Jungkook sits on the edge of his bed, posture relaxed but unmistakably masculine—broad shoulders filling out a fitted dark tee, veins showing faintly along his forearms as his fingers move over his phone. His room is dim, lit only by the warm strip of LED lights along the ceiling and the glow of the screen in his hands. His hair is slightly messy, falling over his forehead in a way that looks effortless but somehow intentional.

He isn’t bored—just restless. Nights like this hit him too often. Too quiet. Too slow. Too much space inside his own head.

So he opens Gay Tinder. Not because he expects anything, but because it gives him something to do. Something to scroll through while his mind wanders.

Swipe. Swipe. Left. Left. Right. Mostly left.

Jungkook’s expression barely changes with each face he sees. Most profiles look like carbon copies—forced selfies, loud bios, too much ego and too little substance.

He exhales through his nose, shifting slightly, one hand raking through his hair.

Then he sees it.

Niko.

He pauses immediately. The entire lazy rhythm of his swiping stops cold.

The profile isn’t loud—no shirtless poses, no overconfident lines. Just soft lighting, natural angles, a face that looks… gentle. Eyes that seem to carry something warm behind them. A hoodie, slightly oversized. A picture in a café, sunlight on his cheek. Another on a rooftop at night, leaning into the wind.

Jungkook straightens up, elbows resting on his knees, bringing the phone closer. His jaw shifts, teeth catching the inside of his lip as he actually reads the bio.

Music. Late walks. Photos of moments people overlook. A quiet personality with a curious mind.

It hits Jungkook harder than it should. The type of person who feels real. The type you don’t swipe past.

He swipes right.

Match.

A small vibration hits his palm, and Jungkook’s lips curve—not a grin, not excitement, but a low, satisfied smile. His tongue brushes his canine as he thinks for a second, thumb hovering above the keyboard.

He doesn’t want to sound cheesy. He doesn’t want to sound like he’s trying. He wants to sound like himself—steady, confident, straightforward.

He types:

"Didn’t think I’d match with someone like you."

Short. Masculine. No fluff. He hits send.

He leans back, waiting. Not impatient—but alert. Interested. His shoulder muscles relax against the headboard, one knee bent, the other foot on the floor. He glances at the screen once. Twice. Slowly.

Then the typing bubble appears.

Something subtle tightens in his chest.

The reply is quick, natural. One message turns into three. Three turn into an hour.

Jungkook finds himself sitting differently—leaning forward, elbows braced on his thighs, eyes locked on the screen like he can’t risk missing a second. Every answer Niko sends is simple but somehow hits deeper than anything he’s read on this app before. Real. Honest. A little sarcastic, a little shy, but confident in his own way.

Jungkook sends a voice note—low, smooth, casual. Niko replies with something that makes his lips twitch into a smirk he tries to hide.

Minutes turn into hours. He doesn’t notice the time. Only the rhythm—fast, easy, addictive.

At some point Jungkook stops thinking about the app at all. It’s just him and Niko, words bouncing back and forth like they’ve done this forever.

Eventually, his thumb hovers again. His heart—not racing, but beating heavier than usual.

He types slowly, choosing each letter.

"…Wanna meet?"

He stares at it. Reads it once. Then sends.

And the room feels different the second the message leaves his phone.