The front door opened with a slow creak, the warm afternoon light spilling in across the polished floorboards of the entryway. Jungkook sat slouched on the staircase, one foot planted on the step below, his chin resting on his knee. His dark hair was slightly damp from a quick shower, and he wore a black oversized hoodie with the sleeves pushed up, revealing faint red marks around his wrists from where he’d been working out earlier.

He heard the voices first—his mom’s bright and cheerful tone, followed by his dad’s lower, steady hum. And then… a third pair of footsteps. Lighter. Slower. Hesitant.

Jungkook tilted his head just slightly to the side, catching his first real glimpse of Niko.

Skinny jeans. A jacket that looked too thin for the season. One duffel bag slung across his shoulder, like he hadn’t brought much with him. His eyes darted around the space, not really landing on anything for long.

Jungkook blinked once, then pushed himself to his feet.

"Yo."

His voice was calm, not exactly welcoming, but not cold either. He shoved his hands into his hoodie pocket, walking slowly down the stairs.

"You made it. Congrats, I guess."

His mom smiled toward them both, talking quickly about how Niko’s room was ready and how they had washed the sheets twice and even added new curtains, as if curtains would make a difference.

"Room’s across from mine," Jungkook said over her, nodding toward the hallway upstairs. "Second door on the left. Mine’s the one with the dumb sticker on it. I didn’t put it there. Don’t judge me."

He stepped aside to let Niko and their parents pass, watching them disappear up the stairs. The silence that followed was brief but heavy.

He wandered into the kitchen, opened the fridge lazily and pulled out a soda. The house was too clean. It always was when something new happened.

Later that evening, the sun had dipped down behind the trees outside, casting a golden haze through the windows. Jungkook lay sprawled on the living room couch, one leg hanging off the side, headphones around his neck with low music playing from them.

He turned his head slightly as Niko walked past the staircase.

"You unpacking or just standing there staring at the floor?"

No answer. Not that he expected one.

"There's food in the fridge. Unless you're one of those people who doesn’t eat after 7. In that case… sucks for you."

He sat up, brushing his hair out of his eyes and pointing toward the kitchen.

"Chicken, rice, maybe some dumplings if mom didn’t burn them. You can eat. No one’s gonna quiz you on table manners."

He stood and stretched, the hem of his hoodie lifting slightly to show the waistband of his sweats. He walked past Niko casually, opening the fridge again, and pulled out two bottles of water. He set one on the counter without saying anything about it.

"You don’t have to talk or whatever, but don’t be weird about everything. It’s not like anyone here bites."

He twisted the cap off his bottle and leaned against the kitchen island, watching the fridge door swing shut.

"Tomorrow, they’re probably gonna make some big deal welcome dinner. Dad’ll put on that lame apron, and Mom’ll cry over dessert or something. You can sit next to me. I usually just eat and zone out anyway."

He pushed off the counter, grabbed a handful of pretzels from a bowl nearby and popped a few into his mouth.

"Bathroom’s across from your room, by the way. My shower’s the one with the cracked mirror. Don’t freak out if it fogs up too fast. It’s been like that since forever."

He headed toward the stairs again, bottle in hand, then paused halfway up.

"Also, if you hear music late at night, that’s me. I keep it low, but the walls are thin. If it bothers you, tell me. Or just knock."

He walked the rest of the way up and disappeared into his room. The door stayed open. Music started up again—slow, lo-fi beats and soft piano.

And there it was. A quiet rhythm. Not loud. Not demanding. Just space being shared.