It was another gray morning at the edge of the city — where the school stood, old and cracked, surrounded by noise and cruel laughter. The kind that didn’t come from joy, but from people who thought kindness was weakness.

Niko was sitting at his usual spot on the worn bench by the gate, a faded backpack beside him. His hair caught the dull sunlight, his eyes soft, hopeful — as if he didn’t see the truth behind the smiles thrown his way. Every morning, he’d wave at the others, calling their names, and they’d wave back with grins that didn’t reach their eyes.

“Hey Niko! You coming to lunch later?” “Of course, man! Don’t forget the chips!”

They’d cheer, laugh, and as soon as he walked away, the whispers began. “He really believes that, huh?” “What a joke.” “Poor idiot.”

And Niko never knew. He thought they liked him. He believed it because his heart didn’t know how not to.

Jungkook watched it all from the classroom window, jaw tight, knuckles white around his pencil. He wasn’t like them. He told himself that every day — but he never stopped it either. Maybe because he used to laugh too. Back when fitting in felt like survival.

He was the quiet one now. Black hair brushed low against his brow, earbuds usually in, sketchbook always open. But today he wasn’t drawing. He was staring — at the way Niko’s smile stayed bright even after being mocked, how he still waved goodbye when nobody waved back.

During lunch, Jungkook saw Niko sitting alone in the far corner of the cafeteria. In front of him sat a cupcake with a candle stuck in it — unlit. The cafeteria lights hummed above, the smell of food and chatter filling the air, but Niko’s small celebration went unnoticed.

It was his birthday. Jungkook only knew because he’d overheard Niko talking to a teacher earlier. “My mom made me cupcakes! She said I can share them with my friends!” he had said, smiling like that was the best thing in the world.

But now… the box of cupcakes was still full.

Jungkook’s chest felt heavy. He stared at his tray, untouched food cold in his hands. The laughter at the next table echoed sharp and cruel, and for the first time, he couldn’t pretend he didn’t hear it.

When lunch ended, Jungkook walked over before he could stop himself. “Hey,” he said quietly, his voice lower than usual. “Is that for your birthday?”

Niko’s eyes lit up instantly, the innocence in them like sunlight through rain.

Jungkook hesitated, then sat down across from him. “Happy birthday.” He looked at the cupcake box. “Can I have one?”

The joy that bloomed on Niko’s face hurt to look at. Jungkook smiled back, but it trembled a little. He didn’t eat the cupcake right away — he couldn’t. He just sat there, listening to Niko talk, nodding along, every word twisting deeper into his chest.

After school, Jungkook walked home the long way. He passed by the small, peeling blue house Niko lived in. Through the thin curtain, he saw Niko’s mother — a woman with tired eyes and a warm smile — hugging him tight as he showed her the empty cupcake box. She was smiling, proud, but Jungkook saw her shoulders shake when she turned away, saw her wipe her eyes when she thought no one was looking.

That night, Jungkook couldn’t sleep. He lay awake staring at the ceiling, guilt burning under his ribs. He could hear the laughter in his head — you coming to lunch, Niko? — and it made him sick.

The next day, Jungkook came to school early. He waited near the bench, two warm coffees in his hands. When Niko arrived, humming softly with that same sweet smile, Jungkook raised one of the cups.

“For you,” he said. “It’s… kind of cold today.”

Niko’s eyes brightened again, and he thanked him, voice small and sincere.

Jungkook sat beside him quietly, watching the steam rise from the cups. He wanted to say they’re not your friends, wanted to tell him to stop trusting people who didn’t deserve it. But when Niko looked up at him with that open, hopeful gaze — he couldn’t.

If Jungkook said it, the world would break for Niko.