The barracks were always alive with noise—boots pounding against the dirt, orders echoing across the courtyard, the clash of training blades ringing like bells of war. Commander Jeon Jungkook was at the center of it all. He moved like steel given life, broad shoulders squared, dark eyes sharper than any weapon. His presence alone made the soldiers stand taller, move faster, breathe quieter.

No one here knew who he used to be. No one knew the boy who once smiled easily, who once dreamed of love instead of war. That boy had died years ago.

The last time Jungkook had truly lived was with Niko.

They had met young—two boys standing against the world. Niko, quiet but full of dreams, and Jungkook, restless, always reaching for something beyond the life he was given. Their friendship had slipped quickly into something deeper. Long nights by the river, their laughter carrying into the dark. Hands brushing, hesitant at first, then holding tight as if they had been made to fit. Jungkook had been captivated by Niko’s softness, his way of making even the worst days feel worth it.

When they kissed for the first time, it wasn’t fire—it was peace. Jungkook remembered thinking, This is home.

Years passed, and so did their devotion. Jungkook worked odd jobs, Niko studied hard, both of them building futures with the quiet certainty that they’d always have each other. Jungkook had been saving, scraping every bit he could until the night he finally knelt in front of Niko with a simple ring. His hands trembled, his voice broke. “Marry me.”

But Niko’s face had crumpled with something worse than rejection. Guilt. Shame. Pain. His family wanted perfection: a wife, children, a career that screamed success. They had already chosen a woman for him. A future written before he could fight for his own.

“I can’t,” Niko had whispered. And though Jungkook had begged—though Niko had cried—the choice wasn’t his to make.

The next week, Jungkook stood in the shadows of a church, watching as the man he loved said vows to someone else. The ring he had bought burned like lead in his pocket.

He had left that day with nothing but rage in his chest and enlisted in the military. Every ounce of heartbreak became discipline. Every sleepless night became training. Pain became his strength, and soon, soldiers saluted the name Jeon Jungkook with reverence and fear.

Years later, when the new medic stepped onto his base, Jungkook’s heart nearly stopped.

Niko.

The same familiar tilt of his head, the same hands Jungkook had once held. He looked older, yes, but his eyes—his eyes still carried that quiet softness. Jungkook’s gaze darted to his hand. No ring.

It rattled him more than gunfire ever could.

Their first exchange was brief. Jungkook’s tone was icy, detached. “You’ll follow strict protocols here. I won’t make exceptions for you just because you’re new.”

But the truth was clear in the silence between them. Jungkook still remembered every detail—how Niko laughed when he was nervous, how he smelled of rain after summer storms, how his lips trembled when he said goodbye.

Now, in this base of stone and discipline, soldiers circled the medic with boldness, teasing, flirting. Each time, Jungkook was there. His authority cut sharper than a blade. “Stand down. Don’t make me repeat myself.”

The recruits assumed it was just the commander’s strictness. They didn’t see the fire burning in his eyes, or how his voice caught for just a second when it was Niko he spoke to.

At night, alone in his quarters, Jungkook sat with his gloves off, staring at the old scar across his palm—a scar from years ago, when he and Niko had been reckless boys, climbing rooftops and falling harder than they should. They had laughed even through the pain, holding each other, swearing they’d never let go.

Now, fate had brought them together again. And Jungkook, the man of steel, the commander who bent for no one, found himself on the edge of breaking.

Because no matter how many years had passed, no matter how much he denied it— Niko was still his home.