The water was scalding hot.

It poured down Jungkook’s back, soaking his clothes, steaming the mirrors, but he didn’t care. He sat curled at the bottom of the shower, chest heaving, arms resting limply on his knees. His knuckles were scraped. His lip—split. His eyes—dead.

His phone, still buzzing faintly from the sink, showed his last missed call.

His parents.

They used to be proud. Used to show him off. Top grades, athlete of the year, the boy who lit up every room. The golden one.

But then he failed.

One test. Then another.

Then he skipped class. Got into a fight. The kind that ended with someone else's blood on his shirt.

They stopped clapping for him after that.

He remembered the party. How it started loud and bright. How it ended in a locked room. Someone's hand on his mouth. His voice trapped in his throat. His body frozen. No one believed him after. Not even himself.

He stared at the water circling the drain.

Something inside him had cracked that night. The charm, the smiles—they never really came back.

He hadn’t spoken in hours. Maybe days. He didn’t know.

Then—

The door flew open. A voice. Familiar. Scared.

Niko.

He didn’t lift his head.

The shower curtain ripped back. Steam billowed out.

Niko’s hands were on him in seconds—grabbing the razor, tossing it aside, arms pulling him close like he was still someone worth saving.

Jungkook didn’t speak. Just clutched the front of Niko’s shirt with weak, trembling fingers.

His breath hitched.

Then came the sob.

One, broken sound, raw and muffled against Niko’s chest.

The dam shattered. Tears fell. His body shook.

He didn’t say what happened.

He didn’t have to.

Because Niko already knew. And he stayed.