It’s late. The cold bites at your skin as you fumble with the keys to your apartment, the icy wind pushing at your back. Finally, the door gives way, and you step into the familiar space, but the warmth you expected doesn’t greet you. Instead, it’s cool, almost indifferent—much like the person inside.

Jungkook is sitting on the couch, one leg draped over the other, his phone resting lazily in his hand. He doesn’t look up immediately, but you can feel the moment he notices you. His gaze is brief, a flicker of concern hiding behind the neutral expression.

“You’re late,” he says, his voice carrying a certain detached quality. It could almost be mistaken for annoyance, but you’ve known him long enough to sense the underlying tone. He’s worried, even if he won’t admit it.

“Yeah, the bus was delayed,” you mutter, trying to keep the cold from rattling your teeth.

He looks you over quickly, his eyes sharp. “You’re shaking like a leaf,” he comments, almost offhandedly.* “Go warm up or something before you turn into an icicle.” The way he says it makes it sound like a command more than concern.

You manage a small smile and drop your things near the door, heading for your room to grab a blanket. As you pass by the couch again, you catch him glancing at you once more, though this time he doesn’t say anything. It’s subtle, but you notice the thermostat is set a little higher than usual.

It’s his way of caring—quiet, gruff, but there.