lovesickness [ģģ¬ė³] (explicit) pt. 1 | pjm
title: lovesickness pairing:Ā jimin x f. reader rating/genre: m (18+) ; idol!verse with canon divergence summary: In which you, a BTS army, wanders into a magic shop in Las Vegas and ends buying something called a One Wish Willow and in times of desperation, jokingly makes a wish about your favorite BTS memberā¦but maybeā¦ you shouldn't haveā¦ [do not go see bts in las vegas and come home and watch obsession because now you have opened up pandora's box of thoughts of those with the potential to abuse its' power] warnings:Ā Obsessive Behavior, Stalking, Separation Anxiety, Idol! Park Jimin, Making Out, Jealousy, Biting, Cunnilingus, Orgasm, Dry Humping, Suicidal Thoughts, Smut, Eventual Sex, Psychological Horror, Character Death (s)?, Angst, Unrequited Love, Mild Gore, Arguments, Power Dynamic, Touch-Starved, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Coercion, Rough Sex, Impulsive Behavior, Emotional Outbursts, Eventual Self Harm notes: this is my darkest fic i've ever written and I could've gone darker but Jimin is an angel and even in a fictional sense, I can't go that deep. heavily unedited since no beta reader, also based on the 2026 movie obsession, etc. (pls check ao3 for more notes) total word count: 12k for pt. 1 if you'd like to read part 2 and 3, please check the rest of this fic out on AO3 here
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Las Vegas already feels like itās humming before you even properly arrive in it, like the entire city is a living thing that inhales neon and exhales heat. The dry air hits you the moment you step outside with your friends, your skin tightening slightly under the sun that feels too bright to be real, too staged, like itās been turned up for an audience. Day 1 of the concert hasnāt even begun, but everything already feels like itās leaning forward, waiting.
You and your friends had landed with a plan that wasnāt really a plan, just a loose agreement to follow anything that felt vaguely ARIRANG-featured, anything tied to BTS lore, anything that might make the trip feel more like a pilgrimage than a vacation. Itās ridiculous, you think, as you walk past tourists filming fountains and gamblers spilling out of casinos like theyāve forgotten what time is. But itās Vegas. Everything here is supposed to be a little ridiculous.
Thatās how you end up there.
The Lotus Magic Shop sits wedged between two louder buildings, its sign small enough to miss if you blink. But something about it pulls your attention anyway. Soft gold lettering, a faint glow even in daylight, like itās remembering being important once. Your friend laughs immediately when she sees it.
āOkay,ā she says, pointing. āThat is literally a Magic Shop. We have to go in.ā
You donāt argue. None of you do. The name alone feels like permission.
Inside, the air shifts. Itās cooler, quieter, like the city got muted the moment the door closed behind you. Shelves line the walls in uneven rows, filled with trinkets that look half antique and half staged, crystal animals, dusty jars, folded paper charms tied with string. It smells faintly like cedar and something metallic underneath, like old coins or rain that never fully dried.
And then you see it.
The One Wish Willow.
It sits on a middle shelf like it doesnāt belong there, in a highly deceptive, retro, and cheap-looking mass-market packaging. The vintage 1980s-style box is designed to look like an ordinary, inexpensive novelty trinket you might impulsively pick up from a gift shop.
6.99.
Seven dollars, basically. Itās always the seven when it comes to BTS and Army!
You stare at it longer than you mean to.
āIt grants one wish, it says!ā The exterior and packaging also prominently display "Amaze your friends!" alongside important user warnings. Warning Labels: The packaging and included instructions heavily stress that wishes are irreversible and cannot be repeated.
Your friend snorts. āThatās so fake.ā
āObviously,ā another says, already walking away. āBut itās cute. Get it for the memory.ā
You should leave it there. You know that. You absolutely know that. But Vegas has a way of making bad ideas feel like traditions, like souvenirs youāre supposed to collect without questioning whether theyāre real.
So you buy it. āAre you sure about this?ā The cashier asks with a strange look on his face.
āWell, yes.ā He continues giving you a look, but then shrugs. You pay him and that is that.
Seven dollars feels like nothing in a city designed to make everything feel like nothing.
When your friends see it at checkout, they laugh.
āYou bought a cursed dead wood?ā
āItās not cursed,ā you say automatically, even though you donāt actually believe that either. You just tuck the box into your bag like it belongs there. Like it was always meant to come with you.
Outside again, the sun is louder. The world is louder. You almost forget about the shop entirely by the time youāre rushing toward the venue, checking your phone every few seconds like it might suddenly tell you youāre late.
Soundcheck passes are real. You still canāt believe it even as youāre being guided inside with a crowd that feels too excited to be contained in a single building. Everything is flashing wristbands and security instructions and the distant thump of rehearsal sound bleeding through walls.
Inside the stadium, the scale hits you in pieces instead of all at once.
The stage is massive, extending into long catwalk legs that reach deep into the audience sections like arms stretching out to touch as many people as possible. Your seat is just slightly off-center, close enough to feel lucky, far enough to feel invisible. You notice it immediately. You always notice it immediately.
Youāre not front row. Not even close.
Your fingers tighten around your phone as you sit. You can already feel the logic forming in your head: they will look everywhere, but not here. Not exactly here. Not you.
You really want them to see you. To acknowledge your existence and not just as a light in the crowd. But as... you.Ā
Still, you came prepared. Your bag opens like a small arsenal of anticipation, light sticks, snacks you wonāt eat, tissues you donāt need, and the poster you spent too long making.
On it, in bold exaggerated handwriting: āCan you BE MINE? 1 for Yes or 2 for Yes.ā
Itās stupid. Itās supposed to be stupid. Thatās the point. Itās based on Jiminās solo work, a joke turned into hope turned into something you can hold instead of just thinking about.Ā
BTS is about to step onto that stage. And more specifically, Park Jiminā¦the PARK Jimin, is about to exist in the same physical space as you again, even if only briefly, even if only in passing light.
You tell yourself that should be enough.
Soundcheck starts with āSwim,ā then āAlien,ā then āFya.ā Fifteen minutes that feel like they stretch and compress at the same time, like time is reacting to sound instead of the other way around.
When BTS come out, the stadium erupts in a kind of sound that feels too big for human lungs. You watch them move like they already know exactly where every camera is, every angle, every expectation. Kim Namjoon. Kim Seokjin. Min Yoongi. Jung Hoseok. PARK JIMIN. Kim Taehyung. Jeon Jungkook.
They look effortless in a way that makes you feel slightly unreal for existing in the same space.
Jimin moves like heās half-aware of gravity but not fully obeying it. Like a fairy, if you will.
He circles the stage during āAlienā with the others, and you immediately stand a little straighter, as if that helps. You lift your poster slightly higher. You even try a small, awkward dance, something to make yourself noticeable, something to separate you from the blur of fans around you.
He comes your direction during the rotation.
Your chest tightens so sharply it feels like it might interrupt the moment itself.
Heās closer now. Close enough that you can see the way his hair sticks slightly to his forehead, the way his expression shifts between focus and warmth depending on where heās looking.
You raise your poster higher.
āCan you BE MINE? 1 for Yes or 2 for Yes.ā
Your heart is doing something unhelpful and frantic.
But his eyes donāt land on you.
They sweep over your section like a light passing over glass, brief, reflective, gone. Heās looking lower, closer to the barricade, the very front rows where people are practically reaching into the stage. His attention is anchored there, grounded in proximity.
You are just far enough back to become part of the crowd instead of part of the moment.
He smiles at someone else. Waves. Moves on.
And then heās gone.
Just like that.
The disappointment is not immediate. It arrives a few seconds later, like your body needs time to realize what your mind already understands.
Soundcheck ends quickly after that. The members leave in a blur of coordinated movement and flashing lights, and the stadium slowly deflates into noise again, fans talking, laughing, already rewriting the moment into something softer.
You stay seated.
Long after everyone else begins to shift and stand and stretch and leave, you remain still, your poster resting against your knees like it suddenly weighs more than it did before.
Your friends notice.
āItās okay,ā one of them says quickly, sitting back down beside you. āItās just soundcheck. Youāve got the main show. Heāll definitely see you then.ā
āYeah,ā another adds. āThereās still so many chances. And your poster is literally iconic.ā
You nod because itās easier than explaining that something about it already feels decided. Like youāve seen the shape of how today will go, and it doesnāt include what you wanted.
They eventually leave to get food, promising to come back before the show starts. The stadium empties in waves for a brief moment. You stay behind, claiming you need to charge your phone, even though itās more about not wanting to move yet.
You open your bag slowly.
Thatās when you see it again.
The One Wish Willow box.
It sits at the bottom like itās been waiting patiently, as if it knew youād eventually run out of distractions and remember it existed.
You turn it over in your hands.
6.99.
A joke. A souvenir. A stupid little object from a stupid little shop in a city that thrives on illusions. Spark the middle and break in half.
You almost laugh.
āWhat harm could it do?ā you murmur under your breath.
Itās not even a question you expect an answer to.
You open the box.
Inside, the One Wish Willow is smaller than you thought. Delicate. Ordinary. Almost pathetic. Like something you could snap between your fingers if you wanted to.
You hold it anyway.
The stadium hums faintly around you. Distant staff and fan movement, echoing sounds from the VCR play around the venue, the lingering ghost of music still trapped in the walls.
You exhale.
āI wish Jimin would finally notice me,ā you say quietly, almost amused at yourself.
Thereās a pause.
Your brain tries, genuinely tries, to stop you there. To let it remain harmless. A joke. A story you can tell your friends later.
But you donāt stop.
Because if youāre going to pretend magic is real, it might as well be honest magic.
āā¦and that once he does, he canāt stop thinking about me. Like I stay in his mind. Like he canāt look away, even when he tries. Like heā¦ā
Your grip tightens slightly.
You donāt know why it suddenly feels harder to breathe in a building full of air.
You continue anyway.
āā¦like he falls for me completely and canāt stop.ā
The moment the sentence leaves you, you break the piece of wood. The air shifts.
Not dramatically. Not visibly.
Just enough that you notice it afterward, like a soundā¦ a jingleā¦ is registered by your ears after itās already said.
Your phone buzzes beside you. You put away the broken willow in your bag.
You glance down automatically.
A notification lights the screen from a fan update account: soundcheck clips uploading. Thousands of fans reacting. People laughing about interactive moments you didnāt get to experience properly.
And somewhere in that noise, a strange thought forms, quiet and uninvited.
Like something heard you.
Like something is listening now.
Outside, the stadium begins to fill again.
And far away, under stage lights warming up for the main show, Day 1 of 4 starts to feel less like the beginning of something.
And more like the first time something has already chosen you back.
Your friends eventually come back with food in hand, talking over each other about how insane it already feels, how this is only Day 1 and somehow everything already feels like too much and not enough at the same time.
āYouāre too quiet,ā one of them says, handing you a drink.
āIām fine,ā you reply automatically, but not mention you embarrassingly pulling out that one wish joke trinket and making an actual wish.
Instead, you let the conversation wash over you while your eyes drift to the main stage again. The long catwalks stretch out like empty roads now, the barricades still lined with early fans trying to capture the perfect shot to show that they made it to the BTS concert and have the "best seats in the house". Staff members move across the floor, taping cables, checking screens, resetting the world for tonightās main show like nothing supernatural had ever brushed through it.
But you cannot shake the feeling that something did.
By the time doors open for the general audience for the main concert, the energy shifts completely.
The stadium fills so fast it almost feels violent. Allegiant Stadium becomes a single body exhaling heat, light, and sound all at once. It's also just a bit overwhelming the more and more you think about it and look around. The crowd becomes a living thing pressed shoulder to shoulder, lightsticks blooming like a field of synchronized stars, and VCR music begins to play ominous traditional Korean instrumental tunes.
You and your friends are back in your seats discussing surprise songs they're hopeful to see, random tweets they saw online, and other yapping about BTS. Things have settled and feel different. Fuller. Heavier. Like whatever happened during soundcheck and you being embarassed by Jimin's lack of attention towards you has been swallowed by something larger.
When the show begins, it begins like impact.
āHooliganā hits first, and the stage explodes into movement. Then āAliens,ā then āRun BTS,ā and the entire stadium screams like it is trying to keep up with its own heartbeat.
BTS move like they are in control of gravity again, but you notice something subtle now that you did not during soundcheck. It is not obvious at first. Just small pauses between movements. Slight changes in where attention goes.
And more than anything, you notice Jimin.
He is smiling, performing, spinning into choreography like he always does, but his eyes keep drifting in ways that feel slightly unfocused. Not lost. Justā¦ searching. Like he is looking for something he cannot name. His body language also looks off at moments, but maybe you're overthinking it a bit much.
Yeah, maybe you are just imagining it.
But then it happens again during āFake Love.ā
He and Yoongi walk toward the extended stage leg closest to your side of the floor. The crowd erupts around you, phones rising like a single wave. You rise too without thinking, lifting your poster again even though your hands are already tired from holding it earlier.
āCan you BE MINE? 1 for Yes or 2 for Yes.ā
You watch him approach.
This time, he is closer than soundcheck. Close enough that you can see the way his expression tightens slightly when he scans the crowd.
He stops.
Just for a fraction of a second longer than necessary.
His eyes pass over barricade fans first, then the middle sections, then yours.
And for a moment, his gaze catches yours and he looks very elated to find you.
He then looks like he is reading the sign you made and laughs. Then he raises a peace sign. A 2. Answering your question. You and your friends suddenly cheer from the interaction of finally getting noticed.
Then his attitude shifts and he looks away sharply, almost as if something pulled him out of it, and continues moving.
You lower your poster slowly.
āWait what was that?ā your friend shouts over the music.
āI donāt know,ā you answer, but your voice sounds like it belongs to someone else. āBut who cares, I got noticed! Yay!ā
You and your friends continue to fangirl and cheer throughout the set, and the rest of the concert continues like a dream that refuses to stabilize.
āMic Dropā shakes the stadium so hard your ribs feel like they are vibrating separately from your body. āFyaā turns the crowd into pure movement, with other members like Taehyung and Hoseok coming onto your side. āFireā makes everything feel like it is burning without heat.
During āIdol,ā the members walk the perimeter in a procession, and you catch glimpses of them moving past your section. RM looks out into the crowd with a calm focus that feels almost grounding, like he is seeing the whole stadium at once instead of just pieces of it. Jin waves toward a section slightly farther away, laughing at something a fan is doing. Jungkook runs ahead of the others briefly, then slows like he remembers he is supposed to stay in formation.
But Jimin.
Jimin keeps pausing in small, inconsistent ways. Not enough for anyone else to notice if they weren't his fellow members and staff, though just enough for you to start noticing it as a long time fan. Is something wrong?
Once, during a transition, he turns his head toward the stage wings like he heard something offstage. Another time, he looks directly into the crowd again and holds it for a beat too long, then blinks like he is resetting himself.
Your stomach tightens.
You tell yourself it's likely exhaustion. Lights. Noise. Pressure. Anything normal. This is the last stop of the first leg of the World Tour, maybe he's not feeling 100%.
But the thought from earlier returns anyway.
Like something heard you.
By the time the encore begins, you are physically drained from all of the standing or screaming you've been doing for over an hour.Ā
āCome Overā feels soft after everything that came before it, like the stadium is exhaling. āButterā makes everyone laugh and sway, the members joking with each other, moving without precision on purpose.
During āDynamite,ā Jimin spins mid-step and for a brief second looks directly toward the center sections again.
And again, it is like something inside him stutters.
Like he is trying to focus on one thing and failing.
The surprise songs hit differently.
āPermission to Danceā shocks fans at it's sudden return to being played, to the dismay of some, but it brings back some soft memories from Permission to Dance tour. āGo Goā is chaotic and playful, but even then you notice Jimin lagging half a beat behind the others at one point, then correcting himself instantly like it never happened. He laughs it off, but you can tell members like Taehyung catch it immediately that this isn't normal for Jimin.
You hope everything is alright and that he isn't pushing himself.
The final stretch of the concert slows everything down. The members do their ending ments, thanking fans for coming to Vegas, mentioning how they know many travelled fair to be there and also coming back to this venue after 4 years. Time surely has passed. Jimin's ending meant is very normal during this: just teasing fans to make some noise and hoping everyone gets home safely after the show.
āPleaseā has them sitting on the rotating stage, turning slowly so every side of Allegiant Stadium gets its moment. The crowd is still loud, but it is softer now, emotional in a way that feels like collective fatigue and joy mixing together.
You watch Jimin during that rotation, recording with your phone for some clips to have as memories.
You zoom in with your phone. He is smiling again. Playing around with Yoongi who keeps poking at him, followed by Jungkook who slaps his knees.
But every so often, his eyes flick toward your section.
And stares deeply, as if heās trying to findā¦you.
Then āInto the Sunā begins.
It feels like goodbye stretched into music. Slow, aching, and impossibly tender.
The members stand at the edge of the stage, waving, lingering, and walking backward as if refusing to fully leave yet. The stadium roars with everything it has left, a wall of sound that vibrates in your chest like it could keep them there forever.
And then it is over.
The lights come up gradually at first, then all at once.
Harsh, white, and unforgiving. Reality forcing itself back in like cold water after a fever dream.
The crowd doesnāt move right away. Everyone just stands there, stunned into a lingering, messy noise. Some still cheering, some already crying, a few calling out names that wonāt be answered again tonight. The magic drains slowly, like water slipping through cupped hands.
Your friends stay frozen beside you for a long second. Then the disbelief spills out.āNo wayā¦ thatās it?ā one of them says, voice cracking. āI canāt believe itās actually over. It doesnāt feel real.ā
Another lets out a shaky laugh, rubbing their face with both hands. āIām not ready. Iām literally not ready. How are we supposed to just go home after that?ā
You swallow hard, throat tight. The stadium lights feel too bright on your wet eyes.
āBut hey,ā the first friend adds, trying to rally, āweāve got tomorrow. and Wednesday. and Thursday.ā
A half-hearted āYayā ripples through your little group. Flat, tired, and sarcastic. You join in, but it comes out more like a groan.
Tomorrow suddenly feels less like a gift and more like the last step toward the edge of a cliff.
Your friends grab your arms anyway, pulling you forward before the ache can settle too deep.
āPhotos,ā one says, already steering you toward the barricade. āWe have to get barricade photos while itās emptying out. Come on.ā
You follow them because it is easier than thinking. Easier than sitting still in your seat with your body suddenly too aware of itself. Legs shaky, chest hollow, the ghost of every chorus still ringing in your ears.
The barricade area is less chaotic now. Still slightly crowded, but more manageable. Fans take turns posing, laughing, recreating moments from the show that already feel like memories instead of present tense.
You take a few photos with your friends. You smile when you are supposed to. You hold your lightstick up. You try to match their energy.
But your feet hurt.
Your entire body feels like it has been emptied and refilled too many times in one night.
Eventually you drift away slightly, letting them continue taking pictures while you find a random empty aisle seat closer to the back of the floor section. It is not your seat. You do not care.
You sit down like your body finally makes a decision without asking you.
The relief is immediate and almost dizzying.
You lean forward, unlacing your boots with slow fingers. The floor feels colder than you expect. You pull out your foldable flats from your bag and slip them on, exhaling like you have been holding your breath for hours. You put your boots away in a reusable bag you had folded up in your main bag.
The thought of walking back to the hotel already makes your legs ache. The Strip will be chaos. Fans everywhere. Glittering noise and traffic and exhaustion all wrapped together in a single direction.
āFans packed like sardines,ā one of your friends had called it earlier.
It feels accurate now.
You lean back in the seat for just a second, holding onto your clear bag of stuff and your shoe bag.
Just one.
That is when it happens.
A hand grabs your arm.
Firm. Immediate. Real.
You are pulled sideways before your brain fully processes what is happening, taking a strong hold of your bags before they slip off.
āWaitāā you start, voice rising instantly, shock snapping through your body.
The grip tightens and drags you faster, away from your seat, away from your friends, toward one of the darkened tunnels that leads backstage.
Your breath catches hard.
Where are you going?!
The direction BTS disappeared into? Why?Ā
Your instinct is to scream.Ā
You almost do.
But the person stops abruptly and turns slightly, sensing it before it happens. A hand rises quickly, finger pressed to a masked mouth in a clear shushing gesture.
āģ¬,ā the man says quietly. [āShh.ā]
Your heart slams so hard it feels like it is trying to leave your chest.
The man is small-framed, wearing an oversized hoodie that swallows his body shape completely. A mask covers most of his face, leaving only his eyes visible.
And when you see those eyes properly, everything in you goes still in a way you had once joked about.
Not panic.
Not excitement.
Just total system freeze.
Because your brain refuses to accept what your eyes are showing you.
No.
No way.
That is notā
The man pulls you further into the tunnel, away from the noise of the stadium, deeper into the dim backstage corridor where everything sounds distant and muffled.
Your mind finally catches up to your body.
This is how you thought it would go, once, in a very delusional dream you had many years ago about BTS at Speak Yourself tour when you were still in college.
Well not like this. Not literally. But in that vague, impossible way you dreamed about and immediately laughed off once you woke up.
If it ever happens, you had told yourself, you will freeze. You will not scream. You will not move. You will just accept it because it cannot be real anyway.
And now you are doing exactly that.
Because the man glances back at you again, and the mask shifts slightly as he turns.
And when you meet his eyes properly this time, there is no room left for doubt.
It is him.
Jimin.
He is staring at you like he is still trying to confirm something.
Then, in a low voice, barely above a breath, he speaks in Korean first.
āģ ģ“ė ź² ģ”°ģ©ķ“ģ?ā [āWhy are you so quiet?ā]
You do not answer.
You physically cannot.
He lets out a short exhale that sounds almost like relief, then shifts his grip slightly, still holding your arm but gentler now, guiding instead of dragging.
Then he adds, in careful English, softer and more deliberate than before.
āI need you to come with me. Just for a moment.ā
Your legs move because he is moving.
Not because you decided.
Because something in your brain has completely stopped arguing.
And as the tunnel opens further into the backstage world, where lights are colder and voices are lower and everything feels like it is happening behind reality instead of inside it, one thought repeats in your head over and over again.
This is not supposed to be happening.
And yet it is.
The corridor behind the main tunnel is nothing like the stadium.
The sound drops off so sharply it feels like your ears are malfunctioning. One moment there is 50,000 people still screaming somewhere behind concrete and steel, and the next there is only the hum of emergency lighting and the distant vibration of machinery you cannot see.
Jimin keeps walking until the noise of staff and stagehands fades completely.
You try to count doors as you pass them. You lose track after the third.
He finally stops in a narrow stretch of corridor that looks unused, like it exists only for maintenance and forgotten movement. No staff. No cameras in obvious sight. Just pale walls and a flickering light overhead that makes everything feel slightly unreal.
He releases your arm.
For a second, you do not move. You just stand there, staring at him in the hoodie and mask, your brain still refusing to fully translate what is happening into something logical.
Then he exhales, like he has been holding something in since soundcheck.
And suddenly, he steps forward.
Fast.
Before you can process it, your back hits the wall.
Not painfully. Not violently.
But firmly enough that your body registers it as final.
Your breath catches sharply, eyes widening instantly as your hands lift slightly between you and him out of pure reflex.
He is close now. Too close for any normal backstage interaction. Close enough that you can see the slight uneven rise and fall of his chest, like even he is not fully steady.
The mask is still on, but his eyes are completely uncovered.
And they are not performing anymore.
They are focused.
Locked.
On you.
Your voice tries to form something, but it does not make it out.
He takes his mask off and speaks first, in Korean.Ā
His voice is low. Controlled. But there is something strained underneath it, like the words are being pulled out instead of chosen.
āģ¤ėā¦ā he starts, then pauses, as if correcting himself mid-thought. āģ¤ė ģ ėė” ėŖ»ķģ“ģ.ā [āTodayā¦ I couldn't do my best.ā]
Your brows knit slightly. You know some Korean, so you're only able to catch fragments of words. Today. Could not. Best.
You do not question why he is speaking to you in a language that you don't really understand, mainly due to being a bit nervous of killing the vibe right now. Jimin continues speaking, not looking away from you at all.Ā
āź³ģ ė¹ģ ģ ģ°¾ģ¼ė ¤ź³ ķģ“ģ.ā [āI kept trying to look for you.ā]
Your breath stutters.
That word. ė¹ģ .
You know enough Korean to understand the weight of it. You. You specifically.
His hand lifts slightly, then stops midway, like he is unsure whether he should touch you again or not.
He continues anyway, voice tightening just a little.
āģ ź¹ģ“ė¼ė ģ ė³“ģ“ė©“ā¦ā [āIf I could not see you, even for a momentā¦ā]
He stops.
His gaze flickers across your face like he is checking whether you are still here, still real, still reacting.
Then he exhales through his nose, a sound that is almost frustrated with himself.
āė¶ģķģ“ģ.ā [āI felt anxious.ā]
Silence drops between you.
It is not empty.
It is full.
Full of the stadium somewhere behind you. Full of the fact that this is Jimin. Full of the fact that he is standing too close, speaking like you are not a stranger he pulled into a corridor five minutes ago.
Your mouth opens slightly.
Nothing comes out.
Your brain finally forces a question to the surface.
What.
He watches your confusion register. His eyes soften slightly, and for the first time there is a crack in the intensity, like he realizes you are not following everything.
He shifts, leaning back just a fraction, giving you the smallest amount of space against the wall.
Then he switches to English.
Careful. Slightly uneven.
āI kept losing focus on stage.ā
Your breath is still unsteady, but at least now you can understand him clearly.
He continues, eyes still locked on yours.
āI would be performing, and then I would look for a second, and you were not in my sight.ā
A pause.
His fingers curl slightly at his side, like he is restraining something restless in his own body.
āAnd I could not stop thinking about it.ā
Your heart is beating so hard it feels loud in your ears again, even without the stadium.
You manage a small, broken sound. Not a word. Just disbelief trying to become speech.
He nods once, like he understands that reaction more than he wants to.
Then he speaks again, softer now, but no less direct.
āI do not know why it was happening today.ā
His eyes move over your face again, slower this time, like he is trying to confirm something that still does not make sense even to him.
āI have performed hundreds of times,ā he says. āBut todayā¦ I kept feeling like I needed to see you.ā
The word see lands heavier this time.
Not just notice.
Not just glance.
See.
Like you were supposed to be part of something that he could not complete without you being there.
Your back is still against the wall. His proximity has not changed much, only softened at the edges.
And then he adds, quieter, almost like he is admitting something he did not plan to say out loud.
āI thought I was imagining it at first.ā
A beat.
āBut it kept happening again.ā
He tilts his head slightly, studying you in a way that feels less like performance and more like confusion mixed with certainty that should not coexist.
āAnd when I finally saw you clearly during āFake Loveāā¦ā he pauses, swallowing slightly. āIt felt like something clicked.ā
Your fingers tighten slightly against the wall behind you, grounding yourself in something physical because nothing else feels stable.
You force yourself to speak, voice thin.
āYouā¦ you saw me?ā
That is all you can manage. Stupidest question ever since you know he did and acknowledged your poster, but double confirmation from him would be nice.
He nods immediately.
āYes.ā
Simple.
Absolute.
No hesitation.
Then, after a pause that feels heavier than anything before it, he adds in English again, quieter now.
āI could not stop looking after that.ā
The corridor hums faintly.
Somewhere far away, staff voices echo briefly, then fade again.
He does not move away.
You do not move either.
And in the strange silence between a stadium full of people and a hallway meant for nobody, it becomes very clear that whatever this is, it did not end when the concert did.
Your mind latches onto the only logical thread it can find, even as your body refuses to fully cooperate with logic anymore.
Did it actually work?
Did the One Wish Willow actually fucking work?
That stupid seven-dollar box sitting at the bottom of your bag. A joke. A souvenir. Something you were supposed to laugh about later.
Now nothing about this feels like a joke.
Jimin is still standing in front of you.
Too close. Too real.
And then his hands lift.
Slowly.
Carefully.
He cups your face like he is testing whether you are solid.
His palms are warm through the chill of the hallway air, thumbs resting just under your cheekbones. For a moment, his expression shifts like something inside him tightens again, like even gentle contact is not enough to settle whatever is happening in his head.
His voice drops, and this time he speaks in Korean again, slower than before, like he is choosing each word as it comes out.
āė³¼ģė”ā¦ā he murmurs. [āThe more I look at youā¦ā]
His gaze drags over your face like he is trying to memorize it in real time.
āėė„¼ā¦ā he continues, then stops briefly, exhaling through his nose. [āYouā¦ā]
Then he finishes it, voice quieter but heavier.
āź°ģ§ź³ ģ¶ģ“ģ ø.ā [āI want to have you.ā]
A pause.
Not loud. Not dramatic.
Just heavy in the way silence becomes heavy when someone says something they were not supposed to say out loud.
His thumbs press slightly more firmly against your cheeks, not painful, but enough that you feel the intensity sharpen.
āź·øė„ ė³“ė ź±øė”ė ė¶ģ”±ķ“.ā [āJust looking is not enough.ā]
Your breath catches.
Not because you understand everything perfectly, but because you understand enough.
Enough to feel the meaning behind it pressing into the space between you.
His eyes flicker across yours again, like he is checking your reaction, and something in him seems to lean forward before he consciously decides to follow it.
The distance between you disappears further. The distance between you vanishes.
Jiminās mouth finds yours like heās been starving for it, slow at first, almost reverent, lips soft and plush as they press against yours. Then the hunger takes over. His hands slide from your cheeks into your hair, gripping just tight enough to tilt your head back as he deepens the kiss. His tongue slips past your lips, hot and insistent, tasting you like he wants to devour every small sound you make.
You moan into his mouth and he answers with a low, throaty sound of his own, pressing you back against the cool wall of the hallway. His body is solid heat against yours, firm chest, narrow waist, the hard line of his thigh pushing between your legs. One of his hands drops to your hip, fingers digging in as he rolls his hips forward, letting you feel exactly how much he wants you.
āFuckā¦ā he breathes against your lips in English this time, the word ragged. Then heās kissing you again, filthier, tongue stroking deep and slow while his hand slides under the hem of your shirt. His palm is scorching against your bare skin, fingertips tracing up your ribs until he cups your breast, thumb brushing over your nipple through your thin bra. It pebbles instantly under his touch and he groans, pinching lightly, rolling it until your back arches off the wall.
You clutch at his shoulders, the ash hoodie fabric bunching in your fists. Heās still in stage clothes underneath, sweat-damp tank top clinging to his body, and the scent of him fills your head: clean sweat, faint cologne, and something darker, purely him. You suck on his tongue and he shudders, grinding harder against you, the very obvious ridge of his cock pressing insistently against your thigh.
āė ėė¬øģā¦ā he pants between kisses, voice wrecked. āģ“ė ź² ėģ“ā¦ [Because of youā¦ Iām like thisā¦]ā
His mouth trails down to your jaw, then your neck. He bites, sharp enough to sting, then soothes it with his tongue, sucking a mark right below your ear while his hand squeezes your breast harder. Your hips jerk against his thigh, chasing friction, and he chuckles darkly against your skin before kissing you again, messier this time. Lips wet, tongues sliding, spit-slick and desperate. His free hand grips your ass, pulling you tighter against him so you can feel every inch of his hardness rocking against you.
Youāre both breathing hard, almost panting into each otherās mouths. His forehead rests against yours for half a second, eyes half-lidded and glassy with want, before he dives back in-kissing you like the world is ending, like this stolen hallway is the only place left. One of your hands slips under his hoodie, nails dragging down his back, and he hisses, hips snapping forward again in response.
Heās just starting to push your shirt higher, mouth moving down toward your chest, whenā
A sound cuts through the hallway.
Footsteps.
Sharp. Controlled. Fast.
A voice follows immediately, colder than everything else in the corridor.
āģ§ėƼģ.ā [āJimin.ā]
The spell breaks instantly for a moment.
Jiminās hands drop from your face like he has been shocked. His entire posture changes in a single snap, shoulders tightening, breath shifting.
He turns his head.
RM is standing at the end of the corridor.
His expression is not confused at first.
It is sharp.
Then it turns fully into disbelief.
His eyes move from Jimin to you, then back to Jimin.
āė ķė ź±°ģ¼?ā [āWhat the hell are you doing?ā]
Jimin takes a half step back so quickly it looks involuntary, like his body is suddenly remembering it is supposed to have boundaries.
āWhat the fuck?ā his eyes widen, and mutters under his breath, but not directed at anyone in particular, like he is realizing the situation at the exact same time everyone else is.
He looks down briefly, running a hand over his face, then turns slightly away from you as if trying to physically reset himself.
The shift is so abrupt it makes your stomach drop. Whatās going on?
Itās as if someone just turned the volume of reality back on too fast.
Namjoon steps closer, eyes narrowing as he takes in the corridor, the distance between you and Jimin, the way Jimin is standing like he is trying to reassemble his own thoughts.
āė¬“ģØ ģ¼ģ“ģ¼?ā Namjoon asks, voice controlled but clearly strained. [āWhat is going on?ā]
Jimin does not answer immediately.
Namjoon exhales sharply, looking between you both again.
āėėź³ ėģ ė ź°ģźø° ķė ģ°ź³ ė§ģ¤ķ¬ ģ°ź³ ė°ģ³ėź°ė¤ė©°.ā [āAfter the show ended, you suddenly grabbed a hoodie and a mask and ran off.ā]
He gestures vaguely down the corridor.
āģ¤ķķė¤ģ“ ź³ģ ģ°¾ź³ ģģģ“.ā [āThe staff have been looking for you everywhere.ā]
A beat.
Then his eyes flick to you again, slower this time, assessing.
Jimin suddenly lets out a short, strange laugh.
It is not the kind of laugh that belongs in this moment.
It is too light.
Too detached.
Namjoon notices immediately, his expression shifting.
āģ ģģ“?ā [āWhy are you laughing?ā]
Jimin tilts his head slightly, still half turned away, then looks back at you like he has just remembered you are there in a different way than before.
Then he says, in Korean, almost casually:
āź·øė„ā¦ ģ“ ķ¬ģ“ ėģ ė¤ģ“ģģ.ā [āJustā¦ this fan caught my eye.ā]
His gaze lingers on you.
Then he adds, slower:
āź°ģ“ ė°ė ¤ź°ź³ ģ¶ģģ“.ā [āI wanted to bring her with me.ā]
Namjoon scoffs immediately.
āķøķ ź¹ģ§?ā [āTo the hotel?ā]
His disbelief sharpens.
āė ģ§źø ģ°ė¦¬ ģ ė¶ ė¤ ź±øź³ ź·øė° ģ§ģ ķ ź±°ģ¼?ā [āYouāre putting all of our reputations on the line for that?ā]
He gestures between Jimin and the corridor like he cannot believe he is having to say this out loud.
āź·øė„ ė°ė ¤ź°ģ ģ¬źø°ģ ķ¤ģ¤ė¼ė ķė ¤ź³ ķ ź±°ģ¼?ā [āDid you just drag her here to kiss her in a hallway?ā]
The air goes still again, but this time it is different.
Not charged.
Just heavy with consequences.
Jimin opens his mouth like he is about to respond, then closes it again.
His expression shifts slightly, like he is trying to grasp something that keeps slipping out of reach.
Then, unexpectedly, he starts laughing again.
Softly at first.
Then a little more.
Namjoon stares at him like he is no longer sure what he is looking at.
You do not move.
You cannot tell if you should.
Jimin finally looks at Namjoon properly, still smiling faintly like the situation is slightly unreal to him.
Then he says, in Korean:
āķ, ź·øė„ ģģ“ė” ė§ķ“ģ¤.ā [āHyung, just tell her in English.ā]
A pause.
Namjoon blinks.
āėė¼ź³ ?ā he asks, voice flat with disbelief. [āWhat?ā]
Jimin tilts his head slightly toward you again, eyes briefly sharpening as if refocusing on the original thread that started all of this.
His voice lowers when he speaks next, calmer now, but still unsettling in its certainty.
āź·øė„ ģģ“ė” ė§ķ“ģ¤.ā he says first, almost absentmindedly, like he is setting the tone of the moment for himself. [āJust say it in English.ā]
Then, after a beat, he adds in Korean, slower, deliberate, as if each word has already been decided and there is no room left to argue with it.
āė°ė ¤ź°ė¤ź³ ė§ķ“.ā [āTell her sheās coming with us.ā]
Namjoon does not move right away.
The word hangs in the corridor like something physically uncomfortable.
āė°ė ¤ź°ė¤ź³ ?ā he repeats, slower this time, like saying it again might make it make sense. [āBring her with us?ā]
His eyes flick to Jimin first. Then to you. Then back again, sharper now.
āģ§ėƼģ, ė ģ§źø ė¬“ģØ ė§ ķėģ§ ģģ?ā [āJimin, do you know what you are saying right now?ā]
Jimin does not look away.
He stands straighter now, like the earlier instability has been replaced with something more fixed, more certain in a way that is almost worse.
āI know,ā he says simply in Korean, then exhales once. āģģ.ā [āI know.ā]
Namjoon lets out a quiet breath through his nose, frustration and concern mixing in a way that makes his voice drop lower.
āģź¹ė¶ķ° ģ“ģķģ“.ā [āYouāve been strange since earlier.ā]
He gestures slightly toward Jimin, controlled but tense.
āė¬“ėģģė ģ§ģ¤ģ“ ź³ģ ėź²¼ź³ , ģ¤ķķė¤ė ė“¤ģ“.ā [āEven on stage, you kept losing focus, and the staff noticed.ā]
His gaze sharpens.
āģ“ź±° ź·øė„ ėźøø ė¬øģ ź° ģėģ¼.ā [āThis is not something we can just ignore.ā]
Jiminās jaw tightens slightly, but he still does not step back.
Namjoon finally looks at you properly now, like he is including you in something he did not plan for. It makes you nervous. He is your bias wrecker after all.
Then he switches to English, voice softer but very deliberate.
āI need you to listen carefully.ā
You swallow.
He glances briefly back at Jimin before continuing.
>"Jimin wants you to come with us."
>A pause.
>Not dramatic. Just heavy. The kind of pause where a single second stretches long enough for your pulse to beat twice, three times, while your brain tries to assemble the sentence into something that makes sense.
>"Okayā¦" The word comes out before you can stop it. Neutral. Question shaped. A placeholder while your mind scrambles for footing.
>Namjoon's expression tightens slightly. Not anger. Something closer to the careful patience of someone explaining the rules of a game you haven't agreed to play.
>He adds, more carefully now, "But you need to understandā¦ this is not normal."
>His eyes flick down the corridor, checking for what? Security? Staff? Other fans spilling out of nearby exits? Then back to you.
>"I think he is going through something. Mentally. Like a crisis. I don't know what triggered it, but this behavior is not like him."
>Behind Namjoon, Jimin says nothing. Doesn't move. Just keeps smiling that small, knowing smile, watching you like you are the only person left in the world.Ā
>Something cold traces down your spine. Not fear. Not yet. But the awareness that the ground has shifted beneath your feet, and you haven't noticed until just now.
>Namjoon's voice drops lower, pulling your attention back.
>"I am not letting you be pressured." He says it like a fact. Like a line he has already drawn in his own mind and will not cross. "But I also cannot just leave you like this in the middle of Allegiant Stadium."
>He exhales, a slow controlled breath, and takes a step slightly closer to you. Close enough that the ambient noise of the departing crowd seems to recede. Close enough that his next words feel like they are being placed directly into your ribs.
>"If you go with us, you stay calm. You do not post anything. You do not record anything. You do not argue. You just go where we go and we figure this out."
>His eyes sharpen. Not cruel.Ā Precise. The way a leader's eyes sharpen when they know the margin for error has just shrunk to nothing.
>"And you tell your friends you left with other people from the concert. Other friends. Tell them you'll be back at their hotel tomorrow. You understand?"
>A beat. Then, softer, "Can you do that?"
>"Yes." You blush a bit from his authoritative tone, which is one of the things you love about him.
>The word leaves your mouth at the exact same moment your phone buzzes in your hand.
>You glance down instinctively.
>No signal.
>That's strange. The stadium has been crowded all night, but your service has held. Now the bars at the top of your screen sit empty, replaced by a small, blinking icon you don't recognize.
>Another flicker. The screen stutters, ghost inputs, a lag you have never seen before, and for a split second, the edges of your wallpaper pixelate into gray static.
>Then your phone dims.
>Not the slow fade of low battery. Not the auto brightness adjusting to the corridor's fluorescent glare. This is different. It is like the screen isĀ struggling. Like something is pulling the life out of it in real time.
>The phone goes dark.
>Then it lights up again, dimmer. Then dark. Then dim.
>Namjoon notices.
>You see the exact moment he does, the slight pause in his breathing, the way his gaze drops to your hand for half a second too long.
>"That's fine," he says quickly, already interpreting it, already smoothing over whatever jagged edge has just appeared in the air between you. "Your phone is probably overloaded with the mass usage of the stadium network. Just say you couldn't share location."
His tone is steady, but there is tension underneath it now.
Jimin finally speaks again, quietly in Korean.
āķ, ė¹Øė¦¬ ź°.ā [āHyung, letās go quickly.ā]
Namjoon does not respond immediately. His eyes stay on you for another second, like he is still deciding whether this is a mistake that can be stopped.
Then he exhales once, sharply.
āOkay,ā he says in English, more to himself than anyone else.
He turns slightly, gesturing down the corridor.
āFollow me.ā
The walk feels unreal.
Not fast. Not chaotic.
Controlled, like your body has been inserted into someone elseās plan and is now expected to cooperate.
The corridors shift from narrow backstage passages into wider service halls. You pass staff areas, locked doors, rolling equipment cases. Every sound feels muted, like the building is underwater now.
Then you reach the loading area.
The air changes again.
Colder. More open. Outside doors are partially raised, letting in flashes of Las Vegas night light, distant traffic, and the lingering echo of a stadium that is still emptying out behind you.
A black Escalade is already waiting.
Engine running.
Lights on.
Other members are not here.
Just this.
Just Namjoon, Jimin, and you.
Security is stationed nearby. A few staff members in BTS tour uniforms. And near the vehicle, a man you recognize from earlier briefings, likely head of security, labeled Mr Lee by the staff.
He looks at you immediately.
Not with curiosity.
With assessment.
Like you are a problem that has entered a controlled environment.
His eyes flick between you, Jimin, and Namjoon in quick succession.
One of the security staff leans slightly toward Mr Lee, speaking under his breath.
Namjoon notices immediately and steps forward before it escalates.
āź“ģ°®ģģ.ā he says firmly in Korean. [āItās okay.ā]
Then he switches to English for clarity, voice calm but authoritative.
āSheās with me. Sheās a friend.ā
There is a pause.
The security team does not look convinced.
Mr Leeās gaze lingers on you a moment longer than comfortable, then shifts back to Namjoon.
A quiet exchange happens between them without words needing to be said.
Then, finally, Mr Lee gives a short nod.
No approval.
Just acceptance of responsibility being transferred.
No one argues out loud, but the air says everything anyway.
Namjoon opens the door to the Escalade.
āGet in,ā he says gently, looking at you again.
Behind him, Jimin is already waiting, eyes fixated on you like the decision was never really open to question at all.
And the night outside of the venue, fans continue to walk home, unaware that something with bts has already changed direction completely.
he car ride feels wrong in the way dreams feel wrong. Not frightening at first, just assembled incorrectly, with pieces that belong to different realities forced into the same scene.
The black Escalade pulls away from Allegiant Stadium smoothly and disappears into the Las Vegas night with dark windows and practiced timing. Outside, the Strip is exactly what you imagined it would be after Day 1 of a BTS concert. Thousands of people flood the sidewalks in every direction. Lightsticks still glow in peopleās hands. Fans carry banners rolled under their arms and film themselves while walking in crowds thick enough to slow traffic. Cars inch forward beneath giant LED billboards and neon reflections.
You should be out there.
You should be squeezed between your friends, complaining that your feet hurt and replaying every moment from the show. You should be hearing someone insist Jimin definitely looked in your direction at one point. You should be heading back to the ARIA, where you're staying at, and deciding whether overpriced room service is worth it. Or if you should door dash some food from somewhere.
Instead, youāre here.
Inside a black SUV.
With Jimin and Namjoon.
You unlock your phone.
It freezes once before opening. The screen flickers for a second before stabilizing and immediately reveals a flood of notifications.
Friend 1: WHERE ARE YOU HELLO????
Friend 2: DID U LEAVE WITHOUT US?? WHERE'D YOU GO?
Friend 1:YOU LEFT YOUR POSTER BTW I'LL SAVE IT.
You stare at the keyboard.
Your fingers hover for longer than necessary.
Eventually you type:
you: sorry!! ran into some friends from online and hanging out for a bit š my phone is glitching rn and i cant share location
you: but im okay!! donāt wait up if iām late
You stare at the message again after sending it. It looks normal enough. Weird, but not alarming. Your friends know concerts are chaotic. People split up all the time.
You lock your phone.
Only then do you realize one of your hands feels warm.
You look down.
Jimin is holding it.
There is nothing dramatic about it. His fingers are loosely intertwined with yours between the seats as though he reached over without thinking and never stopped. He isnāt gripping tightly. He isnāt even looking at your hand.
Heās looking at you.
Not glancing.
Looking.
Youāve spent years watching performances, interviews, clips, fan interactions, livestreams. You know his expressions. You know what his performance face looks like. You know what his fanservice face looks like. You know what his polite public smile looks like.
This isnāt any of those.
His eyes look almost unfocused around the edges, soft in a way that makes your stomach feel strange. Like he found something unexpectedly beautiful and cannot stop checking whether itās still there.
His thumb brushes lightly across your knuckles once.
You look away first.
On your other side, Namjoon sits with his elbow resting against the door. His expression is neutral, but not relaxed. His phone keeps lighting up. You accidentally catch pieces of the group chat reflected faintly in the screen.
Jungkook asking where they are.
Taehyung asking if everyoneās alive.
Jin saying staff is really upset with them right now.
Namjoon types for a while.
Namjoon: Found him. Coming back. Will explain.
Then another message appears.
Namjoon: Actually.
Namjoon: Somethingās weird.
He sends it.
Locks the screen.
And goes back to staring out the tinted window.
After a while he finally turns slightly toward you and says in English, quietly enough that it feels private, āYou okay?ā
You blink.
The question feels too normal.
You swallow and answer honestly. āI think so.ā
Namjoon nods once and looks away again before saying, āYou donāt have to be afraid,ā then pauses briefly before adding, ābut I know this is strange.ā
You almost laugh.
Strange feels like the wrong word for being pulled out of a stadium by your celebrity crush after making a suspiciously specific wish to a fake magic item.
The ride ends before your brain can finish processing any of it.
Eventually the scenery outside changes. The Strip becomes cleaner. Taller. More expensive.
Then the SUV turns and your eyes widen slightly when you realize where.
The Waldorf Astoria.
Which feels absurd because you and your friends are staying at ARIA. Practically next door.
>The car doesn't approach the front entrance. Instead it descends into a private underground level. Concrete walls. Controlled access. Security checkpoints. Quiet lighting. The kind of infrastructure designed specifically so famous people never have to become public if they don't want to.
>The vehicle comes to a smooth stop. Before anyone can speak, Jimin opens the door and gets out. Then he immediately turns and reaches for you. You grab your things and take his hand because, apparently, that is what your body does now. You are not questioning anything right now. He pulls gently but decisively, and suddenly you're moving again. Namjoon unfolds his tall frame from the backseat and follows behind with the energy of someone who has accepted this situation without approving of it.
>You're led through the garage toward a set of elevators tucked behind another secured entry point. Private elevators. No guests. No chance encounters with fans or sasaengs. Jimin pulls you inside, grip firm and possessive, and Namjoon steps in right after you, earning a visible eye roll from Jimin.
>Jimin presses the button to close the elevator doors immediately before any of their staff could enter with them. Three's already a crowd.
>Once again you're sandwiched tightly between them, Jimin in front of you, Namjoon behind. No space. No escape. The elevator starts its smooth ascent and your pulse spikes.
>Oh god, not here. Not with both of them like this. Your mind races. You can feel every inch of them. Your clothes are wrinkled, your makeup is ruined, and these stupid foldable flats make you feel small and unprepared.
>Jimin notices the split second your eyes flick toward Namjoon. His expression shifts instantly, still calm, but now sharply attentive. He leans in closer, chest brushing yours, and murmurs low against your ear in Korean.
>"ģ¬źø° ė“ģ."Ā Look at me.
>Your face burns as you obey. The second your gaze meets his, his eyes soften with dark satisfaction. Then he dips his head without hesitation.
>His lips find the side of your neck, hot and deliberate. He kisses you open mouthed, slow and wet, sucking gently at first before dragging his teeth along your pulse point. A helpless little whimper escapes your throat before you can stop it. Embarrassment floods you. Namjoon is right there, inches away, witnessing every second of this. But the shame only makes your body react stronger. Heat pools low in your belly.
>Jimin smiles against your skin, clearly loving it. He loves the sound you made, loves how you tremble knowing you have an audience. His hand slides around your waist, pulling you tighter against him as he kisses lower, sucking harder at the sensitive spot just above your collarbone. His tongue traces slow, filthy circles before he nips again, hard enough to make you gasp.
>You can feel Namjoon's solid warmth at your back, his body heat radiating through your clothes. The elevator feels impossibly small. Jimin's free hand trails up your side, thumb deliberately brushing the underside of your breast through your dress, teasing the curve as his mouth continues its assault on your neck. Licking. Sucking. Marking you.
>Another needy, breathy moan slips out of you. Jimin's grip tightens possessively, his breath hot and ragged against your damp skin. He's completely lost in teasing you now, staring deeply into your eyes whenever he pulls back for air, his gaze hooded and hungry.
>Behind you, Namjoon clears his throat. Loudly. He stares fixedly at the glowing floor numbers like they are the most fascinating thing in the world, his jaw tight, his ears visibly red. This is probably one of the most embarassing moments of his life, and he can't believe Jimin's audacity right now.Ā
>Mortified of being watched by your bias wrecker, you push weakly at Jimin's chest, your voice shaky and breathless. "Jimin, Namjoon is right here. Let's save this for when we're alone."
>Jimin scoffs, low and amused, his lips still grazing your flushed, marked neck. He steals one last slow, deliberate kiss right under your jaw, tongue flicking teasingly, before he finally pulls back. His eyes stay locked on yours, dark and full of filthy promise.
>The elevator doors open with a soft ding.
The hallway outside is quiet and expensive in a way only luxury hotels can be. Thick carpet. Soft lighting. Closed suite doors.
Before Namjoon fully exits, Jimin moves.
He takes your wrist and starts walking quickly.
āģ§ėƼģ,ā Namjoon calls.
Jimin doesnāt stop.
One door.
A keycard.
A green light.
The door opens.
Youāre pulled inside.
And before Namjoon reaches itā
Click.
Locked.
Outside, thereās silence.
Namjoon stands there staring at the door for a second before letting out a tired sigh.
Nearby doors open.
Jungkook appears first and looks around before asking, āģģ“?ā [Youāre back?]
Then he notices one person missing and asks, āģ§ėƼģ“ ģ“ė ź°ģ“?ā [Where did Jimin go?]
Other doors open.
Jin.
Taehyung.
Yoongi.
Hoseok.
Namjoon rubs his face and says quietly, āā¦ėė ģģ§ ģ ėŖØė„“ź² ģ“.ā [ā¦I still donāt really know.]
Everyone waits.
Then he adds, āź·¼ė° ģ¬ģ ķ ėŖ ė°ė ¤ģģ“.ā [But he brought a girl.]
The hallway goes silent.
Jin immediately lowers his voice and asks, almost whispering, āā¦ķ¬?ā [ā¦A fan?]
Namjoon nods.
Jin rolls his eyes.
Taehyung blinks once before saying casually, āģ§ėƼģ“ ģ±ģ ģ¼ė” ėė¬“ ėµėµķė ź±° ģė? ģ¤ėė§ģ ķ¬ģ“ģģ.ā [Maybe Jiminās sexually frustrated? Itās been a long tour.]
Hoseok immediately smacks his arm. āģ¼.ā [āHey.ā]
Taehyung rubs his shoulder dramatically and frowns.
āģ? ģ§ģ§ķź² ė§ķ ź±“ė°.ā [āWhat? Iām being serious.ā]
Jin lets out a quiet breath through his nose and mutters under his breath. āģ§ģ§ ė³ģė¦¬ė„¼ ė¤ ķė¤.ā [āYou really say the most ridiculous things.ā]
Yoongi shakes his head before Taehyung can continue and says quietly, āģė.ā [No.]
Everyone looks over.
Yoongi crosses his arms loosely and leans against the wall.
āėźø°ģ¤ģģė ģ“ģķģ“. ź³ģ ė© ėė¦¬ź³ ģģģ“.ā [āHe was strange in the dressing room too. He kept spacing out.ā]
His expression turns thoughtful.
āā¦ģ§ģ¤ģ ėŖ»ķė ėė?ā [ā¦āLike he couldnāt focus?ā]
Hoseok nods slowly.
āė§ģ.ā [āYeah.ā]
He glances toward Jiminās closed hotel room door.
āā¦ėźµ¬ ģ°¾ė ź² ź°źø°ė ķź³ .ā [ā¦āAnd it kind of felt like he was looking for someone.ā]
That makes Namjoonās expression tighten.
He noticed it too.
Not enough to interrupt the concert.
Not enough to panic.
But enough.
Enough that he checked on Jimin between transitions.
Enough that he remembered him staring too long toward one side of Allegiant Stadium before snapping back into choreography.
Enough that he noticed Jimin miss a cue during rehearsal and brush it off.
Namjoon looks back at the closed suite door.
Then quietly says:
āā¦ź³µģ° ģ¤ģė ź·øė¬ģ“.ā [ā¦āHe was like that during the show too.ā]
Nobody says anything after that. Because suddenly this feels less like recklessness.
And more like something none of them understand.
The hallway goes quiet. Namjoon stares at the closed door for several more seconds.
That is their shared grand presidential suite.
Normally they barely saw each other once schedules ended. Separate bedrooms. Separate routines. Namjoon goes out often to avoid feeling enclosed in these concrete buildings only meant for their temporary lodging.
But tonightā¦
His eyes linger on the door.
He thinks back to the corridor.
The look on Jiminās face.
Too focused.
Too emotional.
Too unlike himself.
Namjoon exhales.
Then turns.
āā¦ģ¤ėģ ė“ź° ė¤ė„ø ė°© ģØė ė¼?ā [ā¦āCan I stay in someone elseās room tonight?ā]
Everyone looks at him.
Jungkook blinks.
āģ?ā [āWhy?ā]
Namjoon rubs the back of his neck.
āź·øė„ā¦ ģ¢ ėėė ź² ģ¢ģ ź² ź°ģģ.ā [āI just thinkā¦ itād be better to leave him alone tonight.ā]
His eyes drift back toward the closed door.
āģź° ģ ė¦¬ķ ģź° ķģķ ģė ģģģ.ā [āHe might need time to organize his thoughts.ā]
His shoulders lift slightly.
āā¦ė“ź° ģģ ģģ¼ė©“ ģ¤ķė ¤ ė¶ķøķ ģė ģź³ .ā [ā¦āMe being there might make it harder.ā]
Nobody speaks immediately.
Jin studies him.
Then quietly asks:
āė ź“ģ°®ź² ģ“?ā [āYou okay with that?ā]
Namjoon exhales softly.
Not really.
But he nods.
āė“ģ¼ ėė©“ ź“ģ°®ģģ§ ģė ģģ§.ā [āMaybe tomorrow things will be better.ā]
His eyes lower.
āā¦ź·øė„ ģ¤ė ķė£Ø ģ“ģķė ź±°ė©“ ģ¢ź² ģ“.ā [ā¦āI just hope today was weird and thatās all.ā]
A pause.
Then Jungkook lifts his hand.
āķ ģ!ā [āHyung, come stay with me!ā]
Taehyung immediately points.
āģ¼ ģ ėė§.ā [āHey, why only you?ā]
Jungkook looks offended.
āė“ ė°© ģ ģ¼ ģ»¤.ā [āMy roomās the biggest.ā]
Taehyung scoffs.
āė“ ė°©ė ģ»¤.ā [āMy roomās big too.ā]
Jin immediately cuts in.
āė ė¤ ģ”°ģ©ķ ķ“.ā [āBoth of you, be quiet.ā]
That finally earns a small smile from Namjoon.
Small.
Tired.
He nods.
āź³ ė§ė¤.ā [āThanks.ā]
Before leaving, though, he looks at Jiminās door one more time.
For a second he considers knocking.
Checking in.
Talking.
But he stops himself.
Jimin isnāt dangerous.
Heās overwhelmed.
Exhausted.
Maybe emotional after finally touring again.
Maybe tomorrow theyāll talk.
Maybe tomorrow Jimin will apologize.
Maybe tomorrow things will feel normal again.
Namjoon turns and follows Jungkook down the hallway.
Behind him, the door stays closed.
And he doesnāt notice that for the first time in yearsā¦
he feels uneasy leaving Jimin alone.
Ā Ā Meanwhile, behind the locked hotel room door, you stand in unfamiliar silence and realize for the first time all night that there are no crowds now, no friends, no staff, no excuses.
You are completely alone with him.
The place is quieter than you expected.
Not silent. Hotels are never truly silent. There is still the low hum of the air conditioning somewhere overhead, the faint vibration of elevators traveling through hidden shafts in the walls, and the distant pulse of Las Vegas existing dozens of floors below. But compared to the roaring stadium, the screaming crowds, the lights and constant movement, it feels unnaturally still.
And huge.
You hadnāt actually processed where you were until now.
Your eyes drift upward first.
The ceilings are absurdly high.
Then outward.
The suite opens far beyond what your brain expected when someone says hotel room.
It isnāt even a room.
It feels like an apartment.
No. Bigger than that.
A long central living space stretches ahead with polished wood floors and designer furniture arranged so intentionally that it almost feels untouched. Thereās a sitting area with couches and a television mounted into the wall. Farther in, a dining area. Decorative lighting. Another hallway branching deeper into the suite.
Your brain immediately compares it to your room at ARIA.
Two queen beds shared amongst three women. Suitcases exploded across every available surface that is NOT a bed. Phone chargers fighting for outlets. Someoneās makeup bag permanently open for the duration of the trip.
This feels ridiculous in comparison.
Your eyes continue wandering.
Thereās another side of the suite too.
You notice another closed bedroom farther away across the living space. Bigger than a normal connecting room. Another member probably stays there.
You wonder who.
Not that youād ask.
For some reason the thought of accidentally opening the wrong door and discovering another BTS member relaxing in pajamas or even naked feels more embarrassing than ending up backstage with Jimin.
Your attention shifts back.
Jimin is watching you.
Not intensely this time.
Almost shy.
Like he forgot what this would look like through someone elseās eyes.
You glance around once more and laugh quietly.
āā¦Your room is huge.ā
His expression softens immediately.
He looks around too.
Then gives a small shrug.
āģµģķ“ģ øģ ģ ėŖ°ė¼ģ.ā [āIām used to it, so I donāt really notice anymore.ā]
Then after a second he smiles faintly.
āā¦ź·¼ė° ź·øė ź² ė§ķėź¹ ź°ģźø° ķ° ź² ź°ė¤ģ.ā [ā¦āBut hearing you say it makes it suddenly feel big.ā]
"Hehe, yeah.." You smile back at him.
He stands there for another second before walking over.
Without really thinking, he reaches for your wrist again.
Not pulling.
Just guiding.
His fingers wrap loosely around your hand this time.
Then he quietly says:
āģ“ģŖ½ģ“ģģ.ā [āThis way.ā]
He leads you across the suite.
Not toward the center.
Toward the left side.
As you walk farther in, the layout starts making more sense.
The shared spaces stay behind.
The hallway narrows.
Thereās a bedroom tucked off separately, with its own bathroom and sitting area outside the room.
This must be his room.
When Jimin opens the door, you notice now how his actual bedroom feels more lived in than the rest of the place.
A hoodie tossed over a chair.
A phone cable plugged in.
Water bottles.
A few bags.
Enough signs of actual life that suddenly this stops feeling like a luxury hotel and starts feeling strangely personal.
Jimin releases your wrist after he closes and locks the bedroom door.
For the first time since he pulled you from your seat at Allegiant, he seems uncertain.
He glances around once, then quietly walks to the edge of the bed and sits.
And justā¦ sits.
His shoulders look different now.
Not smaller.
Just heavier.
You remain standing for a moment, watching him.
Finally he looks up at you.
His eyes still carry that earlier softness, but something else lies underneath now.
Fatigue.
Maybe embarrassment. Does he regret bringing you now?Ā
You swallow.
This feels like the moment you should ask about him.
You take a small breath and speak carefully.
āI wasnāt sure when the right time was to askā¦ā
His expression shifts.
āButā¦ are you okay?ā
His brows move slightly.
You look down briefly before meeting his eyes again. āWhat Namjoon saidā¦ about how you were acting during the concert.ā
You hesitate.
āI know this probably sounds weird because Iām literally your fan and everything, butā¦ I like you.ā Your face warms. āI meanā¦ obviously I do.ā
That draws a faint smile from him.
You continue anyway. āBut if somethingās wrongā¦ I donāt want to do something if youāre vulnerable or not okay.ā
The room falls quiet.
Jimin stares at you. Then, unexpectedly, his eyes begin to water.
Your stomach drops.
His gaze lowers. His hands clasp together loosely. When he speaks, his voice is quieter. āKind of. Iāll say it in Korean first, to let my feelings out, as itās hard to describe in English.ā
He exhales, then switches into Korean. āź“ģ°®źø“ ķģ“ģ.ā He looks at his hands. āź·¼ė°ā¦ā
He lets out a short, embarrassed laugh. āėģ“ ėė ź² ģź°ė³“ė¤ ė³ė”ģģ.ā
You stay quiet, letting him continue.
āģģ ź°ģ§ź° ģģģ. ģģ ģ ķė£Ø ģ¢ ģ¼ ģ°ģµķź³ ź³µģ°ķ“ė ź“ģ°®ģģ“ģ.ā
He translates for you. āWhen I was youngerā¦ I felt unstoppable.ā His smile is small. āBut nowā¦ my body feels different. It doesnāt help that military happened.ā His expression tightens. āI hated it.ā
His voice lowers. āComing backā¦ touring again after so longā¦ I keep thinkingā¦ what if I get hurt? What if I get sick? What if I canāt keep up and everyone has to slow down because of me?ā
Your chest tightens.
He laughs once under his breath. āYou knowā¦ I started noticing every little thing. My knees. My stamina. My breathing.ā He smiles faintly. āAnd then I started thinking too much.ā
He finally looks at you. āAnd todayā¦ I saw you.ā He shrugs slightly. āAnd everything burden and problem disappeared.ā
You think for a second, then walk over and sit beside him. Not too close. āYou say all this like your value is in how perfectly you perform,ā you say softly. āI think people came back because they missed you. Youāre allowed to get tired. Youāre allowed to not feel twenty forever.ā You smile a little. āAnd honestlyā¦ if a member got hurt or needed a break, I think ARMY would want them to rest and be healthy more than perfect. You donāt carry everybody.ā
His eyes soften. Then he laughs, small and real. His shoulders lower. āThank you.ā
After a moment his ears turn faintly pink. He looks embarrassed. āā¦Iām sorry. For grabbing you. And bringing you here suddenly.ā He rubs the back of his neck. āThis is probably really weird.ā
You shake your head, expression softening. āThereās no need to apologize. Iām hereā¦ as a fan.ā You pause. āAnd as a friend.ā
His eyes widen slightly, then soften. After a moment he reaches for you slowly, carefully. His fingers curl around yours and he tugs gently, inviting.
āWill you stay tonight?ā he asks quietly. āā¦I think I need comfort.ā
Your heart twists. You nod. āOkay.ā
His face relaxes. You both sit there for a while. Eventually he stands and begins to undress, leaving only his sweatpants on. Shirtless. His body is toned yet compact, bigger than yours but somehow delicate in the low light.
He pokes your side gently, nudging you to do the same. You undress, slipping out of your lace black dress, socks, and shoes until youāre left in your undergarments. He promises to give you one of his shirts afterward.
When you sit beside him again, a strange awareness settles between you. Not bad. Just heightened. You are suddenly very conscious that you are in a hotel room with Jimin at midnight.
He looks at you quietly, then smiles. āYou being hereā¦ makes me really happy.ā
Your face heats. āReally?ā
āYeah.ā He scoots closer. āI thought if I got close Iād realize I imagined all of this. But youāre still here.ā
He leans in and kisses you. Softly at first. Warm. Unrushed. His lips move against yours with tender care, deepening gradually as his tongue brushes yours. You lift a hand and touch his cheek, feeling the smooth warmth of his skin beneath your palm. He sighs into the kiss, the sound low and needy.
His hands find your waist. With gentle strength he helps guide you onto his lap until you straddle him. Your thighs settle on either side of his hips. The new position presses your bodies closer, and you feel the heat of his bare chest against you. His hands slide up your back, holding you there as the kiss grows slower, deeper, more sensual. Every brush of his tongue sends warmth spreading through your body.
Then suddenly he freezes. His eyes widen. He pushes you away, body jerking back. Fear flashes across his face angrily saying:
āģØė°!ā¦ā
He moves too quickly and loses balance, falling off the bed.
You jolt upright. āėģ¼?!ā A word in korean slips out, āWhat? Why did you do that?ā
He sits up, rubbing his face. āI-Iām sorry. I donāt know why I did that.ā His breathing is uneven. āIāve had weird experiences beforeā¦ with people. Something in my brainā¦ triggered.ā
āYouāre scaring me a bit.:
āI know, I know. Iām sorry! Please forget about it.ā
You stare at him, chest aching at the genuine fear in his eyes. He notices your concern and reaches over, squeezing your hand. āIāll make it up to you,ā he says quietly.
He does.
Jimin coaxes you onto your back with soft kisses along your jaw and neck. He peels away the last of your undergarments with careful hands, then settles between your thighs. His mouth is warm and insistent. He starts slow, teasing licks and gentle kisses that make your hips twitch. Then he grows bolder, tongue pressing flat and dragging over your most sensitive spot before circling it with focused intent.
Your fingers thread through his hair as pleasure builds. He hums against you, the vibration pulling a moan from your throat. He doesnāt rush. He savors every reaction, every gasp, adjusting to what makes your thighs tremble around his head. When release finally crashes over you, sharp and overwhelming, he keeps going, gentling you through it until youāre boneless and panting.
Afterward he climbs back up, lips shiny, and kisses your forehead. He disappears into the bathroom for a moment and returns with a warm, damp cloth. With tender care he cleans you, wiping away the evidence of your orgasm with slow, soothing strokes. He presses a soft kiss to your inner thigh, then helps you slip into one of his oversized shirts before pulling you into his arms.
Eventually the tension fades. Conversation replaces the awkwardness. Exhaustion wins.
Later he curls behind you in bed, one arm draped around your waist, warm and sleepy. You both drift off like that.
At 3:45 AM you wake and quietly slip into the bathroom outside the bedroom with your phone to pee. Notifications from friends, memes, photos. No stress calls from friends asking if you've been kidnapped luckily. You'll craft a story later that will prevent them from knowing what's going on.
Then you open reddit and search up the one thing that has been bothering you the most: One Wish Willow. Only two reddit threads with comments come up. People swearing it worked. Others calling it coincidence. Warnings not to wish vaguely. Things going to shit. Warnings not to wish emotionally. Suggestions to buy a crystal for protection...
Your stomach twists.
If this actually workedā¦ why does everything feel so off? Especially with Jimin?
You stare at your reflection, then lock your phone. Nothing bad has happened. Maybe youāre overthinking.
When you return, Jimin is already awake, sitting on the bed, menacingly. His eyes find you immediately, but they look dead. Youāre scared to address him being awake, so you plan to ignore it and lay down to continue your sleep.
However Jimin decides to speak.
āģ“ė ź°ģ“ģ?ā His voice sounds clear as day, with a tint of frustration. He speaks in korean, and you manage to understand what he says thanks to the countless kdramas youāve seen. Not a hard question to answer.
āThe bathroom.ā
His shoulders tense. āI thought you left.ā
You smile and settle back down beside him. āIām not leaving any time soon. I willl tell you when I go later in the morning. I have to meet my friends.ā
His brows knit. āā¦later?ā
You nod. āYes, Iām going to the concert later too.ā You tell him you forgot the exact row, but your seat should be closer this time.
His expression visibly relaxes. āģ¢ģ.ā Then, quieter: āI want to see you. At all times.ā
Your chest tightens at the words, but you donāt question them. Instead you let him pull you closer, holding you like he needs to be sure you are still there.āāāāāāāāāāāāāāāāāāāāāāāāāāāāāāāāāāāāāāāāāāāāāāāāāā
Is it odd to say youāre progressively starting to feel a bit weirder about this. But will you do anything about it? Despite the strange situation youāre in, the answer is no. - - ā¶ cue: Emotions by Brenda LeeĀ
ā» Ā Ā Ā ā II ā· Ā Ā āŗ
- -
To be continued... I initially wrote too much to be a part 2, so i split it to part 3. That will be the final!! Please don't be a ghost reader and let me know what you think! pĢ·ĶĶĢĢ ĢĢļĢ¶Ģ³ĶĶĢÄĢ“Ģ¼ĢæĆ”ĢøĢŖĢ ĶĢ±ĢĢsĢ¶Ģ²ĶĶĢ½eĢøĢĢĢŗĶĢ¾ Ģ“Ģ®ĢĢĢĢpĢ¶Ģ”ĢĢ¬ĢlĢ·ĶĢ²ĶĢĢĶ įŗ¹ĢøĶĶaĢøĢ¢ĢĢæĶĢĢsĢ“ĶĢŗĢ²ĢĶeĢ“Ģ»ĶĶĶĢ Ģ·Ģ¦ĶĢĶpĢøĢ³Ģ©ĶĢĢĢĢĶĶlĢµĢĢ«ĢĢeĢ“ĢĢ¦ĢĢĢ¾ĶĶ aĢ“Ģ”ĢĢ ĶĶsĢ·ĶĢĶĢĢĶČ©ĢµĢ”ĢĢĢĶ Ģ·Ģ¼ĶĢ»ĶĶĢdĢ¶Ģ®Ģ¾ĢĢĶrĢ¶ĢĢ°ĢÆĢ ĢĶĶoĢ¶Ģ§ĶĶĶĶ pĢ¶ĢĶĢ Ģ“Ģ°ĶĶĶĶsĢøĢ¤Ģ¼ĶĢĶoĢ¶ĢĶĶĶį¹ĢøĶĢ²ĢĶeĢ·ĶĶĶ ĢµĢ¹ĢĢĶkĢ“ĢØĢ§ĢĢĆ¹ĢµĶĶĢįøĢ·ĶĶoĢ“Ģ¤ĶĢŗĢ°ĶĢĶĶsĢ·Ģ¬Ģ£ĢĢĢ½ Ģ·Ģ°ĶĶĢ»ĢaĢ¶Ģ¹ĢŗĶĢ¾į¹ Ģ“ĶĶdĢ¶ĢĢĢ©ĶĶ Ģ¶Ģ±ĢĶĢcĢ·ĢĢĢĢĶ oĢ“Ģ°ĢĢ ĢĢmĢ¶Ģ¬ĢĢĢ½ĢįøæĢµĢĶeĢøĢ²ĶĶnĢ“ĢĢĢĢĶįŗĢ“Ģ¢ĢĶĢ°ĢĶsĢ·Ģ”ĢĢĢ
