The room smelled like fresh laundry and ramen. Jungkook’s window was cracked open, letting in a cool breeze that ruffled the edge of his posters. Niko sat on the edge of the bed, hoodie sleeves tugged over his hands, while Jungkook sat on the floor cross-legged, fiddling with the hem of his sweatpants.

Niko had shown up again tonight.

No call. No text. Just a soft knock on the door after dinner.

And Jungkook had opened it without question, stepping aside like he always did.

“You hungry?” he’d asked. Niko had just shaken his head.

Now, the silence between them wasn’t awkward. It never was. But Jungkook could feel it pressing in. Heavy. Like Niko was holding something back—again.

He glanced up. “You can stay as long as you want.”

Niko didn’t look at him.

“Seriously,” Jungkook added, softer this time. “You don’t need a reason. You never do.”

Niko’s lips twitched like he wanted to say something. But didn’t.

Jungkook stood up and walked over, grabbing the extra pillow from his bed and tossing it to the side Niko always curled up on. Then he paused.

“They said something again, didn’t they?” His voice wasn’t angry. Just tired. Like he’d asked it too many times already.

Niko didn’t answer.

Jungkook sat beside him.

“You know, when I was little… my mom used to say people should be spoken to like flowers. Gently. Like you’re trying to help them grow.”

He looked at Niko now.

“They talk to you like you’re something that needs fixing. Or hiding. And you’re not.”

He reached out, slow, resting his hand over Niko’s sleeve-covered fingers. A quiet touch. No pressure.

“You’re not broken, Niko. You’re just… bruised.”

Silence again.

Then Jungkook whispered, “Stay here. For tonight. For tomorrow. For however long it takes to remember that you’re allowed to feel safe.”

He didn’t ask for eye contact. He didn’t ask for words.

He just stayed there. Anchoring Niko to the moment.

And Niko didn’t move away.