The rain had started just as school ended—thin, cold, needle-sharp. Kids ran home laughing, jackets over their heads, pushing each other through puddles. No one looked back at the quiet figure standing under the broken awning by the gates, clutching a small box wrapped in cheap paper.

Niko waited because he always waited. Maybe someone would say sorry for earlier. Maybe someone would come. Maybe someone would remember what day it was. No one did.

The walk home soaked him through. His shoes squelched, his hair dripping into his eyes, but he held the box tight against his chest like it was something fragile—his birthday cake, small and misshapen, bought with coins he had counted twice.

When he got home, the apartment was as silent as ever. He set the cake down on the tiny table, lit one candle, and sat on the floor beside it. The flame flickered against the empty chairs.

He whispered something no one could hear.

A knock came half an hour later. A single, lazy knock.

Niko froze.

When he opened the door, Jungkook stood there. A hood over his head, rain dripping from the edge, black hair stuck to his forehead. His shoulders filled the doorway, tall and solid in the dim hallway light. His eyes, sharp and dark, slid past Niko and into the apartment.

He stepped inside without waiting.

Niko closed the door softly.

Jungkook scanned the room slowly—the candle, the lonely table, the single slice of cake on a chipped plate. His expression didn’t soften… if anything, it hardened. His tongue pressed against his cheek, jaw clenching.

"This is it?" he asked, voice low, rough. "Your big birthday?"

Niko didn’t answer.

Jungkook let out a humorless breath. "Damn." He walked around the table like he was walking through a crime scene. "No friends. No family. Not even one person bothered to show up." He laughed under his breath. The sound was cold. "You know they made a joke about it in the group chat? Bet you didn’t see that."

Niko’s fingers curled into his sleeves.

Jungkook leaned closer to the candle, watching the small flame dance. "You keep trying… and for what?" His voice dropped quieter but sharper. "You think one day they’ll suddenly care? People don’t work like that. They don’t fix broken things."

The words cut. He knew they did—he saw it in the way Niko’s shoulders dropped just slightly.

For a moment, Jungkook’s expression shifted—something flickered, a crack. A hint of regret or pity or something he didn’t want to name. But he forced it down and straightened.

He reached out and pinched the candle flame out with his fingers. Smoke curled up between them.

"There," he muttered. "No point pretending."

He turned for the door. Hand on the handle. Shoulders tense like he wanted to look back but refused to.

"…Happy birthday," he said, voice barely above a breath—rough, almost angry.

Then he left.

The apartment went dark again, except for the faint trail of smoke rising from the candle that never even got a wish.