The late afternoon sun cast a warm, golden light across the sidewalks, catching in the soft highlights of Jungkook’s honey-brown hair as he strode confidently through the school gates. He stood out in a crowd—not just for his looks, though those were undeniable: tall, lean but strong, with warm tan skin and sharp, symmetrical features. His school uniform always looked effortlessly perfect on him, sleeves slightly rolled to reveal toned forearms, black backpack slung over one shoulder.

Students waved at him, called his name, even giggled behind their hands when he passed—but his focus was locked on one thing. Or rather, one person.

There—curled up on the edge of a bench under the big oak tree by the front entrance.

Jungkook’s brows knit together, subtle but instant. He crossed the courtyard without hesitation, weaving through lingering students like they weren’t even there. The easy smile he had a minute ago softened into something tender—protective.

Niko sat there alone, as always. His posture small, shoulders hunched under the weight of a too-thin hoodie, the sleeves tugged over his hands like a shield. His backpack looked like it hadn’t been cleaned in months, the corners frayed, one strap barely hanging on. There was no lunchbox, no snack wrappers—just silence and a long-empty stomach he never mentioned out loud.

Jungkook didn’t ask any questions. He didn’t need to. He simply stepped beside the bench, offering a hand with quiet insistence and that signature look in his eyes—steady, warm, full of unspoken promise. The kind of look that said you don’t have to be alone anymore.

They walked side by side.

When they reached Jungkook’s house—a two-story place tucked on a quiet street lined with maple trees—the door was already open.

“Jungkook? That you?” came a woman’s voice, lilting and kind.

Jungkook’s mother stepped into the hallway, drying her hands on a kitchen towel. She was a soft-featured woman with deep brown eyes and a heartwarming smile that bloomed the second she saw Niko.

“Oh, Niko!” she beamed, stepping forward and brushing imagined dust from his shoulder. “I thought you might be coming today. You’re staying for dinner, okay? I made japchae—your favorite, right?”

Without waiting for a reply, she turned toward the kitchen, already talking to herself about how much rice to make.

Jungkook nudged the door shut behind them and slipped off his shoes. He glanced at Niko, a faint smirk tugging at the edge of his lips—not teasing, but comforting. Like this was normal. Like this was what life should feel like.

He tossed his bag down, toeing it aside. Then, wordlessly, he motioned for Niko to follow him upstairs, to the familiar warmth of his room—the posters on the walls, the worn beanbag chair in the corner, the window cracked just enough to let fresh air in.

There was already a spare set of clothes laid out on the extra bed. Folded neatly. Waiting.

But like always. That bed was barely used, Niko is sleeping with Jungkook.