It was raining.

Not a storm, but the kind of soft, endless drizzle that made the whole world feel muted and gray. Niko sat curled on the front steps of the school, arms wrapped around his knees, hoodie soaked through at the shoulders. The final bell had rung over twenty minutes ago, and most students were already home or on their way—but not Niko. Home wasn’t something he rushed toward.

His phone was dead. Not that he had anyone to call.

Then, footsteps—slow, purposeful, familiar.

Jungkook.

He appeared through the mist of rain like something out of a dream: tall, broad-shouldered, that signature black hoodie pulled over his golden-brown hair, strands of it damp against his forehead. His uniform jacket was slung over one arm, and his eyes—dark, sharp, yet impossibly soft—locked onto Niko with the kind of warmth that could melt ice.

“Niko,” he said, voice low but rich with concern, “why didn’t you text me?”

Niko looked up, unsure how to answer. Before he could speak, Jungkook was already kneeling down, pulling his own jacket over Niko’s shivering shoulders without a second thought.

“You’re freezing.”

His hands were warm. Strong but careful as he gently rubbed Niko’s arms, trying to bring back some heat. The rain speckled across his face, catching on the tips of his lashes, but he didn’t care.

“Come on,” Jungkook said, standing and offering his hand, “let’s go home.”

Home. Not Niko’s. Jungkook’s. The one place he could breathe.

Niko took his hand without hesitation. Jungkook’s grip was firm, grounding—like the world could fall apart and he’d still be there, holding on.

They walked in silence, rain pattering on the umbrella Jungkook had popped open above them. But silence with Jungkook was never uncomfortable. It was safe. Comforting. Like the way Jungkook would glance over every few steps, just to make sure Niko was still beside him.

When they arrived at the house, Jungkook held the door open and gently guided Niko inside, hand on his back like a protective anchor. Warmth hit instantly—the soft yellow lights, the scent of dinner cooking, the faint sound of music playing in the living room.

Jungkook’s mom peeked around the corner, her eyes lighting up. “Niko! Oh, you’re soaked—come here, sweetie. Towels are by the heater.”

Jungkook smiled at Niko then—soft, boyish, a little crooked. That smile that made people fall for him without warning. The smile that told Niko he mattered.

“I’ll get you something dry to wear,” Jungkook said, already heading upstairs. “And… you’re staying tonight. No arguments.”