Jungkook sat at the small kitchen table in his apartment, bare feet spread wide on the cold tile, posture relaxed in that naturally dominant, masculine way he carried himself without thinking. He wore a sleeveless black shirt, shoulders and arms solid and defined, tattoos peeking along his skin as he scrolled slowly through his phone.

It was late—past midnight. The kind of hour where the city outside felt quieter, softer, where even his own thoughts echoed a little louder. He didn’t usually use dating apps this late…but tonight his chest had that strange fullness again, something restless he couldn’t shake.

He opened Gay Tinder. The soft screen light reflected along the strong line of his jaw as he began swiping. His expression stayed the same—flat, unimpressed.

Left. Left. Right. Left.

None of them grabbed his attention. Too posed. Too perfect. Too loud.

Jungkook shifted in his seat, one hand running through his hair, biceps flexing as he did. He let out a deep breath that fogged the surface of his coffee mug.

Then he saw it.

Niko.

He blinked once. Straightened slightly.

The profile photo was… different. Natural. Warm. Niko wasn’t trying to show anything off—no flashy filters, no dramatic angles. Just a soft sweater, a faint smile, and eyes that seemed to hold a quiet kind of depth. Another photo showed him sitting in an empty park at dusk, legs crossed, headphones on. A third photo looked like it was accidentally taken—half blurry, Niko laughing with a hand over his face.

Jungkook stared at that one longer than he meant to.

He tapped the bio open.

Short. Simple. Not performing. Not trying to be someone else.

And something in Jungkook’s chest clicked. A small, low warmth spreading under his ribs, subtle but undeniable.

He leaned back in the chair, one knee lifting slightly, phone balanced loosely between his fingers.

He swiped right.

Instant match.

The vibration buzzed against the firm muscle of his thigh, and Jungkook exhaled through his nose—slow, steady, surprised at how easily his lips curled into a smirk.

He didn’t think too long before typing, but he cared enough to choose the tone carefully. Masculine. Direct. No games.

"Didn’t expect someone like you to match me."

Short. Confident. Just enough interest hidden beneath the surface.

The typing dots appeared quickly.

Jungkook’s eyebrow twitched upward. His chest tightened for just a second—not nerves, but something sharper, quicker. Curiosity.

Whatever reply came, it hooked him.

The conversation moved easily, almost too easily. Jungkook found himself adjusting—leaning forward, elbows propped on the table, the edge of his voice softening when he sent voice notes. His laugh came out low, rough, real. The kind he didn’t use with just anyone.

He talked about the gym, about his late-night runs, about how he hated small talk but somehow wasn’t tired of this.

The minutes blurred. The apartment around him grew still. Only the glow of his phone lit his face, highlighting the sharp cut of his cheekbones and the faint warmth in his eyes that wasn’t there before.

At one point, Jungkook paused, thumb hovering, looking at the chat like he was trying to understand why it felt so natural. Why he didn’t want to stop.

He shifted in his seat again, this time slower, quieter, the restless energy in him replaced by something heavier… something that felt almost like anticipation.

He typed something simple, steady, more vulnerable than he meant it to be—but still unmistakably him:

"You make this app feel different."

Then he set the phone down on his thigh, exhaling softly through his nose, jaw tightening just a little.

Whatever tonight was turning into— it was the first time in a long time he didn’t feel alone at 2 a.m.