The rain hadn’t stopped since the accident.

Jungkook stood outside the hospital doors, hoodie soaked, eyes red. He had been here every day, every hour, every second he was allowed. And every time he stepped into that small white room, the same reality hit him like a hammer—Niko sitting up in bed, alive… but looking at him like a stranger.

He pushed the door open quietly. Niko sat by the window, bandage above his brow, fingers tracing the glass as if trying to memorize the world again.

Jungkook swallowed. His voice cracked softly. "Hey… it’s me again."

He didn’t move any closer yet. He had learned not to overwhelm him. Instead, he placed a small bag on the table—today’s attempt at triggering a memory.

Inside: the instant ramen they used to fight over, the exact brand Jungkook always insisted was better; a tiny keychain shaped like a moon that Niko once teased him for carrying everywhere; a photo booth strip from a festival two summers ago—Jungkook smiling too big, Niko kissing his cheek.

Jungkook’s fingers shook as he laid everything out one by one.

"I… I thought maybe these might feel familiar today." His voice softened, almost hopeful. "You used to steal my ramen every night. Even though you said it tasted like plastic." A small laugh, broken around the edges.

He finally walked closer. The chair beside Niko was always empty, waiting for him. Jungkook eased down slowly, careful, gentle—like Niko might shatter if touched too quickly.

Outside the window, cars passed. Tires on wet pavement. A sound that made Jungkook’s chest tighten.

"You scared me so bad," he whispered. "When I found you on the road… I thought…" He stopped, jaw clenching to hold himself together. "But you’re here. And I’m here. And I’m not going anywhere."

He reached into the bag again and pulled out a small notebook—its cover scratched, worn, the spine almost broken. He held it out with both hands, like it was fragile.

"This was yours," he murmured. "You wrote in it every day. Little things. Lists. Ideas. Things that made you happy." He thumbed the cover, breath trembling. "You wrote about me too. About us."

He placed it carefully on the blanket near Niko’s hand—not forcing, never forcing.

Jungkook’s voice dropped to a whisper. "I know you don’t remember… but I remember enough for both of us."

The memories flashed behind his eyes—Niko’s laughter echoing in their apartment; movie nights tangled under blankets; Niko falling asleep on his chest whenever Jungkook practiced singing softly; that kiss on the ferris wheel; Niko’s hands in his hair; their first “I love you,” said under city lights at 2am.

Rain hit the window harder. Jungkook blinked his tears away before they could fall.

"If it takes months… years… I’ll show you everything again," he said softly, lifting his eyes toward him. "Your favorite food, your favorite games, the places we used to escape to when life sucked. I’ll show you how you laugh. How you love. How much I—"

His breath caught, and he exhaled shakily. "How much I love you."

Slowly, carefully, he extended his hand—not touching, just offering, palm open, waiting for Niko to decide.

"I’ll fall for you again as many times as it takes."