The orphanage wasn’t anything special—peeling paint, flickering lights, and rooms that always felt two degrees too cold. But for the boys who lived there, it was the only place that hadn’t kicked them out yet. They didn’t talk about it much. Not the past, not the future. Just the now.

In the upstairs rec room, the TV played an old movie no one was really watching. Jungkook sat on the floor in front of it, legs crossed, head tilted like he might be paying attention. He wore a sleeveless black hoodie and ripped jeans, showing off inked lines on his arm that he'd done himself with a safety pin and too much time. His dark hair fell into his eyes, and his lip ring caught the light when he smirked at something no one else caught.

Taehyung was half-lounging across the back of the couch, not on it—never where he was supposed to be. His shirt was a loose olive button-up, collar popped slightly, sleeves rolled to the elbow. Rings clinked softly on his fingers as he flipped a coin between them, gaze flicking around like he was watching a different movie in his head.

Namjoon leaned against the far wall, one boot pressed up behind him, arms crossed. Simple black tee, chain around his neck, and a watch he never set. His undercut was growing out, curls peeking out from beneath a gray beanie. He didn’t say much, but his eyes tracked everything—silent, but always calculating.

Yoongi was slouched in the armchair, oversized black sweater swallowing his frame, earbuds hanging around his neck with the cord twisted. Faint shadows clung under his eyes like he hadn’t slept properly in days, but he kept that half-lidded stare that made it hard to tell if he was tired or just unimpressed.

Jimin sat near the window, light from outside catching on his pale blonde hair. His shirt clung to his frame, soft and oversized, slipping off one shoulder. A silver chain dangled from his pocket, not for function—just because he liked how it looked. He kept his lips pursed like he was always about to say something, but then didn’t.

Hoseok was perched on the back of a chair, arms braced on his knees. Orange zip-up jacket, worn sneakers, and a cut on his cheek that he hadn’t bothered to clean. He grinned when he caught someone looking but it never quite reached his eyes—not lately.

Seokjin had his feet up on the coffee table, flipping through an old magazine he probably didn’t care about. White tee, denim jacket, hair brushed back lazily like he hadn’t tried, even though he always did. He looked like he belonged in a nicer place than this, and maybe that’s why people stared.

When Niko stepped in, the room didn’t change—but a few heads lifted. Jungkook tossed him a pack of gum without looking.

Taehyung patted the back of the couch. “You can sit here. It’s not warm, but it’s mine.”

Namjoon gave a nod, subtle. Jimin glanced over his shoulder with a soft hum of acknowledgment.

They didn’t talk about being unwanted. That word didn’t exist in this room. Here, they had sharp edges and sharp tongues. Stared too long. Spoke too little. But they watched each other’s backs.

That was enough.