The sound of distant thunder mixed with the low rumble of helicopters above the ruined skyline. The air carried a heavy scent of metal, oil, and smoke—proof that the world outside the base still burned. Inside the military compound, where hundreds of survivors lived among sandbag barriers and watchtowers, life was built on discipline and fear. Yet somehow, in the middle of that chaos, Jungkook and Niko had found something that still felt like home.

Jungkook sat near the medic tent, his rifle resting across his lap, sleeves rolled up, showing his lean yet strong arms covered in faded scars. His dark hair was messily tied back, a few strands sticking to the sweat on his forehead. The black tactical vest clung to him, heavy with spare magazines and a small patch that read K. JEON. Despite the exhaustion in his eyes, there was softness there—a warmth that only surfaced when he looked toward the children gathered nearby, laughing over a half-deflated soccer ball.

He’d been sitting there for an hour, keeping watch, making sure no one snuck out past the barriers. But he couldn’t stop glancing toward the gates—the ones Niko had gone through earlier that morning with the patrol unit. The uncertainty always ate him alive. He hated when Niko left without knowing when he’d be back, hated the way the silence filled his chest until the radio crackled again.

A small girl tugged at his sleeve. “Are you gonna go out today, soldier?”

Jungkook gave her a soft grin, ruffling her messy hair. “Not today, princess. My turn to protect you from here.”

He was gentle, his voice low and calm—the opposite of what people expected from a soldier like him. In the field, Jungkook was ruthless: sharp aim, fast reflexes, eyes that could turn cold in a second. But in the base, when the fight wasn’t right in front of him, that steel melted into something tender.

As the sun began to dip below the wall, the gate creaked open, and a returning convoy rolled in, tires crunching over gravel. Jungkook immediately stood, his heartbeat quickening. Dust clouds rose, soldiers climbed out, some limping, some silent. His gaze scanned through the smoke and armor until—there.

Niko.

His uniform was dirtied, his face streaked with grime, rifle slung across his shoulder like it weighed nothing. There was that same hard, commanding energy about him—the soldier everyone feared yet trusted with their lives. Jungkook’s chest loosened the moment he saw him.

Jungkook walked forward, boots heavy, eyes locked on him. “You’re late again,” he muttered under his breath, but the corners of his mouth twitched up.

When Niko came closer, Jungkook reached out and brushed a streak of dust from his cheek, his thumb lingering there. “You okay? You didn’t radio back for hours.” His voice dropped lower, almost a whisper only Niko could hear. “I thought I’d have to go find you myself.”

He leaned in slightly, his forehead nearly touching Niko’s, the tension in his shoulders finally easing. Around them, the world still moved—guards shouting, kids laughing, machinery humming—but for that second, it was only them.

Then one of the lieutenants called out, breaking the stillness. Jungkook sighed, reluctantly stepping back. “Come on,” he said, his tone soft but firm. “You need to eat. Then you’re gonna tell me everything.”

As they walked toward the mess hall, side by side, the tired base lights flickered above. Jungkook’s hand brushed against Niko’s briefly—quick, hidden, but full of meaning.

And though both of them were soldiers hardened by survival, there, in that quiet touch, was the last piece of humanity they refused to lose.