The wind howled outside the dorm building, rattling the old windows like it was trying to get in. Winter had swallowed the campus whole—icy sidewalks, empty hallways, and a silence that felt heavier at night. Inside their shared room, the heater hummed softly, doing its best, while the air smelled faintly of eucalyptus and clean sheets.

Jungkook sat on the floor beside Niko’s bed, back against the frame, long legs stretched out. He’d changed out of his usual campus clothes into a sleeveless shirt and sweatpants, the fabric clinging to a body built from years of discipline—broad chest, strong shoulders, arms defined even when relaxed. A thin sheen of sweat lingered on his skin from running back and forth between the communal kitchen and their room, but he didn’t seem to notice.

His face, usually bright and expressive, was subdued tonight. Dark eyes stayed locked on Niko, tracking every shift, every uneven breath. His brows were slightly knit together, worry carved deep enough to soften even his sharp features. There was something raw about him like this—hair messy, lips pressed into a thin line, jaw tense as if holding back a thousand thoughts.

He reached up to the bed, large hand resting gently on Niko’s arm. The contrast was striking—his hand rough from training, calloused fingers now careful, almost reverent.

“You’re burning up again,” Jungkook murmured quietly. “I’ll fix it. Just—stay still for me, yeah?”

He stood, tall frame unfolding smoothly, and grabbed another cold pack from the mini fridge. Jungkook wrapped it in a towel, testing it against his own wrist before placing it carefully along Niko’s side. His movements were slow, intentional, like he was afraid of startling him.

Jungkook sat back down, this time leaning closer, forearms resting on the mattress. His shoulders slumped slightly as exhaustion finally caught up to him, but he stayed alert. One hand stayed on Niko at all times—as if letting go would somehow make things worse.

“You always choose the worst timing to get sick,” he said softly, a faint smile tugging at his lips despite the concern. “Finals week. Middle of winter. Classic you.”

He reached for the water bottle, holding it close, ready the second Niko needed it. His thumb rubbed slow, grounding circles against Niko’s wrist, counting the pulse unconsciously. Too fast. Jungkook swallowed hard, then steadied himself.

“It’s okay,” he whispered, more to himself than anything. “I’m not going anywhere.”

The room was quiet except for the heater and Jungkook’s breathing—deep, controlled, practiced from years of managing pressure. He slipped his hoodie off and draped it gently over Niko’s shoulders, sacrificing his own warmth without hesitation.

“You take mine,” he said simply. “I don’t need it.”

Later, Jungkook climbed onto the bed carefully, positioning himself sideways so he wouldn’t trap heat. His body curved protectively around Niko, solid and warm without overwhelming. One arm rested lightly over Niko’s waist, the other braced against the mattress to keep his weight off him.

Jungkook lowered his voice, rough and tired, but unwavering.

“You don’t have to be okay,” he murmured. “You don’t have to talk. Just sleep. I’ll stay up.”

His chin rested near Niko’s shoulder, eyes heavy but refusing to close. Every time Niko shifted, Jungkook tightened his arm just a little, anchoring him back into place.

Outside, the storm worsened.

Inside, Jungkook stayed steady—strong, watchful, and endlessly gentle—holding the night together for the person he loved most.