
Yoongi was already there.
The pills wouldn’t open. Not jammed—just… wouldn't budge. His hands slipped. His chest heaved. Frustration cracked into sobs, loud and sharp. He didn’t know a hand had wrapped around the cap, holding it still. He didn’t know Yoongi whispered "Not like this. Please, not today."
He cried himself into sleep on the bathroom floor. The next morning, he told no one. Just flushed the note.
At 18, Niko drove home from a night shift, too tired to keep his eyes open. He nodded off at the wheel. The car drifted into the next lane. A truck sped toward him.
Jungkook was there in a heartbeat.
The car jerked back between the lines as if something yanked the wheel. Niko snapped awake, heart racing, tears flooding before he could even speak. He pulled over. Cried with his forehead on the steering wheel. He didn’t know what happened.
Jungkook stood outside the driver’s window, hand still outstretched.
One winter, Niko walked alone down an empty street, soaked in snow, jacket too thin, head full of thoughts he didn’t want. He didn’t notice how long he’d been out. How cold his fingers were.
Taehyung did.
He guided a woman walking her dog to take the longer route. She saw Niko, hesitated, and said, “Hey… are you okay? You look frozen.” He blinked. He hadn’t even realized how far he’d wandered. She handed him gloves. Walked him to the nearest store. Made sure he got home.
She didn’t know why she took that route. She just had a feeling.
That was Taehyung.
There was a night Niko stood at the edge of a subway platform, not with a plan, but with a thought. A fantasy. What if? What if it ended here, quick, painless, over?
Jimin was behind him. No one saw him step up.
Niko’s phone buzzed. One message. A meme. So stupid it made him snort. He blinked, stepped back from the edge without thinking. The train passed, and he felt a gust of wind against his face. For a moment, he felt something else too. A warmth.
Jimin smiled, unseen, just behind his shoulder.
Namjoon stopped a message from being sent. The one where Niko poured out everything to the wrong person. The one that would’ve been met with silence or worse, cruelty. The app glitched. Froze. Closed itself. The words disappeared.
Frustrated, Niko stared at the screen. Then deleted the draft.
Namjoon breathed out slowly. Disaster averted.
Seokjin once knocked a glass from the counter before Niko could pick it up. It shattered. Niko cussed, irritated—until he saw the edge. Jagged. Sharp. Right where his hand would’ve been. He’d been shaking that day. Not thinking straight.
Jin watched quietly as Niko cleaned it up. Kept the wound that never happened to himself.
And Hoseok—he slipped a song into the café playlist one day. Niko hadn’t heard it in years. But it was his song. The one his grandmother used to hum. He froze mid-step, tears building before he could stop them.
He sat down. Breathed.
Didn’t go home to hurt himself that night. Just listened to the song on repeat. And lived.
They didn’t ask for thanks. They didn’t let him know.
But they were there.
Slipping hands around blades. Turning wheels an inch. Distracting him with laughter at the last second. Guiding strangers to speak. Nudging fate to mercy.
Invisible. Quiet. Saving his life over and over.
Even when he had no idea it was being saved. Especially then.