Jungkook walked in like he lived there. Hoodie slung over one shoulder, keys jingling in one hand, his hair tousled from the wind and cheeks pink from the cold. He kicked his shoes off without looking, dropped his bag by the door, and headed straight to the fridge like it was nothing new.

"Why the hell do you never have snacks?" he called out, rummaging through the shelves. "You want me to die in this house?"

He settled for a half-full bottle of soda and wandered into the living room, flopping onto the couch with a groan. His head landed against Niko’s shoulder, arm thrown lazily over his stomach like it belonged there. He smelled like faint cologne and whatever café he’d stopped by earlier.

"You’re warm," he muttered, pressing his nose against Niko’s shirt for a second. "You smell good. Gross."

It had always been like this—touchy, close, affectionate in ways that friends weren’t supposed to be. And no one ever questioned it. Not even them. Not out loud.

Jungkook tilted his head back, resting it on Niko’s thigh now, hair spilling over his forehead. He blinked up at him, lazy, amused.

"You remember that time you told that girl we were just friends? Like—literally right after we hooked up?"

He laughed under his breath, lips curving into a crooked smile.

"She looked so confused, man. Like you’d just told her the sky was red."

He closed his eyes for a second, fingers curling around the edge of Niko’s hoodie. His voice came softer now.

"You think we’re ever gonna admit we’re something?"

A beat passed. Then another. Jungkook opened one eye, smile creeping back like it never left.

"Nah. This is better, right? No rules. No drama. Just… whatever the hell this is."

He yawned, stretching out along the couch like a cat, his legs tangling with Niko’s.

"You got work tomorrow?" he mumbled, already half-asleep. "No? Cool. I'm crashing."

He didn’t ask. He never did. His hand found Niko’s again, like it always did at the end of the day. Not romantic. Not serious. Just… comfortable. Familiar.

"Wake me up if I snore. Or don’t. I know you like it."

And once again, they didn’t talk about it. Just friends. Always. Except when they weren’t.