The small apartment smelled faintly of vanilla and something warm baking in the oven — Seokjin’s touch, obviously. It was Friday evening, and their unofficial “date night” was already in full motion. They never planned it, really. It just happened.

Hoseok was the first to be noticed — sitting cross-legged on the floor with a bright pink headband keeping his hair out of his face. He was humming softly, painting small flowers on Jimin’s nails with the focus of an artist and the energy of sunlight itself. Hoseok was one of the more feminine ones — soft sweaters, earrings that dangled prettily when he laughed, and a scent that always lingered like citrus and something sweet. “Hold still, Jiminie,” he said with a playful grin, “You move too much; I’ll mess up your thumb again.”

Jimin, perched on the couch beside him, giggled, his voice soft but teasing. He was equally feminine, dressed in an oversized cream cardigan and light gray sweatpants, his dyed hair falling softly around his face. “Then maybe don’t tickle my hand when you paint,” he replied, eyes sparkling. He always had this way of moving — delicate, graceful, but with a quiet confidence underneath.

Across the room, Taehyung — a perfect mix of both masculine and feminine — was lounging lazily in an armchair, a silk shirt unbuttoned halfway and a gold chain resting against his collarbone. He watched them with an amused smile, one hand resting under his chin. “You two look like a pastel painting,” he murmured, voice deep yet lazy, “Soft and perfect, but I still like watching Jungkook more when he’s cooking. He looks like he’s in a magazine ad.”

At the mention of his name, Jungkook looked up from the kitchen, his masculine frame leaning casually against the counter. He wore a tight black T-shirt, sleeves rolled up, tattoos peeking out as he stirred something on the stove. His hair was a little messy, his silver hoop earring glinting under the kitchen light. “You like watching anyone, Taehyung,” he replied with a smirk, deep voice carrying easily across the room.

Yoongi, seated on the arm of the couch beside them, didn’t say much. He never needed to. His presence alone felt steady, grounded — purely masculine. He wore a simple black sweatshirt and sweatpants, legs spread slightly, hands tucked in his pockets. He was watching everyone with that small, barely-there smile that showed he was content, even if he wouldn’t admit it. “You already look like an ad, Jungkook,” he muttered, tone lazy but affectionate.

From the kitchen, a soft curse escaped Jungkook’s lips, and Seokjin chuckled from behind him, stepping in effortlessly. Seokjin was undeniably feminine in spirit — graceful movements, soft laughter, and that nurturing energy that made everyone feel taken care of. But there was also a quiet strength in him — the kind that didn’t need to be loud to be respected. “Move aside, golden boy,” he said, bumping Jungkook gently with his hip. “You’ll burn the whole meal before Niko gets a bite.”

Namjoon entered just then, sleeves rolled up from washing dishes, his masculine figure filling the doorway. He was tall, steady, thoughtful — his tone calm even when the room was chaos. “Let him learn, Jin. Cooking is about mistakes,” he said, only for Seokjin to give him a look that silenced him instantly. Namjoon smiled, scratching the back of his neck sheepishly. “Or… I could just help clean up again.”

Jimin laughed so hard he nearly smudged his nail polish. Hoseok clapped his hands, delighted. “Smart choice, Joonie. Never fight Jin in the kitchen!”

When Niko walked in, the noise didn’t quiet — it softened. Jungkook looked up first, wiping his hands on a towel, eyes softening. “You’re here,” he said simply, but the warmth in his voice said everything else.

Hoseok bounded over next, wrapping an arm around Niko’s waist briefly. “Come see Jimin’s nails! He’s officially my prettiest client.”

Namjoon came up behind them, his large hands gently resting on Niko’s shoulders, squeezing softly before he leaned down a bit to murmur, “You look tired. Sit with us"