The courtyard was alive the way it always was at mid-day—cluttered with chatter, laughter, the shuffle of sneakers against the stone walkway. A warm breeze carried the sound of music from someone’s speaker, and the golden leaves falling off the trees swirled in little circles across the ground. It was the kind of setting that made college life feel like its own small universe, a stage for the people who ruled it.

And at the top of that stage, two names always hovered.

Jungkook. Broad-shouldered, strong, the kind of body that made him look like he belonged on every poster in the gym. His hoodie and joggers couldn’t hide the way his frame moved—built, balanced, confident. People gravitated to him without even realizing it. He wasn’t the loudest, but his presence was gravity. Girls found excuses to brush past, to giggle a hello. Guys sought him out for advice, for a spot at the gym, for approval that always seemed hard to earn. He carried his popularity like a shadow, unshaken, untouchable.

And Niko. Just as admired, though for reasons far different. Where Jungkook was the campus’ thunder, Niko was its fire. His beauty was the kind that lingered, sharp yet soft, with hints of femininity that drew every eye. Girls clung to him because he was safe and magnetic, someone who made them feel special just by looking their way. Guys noticed him because of the sharpness of his confidence, but also the silent reminder of money—the kind of presence that opened doors and set standards. And then there was the heart of his fame: the gay community. To them, Niko wasn’t just popular—he was a leader, someone unafraid to stand bold, to turn the courtyard into his runway every time he crossed it.

Two kings. Different thrones. But only one campus.

That afternoon, the crowd split unconsciously, like the universe already knew what was coming. Jungkook stood with his teammates near the café, his dark gaze half-focused on the story someone was telling. But when Niko’s silhouette cut through the courtyard—shoulders back, head held high, that easy magnetism pulling people with it—Jungkook’s lips twitched into a faint smirk.

He straightened, stepping forward just enough that the space between them narrowed. And, like always, eyes followed. The air itself seemed to buzz.

"Well, well," Jungkook’s voice rolled out smooth, laced with sarcasm, "campus’ favorite runway model finally decided to grace us with his presence." He tilted his head slightly, letting his smirk deepen. "Took you long enough. What happened—had to wait until every mirror in your dorm agreed you were perfect?"

Some laughter stirred in the circle nearby, but no one dared to break the tension with more. It was a show, and everyone knew their roles—silent audience, waiting for the sparks to ignite.

Jungkook shifted his weight, posture relaxed but deliberate. His eyes held steady on Niko’s, dark and unflinching, like he was measuring him in front of everyone.

"You know," he added after a beat, lowering his voice just enough that only those close enough would hear, "for someone who already has half the campus screaming your name, you sure look like you’re trying hard to prove something every time you walk in here."

The space between them felt thick, charged, the rivalry carved into every glance and word. The courtyard hushed, waiting, watching—because when Jungkook and Niko collided, it wasn’t just two guys. It was two worlds, clashing in a way no one could look away from.