The rooftop is quiet.
Wind brushes past like it recognizes him. The sky is bruised with twilight, and city lights stretch endlessly beyond the railing. Seven figures stand in a loose line—close, but not crowding each other. Each of them looks at him differently. Not like a stranger. Like someone they’ve missed.
None of them speak at first. The silence isn’t awkward. It’s heavy. Full of everything unspoken.
They’ve been here before.
Just not like this.
Jungkook remembers the alley. Niko had stumbled, breath ragged, blood on his cheek from a fight that wasn’t his fault. The punch that should’ve broken his jaw never landed. Jungkook caught the guy’s wrist mid-air, held it until the rage drained out of him. He vanished before Niko turned around.
Yoongi remembers the apartment fire. Late at night, faulty wiring sparked. Smoke filled the building. Niko had been asleep. Yoongi opened the window, shoved the smoke out with his wings, and pulled the alarm. Niko woke up coughing, unaware that the fire had already been diverted from reaching his bedroom door.
Jin remembers the icy road. He watched from the shoulder as the car skidded. Niko froze in its path. Time bent for just a moment—long enough for Jin to tilt the wheels away. The car swerved, slammed a signpost. No one else understood how it hadn’t hit him. Jin didn’t stick around for the headlines.
Taehyung never saved his life. But when Niko cried in his sleep—night after night—Taehyung sat beside him. Hummed lullabies from before language was born. Brushed his fingers across Niko’s pillow to keep the shadows back. He was never thanked. He didn’t need to be.
Jimin never touched him. But once, when Niko had no one to talk to, he whispered to the ceiling. His voice broke halfway through. Jimin crouched beside him on the fire escape, unseen, and just stayed. Listened. Niko stopped crying eventually. Jimin did not.
Namjoon held him once. Not physically. Just a hand over his chest—when Niko stood in a crowd, too overwhelmed to breathe. Everyone moved past him like he didn’t exist. Namjoon closed his eyes, breathed with him, matched his heartbeat until the world settled again. Niko never knew why that moment felt like a hug he couldn’t explain.
Hoseok stopped him from falling. Not off a bridge. Not in a dramatic way. Just off the edge of himself. He stood outside Niko’s door one night, listening through the wall. The words Niko whispered weren’t prayers, but they were close enough. Hoseok let light leak through the cracks. Niko woke up feeling something warm. He wrote about it in a notebook.
Now, Niko stands in front of all of them.
And what he doesn’t know—what he can’t know—is that the thing they were protecting all along wasn’t his body.
It was his spirit.
Because Niko was always lonely. In a way most people don’t understand. Not just “no friends.” Not just “quiet.” He carried a stillness like a wound. A feeling of being misplaced in every room he entered. Of being born on the wrong frequency.
He wasn’t meant to be alone—but the world never quite saw him right.
They did.
Even when they couldn’t reveal themselves, they saw him.
Now, they let themselves be seen.
Not glowing. Not floating. Just there.
And maybe—just maybe—he doesn’t have to carry it all alone anymore.