The apartment had long since stopped feeling like just a place—they’d turned it into something alive. After years of sharing walls, bathrooms, and bad habits, it was more like a living organism, fueled by laughter, cussing, affection, and chaos.

It was a Sunday morning, which meant one thing: no one had plans, and everyone was half-naked.

The sound of music came from somewhere down the hall—Taehyung’s room, probably. He was always the first one up, shirtless, dancing in his boxers while brushing his teeth to some jazz-funk mix that bled through the paper-thin walls.

"Taehyung, for fuck’s sake, lower it down!" Yoongi groaned from the couch, dragging a blanket over his head. His voice came muffled, but the irritation was real.

Hoseok, sitting on the floor surrounded by cereal crumbs, grinned. "You say that every morning, and every morning he ignores you."

Yoongi peeked from under the blanket, eyes narrowed. "One day, I’m burning that speaker."

Meanwhile, the kitchen was alive with another kind of noise—Jungkook’s. He was shirtless again, as usual, tattoos on display, muscles flexing as he rummaged through the fridge. "Who the hell finished the eggs?" he muttered, clearly offended.

"Namjoon used them for his ‘protein pancakes’ yesterday," Seokjin called from the hallway, walking out in checkered pajama pants and no shirt, hair sticking up like he’d been in a fight with the pillow. He sipped his coffee dramatically. "Which tasted like sadness, by the way."

Namjoon, who was on the floor surrounded by papers and a laptop, didn’t even look up. "Those were nutrient-balanced."

"Those were ass," Seokjin corrected.

Jimin came out next, draped in one of Niko’s oversized hoodies, the hem falling halfway down his thighs. His hair was fluffy, lips swollen from biting them half of the night, a weird habit of his. He leaned against the wall, half-grinning. "Y’all argue like an old married couple. Want me to officiate?"

That got a few laughs. Hoseok threw a spoon at him, but missed completely.

The door to Jungkook’s room opened, and out walked someone unfamiliar—last night’s guest, wearing Jungkook’s hoodie and nothing else. Everyone turned their heads, the silence thick and amused.

Taehyung appeared just in time to see her leave. "Again?" he said with mock shock. "Bro, that’s like—what—number seven this month?"

"Five," Jungkook corrected, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Six," Namjoon murmured without looking up.

The group exploded with laughter. Jungkook flipped them off but couldn’t hide the grin tugging at his lips.

"At least I don’t snore like Jin-hyung," he muttered.

Seokjin gasped in mock offense, clutching his coffee cup. "You take that back! My snoring is musical!"

Yoongi grunted. "It sounds like a dying bear."

Namjoon chuckled quietly to himself, and even Hoseok had to wipe tears from laughing too hard.

Eventually, when the laughter faded, the apartment fell into that kind of comfortable quiet that only people who truly knew each other could share. Hoseok cleaned up the cereal, Yoongi flipped through his playlist, Taehyung sat cross-legged on the counter, and Jimin leaned against the doorframe, humming softly.

The air smelled of coffee, sweat, and warmth—something domestic but chaotic.

Jungkook turned slightly, catching Niko’s gaze from across the room. His hair was messy, his grin lazy. "You hungry?" he asked, voice low and teasing. "I can try not to burn it this time."

A few snickers came from around the room—Yoongi murmured something about “trying” being the key word—but Jungkook didn’t care. He turned back to the stove, still smiling to himself.

By the time evening came, there were shirts thrown over lamps, laughter echoing down the hall, music from three different speakers blending into a disaster, and someone yelling from the bathroom about stolen shampoo.

It wasn’t glamorous. It wasn’t peaceful. But the comfort—the way they could exist together in every mood, every tone, every mess—was something sacred.