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The Things We Carry | PJM pt 3

SUMMARY: Performance specialist, Mina Seo has made a career out of taking care of everyone else. As BTS throws themselves into comeback preparations, she spends her days managing injuries, recovery plans, and the impossible task of keeping seven overworked artists healthy. What nobody realizes is that she’s becoming increasingly skilled at hiding her own struggles. When an unexpected connection with Jimin begins offering relief neither of them fully understands, it slowly becomes part of their routine. Late-night conversations, shared silences, and a comfort that grows easier to rely on with every passing week. But while Jimin is getting better, Mina isn’t. And sooner or later, someone is going to notice.

WARNINGS: chronic illness, overwork injuries, some medical scenes, slight cursing, eventual smut scene—This story contains a realistic depiction of chronic illness, including rheumatoid arthritis, pain flares, fatigue, hospitalization, and the emotional impact of long-term health conditions.

Masterlist

———————————

Three days passed before either of them addressed what had happened in the recovery room. Not because they had forgotten. That would have been impossible. If anything, the problem was that neither of them seemed particularly eager to acknowledge it.

Life had continued moving at its usual relentless pace, and comeback preparations left very little room for sitting down and discussing impossible phenomena. Meetings multiplied. Rehearsals stretched later into the evening. Netflix production meetings appeared on calendars with alarming frequency. Every day seemed to introduce another schedule adjustment, another choreography revision, another reminder that six months suddenly felt much closer than it had a few weeks ago. Through all of it, one fact followed Mina around with increasing persistence…Her wrists hurt less.

The improvement wasn’t dramatic enough to feel miraculous, which somehow made it harder to ignore. The pain hadn’t disappeared. It still lingered beneath the surface, familiar and stubborn as ever. But the stiffness that usually greeted her every morning had eased enough that she noticed the absence. Opening medication bottles no longer required planning. Holding treatment notes through an entire rehearsal block no longer left her fingers aching by lunchtime. Some mornings she made it halfway through her tea before realizing she hadn’t reached automatically for her compression sleeves. And every single time she noticed, she thought about Jimin. Which was deeply irritating.

By the third day, Mina had become reasonably certain that Jimin was having a similarly unproductive week. Not because he’d said anything. Because she knew him.

Five years ago, during the Permission to Dance tour, they had settled into an easy rhythm without either of them really noticing when it happened. Jimin spent most of that tour insisting he wasn’t injured while actively limping in front of her, and Mina spent most of that tour threatening to report him to senior medical staff if he continued ignoring treatment plans. Somewhere between recovery sessions, rehearsal days, and late-night arguments about mobility work, familiarity had quietly developed.

When she’d returned to Seoul for Arirang preparations, they’d fallen back into that dynamic almost immediately. Which was why the last three days had felt so ridiculous. Nothing about Jimin was unfamiliar to her. She knew the way he rolled his shoulders when stressed. She knew the particular smile he used whenever he was attempting to avoid a difficult conversation. She knew exactly how many times he would insist an injury was fine before admitting it actually hurt. The problem wasn’t that he had suddenly become important. The problem was that something about their relationship no longer felt quite the same.

Mina stood near the edge of the main rehearsal studio reviewing schedule changes on her tablet while organized chaos unfolded around her. Dancers stretched across the floor. Production staff moved equipment between camera positions. One of the assistant choreographers was attempting to explain a formation adjustment to three increasingly confused dancers. Somewhere near the back of the room, two managers appeared to be debating whether a filming schedule violated several international laws—Normal. Comfortingly normal.

Mina scrolled through recovery plans, updated hydration targets, and reviewed the latest conditioning schedules before looking up. Unfortunately, her eyes found Jimin immediately. He stood near centre floor listening to one of the choreographers explain a transition change while absentmindedly rolling through his right hip. Testing it. The realization arrived before she could stop it. The same way she had been testing her wrists all week.

Mina immediately looked back down at her tablet. Professional. Normal. Entirely unaffected. The illusion lasted approximately thirty seconds.

“You’ve been reading the same page for five minutes.”

Mina looked up. Namjoon stood beside her holding two schedules, a coffee, and the expression of a man carrying the weight of several continents, “What?”

“The recovery schedule.” He pointed toward her tablet. “You haven’t actually changed anything.”

Mina glanced down. He was annoyingly correct, “I was thinking.”

“A dangerous hobby.”

“That’s rich coming from you.”

A faint smile appeared before Namjoon’s attention shifted briefly toward the rehearsal floor. Toward Jimin. Then back toward her. Mina immediately disliked that sequence of events. Fortunately, Namjoon said nothing. Unfortunately, leaders noticed things. Before either of them could continue, Hoseok clapped loudly from centre stage, “Places!”

The rehearsal floor immediately came alive. Music thundered through the speakers. Dancers moved into formation. Choreographers grabbed notebooks and headsets. The room shifted from preparation into execution so quickly it almost felt rehearsed itself. For the next several hours, Mina successfully buried herself in work…Or tried to.

She updated conditioning targets for the week after noticing recovery scores dropping across nearly the entire group. Jungkook’s cardiovascular workload got reduced for the third time despite his ongoing campaign to convince everyone he needed more gym sessions, not fewer. Namjoon’s mobility program had to be adjusted around an old ankle issue that kept resurfacing whenever rehearsals became particularly dance-heavy. Yoongi’s shoulder remained on her watch list, which meant another conversation about recovery work was waiting somewhere in her future whether he liked it or not.

By mid-morning she had already reviewed hydration logs, modified two recovery sessions, and sent a message to one of the strength coaches reminding him that preparing for a world tour did not require treating seven men in their thirties like Olympic decathletes. Useful problems. The kind she understood. The kind she could solve…What she could not solve was the increasingly irritating fact that every time she looked up, she somehow knew exactly where Jimin was. And judging by the number of times she caught him glancing toward the treatment area, she had a growing suspicion the problem wasn’t entirely one-sided.

—————————-

By the end of the day, Mina’s wrists hurt again. Not enough to stop her working. Not enough to concern anyone else. Just enough to remind her that whatever relief she’d felt earlier in the week hadn’t lasted. The ache settled back into both joints gradually throughout the afternoon, creeping in during meetings and lingering through rehearsals until even holding her tablet felt irritating. She wasn’t surprised. Disappointed, maybe. But not surprised. Nothing about rheumatoid arthritis had ever been predictable enough to reward optimism.

The rehearsal area had mostly emptied by the time she finished updating the following week’s conditioning plans. The dancers had left nearly an hour ago. Most of the production staff had disappeared into various meetings scattered throughout the building. Somewhere upstairs, Netflix executives were probably still discussing camera angles while managers quietly questioned their life choices.

Mina sat alone near the edge of the rehearsal floor with a tablet balanced across her knee, reviewing recovery recommendations for the fifth time despite knowing perfectly well they didn’t need reviewing. Her attention wasn’t really on the document. It hadn’t been for a while.

The practice room doors opened behind her, “Mina?”

When she looked up, Jimin stood a few feet away with one hand resting against the back of his neck. His expression was familiar enough that she immediately understood why he was there—The hip. Just bad enough that he’d finally decided to admit it wasn’t improving on its own.

“The hip?” she asked.

His mouth twitched slightly, “That obvious?”

“You’ve been limping since lunch.”

Jimin sighed. For a moment neither moved. Ordinarily, this would have been automatic. He would complain. She would tell him to sit down. He would complain about that too. Then she’d spend twenty minutes fixing whatever new problem he’d created for himself—Simple. Except suddenly it wasn’t. The hesitation lasted barely a second, but it was there. Long enough for both of them to notice. Long enough for Mina to realize that the past three days had changed something she hadn’t expected. Not their friendship. Not their trust. The ease.

Five years ago during PTD, Jimin had become one of the people she never had to think about. Conversation had come naturally. Recovery sessions had become routine. When she’d returned to Seoul for Arirang, they’d fallen back into that rhythm almost immediately. Now she found herself aware of him in a way she never had before. The awareness was deeply inconvenient. Jimin seemed to reach the same conclusion at exactly the same time.

His gaze dropped briefly toward her hands before returning to her face. Neither acknowledged it. Neither needed to.

Finally, Mina closed the tablet and stood, “Recovery room.”

Relief flickered briefly across his face before he hid it, “You’re very bossy.”

“You came looking for me.”

“That’s not a denial.”

“No, it isn’t.”

The familiar exchange eased some of the tension immediately. Not all of it. Enough. They walked toward the recovery room together. The conversation stayed comfortably shallow at first. Rehearsal notes. Choreography adjustments. A debate about whether Hoseok’s latest conditioning plan qualified as athletic preparation or a human rights violation. Safe things. The kind of conversation they’d always had. The problem was that both of them seemed aware of the parts they weren’t talking about.

By the time they reached the recovery room, the silence felt heavier again. Mina set her tablet on the counter before turning toward him, “How bad?”

Jimin lowered himself onto the treatment table, “Six.”

Her eyebrow lifted.

“A real six or a Jimin six?”

“That’s offensive.”

“It’s a legitimate question.”

He considered it, “A real six.”

“That’s worse.”

“See? This is why people lie to medical professionals.”

“Lead performance specialist.”

“What?”

“You keep calling me medical staff.”

“You are medical staff.”

“I’m many things.”

“You’ve become difficult.”

Mina fought a smile. “You said that five years ago.”

“Because it’s true.”

For the first time since entering the room, something relaxed between them. The conversation found its footing again. Familiar. Easy. Mina reached automatically for the glove box beside the treatment table. The movement was so familiar she barely thought about it. Then she noticed Jimin watching. For a moment neither spoke.

Looking back, the answer seemed almost embarrassingly obvious. During PTD she had worn gloves through nearly every treatment session. She’d been one of several therapists floating through recovery rooms packed with dancers, staff, and members coming and going at all hours. Back then she hadn’t been responsible for managing the members’ conditioning plans, recovery schedules, nutrition targets, and injury prevention programs. Most of her work had happened on the edges of things. Her and Jimin never really had moments of close contact. Now she spent more time with BTS in a week than she sometimes had during an entire month of PTD.

She stepped closer and began working through the assessment, guiding him through a series of movements while monitoring the joint. The hip was tighter than she’d hoped. Not alarming. But enough to confirm what she’d already suspected—Too many rehearsals. Too much impact. Too little recovery.

Jimin watched her while she worked. Not unusual. Except lately she seemed aware of it. “You know,” he said eventually, “most people don’t look disappointed when they turn out to be right.”

“I’m not disappointed I’m right.”

“You look disappointed.”

“I’m disappointed you’re injured.”

Something shifted briefly in his expression. Gone almost immediately.

Mina ignored it and continued the assessment, “You skipped the mobility work again.”

“I modified the mobility work.”

“You didn’t do it.”

“I thought about it.”

“That’s not exercise.”

“It should count for something.”

“It doesn’t.”

A quiet laugh escaped him. The sound lingered in the room longer than it should have. Then Jimin looked down at her hands. The conversation they had both been avoiding finally arrived. Neither seemed particularly enthusiastic about it, “My hip was worse today.”

Mina’s movements paused. Only briefly, “So were my wrists.” The admission settled between them. Honest. Simple. Impossible to misunderstand.

Jimin nodded slowly, “I figured.”

“You figured?”

“You stopped opening bottles with your left hand.”

Mina stared at him, “What?”

He looked mildly uncomfortable now, “You’ve been doing it all month.”

The explanation did not help. “You noticed that?”

Jimin looked genuinely confused by the question, “Of course I noticed.”

For reasons she couldn’t entirely explain, the answer stole her breath for half a second. Not because it was romantic. Not because it was significant. Because she’d spent years watching everyone else. Monitoring everyone else. Paying attention to everyone else. The realization that someone had been paying attention right back felt unexpectedly vulnerable.

The room grew quiet. Outside, distant music echoed faintly through the walls as another rehearsal room continued working late into the evening. Inside, neither seemed eager to break the silence.

Eventually Jimin leaned back slightly against the treatment table, “We can’t keep pretending it’s not happening.”

Mina laughed softly, “I don’t think we’ve been particularly successful at pretending.”

“Fair.” For a moment he stared up at the ceiling. Thinking. Then: “I have an idea.”

Mina immediately became suspicious, “That sentence has never ended well.”

“I’m serious.”

“That’s worse.”

A smile appeared briefly. Then faded. “I’m serious.” Something in his voice made her listen. Jimin sat forward slightly, “We don’t know what this is.”

“No.”

“We don’t know why it’s happening.”

“No.”

“And neither of us can exactly avoid the other for the next six months.”

That was unfortunately true—Netflix. Recording. Dance rehearsals. Conditioning sessions. Media training. World tour preparation. Their schedules practically guaranteed daily contact.

“So?” Mina asked.

Jimin shrugged one shoulder, “So maybe we stop treating it like a problem we’re trying to solve.”

She frowned, “What does that mean?”

“It means…” He hesitated briefly. “You spend all day making sure everyone else gets through comeback preparation.”

Mina didn’t like where this was going, “And?”

“And nobody makes sure you get through it.”

The room went unexpectedly still. Jimin looked away first. Almost embarrassed by the honesty. Then he continued, “You help me with the hip. The conditioning. The things I’m apparently incapable of managing myself.”

“Accurate.”

That earned the smallest smile before he continued, “And I help make sure you’re taking care of yourself too.”

Mina stared at him. The proposal was so simple it took her a moment to process. Not a solution. Not an explanation..Just support. A partnership. Two people surviving the same impossible thing together, “You want accountability.”

“Exactly.”

She considered it. Then considered the past month—The missed meals. The worsening flare. The way she’d hidden every symptom while lecturing everyone else about recovery.

Jimin watched her quietly, waiting.

Finally, Mina nodded once, “Fine.”

Relief crossed his face immediately. Far more relief than the situation warranted. Which probably meant he needed this agreement as much as she did. “Fine?” he repeated.

“Don’t make me say it twice.”

A grin appeared, “There she is.”

Mina rolled her eyes. But for the first time all week, something felt settled. This thing still existed. The questions still existed. Neither of them understood any of it. But six months suddenly felt a little less impossible than it had an hour ago.

—————————

The first indication that the pact might actually be working arrived at seven-thirty on a Tuesday morning. Mina had been at HYBE for nearly ninety minutes already. The building was only beginning to wake up around her, staff filtering in with coffees and laptops while the day’s schedules gradually came to life across a dozen departments. She sat alone in the recovery room reviewing conditioning reports from the previous week, making notes on training loads and recovery targets while a neglected breakfast sat beside her laptop. The yogurt had been opened. The banana remained untouched. She planned to fix that eventually.

The recovery room door opened before she got the chance. Mina glanced up automatically and then paused. Jimin stood in the doorway. For a moment she simply stared at him. Then she looked at the clock. Then back at him.

Jimin narrowed his eyes immediately, “Why do you look concerned?”

“I’m trying to determine whether somebody replaced Park Jimin overnight.”

His expression shifted toward offense, “I attend appointments.”

“No, you don’t.”

“I do.”

“You attend approximately forty percent of appointments.”

“That’s still attending.”

“That’s failing in most educational systems.”

A reluctant laugh escaped him as he stepped inside and dropped his gym bag beside the treatment table. The exchange felt familiar in a way that caught her slightly off guard. Comfortable. Easy. Like they had simply resumed a conversation interrupted several years earlier rather than spending all that time living separate lives.

Mina closed her laptop and stood. “Well,” she said, glancing toward the counter, “I suppose I eat breakfast later.”

Jimin followed her gaze. The yogurt. The banana. Then back to her, “You haven’t eaten yet?”

The question carried enough genuine confusion that she looked at him again. “No.”

“You’ve been here since six.”

“Correct.”

“And you do this every day?”

Mina shook her head immediately, “No. Hoseok shows up.” A beat passed. “Hoseok has attended every mobility session since I arrived.”

Jimin looked personally betrayed by this information, “You compared me to Hoseok.”

“I compared your attendance records.”

“That’s somehow worse.”

“It should motivate you.”

His expression suggested otherwise. Mina found herself smiling despite her best efforts.

A month ago, she would have expected him to skip the session entirely. Now he was standing in front of her on time, carrying his own resistance bands and looking mildly annoyed about being compared to Jung Hoseok…Progress came in many forms.

By the time Jimin had finished complaining about the comparison to Hoseok and Mina had finally convinced him to get onto the treatment table, the recovery room had begun filling with the usual early-morning activity. Staff moved through the hallway outside carrying coffees and clipboards while somewhere down the corridor somebody was already arguing about rehearsal schedules. Mina barely noticed any of it.

She had spent enough years working with dancers and performers to know that recovery rarely happened in dramatic moments. Most injuries revealed themselves through patterns. A slight hesitation before a movement. A shift in weight that wasn’t supposed to be there. Muscles working harder than they should because another part of the body had quietly stopped doing its job. Jimin’s hip had become exactly that sort of problem.

She guided his leg carefully through its range of motion, one hand supporting beneath the knee while the other stabilized the joint. The restriction she’d been tracking over the past several weeks was still there, but not as pronounced as it had been at the start of rehearsals. The hip flexor released more easily. Internal rotation had improved. Most importantly, the protective tension that had been pulling him out of transitions during choreography was beginning to ease.

Mina worked methodically, adjusting the angle of the joint and feeling for resistance rather than watching for it. The assessment blended naturally into treatment. Assisted mobility became targeted release work. Release work became movement retraining. Years of experience had taught her that bodies rarely responded well to force. They responded to patience. Which was why the improvement immediately made her suspicious. Enough performers had promised they were doing their exercises while very obviously not doing their exercises that she had developed a healthy distrust of good progress. Yet every change she found pointed toward the same conclusion…He was actually following the program. The realization remained mildly offensive.

When she finally stepped back to compare the movement against her notes from the previous week, the difference was impossible to ignore. The inflammation had settled. The compensation patterns she’d been documenting during rehearsals were becoming less frequent. Even the surrounding muscle tension felt different beneath her hands. Whatever else was happening, Jimin had started taking recovery seriously. The hip was improving. She adjusted the angle of his leg one final time before setting it carefully back onto the table and reaching for her notes.

Beside her, Jimin pushed himself up onto his elbows, “You look disappointed.”

Mina continued writing, “I’m suspicious.”

“Because the exercises worked?”

“Because performers lie.”

“That feels targeted.”

“It is.”

His laugh followed her across the room while she updated the week’s treatment recommendations. The sound settled easily into the quiet atmosphere of the recovery room. Outside, the building had fully come to life. Footsteps passed through the corridor. Somebody rolled equipment down the hall. A manager’s voice drifted faintly through the partially open doorway before disappearing again. Mina barely noticed any of it. She was already mentally adjusting training loads and recovery targets for the rest of the week when she glanced back toward the treatment table. Something still looked tight.

“Sit up.”

Jimin obeyed without argument, which was perhaps the most alarming sign of progress so far.

Mina stepped closer and moved around behind him, one hand settling lightly against his shoulder while the other traced the line of tension running through the side of his hip and lower back, slightly moving his shirt out of the way to feel the muscle. Years of working with dancers had taught her that the source of a problem was rarely the place that hurt. Bodies compensated. Adapted. Redistributed strain until entire movement patterns changed around a single irritated joint.

She could feel some of that lingering now. Not much. Enough. Concentrating, Mina pulled off one glove and used her bare hand to assess the tissue more accurately. The contact was brief and entirely professional, the sort of thing she did dozens of times a day without thinking about it.

This time she felt it immediately—Exhaustion…Not her own. The sensation arrived so suddenly it stole the next breath from her lungs. Long rehearsals. Endless meetings. Recording sessions running late into the evening. The pressure of returning after years away. The quiet determination to make this comeback worthy of the wait.

The weight of it settled over her for one disorienting second before fading again. Mina’s hand stilled.

In front of her, Jimin went equally motionless. Because at the same moment something had moved in the opposite direction. Not the ache in her wrists. Not even the stiffness that had followed her through most of the week.

Fatigue. The kind that lived beneath everything else. The exhaustion she had become so accustomed to carrying that she rarely noticed it anymore.

Slowly, Jimin turned his head. Mina looked down at him. Neither needed to ask. The exhaustion lingered at the edges of the bond for a moment before fading, leaving behind an uncomfortable amount of understanding. Mina had spent weeks noticing the signs in him without fully appreciating what they added up to. The late nights. The extra rehearsals. The constant pressure. The way he carried responsibility until it became indistinguishable from habit. Across from her, Jimin was studying her with the same expression. Like he had finally noticed something too.

“You’re exhausted,” Mina said. The observation escaped before she could stop it.

Jimin’s mouth twitched slightly, “That’s interesting.”

“What’s interesting?”

“I was about to say the same thing to you.”

And somehow that made it worse. Jimin stared at her. Mina stared back. Then both of them groaned.

“Oh, that’s irritating.” She huffed.

The laugh escaped Jimin first. Mina held out for approximately three seconds before giving up and laughing too. Because of course that was what they noticed Not the hip. Not her wrists. The fact that both of them were exhausted.

“I am sleeping,” Jimin argued.

“You’re practicing choreography alone at nine o’clock at night.”

“You saw that?”

“You were in a room made entirely of glass.”

His expression suggested that was a disappointing flaw in the architecture. “And you’re one to talk,” he shot back. “You answered emails at midnight.”

“How do you know that?”

“You replied to mine.”

Mina paused. That was unfortunately true.

Jimin pointed at her triumphantly, “Exactly.”

“That proves nothing.”

“It proves you’re a hypocrite.”

“It proves you shouldn’t be emailing people at midnight.”

“It was about recovery schedules.”

“It could have waited.”

“So could your response.”

For a moment they simply looked at each other. Then, despite themselves, both started smiling again. The realization settled quietly between them. Whatever was happening between them wasn’t limited to injuries. It wasn’t limited to pain either. Somehow it seemed intent on exposing every bad habit they were trying to hide from everyone else. Which, unfortunately, might have been worse.

————————————

Ugh they are too cute!

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Xoxo, bumble

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The Things We Carry | PJM pt 2

SUMMARY: Performance specialist, Mina Seo has made a career out of taking care of everyone else. As BTS throws themselves into comeback preparations, she spends her days managing injuries, recovery plans, and the impossible task of keeping seven overworked artists healthy. What nobody realizes is that she’s becoming increasingly skilled at hiding her own struggles. When an unexpected connection with Jimin begins offering relief neither of them fully understands, it slowly becomes part of their routine. Late-night conversations, shared silences, and a comfort that grows easier to rely on with every passing week. But while Jimin is getting better, Mina isn’t. And sooner or later, someone is going to notice.

WARNINGS: chronic illness, overwork injuries, some medical scenes, slight cursing, eventual smut scene—This story contains a realistic depiction of chronic illness, including rheumatoid arthritis, pain flares, fatigue, hospitalization, and the emotional impact of long-term health conditions.

Masterlist

———————————-

For several seconds after their hands separated, neither of them spoke. The recovery room remained unchanged around them. Equipment continued charging along the far wall. Rain still tapped softly against the arena roof overhead. Somewhere beyond the closed door, staff moved through the corridors beginning another day of rehearsals. Everything was exactly the same. Except it wasn’t.

Mina stared down at her hands, flexing her fingers slowly as if repetition might reveal an explanation she had somehow missed the first time. The stiffness that had settled into her wrists over the past week had eased so dramatically that the absence felt almost as noticeable as the pain itself. She could still feel it lingering at the edges, a familiar ache beneath the surface, but it no longer dominated every movement.

Across from her, Jimin shifted his weight. Immediately. Instinctively. The same way he always did when evaluating an injury. His expression tightened. Not because something hurt. Because something had changed.

Mina watched him carefully, “What happened to your hip?”

The question came out before she could stop it. Professional habit. If something didn’t make sense, she gathered information first and worried later.

Jimin considered the question for a moment, “I’m not sure.”

“You know more than that.”

A faint smile appeared despite the confusion, “You always this persistent?”

“When people avoid answering me, yes.”

That earned the smallest laugh from him before his attention returned to the problem at hand.

For a moment he tested the movement again, rolling carefully through the joint, “It feels better.”

The answer should not have unsettled her as much as it did. Instead, her stomach dropped. Because that was exactly what she had experienced. Not recovery. Not healing—Relief. Temporary and immediate.

Mina rotated one wrist experimentally before looking back up, “Mine too.”

The admission hung between them. Neither looked particularly comforted by it. She had spent years studying anatomy, rehabilitation, conditioning, performance science, and pain management. She understood inflammatory conditions. She understood compensation patterns. She understood exactly how the body responded to injury. Nothing in her education accounted for this.

Jimin seemed to arrive at the same conclusion. The easy humour that usually surfaced whenever conversations became uncomfortable had disappeared entirely. He looked thoughtful now, focused in a way she normally only saw during rehearsals when he was trying to learn new choreography.

“What did you feel?” she asked.

This time he answered immediately, “My wrists hurt.”

Mina froze. Jimin noticed. Of course he did.

“You didn’t tell me that.”

“No.”

“You didn’t mention the pain.”

“No.”

The room felt suddenly smaller. Because that was the part she couldn’t explain away. Pain improving was impossible enough. Pain being identified by someone who had no reason to know it existed was something else entirely.

For the first time since the touch, uncertainty crept across Jimin’s face, “I know it sounds strange.”

“It sounds impossible.”

“That’s probably more accurate.”

Despite herself, Mina almost smiled. The response felt absurdly normal given the circumstances.

For a moment neither spoke. Mina crossed toward the counter and picked up her tea, more because she needed something to do with her hands than because she wanted it. The mug had cooled enough to drink now. Behind her, she could feel Jimin still thinking.

Eventually he asked, “How long have they been hurting?”

The question caught her off guard. Not because of the subject. Because of the sincerity. Most people asked out of concern. Others asked because they felt obligated to. Jimin sounded curious; genuinely trying to understand what he had felt.

“About a week,” she admitted.

Jimin nodded slowly, as through filing the information away somewhere, “a week..”

“It’s not unusual.” —The answer arrived automatically. The same practiced response she’d given colleagues, performers, and occasionally herself for years.

Jimin’s expression shifted slightly, “you say that the same way I say I’m fine.”

Mina stared at him. For a second, neither spoke. Then, despite herself, she laughed, “thats deeply irritating.”

One concerned of his mouth lifted, “I’ve heard that before.”

Then, after a brief hesitation, he said, “That explains why you’ve been rubbing your wrists during rehearsals.”

Mina stared at him, “What?”

Mina stared at him. She genuinely couldn’t remember doing that in front of him. Which probably meant he was telling the truth.

“You do it when you think nobody’s looking.”

The statement was delivered so matter-of-factly that she almost laughed. Almost. Instead she felt something far more unsettling. Because he was right. She did. The fact that he had noticed at all left her strangely speechless. For weeks she had been monitoring his hip, his gait, the way he compensated during transitions, the subtle changes in movement that revealed pain long before performers admitted it existed. Apparently he had been paying attention too. The thought lingered longer than it should have.

Jimin looked away first, shifting his weight again.Immediately Mina noticed it. Not because she was watching for it. Because she couldn’t seem to stop. This time, however, something else caught her attention. As he shifted his weight, Mina felt a dull ache settle unexpectedly into her own right hip. The sensation wasn’t severe. In fact, compared to the stiffness that usually accompanied her flare-ups, it barely registered. The problem was that it wasn’t hers. Mina frowned and instinctively adjusted her stance.

Across the room, Jimin had gone very still. For the first time since the impossible exchange at the counter, neither of them seemed focused on what had improved. They were focused on what had appeared.

Slowly, Mina looked down at her own hip before lifting her gaze back to him. Nothing about this made sense. Her wrists felt better. His hip felt better. And yet the brief ache she’d felt hadn’t belonged to her. She knew that with a certainty she couldn’t explain.

Which was a problem. Mina trusted evidence. Mina trusted anatomy. Mina trusted things she could measure. This was none of those things.

Across the room, Jimin had gone still. Not frightened. Just thinking. Which somehow felt more dangerous. Mina looked at him. Jimin looked back. For the first time since their hands had touched, neither of them seemed interested in pretending they had an explanation. And somehow that unsettled her more than the pain.

——————————

For several seconds neither of them spoke. Mina found herself staring at Jimin across the recovery room, her mind cycling uselessly through every explanation she had ever learned and discarding each one almost immediately. There were conditions she could explain. Injuries she could explain. Pain patterns, compensation patterns, recovery timelines, inflammation markers, treatment plans. This wasn’t any of those things. Whatever had just happened between them existed completely outside her understanding. Which, unfortunately, did not stop the rest of the day from continuing.

Somewhere out in the arena, she could already hear staff beginning preparations for morning rehearsals. Doors opened and closed in the corridor. Equipment cases rolled across concrete floors. Voices drifted faintly through the walls. Life, annoyingly, was moving on.

Mina glanced toward the clock mounted above the recovery room sink, “We’re supposed to be in rehearsal in twenty minutes.”

The statement sounded absurdly normal given the circumstances. Jimin looked at the clock too before letting out a quiet breath, “Right.”

Neither moved immediately. Both of them seemed reluctant to leave the room. Not because they wanted to stay. Because stepping back into normal life felt significantly more difficult now. Eventually Mina picked up her tablet from the counter.

“We’re not telling anyone.” The decision arrived before she consciously made it.

Jimin looked up, “Because they’ll think we’re insane?”

“Because I think we’re insane.”

That earned a genuine laugh from him. The sound eased some of the tension that had settled over the room…Some. Not all.

“We don’t know what happened,” she continued. “Until we do, there’s nothing to tell.”

Jimin considered that for a moment before nodding…Reasonable. Which was perhaps the only reasonable thing that had happened all morning.

Together they left the recovery room and headed toward the rehearsal arena. The moment they stepped through the doors, normality reasserted itself. Music blasted through speakers overhead while dancers stretched across the floor. Production staff moved between equipment stations carrying clipboards and headsets. Choreographers discussed formation changes near the stage while managers compared schedules beside the lighting controls—Chaos. Familiar chaos. The kind Mina usually appreciated because it left very little room for overthinking. Today it wasn’t helping.

She crossed toward the treatment area near the edge of the rehearsal floor and immediately buried herself in work. One dancer needed a shoulder checked. Choreographer wanted advice on when Jin could be used for choreo block. Another manger wanted to know if Namjoon could be schedule through lunch for a wardrobe fitting (no). A production assistant had somehow strained his back lifting equipment the previous evening—Normal problems. Comfortingly normal problems.

For nearly an hour she succeeded in focusing entirely on them, then she looked up. Jimin was across the arena. Nothing unusual about that. Except somehow her attention found him immediately. He stood near centre floor listening to one of the choreographers explain a transition adjustment while absentmindedly rolling through the right hip. Testing it. The thought arrived before she could stop it. He was checking the injury. The same way she had been checking her wrists all morning. Mina looked back down at her notes.

Unfortunately, it happened again twenty minutes later….And again after that. Each time she caught herself looking in his direction, she immediately found a perfectly reasonable explanation—He was injured. She was monitoring him. That was her job. The fact that she seemed incapable of locating anyone else in a room containing nearly a hundred people was entirely unrelated.

Across the arena, Jimin appeared to be having a similarly unproductive morning. At least, that was the conclusion Mina reached after catching him looking toward the treatment area for the third time. The first time could have been coincidence. The second time was questionable. The third time felt suspicious. When their eyes met briefly across the rehearsal floor, Jimin looked away first. Mina felt absurdly victorious. She wasn’t entirely sure why.

The morning continued. Music started and stopped. Formations shifted. Corrections were made. And for a while, normality almost managed to re-establish itself…Almost. Near midday, Mina crouched beside one of the dancers to check an ankle that had been bothering him. The movement should have been familiar. Automatic. Instead she paused halfway through standing. Not because something hurt. Because it didn’t. For a second she remained still. Thinking. Her knee had been bothering her for days. Long enough that she had unconsciously begun bracing before standing. Long enough that the movement had become habit. Yet she had just stood up without thinking about it at all.

Before she could examine it further, a familiar voice appeared beside her, “Better day?”

Mina looked up. Jin stood there holding a bottle of water and watching her with the mild expression of someone who had already noticed far more than he intended to say aloud.

Immediately she understood what he meant. Not the knee. Her. Jin had spent years quietly monitoring her health in the same way she monitored everyone else’s. Small changes rarely escaped him.

Mina straightened, “It’s fine.” The answer came automatically.

Jin’s eyebrow lifted. Neither of them acknowledged the irony. After a moment he handed her the water bottle, “You look less tired.”

The observation landed uncomfortably close to the truth. Mina accepted the bottle.

“And you’re getting old.”

Jin looked genuinely offended, “That’s a terrible answer.”

“Still accurate.”

The corner of his mouth twitched. He didn’t push further. Didn’t ask questions. Didn’t demand explanations. He simply nodded once before heading back toward the members. Which somehow worried Mina more than if he had interrogated her. Because Jin never forgot things he noticed.

————————

For most people, the day was over. For Mina, it usually wasn’t. She sat near the treatment area with a tablet balanced on one knee, finishing treatment notes while the arena gradually emptied around her. The habit had started during PTD and never really left. If she waited until she got back to the hotel, she would only end up staying awake another two hours finishing paperwork anyway. Around her, the crowd thinned steadily. A few dancers stopped to ask questions before leaving. One of the choreographers wanted an update on an ankle issue. Somebody from production needed clarification about recovery scheduling.

By the time she finally looked up again, most of the members had already disappeared toward the locker rooms. Most.

“Mina?”

She froze. The voice had become instantly recognizable over the past few weeks. Jimin stood a short distance away, one hand resting against the back of his neck. His expression looked familiar. Mildly annoyed. Slightly tired. The look performers wore when an injury had become impossible to ignore.

“The hip?” The question escaped before she thought about it.

Jimin’s mouth twitched slightly, “That obvious?”

“You’ve been limping since lunch.”

“Yeah.” He’s sighed

The exchange felt normal. Almost reassuringly so. Until neither of them moved— The recovery room. The shared pain. The impossible thing neither of them understood. Mina had spent most of the afternoon successfully pretending it wasn’t sitting between them. Pretending she could return to treating him exactly the same way she had the day before. Now she wasn’t so sure.

Jimin seemed to be thinking the same thing. His gaze dropped briefly toward her hands before returning to her face. For a second, neither spoke. The arena continued emptying around them completely unaware of the problem unfolding in the silence.

Ordinarily, this would have been simple. He was injured. She was responsible for keeping him healthy enough to make it to the comeback tour. The solution involved mobility work, recovery sessions and approximately twenty minutes of complaining from both parties.

Instead Mina found herself hesitating. The pause lasted less than a second. Long enough—Jimin noticed.

Treatment meant contact. Contact meant whatever had happened that morning. Neither of them knew whether repeating it was a good idea. Neither knew whether avoiding it was possible.

Mina looked away first. Not because she felt uncomfortable. Because she needed to think. The problem was that thinking wasn’t helping. Tomorrow she would still be monitoring that hip. The day after that too. And the day after that. This wasn’t ending. Whatever this was wasn’t disappearing.

Eventually she closed the treatment folder resting in her lap. Professional habit won…It usually did.

“Recovery room,” she said. “Ten minutes.”

Every instinct she possessed told her to investigate. Unfortunately, every professional instinct she possessed told her to do her job first.

Jimin held her gaze for a moment before nodding once. No argument. No joke. Then he turned and headed out of the practice room. Mina remained where she was for several seconds after he disappeared. Around her, the last of the staff continued packing equipment while conversations echoed through the gradually emptying building. None of it registered. Because for the first time since beginning her career, she wasn’t entirely certain what would happen when she put her hands on someone she was responsible for. And for reasons she couldn’t fully explain, that frightened her far more than the impossible thing that had happened in the recovery room that morning.

——————————

The recovery room was empty when Mina arrived. Not unusual. Most people preferred to leave the building as quickly as possible after a long rehearsal day. The dancers disappeared almost immediately. Production staff retreated into meetings. Managers migrated toward schedules and logistics and whatever fresh disaster required solving before tomorrow morning.

Mina preferred the quiet. At least she usually did. Tonight she found herself reorganizing treatment supplies for the third time in ten minutes. The resistance bands were already sorted. The tape rolls were already sorted. The treatment table hadn’t moved. None of that stopped her. Eventually she gave up pretending she was accomplishing anything and opened Jimin’s treatment notes instead: Hip irritation. Likely overuse. Worse after prolonged rehearsal blocks. No significant improvement despite modifications. All perfectly ordinary. Which only made the rest of the day feel stranger.

The knock came exactly ten minutes later. Mina looked up. Jimin stood in the doorway.

“How’s the hip?” The question sounded normal. That was something.

Jimin stepped inside and closed the door behind him, “Still attached.”

“An encouraging start.”

“Glad to hear it.”

The exchange eased some of the tension immediately. Not all of it.

Mina gestured toward the treatment table, “Sit.”

Jimin obeyed, settling onto the edge of the table while she reached automatically for her assessment notes.

For several minutes, the appointment proceeded exactly as it always would have. Questions. Answers. Movement testing. Observations. The familiar rhythm settled between them naturally.

Mina glanced down at the notes before looking back up, “When does it catch?”

Jimin thought about it for a moment, “SWIM.”

She nodded immediately, “Second chorus?”

A look of mild suspicion crossed his face, “You already know the answer.”

“The drop into the kneeling transition loads the right side every time.”

That earned a reluctant admission, “Yeah.”

Mina made a note, “Anywhere else?”

“Run BTS.”

This time she answered immediately, “The travelling sequence.”

Jimin pointed at her, “See, that’s concerning.”

“What is?”

“You know that far too quickly.”

“I spent three weeks watching you cheat the same movement.”

A laugh escaped him, “I wasn’t cheating.”

“You shortened the stride on the right side every single rehearsal.”

His expression told her she was correct.

Mina continued writing, “Worse after full runs?”

“Third run.”

That tracked. One performance wasn’t usually the problem. The problem was spending an entire afternoon cycling through SWIM, Run BTS, and IDOL before repeating sections again for camera blocking and stage adjustments. Tour prep wasn’t for the weak. It required repetition of old choreography while learning new dances. Testing stamina. Remembering staging of old songs while trying to learn new ones. Eventually the body stopped negotiating.

Jimin leaned back slightly against the treatment table, “You make rehearsals sound dangerous.”

“I work in sports medicine.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“It’s the only answer you’re getting…Sharp pain?”

“Sometimes.”

She looked up, “Sometimes isn’t a measurement.”

A faint smile appeared, “It’s the best you’re getting.”

“That’s unfortunate.”

“It really is.”

There…That felt normal. Comfortingly normal. For almost five entire minutes, they managed to behave as though nothing impossible had happened that morning. Then Mina stood. The illusion ended immediately. Because the next part required contact. Mina reached for a pair of gloves like she always did.

The latex snapped softly against her wrist. Professional. Routine. Safe. At least in theory, “Lie back.”

Jimin shifted onto the treatment table. The assessment began exactly the way every other assessment had. Mina moved carefully through the range of motion testing while mentally cataloguing every response. Joint mobility. Muscle tension. Compensation patterns. The gloves created a familiar barrier between clinician and patient, allowing her to focus entirely on the mechanics of the injury. Nothing obvious happened. No sudden shift. No immediate relief….Which was almost more frustrating..

Across the treatment table, Jimin noticed it too. The realization lingered quietly between them as the assessment continued. Several minutes passed. Mina guided him through another movement. Still nothing. Eventually she stepped back. For a moment neither spoke.

Then Jimin looked at her hands. Mina followed his gaze automatically—The gloves. Understanding arrived almost simultaneously.

“That’s annoying,” Jimin said.

Despite herself, Mina laughed, “Professionally speaking?”

“Professionally speaking.”

The answer eased some of the tension that had been building all evening. Some. Not all. Because now they had another piece of the puzzle. Whatever connected them wasn’t triggered by proximity. It wasn’t triggered by intention. And it apparently wasn’t triggered by latex.

Mina pulled one glove off slowly. Neither of them commented on the fact that they were both curious. Or on the fact that they both wanted confirmation. Scientific curiosity was easier to accept than the alternatives.

“Give me your hand.”

Jimin stared at her, “really?”

“Do you want answers or not?”

“Fine.” He held out his hand.

For a second nothing happened. Then Mina felt the familiar stiffness in her wrists ease slightly. Across from her, Jimin’s posture changed. Not dramatically. Just enough that both of them noticed. Relief spread through her joints like warmth. Just enough to lighten it. Her wrists hadn’t felt that good in months. That realization unsettled her more than the impossible connection itself. Jimin inhaled sharply. His shoulders relaxed. At the same time, he flexed his fingers. Something had changed…Again. The explanation remained frustratingly absent.

Slowly she pulled her hand away. The relief faded. The ache slowly returned. But still eased enough to notice. Neither of them looked surprised anymore. Concerned, maybe. Thoughtful. But not surprised. It wasn’t proof. But it was the strongest pattern either of them had seen all day.

Eventually Mina reached for the discarded glove and pulled it back on. Professional habits reasserting themselves. The barrier felt strangely significant now. Not because of what it did. Because of what it prevented. For a moment neither spoke. Then Jimin slid off the treatment table and tested the hip again—Better. Not healed. Better.

“So,” he said.

Mina already knew what he was going to ask, “We don’t tell anyone.”

He nodded. “Agreed.”

“We keep paying attention.”

“Agreed.”

“And we act normal.”

That earned the first genuine smile she’d seen from him all evening, “That one might be difficult.”

Unfortunately, he was right. Because tomorrow she would still be responsible for his recovery. And the day after that. And the day after that… Whatever had happened between them wasn’t disappearing. It was simply becoming part of their lives . And Mina had a feeling neither of them fully understood what that meant yet.

————————-

The first thing Mina noticed about album recording season was that nobody slept enough. The second was that everybody lied about it.

By the second month of comeback preparations, the HYBE building had settled into a strange rhythm that seemed to operate independently of normal time. Lights stayed on long after midnight. Producers moved between studios carrying laptops and coffee. Managers lived off schedules that changed every six hours. The members were somehow expected to exist inside all of it.

Mina arrived shortly before eight and immediately regretted opening her email—Three schedule changes. One meeting request. Two questions from management. And an updated recording timetable that somehow expected Namjoon to be in three places at once…Normal. She stepped into the conference room five minutes later and found exactly what she’d expected—Exhaustion. Not dramatic exhaustion. The quieter kind. The kind people carried professionally.

Namjoon sat at the end of the table reviewing production notes. Yoongi was staring at a laptop screen with the expression of someone who had been awake far longer than recommended. Jungkook was eating breakfast. (Which immediately improved Mina’s opinion of the morning, Slightly.

“Good,” she said.

Jungkook looked up, “Good morning?”

“You ate.”

His expression became suspicious, “I always eat.”

“You absolutely do not.”

Jungkook looked toward Namjoon, “She’s been here thirty seconds.”

“That’s actually generous,” Namjoon said without looking up.

The room settled back into conversation. Mina took a seat near the middle of the table and opened her tablet. The meeting lasted nearly two hours. Most of it had nothing to do with her—Album timelines. Recording schedules. Promotional planning. Netflix filming dates. Tour preparation discussions that still felt far enough away to seem theoretical. Mostly she listened. Observed. Made notes. Occasionally interrupted when somebody suggested something medically questionable, which happened more often than it should have.

When the meeting finally ended, the members scattered toward various studios throughout the building. Namjoon headed toward production. Yoongi disappeared toward another recording room. Hoseok left for choreography planning. Jungkook somehow acquired a second breakfast—Mina decided not to investigate. Some mysteries were better left unsolved.

———————

The vocal recording studio felt quieter than the rest of the building. More focused. The atmosphere changed the moment somebody stepped into a booth. Everything narrowed. Every word mattered. Every note mattered. Perfection became the goal. Mina spent most of the morning in the observation room reviewing recovery plans while recording sessions continued around her. It gave her a chance to watch. Something she was very good at.

Jin recorded first. Professional. Reliable. Experienced enough to know when to stop chasing perfection.

Taehyung experimented constantly. Different deliveries. Different emotions. Different phrasing. Even when the original version was already good.

Yoongi recorded like somebody solving a problem. Methodical. Precise. Focused.

Then Jimin arrived. And Mina finally understood why producers loved working with him. Because he never seemed difficult…Even when he was.

The first take sounded excellent. The second sounded excellent too. The producer seemed happy. Everyone seemed happy.

Jimin listened quietly through the playback. Then shook his head, “I can do it again.”

Nobody argued. Another take….Then another….Then another. Not because he was missing notes. Not because anything sounded wrong. Because he kept hearing something nobody else could.

Mina watched him through the studio glass. Hours earlier she had seen him laughing in a meeting. Talking easily with staff. Smiling at cameras filming comeback content. Comfortable. Effortless. The version people expected. This felt different. More private. More serious.

The smile disappeared when he worked. The focus remained. The pressure remained.

Eventually the producer pushed back from the console, “Jimin.”

Jimin looked up.

“It sounds good.”

A brief silence followed then: “I know.”

The answer surprised Mina. Not because it sounded arrogant. Because it didn’t. It sounded frustrated.

The producer seemed to understand immediately, “What are you hearing?”

Jimin hesitated…Searching. Trying to explain something that clearly existed in his head, “The emotion isn’t there yet.”

The producer stared at him. The take already sounded emotional…Mina thought so. Everyone else seemed to think so. Jimin didn’t.

Eventually the producer sighed, “One more.”

The smile that appeared on Jimin’s face looked relieved. As though somebody had granted him permission to keep trying.

The producer finally approved the take sometime after three in the afternoon. The room relaxed immediately. Chairs moved. Conversations restarted. Someone joked about finally escaping the studio before midnight.

Jimin smiled politely. Thanked everyone. Then sat back down and listened to the recording again. Nobody asked him to. Nobody even seemed surprised.

The producer caught Mina watching, “He always does that.”

“Listens again?”

The producer nodded, “Every time.”

The track played softly through the speakers. Jimin’s attention never wavered.

“Looking for mistakes?” Mina asked.

The producer smiled, “No.”

That surprised her, “What then?”

For a moment the producer watched through the studio glass too. Then he said quietly, “He’s trying to figure out whether it feels honest.”

Mina looked back toward Jimin. The answer stayed with her much longer than she expected.

——————————-⸻

Lunch happened several hours later. Or rather, lunch happened for most people. By the time Mina finally looked up from the recovery reports she’d been reviewing since mid-morning, the cafeteria had already filled with staff escaping meetings, dancers grabbing food between rehearsals, and managers attempting to consume entire meals while answering emails at the same time. Normal comeback behavior.

She balanced a container of food on one knee while scrolling through conditioning notes from the morning, making small adjustments as she went. Two dancers needed workload modifications before the end of the week. Jungkook’s cardio volume still sat firmly above where she wanted it. Yoongi’s shoulder remained on her watch list despite his continued insistence that nothing was wrong with it.

The members were scattered throughout the room, each occupying whatever rare pocket of downtime their schedules allowed. That was when she noticed Jimin. He sat alone near the far wall with earbuds in, one hand resting against his phone while something played quietly through the screen. Reviewing choreography, probably. Or vocal notes. Or one of the dozens of things currently competing for his attention….What he wasn’t doing was eating.

Mina watched for a moment before glancing down at the untouched extra meal sitting beside her. Then she stood. Jimin looked up as she approached. His eyes dropped immediately to the container she placed in front of him before returning to her face.

“You appear to be missing lunch.”

A smile appeared almost instantly, “I was getting to it.”

“No.”

“I was.”

“You weren’t.”

The smile widened. Mina had the distinct impression that he found her predictability entertaining. Unfortunately, he wasn’t wrong.

Eventually he pulled the container toward himself and peeled back the lid. Satisfied, Mina started to leave, “Thank you.”

The words stopped her. Not because they were unusual. Because they sounded sincere. When she glanced back, Jimin had already started eating. No argument. No negotiation. Just compliance—A small victory. Still a victory.

The afternoon disappeared quickly after that. Meetings blurred into consultations. Recovery plans turned into performance reviews. Choreographers needed guidance on training loads. Managers wanted to know how much additional rehearsal time certain members could realistically handle before performance quality started suffering. Questions seemed to multiply the longer the day went on.

By five o’clock, Mina had retreated into one of the smaller conference rooms with a stack of performance reports and the increasingly unrealistic goal of finishing them before she went home.

A knock sounded against the open door. She looked up. Namjoon stepped inside carrying two drinks.

“Here,” he said, holding one out. “Tea.”

Mina accepted it immediately, “You’re learning.”

“I’m trying.”

The exchange settled them into an easy silence. Years ago, during PTD, that silence would have felt awkward. Back then, she had still been trying to prove she belonged in the room. Now it felt comfortable. Namjoon lowered himself into the chair across from her and glanced briefly toward the reports spread across the table,m “You look tired.”

Mina raised an eyebrow, “You’re one to talk.”

“That’s not a ‘no’.”

“Neither was yours.”

A faint smile appeared before disappearing again. Something quieter settled over him then. Thoughtful. Reflective. The version of Namjoon that usually emerged when the noise finally died down and nobody needed him to be BTS’s leader for five consecutive minutes.

“You know,” he said eventually, turning the tea cup slowly between his hands, “everyone was relieved when you came back.”

Mina looked down at her drink, “I’ve heard.”

“I don’t think you believe it.” The observation landed closer to the truth than she would have liked.

Namjoon leaned back slightly in his chair, “When things get busy, people start carrying more than they should.”

Outside the conference room, footsteps moved through the hallway. Doors opened and closed. Conversations drifted past before fading again—Schedules. Deadlines. Meetings. The endless momentum of comeback season.

“You make that easier,” Namjoon continued quietly.

Mina stared at him for a moment. The compliment felt heavier than she knew what to do with. Because she wasn’t entirely convinced it was a compliment. Responsibility rarely felt light. Eventually she looked down at her tea, “That’s a lot of pressure to put on one person.”

Namjoon nodded immediately, “It is.”

Neither spoke for a moment. Then he asked, almost casually: “Who’s looking after you?”

The question caught her off guard. Not because of what he asked. Because of how naturally he asked it. As though the answer should exist. As though somebody should be. For a second she considered answering honestly…Then abandoned the idea.

“A deeply concerning amount of tea.”

Namjoon laughed softly. The conversation moved on. The question sat in the back of her mind.

Later that evening, long after most of the building had emptied, Mina finally packed up her reports and headed toward the elevators. The rehearsal floors had grown noticeably quieter. Most of the staff had already gone home. The remaining few moved through the hallways with the exhausted determination unique to comeback season. As she passed one of the smaller practice rooms, music drifted faintly through the closed door. Mina slowed. Through the narrow window, she could see Jimin inside…Alone. No cameras. No managers. No choreographers. No audience. Just a mirrored room, a speaker system, and another repetition.

Again.

And again.

And again.

He worked through the same section of choreography with relentless focus, stopping only long enough to restart the music before doing it all over again. Watching him suddenly made a lot of things easier to understand—The hip. The exhaustion. The skipped meals. The pressure he carried without talking about it. None of it came from carelessness. It came from this. From somebody who never seemed fully convinced that good was good enough. Mina watched for another moment before continuing toward the elevators. Some things didn’t need commentary.

Her phone buzzed as she stepped into the parking garage. A single message.

Jimin.

How are your wrists?

Mina stared at the screen longer than she meant to. Then a small smile appeared despite herself. Not because of the question…Because he remembered.

———————————

I know its not any exciting chapter, but i like seeing how she fits into their lives :)

Hope you like it.

Like, comment, reblog, share.

Xoxo, bumble

Tag list: @bbl32 @bb3armira @bjoriis @lumora-the-white @itsluvie @traumaanatomy @joonmonjagi @thedelulusafespace @blue-and-grey-swan @dayquilforthewin @jajabro @ineed-myspace @airwolf92 @alittlelostalittlefound @gemini5991 @jhens-world @sugalarity @bebesnyia7 @lcvesugaa

[deaddumblbumble]

The Things We Carry | PJM pt 1

SUMMARY: Performance specialist, Mina Seo has made a career out of taking care of everyone else. As BTS throws themselves into comeback preparations, she spends her days managing injuries, recovery plans, and the impossible task of keeping seven overworked artists healthy. What nobody realizes is that she’s becoming increasingly skilled at hiding her own struggles. When an unexpected connection with Jimin begins offering relief neither of them fully understands, it slowly becomes part of their routine. Late-night conversations, shared silences, and a comfort that grows easier to rely on with every passing week. But while Jimin is getting better, Mina isn’t. And sooner or later, someone is going to notice.

WARNINGS: chronic illness, overwork injuries, some medical scenes, slight cursing, eventual smut scene—This story contains a realistic depiction of chronic illness, including rheumatoid arthritis, pain flares, fatigue, hospitalization, and the emotional impact of long-term health conditions.

Masterlist

———————————

Mina Seo had spent most of her adult life learning how to recognize pain before people admitted it existed.

At thirty, she could read exhaustion in posture, injury in hesitation, and pride in the exact second someone lied through their teeth and said they were fine. Ballet had taught her bodies told the truth. Physiotherapy taught her people usually didn’t. Touring taught her idols were the worst of both.

Which was why returning to BTS for the Arirang comeback cycle felt less like stepping into a job and more like walking back into a room full of old injuries waiting to happen.

Officially, she had been hired to oversee performance recovery and injury prevention during preparations for the comeback and world tour. Unofficially—she suspected management had looked at seven men returning from military service and decided someone needed to stop them from accidentally destroying themselves before opening night.

The rehearsal complex in Seoul smelled exactly the same as it had four years ago. Coffee. Dust from old stage flooring. Hairspray. Overworked air conditioning.

And somehow—even before Mina fully stepped through the practice room doors, her body remembered the rhythm of BTS before her brain caught up to it. Music echoed faintly from somewhere deeper in the building while staff moved quickly through the hallways carrying garment racks, equipment cases, and enough coffee to medically concern several countries. Preparations had officially begun. The album was written but only half the songs had been recorded. The choreography wasn’t finalized. The tour existed mostly in planned documents and ambitious promises.

Mina adjusted the strap of her duffel bag higher onto her shoulder before pulling her rolling case behind her down the corridor. The overnight flight from London still sat unpleasantly in her joints despite the compression braces hidden beneath her loose black joggers. Long flights always did that.

Her right knee protested sharply when she turned the corner too quickly. Mina ignored it automatically. Old habit.

A production assistant nearly collided with her two seconds later before stopping abruptly, “Oh my god—Mina?”

Mina blinked once before recognizing him.

Junseo, Lighting crew, Permission to Dance Tour. He looked older now. Everyone did.

“Still alive unfortunately,” she answered dryly.

His startled laugh echoed through the hallway immediately, “You came back!”

“That does appear to be what the contract implies.”

“You sound exactly the same.”

“That’s devastating news.”

Junseo grinned before quickly taking the suitcase handle from her hand without asking. “Everyone’s been talking about you coming back all week.”

“Im not sure if that’s supposed to be comforting…?”

“It should.”

Mina sighed softly through her nose as he started leading her farther into the rehearsal wing.

The building looked busier than she remembered from PTD preparations. Bigger too. Or maybe the pressure surrounding Arirang simply made everything feel tighter somehow. Post-military comeback. Global press. First world tour together again.

The expectations surrounding Arirang already felt enormous and half the project didn’t technically exist yet. Some songs needed to be finalized. Some songs needed to still be recorded. Some songs needed to be written. Music videos still needed filming. Netflix cameras would be arriving soon. Half the choreography existed only as rough workshop versions. And somehow the entire industry already expected history.

A familiar voice suddenly echoed loudly down the corridor.

“If you tear another pair of rehearsal pants before the first week, management is billing you personally.”—Jin.

Mina barely had time to process the sound before he appeared around the hallway corner holding an iced coffee and arguing with Jungkook, who looked deeply unbothered by whatever crime he’d apparently committed.

“I told you it was choreography-related,” Jungkook defended.

“You were standing still.”

“I move passionately.”

“You move like expensive problems.”

Then Jungkook noticed her. His entire face lit up instantly, “Mina noona!”

Before she could react properly, he crossed the hallway in three long strides and wrapped both arms around her carefully enough that she almost laughed…Almost.

“You’re squeezing my spine,” she informed him.

“You disappeared for like four years.”

“You enlisted for most of them.”

“That’s not the point.”

“It’s an important distinction.” She let out a small laugh.

Jungkook grinned against the top of her head before finally letting go.

And suddenly Jin was there too, “Mina.”

His voice softened slightly beneath the dramatics in a way that caught her off guard for half a second. Then: “You abandoned me with these children.”

“There are seven of you.”

“And somehow I suffered most.”

“That seems statistically unlikely.”

Jin looked genuinely emotional for approximately one second before immediately pointing toward her face accusingly, “You still dont look British.”

Mina stared at him, “…What does that even mean?”

Before Jin could answer, another voice drifted lazily from farther down the hallway.

“It means you look like you should be in a K-drama, not Bridgerton.” —Taehyung.

Mina turned just in time to see him leaning against the studio doorway in an oversized hoodie and black beanie, expression completely serious despite the amusement sitting quietly in his eyes. Or maybe not serious…With Taehyung it was honestly difficult to tell sometimes.

“You disappeared to Paris for fashion week twice and suddenly you think you understand British people?” Mina asked.

“I understand vibes.”

“That’s somehow worse.”

Taehyung pushed off the doorway and walked toward them slowly, hands shoved into his hoodie pockets. He looked different too. Softer around the hair now that it had grown out slightly again. Broader through the shoulders after enlistment. Calm in a way she didn’t remember from before.

But the moment he reached her, his expression shifted almost imperceptibly. Warmer.

“You’re really back,” he said quietly.

The teasing disappeared from his voice completely for that one sentence.

Mina felt something unexpectedly fond tug in her chest, “Contractually, yes.”

“That’s a very unromantic answer.”

“You asked the wrong person.”

“Hm.” Taehyung tilted his head slightly like he was evaluating that statement seriously. “Still sounds like you though.”

Then, without warning, he reached out and flicked the sleeve covering her taped hand lightly, “You look tired, are you injured already?”

“Jet lag isn’t an injury.”

“You say that every tour.”

“I’ve been on one tour withh you..”

“A long tour,” Jin muttered.

Taehyung nodded thoughtfully, “You always look like you’re judging the weather.”

Jungkook burst out laughing.

“That is unbelievably specific,” Mina said.

“And accurate,” another voice added calmly—Namjoon.

Mina turned automatically toward the end of the corridor where he approached carrying a tablet and what looked like three separate production schedules tucked beneath one arm. Leader mode already fully activated. Some things apparently never changed.

Namjoon stopped in front of her and smiled properly then—warm, relieved, genuine.

And suddenly PTD came rushing back unexpectedly hard—Late-night rehearsals. Arena runs. Recovery rooms. Pre-show chaos. Watching seven exhausted men hold themselves together through one of the strangest periods of their careers while she stumbled through apprentice physio work pretending she knew what she was doing.

Back then she’d mostly hovered at the edges: wrapping dancers’ ankles, resetting ice stations, shadowing senior therapists, trying not to embarrass herself professionally.

Back then the members hadn’t even realized she was Korean at first. Which honestly had been fair. Between: the London accent, blue eyes inherited from her British mother, her Korean father gave her the dark hair and facial features, and the fact that she’d spent most of PTD speaking careful professional English around senior staff—everyone had just collectively assumed she was another foreign apprentice physio. To be fair, she was still only half Korean and she had only spent a few summers in Korea with her father growing up so their judgement seemed reasonable until she answered one of Yoongi’s questions in Korean halfway through rehearsals one day.

The silence afterward had apparently become legendary.

Jungkook nearly dropped a water bottle.

Taehyung had stared at her for a solid ten seconds before asking, completely serious, “Wait…you ARE Korean?”

“Korean-British,” Mina had corrected cautiously.

“You hid that for like three weeks,” Jin accused immediately.

“I didn’t realize it was classified information.”

Namjoon had looked genuinely fascinated. “We were all so confused by you.”

“Thank you?” Mina had answered dryly.

Even now she could still remember Hobi looking personally betrayed for the rest of the rehearsal day because apparently he’d spent two weeks carefully simplifying his Korean around her for no reason.

Now there was no hesitation anymore. Well—less hesitation. Mina still didn’t think her Korean was particularly good despite everyone insisting otherwise. She’d spent most of her life in London with her mom, and the years she remembered clearly were all in English. Korea mostly belonged to childhood memories with her dad now—small fragments more than anything else. Fast conversations still lost her sometimes, especially once multiple people started talking over each other, and when she got tired her accent thickened enough that British phrases slipped out unintentionally.

During PTD, she’d once called Jungkook “cheeky” after he stole someone else’s protein drink from the recovery fridge.

The entire room had paused.

“Is cheeky good or bad?” Jungkook had asked immediately.

Mina had opened her mouth. Paused. Then closed it again because honestly the answer depended entirely on tone.

Namjoon translated eventually while laughing under his breath, and Taehyung spent the next week calling everyone “cheeky” regardless of context.

Even now, certain words still came to her in English first. Especially when annoyed. Or tired. Or in pain…But unlike PTD, she no longer felt delayed inside conversations. Back then she’d translated every sentence carefully in her head before speaking. Now she just…spoke. Another thing that had changed while nobody was looking.

Now Namjoon looked at her like someone essential had finally arrived.

“We missed you,” he said simply.

The honesty in his tone hit harder than she expected.

Mina cleared her throat lightly before defaulting toward humor automatically.

“Emotionally or because your stretching habits are catastrophic?”

“Yes.”

That startled a laugh out of her before she could stop it.

And from farther down the hallway— someone looked up immediately at the sound.

Jimin stood near the entrance of one of the larger rehearsal studios with Hobi beside him, both still dressed in workout clothes from what looked like an earlier dance session.

For a second neither of them moved.

Then Hobi’s entire face lit up. “MINA.”—Oh no.

Mina barely had time to brace herself before Hoseok crossed the hallway at terrifying speed and pulled her into a hug dramatic enough to threaten structural damage.

“You came back,” he said like he still couldn’t quite believe it.

“You’re crushing several internal organs.”

“You survived.”

“Questionable.”

Hobi pulled back only long enough to look at her properly, “You cut your hair.”

“You noticed that immediately?”

“You think I don’t notice things?” He looked deeply offended. “I’m literally in charge of details.”

“That explains the eye twitch.”

“It’s from stress.”

“It’s from perfectionism.”

“Same thing.”

Mina laughed softly again while Hobi launched immediately into rapid-fire updates about rehearsal schedules, choreography workshops, production delays, filming Plans, and how nobody stretched properly when she wasn’t around.

The conversation blurred comfortably around her after that. Familiar voices. Familiar chaos of BTS settling back around her shoulders like muscle memory.

And through all of it— Jimin stayed quieter than everyone else. Not distant. Just watching.

Mina noticed him fully once Hobi finally paused long enough to inhale oxygen again.

He looked older than PTD. Not drastically. Not sadly. Just…different. Broader somehow. More settled. More tired around the eyes.

Military service had changed all of them in small ways, but on Jimin it looked subtler. Less visible externally. More like something had sharpened quietly beneath the surface.

He stepped closer finally.

“Hi,” he said softly. Simple. But somehow it felt different from everyone else’s greeting.

Mina adjusted the strap of her duffel bag slightly against her shoulder, “Hi.”

For half a second the hallway noise faded strangely around them.

Then Jimin’s gaze dropped automatically toward her right hand where faint kinesiology tape disappeared beneath the sleeve of her hoodie. Still noticing too much apparently.

“You’re wearing finger tape already,” he said. Not judgmental. Just observant.

Mina flexed her hand once instinctively before tucking it deeper into her sleeve, “Eight-hour flight.”

His expression shifted slightly at that. Concern maybe. Then hidden again just as quickly.

Hobi clapped loudly once beside them before the moment could settle into something stranger.

“Okay, enough emotional reunions. We have exactly six months before opening night and several people here are already physically concerning me.”

“Rude,” Jungkook said immediately.

“You did a backflip off rehearsal stairs yesterday.”

“It was one time.”

“Gravity doesn’t care.”

Namjoon sighed like this was already exhausting him spiritually.

Jin grabbed Mina’s suitcase again before she could protest.

“You’re coming to production briefing first. Then we’re forcing you to evaluate everyone’s terrible posture.”

“I’m not evaluating anything until I’ve had caffeine.”

“You still drink tea instead of coffee like a grandmother.”

“I’m English.”

“You’re Korean too.”

“And yet somehow still committed to tea.”

Jin looked genuinely disappointed in her choices.

The hallway erupted into overlapping conversation again after that while everyone started moving toward the larger rehearsal studios together. Mina walked beside them quietly for a moment, absorbing the noise and movement and familiar energy settling back into place around her.

Five years ago she’d entered this world as an apprentice trying desperately not to fail inside rooms filled with people far more experienced than her. This time, she was one of the people responsible for making sure non of them broke before opening night.

Now, staff nodded toward her automatically. Choreographers smiled in recognition as she passed. Managers already looked relieved she’d arrived. Somewhere along the way, this place had stopped feeling temporary.

The members looked happy to see her. The managers looked relieved. Which, Mina suspected, had significantly less to do with affection and significantly more to do with the fact that comeback preparations tended to break people.

Keeping BTS healthy enough to survive the next 6 months was, unfortunately, her responsibility.

Ahead of her, rehearsal music suddenly exploded through the main studio speakers loud enough to shake the hallway walls slightly.

Hobi immediately accelerated toward the sound like a man being personally summoned to battle. Jungkook followed while laughing. Jin complained loudly about his knees. Namjoon was already reading schedules again.

And Jimin slowed slightly beside her instead. Just enough to match her pace automatically when her knee stiffened briefly near the studio entrance. Mina noticed.

Unfortunately, she notices herself noticing.

——————-

One week into comeback prep, the recovery room had already stopped belonging entirely to Mina.

People wandered in for ice packs and stayed because it was quiet. Managers sat on treatment tables with coffees they absolutely shouldn’t have been surviving on while somebody from wardrobe inevitably slept in a corner beneath a pile of jackets by midnight.

The room, tucked behind the main rehearsal arena at HYBE, had slowly became chaotic. Familiar, but chaotic..

By 9:30 that morning, it already looked like a small war zone. Ice packs filled one counter beside rows of compression sleeves while treatment schedules covered the whiteboard near the entrance in Mina’s handwriting. Portable stim units sat charging beside resistance bands and unopened tape rolls. Half the overhead lights still remained off, leaving the room washed in soft gray morning light from the narrow windows near the ceiling…Quiet. For now.

Mina sat sideways on one of the treatment tables with one knee loosely pulled upward while wrapping kinesiology tape carefully around her wrist. The joint ached more than usual this morning. Not alarming. Just irritating.

Seoul’s weather had shifted overnight, damp cold settling into the city hard enough for her body to notice before she’d even opened her eyes.

She flexed her fingers experimentally once after finishing the tape. Manageable. Good enough.

A mug of tea sat beside her laptop already going lukewarm while rehearsal schedules glowed across the screen—Seven members. A rotating choreography team. Two assistant physios. Three (for now) music videos shoot days on the schedule. Two ‘Run BTS’ filming blocks. One Netflix camera crew already asking too many questions…Normal.

The recovery room door opened quietly behind her, “Mina?”

One of the assistant physios stepped inside carrying a tablet against his chest.

“Morning.”

He crossed toward the whiteboard automatically now, scanning the updated treatment rotations she’d finalized before sunrise.

“Do you want me handling their mobility assessments or conditioning reviews today?”

“MobiIity first,” Mina answered while reviewing the schedule beside him. “And switch with Hana after lunch because she’s better at conditioning reviews.”

“Got it.”

He hesitated briefly before adding, “Management also asked if Jungkook can add the extra harness rehearsals tonight.”

“No.”

The answer came instantly.

Yejun snorted softly like he’d expected it already, “He’s going to argue.”

“He always argues.”

“And if he says he feels fine?”

Mina capped the marker in her hand. “Then he’s lying.”

That pulled a laugh from him before he disappeared back into the hallway.

A few years ago interactions like that would’ve unsettled her. During PTD, she’d jsut been the apprentice, the shadow. Now managers asked for her recommendations before approving rehearsal schedule.

The recovery room door swung open again harder this time.

Hoseok entered already dressed for rehearsals despite it not even being eight in the morning, energy somehow fully operational while the rest of humanity still struggled toward consciousness.

“Mina.”

“That tone suggests problems.”

“Jungkook did extra runs after rehearsals again.”

“Of course he did.”

“And Jimin’s pretending the hip isn’t getting worse.”

“That one I already know.”

Hobi exhaled dramatically before leaning one shoulder against the doorway.

“I leave for one military enlistment and suddenly everyone’s bodies are thirty.”

“You are thirty.”

“Rude.”

Mina smiled faintly into her tea.

That was more accurate to the actual dynamic of preparing 7 performers for the most demanding schedule of their careers. The members cared obsessively about performance quality, but now—older, post-military, carrying years of injuries behind them—they also noticed the physical cost more.

Hobi especially. Perfectionism had simply evolved into protectiveness.

“You need to watch Yoongi during choreography today too,” Hobi continued. “He keeps rolling his shoulder afterward like it’s tightening up every time he moves.”

Mina frowned immediately.

“Why is this the first time I’m hearing that?”

“Because he told me not to tell you.”

“And you listened?”

“Its Min Yoongi.”

Before Mina could answer, the recovery room door opened again and Jungkook walked in carrying enough iced coffees for an entire production department.

“Morning.”

“It’s too early for your energy level,” Mina informed him.

“It’s nine-thirty.”

“That proves nothing.”

Jungkook grinned and handed Hobi a drink before stopping near Mina’s treatment table.

“You taped your wrist again.”

Mina looked down briefly, “It’s cold.”

“That’s not an explanation.”

“It’s the only one you’re getting.”

Jungkook looked unconvinced but let it go. Mostly because the room had started filling rapidly around them. Wardrobe staff appeared looking for blister tape after concept shoot fittings. Managers wanting options on filming schedule and safety. Choreographers argued about rehearsal loads while waiting for someone to tell them no. The preparations were already taking shape.

Mina moved through it automatically.

One of the assistant physios updated Jungkook’s recovery load from additional conditioning session while another waited beside the treatment counter for her approval on recovery metrics form the previous day. Routine…Like the entire tour had quietly reorganized itself around her judgment while she wasn’t paying attention.

“Did Mina clear this?”

“Ask Mina first.”

“She said no impact repetitions today.”

“Wait until Mina sees it.”

The recovery room door opened again while Mina adjusted compression tape around someone’s shoulder.

Jimin stepped inside carrying a black hoodie over one shoulder. Fresh from morning rehearsals already. And still limping slightly.

Mina noticed immediately. Unfortunately, so did he.

“You’re doing it again,” Jimin said.

“Doing what?”

“The observing thing.”

“You’re still guarding the hip.”

One of the managers nearby looked up automatically.

“You’re injured?”

“No,” Jimin answered too quickly.

Mina didn’t even glance up from the tape she was smoothing into place.

“He is.”

Betrayal crossed his face instantly, “That feels deeply unprofessional.”

“You walked into a medical room limping.”

“I was walking normally.”

Hobi pointed immediately from across the room.

“That’s exactly what I told him.”

Jimin sighed like everyone here personally exhausted him.

Mina finished securing the tape before finally straightening fully, “Sit.”

The word came automatically. Not harsh. Not hesitant either.

Jimin looked at her for one second before obeying without argument. That didn’t go unnoticed by anybody in the room.

One of the managers muttered quietly, “That’s terrifying actually.”

“Correct,” Jungkook agreed immediately.

Mina ignored both of them and stepped in front of Jimin instead, while slipping on a pair of nitrile gloves for examination.

Up close, the stiffness through the right side looked worse today. Too much rehearsal load too quickly after military conditioning adjustments probably. Idol choreography demanded sharper transitions and harder floor impact than most people thought; than most standard workouts ever did.

“Pain level.”

“Manageable.”

“That’s not a number.”

“A stylish seven?”

“That’s unfortunately still a seven.”

A smile tugged briefly at the corner of his mouth despite himself.

Mina crouched slightly to evaluate the movement pattern through the hip while maintaining professional distance in the crowded room around them.

“Show me the rotation.”

Jimin shifted experimentally through the joint. Lifting his leg in front of his body then trying to open his knee to the side once before stopping when it caught halfway.

“There,” Mina said immediately.

“You always sound delighted when you’re correct.”

“I’m never delighted about paperwork.”

That earned a quiet laugh from him.

Around them, the recovery room continued moving at full speed. People talking. Ice packs rotating. Schedules changing. Music echoing faintly from rehearsals deeper inside the arena.

But Jimin’s attention stayed entirely on Mina now. Focused. Like he was trying to understand how she saw things other people missed.

“You caught this before it really hurt properly,” he said quietly.

Mina adjusted the compression wrap around the joint carefully, “You didn’t do Dynamite full out earlier.”

“That was one time.”

“That was enough.”

He studied her for another second.

Then: “You notice everything, don’t you?”

The question landed strangely. Because yes. She did. Thats her job but that had always been the problem.

——————

The first indication that something was wrong arrived halfway through a production meeting. Mina wasn’t even looking at Jungkook. She was reviewing conditioning reports while one of the performance directors discussed filming schedules for an upcoming music video when a number on her tablet made her pause.

She frowned. Then looked again. The room continued talking around her while she scrolled through the previous week’s data—Recovery load. Conditioning volume. Training logs. A familiar sense of irritation began building behind her eyes.

Across the table, Namjoon noticed immediately, “What?”

Mina looked up, “Where’s Jungkook?”

The question prompted several people to glance around automatically.

“He left about twenty minutes ago,” Hobi answered.

“Why?”

“He said he was going to work out.”

Mina lowered the tablet slowly. The room went quiet. Not because anyone thought that sounded unusual. Quite the opposite. Everyone understood exactly why that expression had appeared on her face.

Namjoon sighed first, “Oh no.”

“What?” Taehyung asked.

“Mina found something.”

“I didn’t find something.”

The pause that followed suggested nobody believed her.

Mina turned the screen around, “His conditioning volume is already higher than what I scheduled for this week.”

Nobody looked particularly alarmed. Unfortunately, that was part of the problem. Jungkook exercising more than necessary had become so normal that most people barely registered it anymore.

“He likes training,” Taehyung offered.

“That’s not training.”

“What is it?”

“Jungkook deciding recovery is a personal insult.”

A laugh escaped Yoongi from the far end of the table.

Namjoon covered his face briefly, “You’re going after him, aren’t you?”

“I am absolutely going after him.”

“Good luck.”

Five minutes later, Mina found him exactly where she expected.

The gym sat one floor below the rehearsal studios and looked nearly empty except for a trainer organizing equipment near the far wall.

Jungkook, meanwhile, appeared to be conducting a one-man campaign against the concept of moderation.

He glanced up when she entered. His expression brightened immediately, “Noona.”

Mina stopped beside the rack and folded her arms, “What are you doing?”

The question was so obvious that Jungkook looked genuinely confused, “Working out?”

“That wasn’t rhetorical.”

The trainer across the room immediately became very interested in a stack of resistance bands.

Jungkook rested his forearms on the bar, “I finished rehearsal.”

“Correct.”

“I had free time.”

“Incorrect.”

That earned a grin.

Mina remained unimpressed.

“You’ve already completed every conditioning session on this week’s schedule.”

“I know.”

“You’ve added two extra gym sessions.”

His grin widened, “I know.”

“You slept five hours.”

“It was almost six.”

“That’s not helping.”

Jungkook laughed. The problem was that he genuinely seemed to believe this conversation was amusing.

Mina pulled up the training report on her tablet and held it out, “Your recovery markers are worse than they were last week.”

His smile faded slightly. Not because he disagreed. Because he knew she wouldn’t be saying it if she didn’t have evidence.

“You track all of that?”

“Jungkook.”

“Right. Stupid question.” He accepted that surprisingly easily.

Mina continued scrolling.

“Your resting heart rate is elevated, your sleep has been inconsistent for ten days, and you’ve lost weight since preparations started.”

“I can put the weight back on.”

“That’s not the point.”

“What is the point?”

“The point is that we’re six months away from opening night.”

That finally got his attention. The humour faded. The athlete remained.

Mina lowered the tablet, “You don’t need to survive this week, you need to survive 6 months, and then a tour after that.”

Then Jungkook looked away and rubbed the back of his neck.

“I just don’t want to fall behind.”

There it was. Not stubbornness. Not ego. Fear.

Mina had worked with enough performers to recognize the difference. The comeback meant everything to them.

The first album together after military service. The first tour.

The first chance to prove they could still do this at the level people expected.

She understood exactly why he was pushing. That didn’t make it smart.

“No one’s worried about you falling behind.”

Jungkook laughed softly.

“That’s because they’re not looking at what everyone else is doing.”

“I am.”

That made him pause.

Mina met his gaze evenly, “And I’m telling you to go eat lunch.”

A reluctant smile appeared, “That’s your professional recommendation?”

“That’s my final decision.”

He stared at her for another second before finally stepping away from the rack,“Fine.”

Mina narrowed her eyes, “I don’t trust how quickly you agreed.”

“You should be proud of my growth.”

“I’ll be proud when I stop catching you in the gym on rest days.”

Jungkook grabbed his towel, “That’s a very high standard.”

“It should be.”

As they headed back toward the rehearsal floor, Mina noticed the trainer trying—and failing—not to laugh.

Unfortunately, she suspected the rest of BTS would find the entire situation equally entertaining.

Which was deeply unfair considering she was the only person in the building attempting to stop Jungkook from exercising himself into the ground.

Three weeks into Prep work, Mina had developed a system for identifying which member was approaching physical collapse purely from the way they entered a room:

Namjoon got quieter.

Jungkook became restless, physically incapable of sitting still.

Taehyung grew dramatically affectionate whenever exhaustion hit critical levels.

Yoongi stopped speaking almost entirely.

And Jimin deflected…Smiles. Jokes. Easy answers delivered quickly enough that most people stopped looking deeper. Like if he acted normal convincingly enough, his body might eventually believe him too.

Which was exactly why Mina noticed the problem immediately when he walked into rehearsals that afternoon looking perfectly fine…Too fine.

One of the HYBE’s larger rehearsal studios vibrated faintly beneath bass-heavy playback while camera crews, choreographers and performance directors moved between formation markers taped across the floor..

Mina stood near the mirrored wall reviewing mobility notes on her tablet when Jimin rolled once through his right hip before settling immediately back onto the left side. Fast. Practiced. Trying not to get caught.

Unfortunately for him, Mina spent most of her life catching things exactly like that. On her own body and now on others

“You’re compensating again,” she said without looking up from the tablet,

Jimin glanced over from centre formation briefly, “For what?”

“The hip, and before you ask,no, that doesn’t mean you get a fourth run.”

He looked down at himself like this was genuinely new information. “Hm.”

“You’re avoiding the right side again.”

“I’m dancing.”

“You’re shifting out of the floor transitions early.”

“You noticed that from here?”

“You shortened the turn twice.”

“I recovered the timing.”

“You compensated.” She sighed out loud. “and your recovery numbers were worse this morning.”

Jimin frowned. “you track those too?”

“That’s literally my job.”

“That’s unsettling.”

“You slept four hours.”

A small smile appeared at the corner of his mouth then. Calm. Easy, “And yet I survived.”

Jungkook laughed immediately, while Taehyung looked delighted.

Mina remained unimpressed. Because even while speaking, he shifted subtly off the right side again before Hobi called everyone back into formation. Small. Like his body had already adapted around the pain before he consciously admitted it existed.

The music restarted loud enough to shake the arena floor. Bodies moved instantly back into synchronization beneath the lights while Mina stepped farther toward the edge of rehearsals to stay clear of formations. Arirang choreography demanded sharper moves than PTD ever had, with the added pressure of the comeback.

This choreography was lower, heavier, More impact through the joints. And Jimin kept forcing full performance quality every run like his body wasn’t warning him already.

Mina watched the next sequence carefully. Floor transition. Directional turn. Weight shift—There. Again.

The right side tightened every time choreography forced deeper flexion through the hip. Not horrible yet. But repetitive strain rarely announced itself at first. It accumulated slowly.

The music cut sharply.

“Again!” Hobi called from centre stage.

A collective groan rolled across the arena.

Taehyung dropped backward dramatically onto the floor. “I miss military schedules. At least the suffering had structure.”

“You complained the entire time,” Jungkook replied while grabbing a water bottle.

“Correct. Consistently.”

Namjoon laughed quietly into his sleeve while Yoongi sat cross-legged near the mirrored wall rolling tension through one shoulder.

Mina noticed that immediately too. Of course she did.

She crossed the rehearsal floor automatically while staff reset camera positioning near the stage entrance.

“You too?”

Yoongi glanced up slowly.

“Hm?”

“The shoulder.”

“Hoseok talks too much.”

“You keep resetting the joint any time you lift your arm above your head.”

“You notice too much.”

“That’s literally my profession.”

Yoongi sighed quietly through his nose while rotating the shoulder once experimentally. Tight. Not terrible. But heading there.

“You need recovery work tonight and you’re skipping tomorrow’s conditioning block.”

“I have studio sessions.”

“No you don’t.”

His eyes narrowed slightly, “You’ve become difficult.”

“You’re injured.”

“That’s a bit dramatic.”

“You’re one bad lift away from anti-inflammatory medication.”

“That’s more offensive.”

A laugh escaped Jin somewhere behind them while Jungkook nearly choked on his water.

The rehearsal floor buzzed with overlapping noise while staff reset staging cues for another run. Hobi discussed spacing adjustments near centre stage while Taehyung attempted to convince Namjoon that electrolytes counted as emotional support. Normal chaos.

Mina looked back down at her tablet briefly, updating treatment notes from the morning— Monitor Jimin hip progression. Review Tae’s conditioning load. Watch Yoongi shoulder mobility. Adjust recovery schedule after filming. Easy..At least on paper.

“Writing complaints about me?”

Mina looked up automatically.

Jimin stood beside her now holding a towel around his neck, rehearsal shirt dampened slightly beneath the arena lights.

“You’re still limping,” she answered.

“I walked here perfectly.”

“You adjusted twice.”

“I adapted.”

“You compensated.”

He smiled again. There it was. That automatic lightness he used whenever conversations drifted too close to discomfort.

Mina crossed her arms loosely.

“You know avoiding treatment doesn’t make injuries disappear.”

“I’m standing in the recovery area voluntarily right now. That deserves recognition.”

“You’re standing because rehearsals reset.”

“Still counts.”

“No it doesn’t.”

A laugh escaped Jungkook somewhere behind them.

“You’re losing this argument,” he informed Jimin immediately.

“I don’t see a scoring system.”

“You don’t see medical advice either.”

“Different category.”

Mina watched Jimin shift subtly off the right side again while speaking.. Protecting the hip. Too practiced. That concerned her more than the injury itself.

Because performers adapted around pain frighteningly fast once they decided something mattered more than recovery.And Jimin clearly still thought rehearsals mattered more.

“Did you do the mobility work? — and before you answer Jungkook already told me you skipped cooldown” Mina huffed.

Jimin took a sip of water before answering.

“I seriously considered it.”

“That’s not the same thing.”

“It’s what I had time for.”

“It was useless.”

That finally pulled a quieter laugh from him. Real this time. Not performative. Not deflecting. Just tired.

Then the choreographer clapped loudly from centre stage again, “Places!”

Everyone immediately started moving back toward formation.

Jimin stepped backward before pausing briefly beside her.

“I’m fine,” he said. Softly this time. Like he’d repeated the sentence often enough that it no longer required thought.

Mina studied him for one second longer than necessary. Then:

“You don’t have to always win against injuries.”

Something flickered briefly across his face at that. Gone almost immediately. Then the smile returned. Easy. Polished. Deflecting.

“Good thing I’m competitive.”

And then he walked back into formation before she could answer.

The music started again. Bodies moved. Lights shifted. Bass rattled faintly beneath the arena floor.

Mina watched the choreography reset automatically while something unsettled quietly in the center of her chest. Because she understood performers like Jimin.

People who learned early that discomfort became easier to survive if you turned it into something manageable. Something smaller. Something easy to laugh through.

But bodies never accepted denial as treatment. Eventually it caught up with them.

—————————————————-

Mina started having problems at eighteen. At first, it was easy to explain away.

Ballet dancers hurt constantly. Feet blistered. Hips clicked. Knees ached. Wrists stiffened from partnering and floorwork and overtraining and the general violence ballet quietly demanded from the body while still insisting on elegance.

Pain was normal. Especially in pre-professional programs where exhaustion got praised almost as often as talent did.

So when Mina started waking up with stiffness crawling through her hands in the mornings, nobody thought much of it. Not even her. Too many rehearsals. Too little sleep. Too much pressure. And Mina had spent most of her life being disciplined.

At seventeen, she’d been on track for the Royal Ballet. Not guaranteed because nothing in ballet ever was. But close enough that teachers started speaking carefully around her future like it had already begun taking shape. Company workshops. Private evaluations. Summer intensives where directors watched quietly from the back of rehearsal studios while students tried not to look nervous.

Mina remembered spending entire train rides home with her pointe shoes balanced across her lap imagining London stages she hadn’t earned yet. Then her body started changing underneath her before she understood why.

And suddenly every plan she’d built her life around became dependent on whether or not her joints cooperated that morning. Then came the fatigue. Not ordinary exhaustion. Not the kind fixed by sleeping for twelve hours after a performance weekend. This felt heavier. Like her body had quietly started resisting itself.

Some mornings she physically couldn’t close her hands properly around pointe shoes ribbons. Other days her knees locked halfway through warmups before loosening again like nothing happened. Unpredictable. Frustrating.

Easy to hide if you were disciplined enough. She pushed through performances. Finished training. Ignored the flare-ups. Ignored the fevers. Ignored the growing realization that her body no longer recovered the way everyone else’s seemed to.

Then, at twenty, she tore through her ankle during rehearsal because exhaustion had slowed her reaction time by half a second.

Career-ending sounded dramatic afterward because she should have been able to come back from that. Others had come back from worse. But ballet rarely survived injuries like that once you’d already started falling behind physically.

The diagnosis came almost a year later—Autoimmune. Chronic. No Cure Manageable, technically. The rheumatologist kept using the word manageable like it was comforting.

Mina mostly remembered staring at her own hands during the appointment wondering when exactly her body had stopped feeling trustworthy.

The career change happened slowly after that. First sports rehabilitation modules. Then physiotherapy courses. Then clinical placements with dancers, gymnasts, and professional athletes where she realized something unsettling: She understood injured dancers frighteningly well, not just injuries.

Everything surrounding them. The way dancers skipped meals when they were stressed. The way athletes hid exhaustion behind routine. The way performers negotiated with pain long before they admitted it existed.

Most clinicians focused on what hurt. Mina found herself paying attention to everything that happened before the injury.

Bodies negotiated before they failed completely. People compensated emotionally long before they admitted pain physically. Performers learned how to smile through damage so automatically most medical staff missed it entirely. Mina didn’t.

That was how she ended up shadowing during the Permission to Dance tour at twenty-three.

Technically she wasn’t supposed to handle much independently yet. In reality, half the touring staff were overworked and sleep deprived enough that Mina simply started helping wherever bodies started breaking down. Tape jobs. Recovery sessions. Mobility tracking. Conditioning reviews. Late-night treatment rooms. Whatever needed doing on any given day.

And all while quietly managing symptoms herself. Compression sleeves beneath hoodies. Painkillers hidden in tea bags. Smiling through flare days because everyone around her already depended on her too much.

By the end of PTD, the members trusted her more than some of the senior staff.

Jin knew more than the rest. Not because she’s outright told him. More because he stumbled into it.

Chicago, near the end of the Permission to Dance tour

The recovery room had finally emptied after a fourteen-hour rehearsal day, leaving Mina alone with treatment notes she still needed to finish, a cup of tea that had long since gone cold, and an ice pack balanced across her left knee.

The flare had been building for nearly a week.

Chicago’s cold weather hadn’t helped, nor had the endless rehearsal schedule or the fact that she had been sleeping far less than she admitted to anyone. The swelling had started as a dull ache she could ignore, then gradually developed into something more persistent. By that afternoon, she could feel the pressure in the joint every time she bent her knee.

It wasn’t severe enough to stop her working. That was the problem.

Pain that stopped you completely was easy. People saw it. They understood it.

Pain that allowed you to continue functioning demanded decisions.

How much could you hide? How long could you compensate? At what point did pushing through become foolish rather than admirable?

Questions Mina had never been particularly good at answering.

She shifted slightly in the chair and immediately regretted it. A sharp pulse of pain traveled through the joint, forcing her to close her eyes for a moment.

Just a minute, she told herself. She would finish the treatment notes, go back to the hotel, sleep for a few hours, and do it all again tomorrow.

The recovery room door opened behind her.

Instinct took over before thought did.

Mina sat up straighter and moved the ice pack aside. Too late.

Jin had already seen it.

He paused just inside the doorway, his attention moving briefly from the abandoned ice pack to her face before settling somewhere in between.

For a moment neither of them said anything.

Then he asked quietly, “How bad is it?”

Not what happened. Not are you okay…How bad is it.

The question caught her off guard because it assumed the injury already existed.

Because somehow he had skipped straight past the polite version of the conversation.

“Bad,” she answered.

Jin’s expression didn’t change.

Mina recognized immediately that he didn’t believe her.

He stepped farther into the room and retrieved the phone he had apparently forgotten earlier in the evening.

“You’ve been limping all week.”

The observation landed harder than she expected. Not because he was wrong. Because she genuinely hadn’t realized anyone had noticed. The dancers hadn’t said anything. The staff hadn’t said anything. Or perhaps they had noticed and simply chosen not to comment.

Either way, she’d assumed she was hiding it better than that.

“You spend all day watching how other people move,” Jin continued. “You didn’t think someone might notice when you started moving differently too?”

There was no accusation in his voice. If anything, he sounded mildly amused. Which somehow made the truth harder to avoid.

Mina looked down at the treatment notes scattered across the desk and felt a familiar wave of exhaustion settle over her.

Not physical exhaustion this time. The deeper kind. The kind that came from carrying something alone for too long.

“I have rheumatoid arthritis.”

The words sounded strangely small once they were spoken aloud.

For so long the diagnosis had existed only in doctors’ offices, medication schedules, and private moments she never shared with anyone else. Hearing it in this room felt unexpectedly vulnerable.

Jin didn’t react immediately.He pulled out the chair opposite hers and sat down, taking a moment to think before speaking.

“When were you diagnosed?”

“Twenty-one.”

His gaze drifted briefly toward her knee. Then back to her face.

“And you’ve been doing all of this while managing that?”

There was no judgment in the question. No disbelief. Just quiet curiosity.

Mina laughed softly.

“When you put it like that, it sounds a bit ridiculous.”

A faint smile appeared at the corner of Jin’s mouth.

“It sounds exhausting.”

For a moment Jin looked at her the same way she looked at everyone else. Like he was cataloguing all the things she wasn’t saying.

For reasons she couldn’t entirely explain, that answer nearly undid her. Not sympathy. Not pity. Just understanding. As though he understood that the hardest part wasn’t the pain itself. It was the constant effort of pretending the pain wasn’t there.

After that, they didn’t discuss the diagnosis very often. They didn’t need to.

Jin just simply noticed.

On days her knee stiffened after long rehearsals, a chair somehow appeared before meetings started. If schedules ran late, a cup of tea found its way onto her desk before she remembered she hadn’t taken a break.

Small things. Easy things to miss if you weren’t paying attention. Mina noticed them because noticing people was what she did for a living.

Which was probably why, years later, Jin remained the first person she looked for on difficult days.

————————————

A month into preperations, the flare settled in properly. Not dramatic enough to stop working. Just persistent and very annoying.

A deep ache through both wrists. Stiffness pulling through her knees every morning. Exhaustion sitting heavier beneath her skin no matter how much sleep she forced herself into getting. Manageable…Probably.

Mina stood near the recovery room counter rotating slowly through one wrist while reviewing schedules on her tablet. The movement hurt. The stiffness refused to release.

She had already stretched twice this morning. Already taken her medication. Already convinced herself it wasn’t going to be one of the bad days…Her wrists disagreed.

She reached automatically for the compression sleeves folded beside the sink before pulling them carefully over both wrists beneath the sleeves of her hoodie.

Hide first. Explain later. High-performance environments rewarded functionality. Nobody cared how difficult something was as long as you could do it.

The recovery room door opened quietly behind her.

Mina looked up automatically.

Jimin stood in the doorway wearing grey sweats and a black hoodie, damp hair curling slightly at the ends like he’d showered recently and stopped caring halfway through drying it.

“You’re limping worse,” she said immediately.

Jimin glanced down at himself briefly before walking farther into the room.

“That’s unfortunate news.”

“The hip tightened overnight?”

“Hm.” Which meant yes.

Mina returned her attention to the treatment schedules glowing across the tablet screen while he moved toward the coffee machine near the counter.

The recovery room stayed comfortably quiet around them. Low equipment hum. Early-morning stillness. Rain tapping faintly somewhere above the arena corridors.

“You still drink tea every morning?” Jimin asked eventually.

Mina glanced up once.

“You say that like it’s surprising.”

“You’re in Korea now.”

“And yet I remain British unfortunately.”

That earned a soft laugh from him before he reached automatically for the kettle instead of the coffee machine.

The movement caught her slightly off guard. Not because it was dramatic. Because it implied he’d noticed. Somewhere between writing session, choreography rehearsal, costume fittings and recording sessions, Jimin had apparently learned how she took her tea.

Mina flexed her fingers carefully beneath the counter while waiting for the stiffness to ease.—It didn’t. Annoying.

“You okay?”

The question came casually enough she almost answered automatically…Almost.

Jimin leaned lightly against the counter now, watching her with the same quiet attention she usually caught him directing toward choreography. Too observant.

Mina pulled the sleeves of her hoodie farther over her wrists instinctively.

“Fine.”

His expression shifted slightly at the answer. Like he knew the word because he used it constantly himself.

“You’re bad at that too,” he said quietly.

Mina looked up, “At what.”

“Making people believe you.”

That pulled a small laugh out of her before she could stop it.

“I work with performers,” she muttered. “None of you know how to answer honestly.”

Something softer flickered briefly across Jimin’s expression at that. Understanding maybe.

Yes. Here’s the same moment rewritten with the pain splitting both ways, but in the smoother style you liked, with less dialogue and more of Mina experiencing the impossibility before either of them can name it.

He handed her the tea carefully, waiting until her fingers had closed around the mug before he let go. Their hands brushed during the exchange, no more than the briefest pass of skin against skin, the kind of accidental contact that should have meant nothing at all. Mina had reached for cups from staff, taken clipboards from managers, guided dancers through stretches, corrected shoulders and hips and knees for years without thinking much about the intimacy of touch. Bodies were part of her work. Contact was practical. Ordinary.

This was not ordinary. The sensation moved through her before she understood what had happened, a sudden shifting beneath her skin that made her grip tighten around the mug. The ache in her wrists, the deep persistent pressure she had been ignoring since morning, loosened so quickly that for one suspended moment she forgot how to breathe around it. It did not vanish completely, but the weight of it changed, as though someone had reached inside her and lifted half of it away.

Relief should have felt simple. Instead, it frightened her. Because in the same breath that her wrists eased, something else settled into place. A low, unfamiliar ache drew itself through her hip, deep enough to make her aware of the joint in a way she had no reason to be. It was not the scattered stiffness of her own condition, not the hot, grinding protest she knew too well from her hands or knees after a difficult day. This pain had a different shape. A different history. It felt used, overworked, threaded through with repetition and strain. It felt lived in. It did not feel like hers.

Mina stood perfectly still with the mug caught between both hands while the kitchen carried on around them. The kettle clicked softly as it cooled. Rain moved against the windows in a steady hush. Somewhere down the corridor, a laugh rose and faded again, ordinary life continuing only a few rooms away as if the world had not just shifted beneath her feet.

Across form her, Jimin went still. He had not stepped back or made a sound, but the change in him was immediate enough that she saw it. The ease had gone out of his posture. His attention dropped to her hands, then returned to her face with a kind of startled focus that made her stomach tighten. He looked pale around the mouth, not in the way people did when they were embarrassed or surprised, but in the way they did when their own body had suddenly become unfamiliar to them.

Mina knew then that he had felt something too. Not because he said it. Because there was no other explanation for the way he was looking at her.

Her wrists still held the echo of relief. Her hip carried an ache that did not belong there. Jimin’s eyes remained fixed on hers, and in the silence between them was the impossible awareness that something had passed through both of them at once, rearranging pain as if it were something that could be divided and handed over.

Mina flexed her fingers carefully around the mug. Jimin’s gaze followed the movement. The ache in her wrists was lighter than it had been a moment ago. The ache in her hip remained, foreign and intimate and terrifying in its specificity.

She did not know what to call it. She only knew that Jimin had gone still for the same reason she had. Whatever had just happened, it had not happened to her alone.

——————————-

Yall im still baby army (toddler? Army). I apologize if my timeline (pre military) is ever off. Please tell me and I’ll fix it. :)

But anyway, let me know what you think! Sorry, it’s taken so long to get this out! I have a sick toddler and my husband is deployed. TT

Like, comment, reblog,share please!!

Xoxo, bumble

Taglist: @bbl32 @bb3armira @bjoriis @lumora-the-white @itsluvie @traumaanatomy @joonmonjagi @thedelulusafespace @blue-and-grey-swan @dayquilforthewin @jajabro @ineed-myspace @airwolf92 @alittlelostalittlefound @gemini5991 @jhens-world @sugalarity @bebesnyia7 @lcvesugaa

[deaddumblbumble]

Soft Places To Land | MYG Epilogue

SUMMARY: After the world learns BTS can actually have soulmates, shy interpreter Ellie Parker joins the U.S. leg of BTS’s Arirang tour unaware that Min Yoongi recognizes her instantly as his soulmate. As growing public attention and a dangerous fan obsession threaten Ellie’s fragile sense of safety, Yoongi becomes the quiet place she keeps finding herself drawn back to. This is a slow-burn story about learning that love can be gentle, protective, and safe enough to finally stop surviving.

WARNINGS: past emotional abuse, anxiety, panic responses, stalking, invasion of privacy, obsessive fan behavior, toxic family dynamics, emotional manipulation, Contains heavy angst, hurt/comfort, and discussions of trauma and healing throughout.

Masterlist

————————

Six months later—Tokyo.

The final night of the Arirang tour ended beneath silver confetti and deafening screams.

By the time BTS returned to the hotel, it was nearly two in the morning.

Rain shimmered faintly against the city skyline outside the suite windows while exhausted staff moved quietly through the hallways beyond the door. Somewhere several floors below, fans still lingered outside the hotel barricades despite the hour.

Ellie sat curled sideways on the couch in one of Yoongi’s hoodies, bare feet tucked beneath her while the concert livestream replayed silently across the television.

She had watched the entire final show from the suite. Not because Yoongi asked her to stay hidden.

Because this time she simply wanted one quiet night to watch him without responsibilities attached to it. No headset. No translation comms. No production schedules—Just pride.

The suite door burst open loudly down the hallway.

“We survived another tour!”

Hobi’s voice echoed through the room before anyone even appeared.

A second later he stumbled into the suite dramatically clutching his chest while Jin followed behind him looking equally exhausted.

“My knees are thirty years older than they were this morning,” Jin announced.

“You are thirty years older than you think you are,” Namjoon replied while walking in behind him.

Jin pointed immediately. “Disrespect from the youth.”

Ellie laughed softly from the couch.

The sound pulled everyone’s attention toward her at once.

“There she is,” Hobi said brightly before immediately crossing the room and dropping beside her on the couch. “Our emotional support translator.”

“I stopped translating for you months ago.”

“And yet spiritually you still guide us.”

“That means absolutely nothing.”

“Exactly.”

Jungkook collapsed face-first onto the carpet near the coffee table while Taehyung stole room service fries directly off someone else’s plate without asking.

Jimin disappeared briefly toward the kitchen muttering something about water before reappearing with enough bottled drinks for everyone.

The suite settled quickly into familiar chaos. Comfortable chaos. The kind Ellie once thought she would only ever observe from a distance.

Then Yoongi walked in last. Black hoodie damp from the rain outside. Hair falling into his eyes. Exhaustion written clearly into the lines of his face after three straight hours onstage.

And still— the second he saw Ellie, his entire expression softened. Every time. Like finding her somewhere automatically allowed him to breathe again.

The soulmate bond warmed gently beneath her ribs—Home.

“You stayed awake,” Yoongi said quietly.

Ellie stared at him in disbelief. “You just finished the final concert of a world tour.”

“And?”

“You’re impossible.”

A faint smile tugged briefly at the corner of his mouth before he crossed the room toward her. He leaned down and kissed her softly in front of everyone like it had become the most natural thing in the world.

Which, by now, it had.

Taehyung made an immediate offended noise, “Oh my God.”

“No one forced you to look,” Yoongi replied calmly without pulling away fully.

“I live in constant suffering. First JK and Avery. Now you two”

“You create most of it yourself,” Jin informed him.

Hobi suddenly froze while staring down at his phone, Then:

“Oh.”

Namjoon looked up immediately. “Why do you sound scared?”

Hobi slowly turned the screen around.

Silence hit the room instantly.

Yoongi’s Instagram account filled the display.

New post:

A photo of Ellie sitting on the hotel balcony in Tokyo earlier that week wearing oversized headphones and one of Yoongi’s sweatshirts, city lights glowing softly behind her while she laughed at something off-camera.

No face hidden. No ambiguity. Just Ellie.

And beneath it: A black heart.

Jungkook physically sat upright off the floor.

“You posted that?”

Taehyung lunged across the couch. “HYUNG.”

Jimin stared at the screen in disbelief. “You hard launched with a black heart?”

“That is psychotic behavior,” Jin added immediately.

Hobi looked genuinely emotional. “The internet is exploding right now.”

Notifications multiplied across the phone so quickly the app could barely refresh. Millions of likes climbing in real time. Comments moving too fast to read. Fan accounts reposting screenshots instantly.

Meanwhile Yoongi looked completely calm.

“Yeah,” he said simply.

Namjoon burst out laughing, “You really waited until the final tour night to destroy social media?”

Yoongi shrugged once like none of this was remotely dramatic, “It seemed like good timing.”

“You posted her face and gave people a black heart,” Taehyung said. “ARMY is going to start analyzing moon cycles.”

“They already found the hoodie,” Jungkook informed the room while staring at his own phone.

“Of course they did,” Jimin sighed.

Then, without another word, Yoongi calmly took his phone back from Hobi, held the power button down, and turned it off completely.

The room erupted immediately.

“You turned it OFF?” Jungkook shouted.

“You can’t just disappear after that!”

“That’s insane behavior even for you,” Jin added through laughter.

Hobi looked personally betrayed, “People are writing dissertations online right now!”

Yoongi ignored all of them completely.

Instead, he looked at Ellie. Warm eyes. Soft expression. Not even the slightest trace of hesitation left anymore.

For so long, loving each other had existed inside hidden spaces: quiet hotel rooms, careful language, private touches, fear woven through every public moment…Not anymore.

Yoongi crossed back toward the couch and held his hand out toward her. Simple.

“I got tired of acting like loving you was something I should keep hidden, pretty girl.”

Emotion rose warm and overwhelming through the soulmate bond.

Around them, the members were still loudly arguing over the global chaos currently unfolding online.

Then Taehyung gasped suddenly loud enough to make everyone look at him.

“Oh my God.”

“What now?” Jin asked.

Taehyung shoved his phone dramatically toward the center of the room., “LOOK AT THE COMMENTS.”

Jungkook immediately crawled across the couch to see, “No way.”

Hobi leaned over next, already wheezing with laughter.

The top comments refreshed faster than they could read them:

MIN YOONGI HARD LAUNCHING WITH A BLACK HEART???

honestly this is the most yoongi relationship announcement possible

HE SAID YALL GET ONE PHOTO GOOD LUCK

THE HOODIE??? WE LOST TO A BLONDE WOMAN IN TEXAS

not him posting her and immediately disappearing i’m crying

HE TURNED HIS PHONE OFF DIDN’T HE

Namjoon physically laughed loud enough to double over slightly, “They know you too well.”

“They absolutely know him too well,” Jin agreed.

Taehyung looked deeply invested now.

“Oh this one is killing me.” He read dramatically:

‘yoongi posted his girlfriend like a man tossing bread into a lake before walking away from the consequences’

The entire room broke. Even Ellie laughed hard enough she had to cover her face briefly.

Hobi collapsed sideways against the couch cushions: “THAT IS EXACTLY WHAT HE DID.”

Yoongi looked entirely unbothered by any of it.

Jimin pointed accusingly. “You can’t act calm after causing this level of public hysteria.”

“I didn’t cause hysteria.”

“You hard launched after months of rumors.”

Yoongi considered that for half a second.

“Okay,” he admitted. “Maybe a little.”

Taehyung was still scrolling rapidly, “Oh my God, they’re putting together timelines now.”

“Stop reading,” Namjoon warned immediately.

“No, this is fascinating.”

Jungkook looked horrified suddenly. “They found the Tokyo balcony.”

“Already?” Jin asked.

“It’s been four minutes!”

“ARMY works fast,” Hobi said solemnly.

Throughout all of it, Yoongi remained exactly the same: calm, quiet, completely unwilling to participate in the chaos he created.

He simply walked back toward Ellie while the others continued spiraling around the suite behind him.

“You’re seriously not reacting to any of this?” she asked softly.

Yoongi looked down at her, expression warm in that quiet way only she usually saw.

“No.”

“Why?”

Because unlike the internet exploding around them, his answer came easy.

“Because I already got what I wanted.”

And standing there in the middle of exhausted post-tour chaos, Ellie realized something extraordinary: Nobody was asking her to become smaller anymore. Not to deserve love. Not to deserve staying. Not to deserve being chosen openly.

Yoongi still held his hand out toward her patiently. No fear No shame. Just certainty.

Ellie smiled softly and slipped her hand into his—Easy as breathing.

THE END

—————————-

BOUNS:

A Year later—Seoul.

The apartment was quiet except for rain against the windows and the soft sound of Yoongi working in the studio room down the hall.

Ellie sat curled into the corner of the couch translating notes for a client while one of Yoongi’s playlists drifted faintly through the apartment speakers.

It was nearly midnight. A normal night. Which still felt extraordinary sometimes.

The front door to the studio opened softly a few minutes later.

Ellie looked up automatically.

Yoongi walked into the living room wearing gray sweats and a black T-shirt, hair messy from hours spent working while exhaustion lingered faintly around his eyes.

“You’re still awake,” he said quietly.

“You say that every night like this isn’t my apartment too.”

“It’s concerning behavior.”

“You make music until three in the morning.” She countered with a laugh.

“That’s art.”

“That’s hypocrisy.”

A tiny smile appeared briefly at the corner of his mouth before disappearing again. Still rare enough to feel precious.

Yoongi crossed the room slowly before stopping beside the couch. Then he held something out toward her.

Ellie blinked.

“A USB drive?”

“Mhm.”

She looked up suspiciously. “Why are you handing this to me like it’s emotionally significant?”

“Because it is.” That immediately made her nervous.

Ellie took the drive carefully, “What’s on it?”

Yoongi looked strangely calm for someone whose soulmate bond currently felt like tightly controlled anxiety beneath the surface.

“A song.”

“A new song?”

“Mhm.”

“For the album?”

“No.”

Ellie frowned slightly, “Then what is it for?”

Yoongi stayed quiet for a second too long.

Then: “Just listen to it.”

That was absolutely not suspicious at all. Ellie narrowed her eyes but reached for her laptop anyway.

Yoongi sat beside her on the couch while she plugged the drive in.

The file name simply read: always.

Her chest tightened unexpectedly before she even pressed play. Soft piano filled the room first.

Then Yoongi’s voice. Not polished like an official release. Not fully mastered—Raw..

Ellie listened quietly while lyrics unfolded slowly through the apartment speakers. About home. About fear. About learning that love was never meant to feel temporary.

Her throat tightened almost immediately.

Then halfway through the second verse—

“You stopped apologizing for staying

so I stopped pretending I could lose you.”

Ellie physically stopped breathing for a second.

The soulmate bond pulsed warm and terrified beside her—Terrified.

Yoongi was nervous. That almost never happened anymore.

Then the final chorus came. Stripped down softer than the rest.

Completely him.

“So stay with me awhile

until awhile becomes forever.”

Silence filled the apartment after the song ended.

Ellie stared at the laptop screen without moving.

Slowly—very slowly— she turned toward him.

Yoongi looked back at her quietly, hands folded together loosely while nervousness moved warm beneath the soulmate bond despite how calm he appeared externally.

Then Ellie noticed the ring box sitting on the coffee table…Just sitting there. Like he’d placed it down halfway through panicking about how to do this.

A laugh broke helplessly out of her before tears could.

“You’re unbelievable.”

Yoongi looked mildly offended immediately, “I wrote you a song.”

“You proposed with a USB drive.”

“It’s practical.”

Ellie laughed harder, covering her face briefly while emotion climbed painfully into her throat.

Yoongi’s expression softened instantly watching her react.

Then, quieter: “I didn’t want some huge moment.”

“I know.”

Yoongi looked down briefly before continuing.

“You spent so much of your life feeling like love disappeared when things became difficult.” His voice stayed calm despite the emotion underneath it. “I just wanted you to know mine won’t.”

Tears blurred Ellie’s vision completely now.

Yoongi reached over slowly and took one of her hands into his.

“I don’t really care about ceremonies,” he admitted quietly. “Or doing things perfectly.” A tiny nervous exhale escaped him. “I just know I want every version of my life to have you in it.”

Emotion surged so hard through the soulmate bond Ellie thought her chest might split open from it.

“You’re crying a lot for someone who makes fun of me for being emotional,” Yoongi murmured softly.

Ellie laughed through tears.

“You proposed with a song named always.”

“That’s fair.”

She looked down finally at the ring box still sitting abandoned on the table.

“You didn’t even hand me the ring.”

“I got distracted.”

“You got nervous.”

“I absolutely did not.” The blatant lie pulled another watery laugh from her.

Then Ellie looked back at him fully. At the man who loved quietly but completely. Who stayed. Who never once asked her to become smaller to deserve being chosen.

And suddenly the answer felt easy. Like breathing.

Ellie leaned forward and kissed him softly before whispering against his mouth:

“Yeah, baby.” Her voice broke slightly around the smile. “I’ll stay awhile.”

—————————————-

Well that’s the end! :)

I hope you enjoyed it! Thanks for reading

Like comment reblog!

DM me for requests or new ideas!

Xoxo, Bumble

Taglist: @bbl32 @bb3armira @bjoriis @lumora-the-white @itsluvie @traumaanatomy @joonmonjagi @thedelulusafespace @blue-and-grey-swan @dayquilforthewin @jajabro @ineed-myspace @airwolf92

[deaddumblbumble]

Soft Places To Land | MYG Epilogue

SUMMARY: After the world learns BTS can actually have soulmates, shy interpreter Ellie Parker joins the U.S. leg of BTS’s Arirang tour unaware that Min Yoongi recognizes her instantly as his soulmate. As growing public attention and a dangerous fan obsession threaten Ellie’s fragile sense of safety, Yoongi becomes the quiet place she keeps finding herself drawn back to. This is a slow-burn story about learning that love can be gentle, protective, and safe enough to finally stop surviving.

WARNINGS: past emotional abuse, anxiety, panic responses, stalking, invasion of privacy, obsessive fan behavior, toxic family dynamics, emotional manipulation, Contains heavy angst, hurt/comfort, and discussions of trauma and healing throughout.

Masterlist

————————

Six months later—Tokyo.

The final night of the Arirang tour ended beneath silver confetti and deafening screams.

By the time BTS returned to the hotel, it was nearly two in the morning.

Rain shimmered faintly against the city skyline outside the suite windows while exhausted staff moved quietly through the hallways beyond the door. Somewhere several floors below, fans still lingered outside the hotel barricades despite the hour.

Ellie sat curled sideways on the couch in one of Yoongi’s hoodies, bare feet tucked beneath her while the concert livestream replayed silently across the television.

She had watched the entire final show from the suite. Not because Yoongi asked her to stay hidden.

Because this time she simply wanted one quiet night to watch him without responsibilities attached to it. No headset. No translation comms. No production schedules—Just pride.

The suite door burst open loudly down the hallway.

“We survived another tour!”

Hobi’s voice echoed through the room before anyone even appeared.

A second later he stumbled into the suite dramatically clutching his chest while Jin followed behind him looking equally exhausted.

“My knees are thirty years older than they were this morning,” Jin announced.

“You are thirty years older than you think you are,” Namjoon replied while walking in behind him.

Jin pointed immediately. “Disrespect from the youth.”

Ellie laughed softly from the couch.

The sound pulled everyone’s attention toward her at once.

“There she is,” Hobi said brightly before immediately crossing the room and dropping beside her on the couch. “Our emotional support translator.”

“I stopped translating for you months ago.”

“And yet spiritually you still guide us.”

“That means absolutely nothing.”

“Exactly.”

Jungkook collapsed face-first onto the carpet near the coffee table while Taehyung stole room service fries directly off someone else’s plate without asking.

Jimin disappeared briefly toward the kitchen muttering something about water before reappearing with enough bottled drinks for everyone.

The suite settled quickly into familiar chaos. Comfortable chaos. The kind Ellie once thought she would only ever observe from a distance.

Then Yoongi walked in last. Black hoodie damp from the rain outside. Hair falling into his eyes. Exhaustion written clearly into the lines of his face after three straight hours onstage.

And still— the second he saw Ellie, his entire expression softened. Every time. Like finding her somewhere automatically allowed him to breathe again.

The soulmate bond warmed gently beneath her ribs—Home.

“You stayed awake,” Yoongi said quietly.

Ellie stared at him in disbelief. “You just finished the final concert of a world tour.”

“And?”

“You’re impossible.”

A faint smile tugged briefly at the corner of his mouth before he crossed the room toward her. He leaned down and kissed her softly in front of everyone like it had become the most natural thing in the world.

Which, by now, it had.

Taehyung made an immediate offended noise, “Oh my God.”

“No one forced you to look,” Yoongi replied calmly without pulling away fully.

“I live in constant suffering. First JK and Avery. Now you two”

“You create most of it yourself,” Jin informed him.

Hobi suddenly froze while staring down at his phone, Then:

“Oh.”

Namjoon looked up immediately. “Why do you sound scared?”

Hobi slowly turned the screen around.

Silence hit the room instantly.

Yoongi’s Instagram account filled the display.

New post:

A photo of Ellie sitting on the hotel balcony in Tokyo earlier that week wearing oversized headphones and one of Yoongi’s sweatshirts, city lights glowing softly behind her while she laughed at something off-camera.

No face hidden. No ambiguity. Just Ellie.

And beneath it: A black heart.

Jungkook physically sat upright off the floor.

“You posted that?”

Taehyung lunged across the couch. “HYUNG.”

Jimin stared at the screen in disbelief. “You hard launched with a black heart?”

“That is psychotic behavior,” Jin added immediately.

Hobi looked genuinely emotional. “The internet is exploding right now.”

Notifications multiplied across the phone so quickly the app could barely refresh. Millions of likes climbing in real time. Comments moving too fast to read. Fan accounts reposting screenshots instantly.

Meanwhile Yoongi looked completely calm.

“Yeah,” he said simply.

Namjoon burst out laughing, “You really waited until the final tour night to destroy social media?”

Yoongi shrugged once like none of this was remotely dramatic, “It seemed like good timing.”

“You posted her face and gave people a black heart,” Taehyung said. “ARMY is going to start analyzing moon cycles.”

“They already found the hoodie,” Jungkook informed the room while staring at his own phone.

“Of course they did,” Jimin sighed.

Then, without another word, Yoongi calmly took his phone back from Hobi, held the power button down, and turned it off completely.

The room erupted immediately.

“You turned it OFF?” Jungkook shouted.

“You can’t just disappear after that!”

“That’s insane behavior even for you,” Jin added through laughter.

Hobi looked personally betrayed, “People are writing dissertations online right now!”

Yoongi ignored all of them completely.

Instead, he looked at Ellie. Warm eyes. Soft expression. Not even the slightest trace of hesitation left anymore.

For so long, loving each other had existed inside hidden spaces: quiet hotel rooms, careful language, private touches, fear woven through every public moment…Not anymore.

Yoongi crossed back toward the couch and held his hand out toward her. Simple.

“I got tired of acting like loving you was something I should keep hidden, pretty girl.”

Emotion rose warm and overwhelming through the soulmate bond.

Around them, the members were still loudly arguing over the global chaos currently unfolding online.

Then Taehyung gasped suddenly loud enough to make everyone look at him.

“Oh my God.”

“What now?” Jin asked.

Taehyung shoved his phone dramatically toward the center of the room., “LOOK AT THE COMMENTS.”

Jungkook immediately crawled across the couch to see, “No way.”

Hobi leaned over next, already wheezing with laughter.

The top comments refreshed faster than they could read them:

MIN YOONGI HARD LAUNCHING WITH A BLACK HEART???

honestly this is the most yoongi relationship announcement possible

HE SAID YALL GET ONE PHOTO GOOD LUCK

THE HOODIE??? WE LOST TO A BLONDE WOMAN IN TEXAS

not him posting her and immediately disappearing i’m crying

HE TURNED HIS PHONE OFF DIDN’T HE

Namjoon physically laughed loud enough to double over slightly, “They know you too well.”

“They absolutely know him too well,” Jin agreed.

Taehyung looked deeply invested now.

“Oh this one is killing me.” He read dramatically:

‘yoongi posted his girlfriend like a man tossing bread into a lake before walking away from the consequences’

The entire room broke. Even Ellie laughed hard enough she had to cover her face briefly.

Hobi collapsed sideways against the couch cushions: “THAT IS EXACTLY WHAT HE DID.”

Yoongi looked entirely unbothered by any of it.

Jimin pointed accusingly. “You can’t act calm after causing this level of public hysteria.”

“I didn’t cause hysteria.”

“You hard launched after months of rumors.”

Yoongi considered that for half a second.

“Okay,” he admitted. “Maybe a little.”

Taehyung was still scrolling rapidly, “Oh my God, they’re putting together timelines now.”

“Stop reading,” Namjoon warned immediately.

“No, this is fascinating.”

Jungkook looked horrified suddenly. “They found the Tokyo balcony.”

“Already?” Jin asked.

“It’s been four minutes!”

“ARMY works fast,” Hobi said solemnly.

Throughout all of it, Yoongi remained exactly the same: calm, quiet, completely unwilling to participate in the chaos he created.

He simply walked back toward Ellie while the others continued spiraling around the suite behind him.

“You’re seriously not reacting to any of this?” she asked softly.

Yoongi looked down at her, expression warm in that quiet way only she usually saw.

“No.”

“Why?”

Because unlike the internet exploding around them, his answer came easy.

“Because I already got what I wanted.”

And standing there in the middle of exhausted post-tour chaos, Ellie realized something extraordinary: Nobody was asking her to become smaller anymore. Not to deserve love. Not to deserve staying. Not to deserve being chosen openly.

Yoongi still held his hand out toward her patiently. No fear No shame. Just certainty.

Ellie smiled softly and slipped her hand into his—Easy as breathing.

THE END

—————————-

BOUNS:

A Year later—Seoul.

The apartment was quiet except for rain against the windows and the soft sound of Yoongi working in the studio room down the hall.

Ellie sat curled into the corner of the couch translating notes for a client while one of Yoongi’s playlists drifted faintly through the apartment speakers.

It was nearly midnight. A normal night. Which still felt extraordinary sometimes.

The front door to the studio opened softly a few minutes later.

Ellie looked up automatically.

Yoongi walked into the living room wearing gray sweats and a black T-shirt, hair messy from hours spent working while exhaustion lingered faintly around his eyes.

“You’re still awake,” he said quietly.

“You say that every night like this isn’t my apartment too.”

“It’s concerning behavior.”

“You make music until three in the morning.” She countered with a laugh.

“That’s art.”

“That’s hypocrisy.”

A tiny smile appeared briefly at the corner of his mouth before disappearing again. Still rare enough to feel precious.

Yoongi crossed the room slowly before stopping beside the couch. Then he held something out toward her.

Ellie blinked.

“A USB drive?”

“Mhm.”

She looked up suspiciously. “Why are you handing this to me like it’s emotionally significant?”

“Because it is.” That immediately made her nervous.

Ellie took the drive carefully, “What’s on it?”

Yoongi looked strangely calm for someone whose soulmate bond currently felt like tightly controlled anxiety beneath the surface.

“A song.”

“A new song?”

“Mhm.”

“For the album?”

“No.”

Ellie frowned slightly, “Then what is it for?”

Yoongi stayed quiet for a second too long.

Then: “Just listen to it.”

That was absolutely not suspicious at all. Ellie narrowed her eyes but reached for her laptop anyway.

Yoongi sat beside her on the couch while she plugged the drive in.

The file name simply read: always.

Her chest tightened unexpectedly before she even pressed play. Soft piano filled the room first.

Then Yoongi’s voice. Not polished like an official release. Not fully mastered—Raw..

Ellie listened quietly while lyrics unfolded slowly through the apartment speakers. About home. About fear. About learning that love was never meant to feel temporary.

Her throat tightened almost immediately.

Then halfway through the second verse—

“You stopped apologizing for staying

so I stopped pretending I could lose you.”

Ellie physically stopped breathing for a second.

The soulmate bond pulsed warm and terrified beside her—Terrified.

Yoongi was nervous. That almost never happened anymore.

Then the final chorus came. Stripped down softer than the rest.

Completely him.

“So stay with me awhile

until awhile becomes forever.”

Silence filled the apartment after the song ended.

Ellie stared at the laptop screen without moving.

Slowly—very slowly— she turned toward him.

Yoongi looked back at her quietly, hands folded together loosely while nervousness moved warm beneath the soulmate bond despite how calm he appeared externally.

Then Ellie noticed the ring box sitting on the coffee table…Just sitting there. Like he’d placed it down halfway through panicking about how to do this.

A laugh broke helplessly out of her before tears could.

“You’re unbelievable.”

Yoongi looked mildly offended immediately, “I wrote you a song.”

“You proposed with a USB drive.”

“It’s practical.”

Ellie laughed harder, covering her face briefly while emotion climbed painfully into her throat.

Yoongi’s expression softened instantly watching her react.

Then, quieter: “I didn’t want some huge moment.”

“I know.”

Yoongi looked down briefly before continuing.

“You spent so much of your life feeling like love disappeared when things became difficult.” His voice stayed calm despite the emotion underneath it. “I just wanted you to know mine won’t.”

Tears blurred Ellie’s vision completely now.

Yoongi reached over slowly and took one of her hands into his.

“I don’t really care about ceremonies,” he admitted quietly. “Or doing things perfectly.” A tiny nervous exhale escaped him. “I just know I want every version of my life to have you in it.”

Emotion surged so hard through the soulmate bond Ellie thought her chest might split open from it.

“You’re crying a lot for someone who makes fun of me for being emotional,” Yoongi murmured softly.

Ellie laughed through tears.

“You proposed with a song named always.”

“That’s fair.”

She looked down finally at the ring box still sitting abandoned on the table.

“You didn’t even hand me the ring.”

“I got distracted.”

“You got nervous.”

“I absolutely did not.” The blatant lie pulled another watery laugh from her.

Then Ellie looked back at him fully. At the man who loved quietly but completely. Who stayed. Who never once asked her to become smaller to deserve being chosen.

And suddenly the answer felt easy. Like breathing.

Ellie leaned forward and kissed him softly before whispering against his mouth:

“Yeah, baby.” Her voice broke slightly around the smile. “I’ll stay awhile.”

—————————————-

Well that’s the end! :)

I hope you enjoyed it! Thanks for reading

Like comment reblog!

DM me for requests or new ideas!

Xoxo, Bumble

Taglist: @bbl32 @bb3armira @bjoriis @lumora-the-white @itsluvie @traumaanatomy @joonmonjagi @thedelulusafespace @blue-and-grey-swan @dayquilforthewin @jajabro @ineed-myspace @airwolf92

[deaddumblbumble]

Soft Places to Land | MYG Pt 19

SUMMARY: After the world learns BTS can actually have soulmates, shy interpreter Ellie Parker joins the U.S. leg of BTS’s Arirang tour unaware that Min Yoongi recognizes her instantly as his soulmate. As growing public attention and a dangerous fan obsession threaten Ellie’s fragile sense of safety, Yoongi becomes the quiet place she keeps finding herself drawn back to. This is a slow-burn story about learning that love can be gentle, protective, and safe enough to finally stop surviving.

WARNINGS: past emotional abuse, anxiety, panic responses, stalking, invasion of privacy, obsessive fan behavior, toxic family dynamics, emotional manipulation, Contains heavy angst, hurt/comfort, and discussions of trauma and healing throughout.

Masterlist

—————————————

The room stayed dark long after the rain stopped.

Ellie lay half-curled against Yoongi beneath tangled blankets, listening quietly to the steady rhythm of his breathing while the city glowed dimly through the windows beyond them.

For a long time neither of them moved much. The exhaustion after weeks of fear and emotional strain had settled heavily into both of them now that adrenaline was finally gone. Ellie felt it in the looseness of her limbs, in the deep ache beneath her ribs that had nothing to do with physical exhaustion and everything to do with finally letting herself stop holding so much back.

Yoongi’s hand moved slowly along her spine beneath his hoodie she put on at some point, fingertips drifting absently against warm skin like he needed continual reassurance she was actually there.

The soulmate bond rested warm and quiet between them, no longer sharp with panic or emotional overload. She could still feel everything in him—affection, exhaustion, relief so deep it almost hurt—but now the emotions settled instead of crashing violently through both of them. It felt like breathing normally after months underwater.

Yoongi pressed another slow kiss against her shoulder.

“You okay, baby?” His voice sounded rough and low in the dark.

Ellie nodded against his chest before realizing he couldn’t see it.

“Yeah.”

The answer came easily now. Not forced. Not something she had to convince herself of. Yoongi’s arm tightened slightly around her waist at the sound of it.

For several quiet moments, the only noise came from distant traffic below the hotel and the occasional rustle of blankets whenever either of them shifted closer again without thinking.

Eventually Ellie spoke softly into the darkness.

“I didn’t realize how lonely I’d gotten.”

Yoongi went still beside her.

She traced slow patterns against his chest while trying to untangle the feeling into words.

“Not before you,” she clarified quietly. “During all of this.”

The stalker. The fear. The weeks spent convincing herself she needed to become smaller and easier and less emotionally demanding to protect him from the weight of loving her. Yoongi understood immediately.

“I know.”

The quietness of the answer made her throat tighten.

His hand slid slowly upward along her back before settling gently at the base of her neck.

“I think I got lonely too,” he admitted softly. “Even when you were right beside me.”

Emotion moved warmly through the soulmate bond. Not painful anymore. Just honest.

Ellie lifted her head slightly to look at him. The room remained dark except for faint city light across his face, softening the sharp lines exhaustion had carved into him over the last several weeks.

“You looked at me like I was already gone sometimes,” she whispered.

Yoongi closed his eyes briefly. “Because I was terrified you would be.”

The confession settled heavily between them.

Ellie touched his face gently.

“You know what’s strange?” she asked softly.

“What, pretty girl?”

“I thought being loved this much would feel overwhelming.”

Yoongi’s gaze stayed fixed on hers.

“But it doesn’t,” she admitted quietly. “It just feels…” She searched briefly for the right word. “Safe.”

Something in his expression softened almost painfully at that.

Yoongi leaned forward slowly until his forehead rested against hers.

“That’s all I wanted,” he murmured. “For you to feel safe with me.”

Ellie felt emotion rise suddenly and fiercely in her chest.

Through panic and fear and ugly conversations and every version of her that believed she was too difficult to keep loving. He just wanted her to stay.

Yoongi’s thumb brushed lightly beneath her jaw.

“You know you never have to hide from me when you’re scared, right?”

Ellie laughed softly under her breath.

“I’m pretty sure you feel it before I even say anything.”

“That’s not the same thing.”

The answer came immediately.

Yoongi studied her carefully in the dim light.

“I don’t just want the easy parts of you, baby.”

The sincerity in the words nearly hurt.

Ellie closed the remaining distance between them and kissed him slowly. Not searching. Not desperate. Just close enough to feel the warmth of him everywhere now.

Yoongi kissed her back with quiet intensity, one hand sliding into her hair while the other held her against him like touch itself had become grounding after weeks spent afraid of losing her.

When the kiss finally broke, neither of them moved apart.

They simply stayed there together beneath tangled blankets while the city moved quietly beyond the windows and the soulmate bond settled warm and complete between them for the very first time.

————————————-

By the next city, the atmosphere around the tour had changed completely. Not calmer really, just honest.

Security no longer tried hiding its presence backstage. Additional guards stood openly near stage tunnels and hotel elevators while managers coordinated movement with military precision instead of pretending everything remained normal.

The difference was that Ellie no longer felt hidden inside it. That changed more than she expected.

She sat cross-legged on the floor of the rehearsal stage in Seattle Arena the following afternoon reviewing timing adjustments with one of the production coordinators while crew members tested lighting cues overhead.

Music echoed intermittently through the empty stadium. Cables stretched across concrete floors. Staff shouted corrections from the sound booth high above the arena seats. The familiar chaos grounded her now instead of overwhelming her.

“You missed a transition marker.”

Ellie looked up immediately.

Yoongi stood near the edge of the stage holding an iced coffee in each hand, dark hoodie pushed back from blond hair while rehearsal staff moved around him carrying equipment.

“You interrupted my concentration.”

“You were staring into space.”

“I was thinking.”

“That’s usually dangerous.”

Ellie rolled her eyes softly as he handed her the coffee.

The interaction felt so normal it almost startled her.

Weeks ago every conversation between them had carried strain underneath it—fear, exhaustion, the constant pressure of trying not to break each other accidentally while surviving everything happening around them.

Now the relationship breathed again. Not perfectly. But naturally.

Yoongi sat beside her on the stage floor while dancers rehearsed spacing farther down the runway.

For a while they simply watched rehearsals together in comfortable silence. Ellie felt his arm brush lightly against hers every few seconds whenever either of them shifted. Neither moved away. Touch had become instinctive between them now.

Yoongi rested one forearm loosely across his knees while watching stage technicians recalibrate lighting positions overhead.

“You slept better.”

The observation came casually enough that Ellie almost missed it.

She glanced sideways at him. “You can tell?”

“You stopped waking up every time someone walked past the hotel room.”

The honesty of the statement tightened something softly inside her chest.

Ellie looked down at the coffee cup warming her hands.

“I think my body finally realized the emergency part ended.”

Yoongi’s expression shifted slightly at that. Not relief exactly. Something gentler.

“Good,” he said quietly.

Across the arena floor, Taehyung suddenly pointed toward them dramatically from rehearsal formation. “Oh my God.”

Jimin looked over immediately. “What now?”

“They’re being emotionally healthy in public.”

Jimin barely looked up from fixing an in-ear pack. “You say that like you aren’t obsessed with monitoring them.”

“I am concerned about workplace professionalism.”

“You climbed into Yoongi hyung’s lap during rehearsals last month,” Jungkook called from farther downstage.

“That was emotionally necessary.”

Namjoon physically sighed somewhere behind them.

The atmosphere backstage felt lighter now. Not carefree. Just alive again.

Ellie hadn’t realized until recently how badly the fear had infected everything around them. Now laughter returned naturally between rehearsals. Staff stopped looking constantly tense. Yoongi no longer scanned every room like he was preparing for disaster before allowing himself to breathe. Healing happened quietly, apparently.

Namjoon climbed onto the side-stage platform a moment later.

The moment Ellie saw his face, something tightened instinctively in her stomach. panic.

His expression had gone careful.

“Yoongi,” Namjoon said quietly.

Yoongi looked up immediately.

Namjoon hesitated briefly before speaking again, “There’s someone downstairs asking for Elenor.”

The warmth beside Ellie vanished instantly.

Yoongi straightened slowly. “Who?”

Namjoon looked toward Ellie first, “Her father.”

Silence dropped heavily around the small backstage area. Even Taehyung stopped talking.

Ellie stared at Namjoon for a second without fully processing the words.

Her father.

Here.

The soulmate bond shifted sharply with Yoongi’s reaction—protectiveness rising fast beneath sudden anger—but underneath it Ellie felt something worse climbing through herself: Regression. Like her body had skipped years backward emotionally before her mind caught up.

Yoongi noticed immediately, “Baby.”

The softness in his voice almost made it worse.

Ellie stood too quickly from the equipment case, “He shouldn’t know where we are.”

“Management didn’t tell him,” Namjoon answered carefully. “He contacted the venue directly.”

Of course he did. Always controlled. Always composed enough to gain access to spaces he technically shouldn’t reach.

Ellie wrapped her arms around herself tightly, “I’ll go deal with it.”

Yoongi’s expression hardened immediately. “You’re not dealing with him alone.”

The immediate certainty in the answer pulled warmth painfully through her chest. Not because he sounded aggressive. Because there wasn’t a second of hesitation in him anymore when it came to standing beside her.

And suddenly Ellie realized something terrifying: This would be the first time anyone who loved her actually witnessed what her father was like up close.

—————————————————

The hospitality lounge beneath the arena felt unnaturally quiet after rehearsal. Muted television. Coffee cooling untouched on polished tables. Rain tapping softly against darkened windows overlooking the loading docks outside.

Ellie stopped just inside the doorway.

Her father stood near the center of the room speaking calmly with one of the venue coordinators, dark wool coat folded neatly over one arm. Perfect posture. Controlled expression. Every detail of him carefully arranged into professionalism. The same as always.

The coordinator excused himself quickly the moment he noticed the group entering behind Ellie.

Her father turned.

His eyes landed on her immediately. For one awful second, Ellie felt herself brace automatically.

Not because he looked angry. Because he looked disappointed.

“Elenor.”

Her name sounded measured in his voice. Smooth enough to pass for warmth.

Yoongi moved slightly closer beside her before she could retreat into herself. The tiny shift grounded her instantly.

Her father’s attention flicked toward him briefly, then toward the rest of the group standing behind them: Namjoon. Jimin. Taehyung. Jin, Hobi, Jungkook. Avery…All silent. Watching.

“You brought quite a few people with you,” her father observed mildly.

“No,” Yoongi answered before Ellie could speak. “She brought people who care about her.”

Something unreadable crossed her father’s expression before smoothing away again.

His gaze returned to Ellie. “You look exhausted.”

The words sounded concerned. Ellie still heard criticism immediately underneath them. Too emotional. Too overwhelmed…Look what you’ve done to yourself.

“I’m fine.”

His eyes moved briefly toward the fading bruises near her throat.

A pause.

Then: “I’m not sure I’d call this fine.”

The room stayed silent.

Her father sighed softly, like the entire situation saddened him rather than angered him.

“Do you understand what this looks like publicly?” he asked carefully. “Security incidents. Stalking reports. Tabloid photographs.” His eyes flicked briefly toward Yoongi. “Now your name is attached to rumor cycles surrounding celebrities.”

The shame hit fast and instinctive. Not because Ellie agreed. Because she had been trained her entire life to hear public embarrassment as personal failure.

Her father continued calmly.

“Your sister has worked very hard to build a serious professional reputation at the hospital.” The disappointment in his voice sharpened slightly. “Do you think this spectacle helps her?”

There it was. Not direct cruelty. Never direct. Just implication—You are embarrassing the family again.

“She has colleagues calling her asking questions now,” her father continued. “Articles speculating about your relationship with a BTS member. Photos everywhere.” He looked at Ellie steadily. “Do you understand how attention-seeking that appears to people?”

The sentence landed like a slap. Ellie felt humiliation climb instantly into her chest. Because he said it in the exact tone he always used growing up whenever she became too visible emotionally.

Attention-seeking. As if love itself was performance As if being publicly wanted by someone automatically cheapened her.

Her father sighed softly again.

“Your sister would never place herself at the center of something this chaotic,” he said. “She understands the value of privacy. Professionalism. Restraint.”

Avery looked openly furious now. Taehyung’s jaw tightened visibly.

But Yoongi— Yoongi looked heartbroken. Not because of the insult toward him. Because he could see exactly where Ellie learned to feel ashamed of being loved out loud.

“You think she wanted this?” Yoongi asked quietly.

Her father looked at him evenly.

“I think Elenor has always confused emotional intensity with meaning.”

The soulmate bond shifted sharply with Yoongi’s anger. Cold now.

“You don’t know anything about our relationship.”

“No,” her father replied calmly. “I know my daughter.” His eyes returned to Ellie. “You attach yourself deeply very quickly. You always have.”

The old shame rose automatically. Too emotional. Too attached Too much.

Except this time, nobody around her looked annoyed by it. They looked angry for her.

Jungkook frowned openly. “That’s not a normal thing to say to your kid.”

Namjoon shot him a brief warning glance, but he didn’t disagree.

Her father’s expression cooled slightly.

“It’s interesting,” he said mildly, “how quickly concern becomes villainized when someone refuses to hear uncomfortable truths.”

“That isn’t concern,” Avery said flatly.

Silence. Her father ignored her.

“You used to care about privacy,” he told Ellie quietly. “About dignity.” His gaze moved briefly toward Yoongi again. “I taught you to be useful, a hard worker, good at your job. Now your entire identity publicly revolves around being romantically connected to someone famous. ”

The words hit hard because they targeted one of Ellie’s deepest fears exactly: that she had disappeared into this relationship, that people only saw her as someone attached to BTS now, that maybe her father was right and the public viewed her as another woman chasing celebrity proximity.

Yoongi stepped closer beside her immediately, warmth pressing against her side. Grounding. Steady.

“She didn’t build her life around me,” he said quietly. “I built mine around making sure she knew she mattered.”

The room went completely still. Ellie felt emotion surge painfully through the soulmate bond.

Her father noticed too. And for the first time since the conversation began, faint irritation cracked visibly through the composure.

“You see?” he said softly to Ellie. “This is exactly what I mean. Everything becomes emotionally excessive with you.”

Something inside Ellie finally snapped into clarity then. Not anger. Understanding.

Her father genuinely believed love only remained stable when it was earned correctly: through usefulness, through composure, through being easy to manage.

Anything emotional enough to inconvenience people became weakness to him. Which meant he would never understand this relationship at all.

Ellie looked at him steadily.

“You know what?” she said quietly. “I spent most of my life believing love was something you had to earn by becoming less difficult.”

Her father’s expression hardened slightly.

“If I was calm enough, useful enough, quiet enough…” Her throat tightened briefly. “Then maybe people would keep choosing me.”

The room stayed completely silent.

“But nobody in this room has ever treated loving me like a transaction.” Her eyes burned suddenly. “They never made me feel like affection was something I had to pay for by shrinking myself.”

Emotion moved warm and steady through the soulmate bond beside her.

Yoongi’s hand brushed lightly against her back. Grounding.

Ellie looked back toward her father.

“You taught me that emotions become unacceptable the second they inconvenience someone else,” she said softly. “I don’t believe that anymore.”

Her father stared at her like he genuinely did not recognize the woman standing in front of him.

And maybe he didn’t. Because the version of Elenor he understood would already be apologizing.

———————————-

Her father left twenty minutes later. Not dramatically. Just a quiet tightening of his expression after realizing the conversation was no longer moving in the direction he wanted. That somehow felt worse.

Ellie stood motionless in the center of the hospitality lounge while the door shut softly behind him.

Silence settled immediately afterward. Nobody spoke at first.

The rain outside had stopped sometime during the argument, leaving only the distant hum of generators outside the loading docks and the muted vibration of concert preparations overhead.

Yoongi stayed beside her without touching her immediately. Like he understood she needed a second to exist inside the aftermath before someone tried comforting her out of it.

Ellie stared at the closed door. Then laughed once quietly. The sound came out thin and exhausted.

“I genuinely thought all of you were going to think I was overreacting growing up.”

The confession landed heavily in the room.

Avery frowned immediately. “Elenor—”

“No, seriously.” Ellie shook her head slowly. “He never yelled much. That’s why it was confusing.” Her eyes stayed fixed ahead. “Everything always sounded reasonable.”

Taehyung looked horrified, “That was reasonable to you?”

“When you hear it your whole life?” Ellie shrugged weakly. “Eventually, yes.”

Yoongi finally moved then. One hand settled gently against the back of her neck. The soulmate bond moved warm and steady instantly beneath her ribs.

“You were a kid,” he said quietly.

Ellie closed her eyes briefly at the softness in his voice, “That doesn’t stop you from believing it.”

The room stayed silent again.

Namjoon leaned back slightly against the edge of the table nearby, expression thoughtful in the way it always became when he was trying to understand something emotionally before responding.

“He talks about love like it’s performance-based,” he said finally.

Ellie laughed softly without humor, “Because for him it is.”

Jimin’s face tightened, “He kept talking about your sister like she was some standard you failed.”

“She’s not a bad person,” Ellie said immediately.

Nobody had accused her sister of being one, ut Ellie still defended her automatically anyway. Another old reflex.

“She’s just…” Ellie searched briefly for the right word. “Easier for him to understand.”

Professional. Controlled. Private. The kind of daughter who never made emotion visible enough to embarrass anyone publicly.

Yoongi’s thumb brushed slowly against the side of Ellie’s neck, “And you spent your whole life trying to become that version of yourself instead.”

The accuracy of it hurt. Ellie looked down at the floor.

“I really thought if I could become useful enough, eventually people would stop sounding disappointed in me.”

The admission made the entire room go still. Not because it sounded dramatic. Because it sounded true.

Yoongi’s expression changed instantly. Something deep and painful moved through the soulmate bond—anger, heartbreak, overwhelming tenderness all tangled together.

“Baby,” he said softly.

Ellie swallowed hard, “I know it sounds pathetic.”

“No,” Yoongi answered immediately.

Firm enough that she looked up.

“It sounds like someone taught you love was conditional.”

The words settled directly into the center of her chest. Because that was it exactly.

Love was safety only if: you behaved correctly, stayed manageable, remained useful, did not become emotionally inconvenient….Anything else risked abandonment.

Yoongi stepped closer.

“You know what I saw in there?” he asked quietly.

Ellie shook her head once.

“A man who kept trying to make you feel ashamed for being loved openly.”

Emotion surged painfully warm through the soulmate bond.

Yoongi’s gaze stayed fixed on hers.

“And I think that’s because nobody ever taught him how to love without control attached to it.”

Ellie looked down suddenly, blinking hard.

Immediately Yoongi pulled her gently against him. His arms wrapped around her carefully while Ellie buried her face briefly against his chest, overwhelmed less by the conversation itself than by the realization that nobody here thought she was difficult for reacting emotionally to it.

Nobody looked exhausted by her feelings. Nobody looked embarrassed by her.

Avery wiped suspiciously at one eye from across the room.

Taehyung pointed at her immediately. “You’re crying.”

“I’m not.”

“You literally are.”

“This is a stressful environment.”

Jungkook looked deeply unconvinced.

The interruption cracked the tension just enough that Ellie laughed weakly against Yoongi’s chest.

Yoongi’s arms tightened slightly around her at the sound.

“There’s my girl.” he murmured softly.

———————————————

The stadium felt alive again. Not frightening. Alive.

Ellie stood side-stage while the opening VCR played across towering screens overhead, bass vibrating through the floor hard enough to pulse through her ribs. Crew members moved around her in practiced chaos—headsets crackling, stage managers shouting timing cues, dancers rushing between entrance points while lighting rigs swept gold across the arena.

Seventy thousand fans screamed loud enough to shake the stadium. And for the first time in months, Ellie felt fully inside herself again.

Her headset rested around her neck while she reviewed translated cue notes for one of the local production coordinators beside the monitor station.

“The pyro timing changed after the second VCR,” the coordinator said quickly in Korean. “Can you confirm the adjustment with stage left?”

Ellie nodded automatically before switching languages without thinking.

“They moved the second pyro cue three seconds later,” she told the stage crew in English. “After the camera transition, not before.”

The crew member gave her a quick thumbs-up before rushing away.

Yoongi appeared beside her seconds later in full stage black, damp blond hair pushed back from rehearsal while stylists trailed behind fixing details that immediately fell apart again.

“You’re working.”

Ellie looked sideways at him. “That’s usually what happens backstage.”

“I thought maybe you’d finally learned how to rest.”

“Unlikely.”

A laugh slipped quietly out of him. The sound still warmed her chest every single time. There had been weeks where Yoongi barely laughed at all. Now the tension had finally started leaving him in pieces.

“You look happier,” he said softly.

Ellie glanced out toward the roaring stadium beyond the curtains.

“I forgot how much I missed this.”

Yoongi followed her gaze. The noise. The lights. The constant motion backstage.

He looked back at her afterward with something gentler in his expression.

“You never stopped belonging here, pretty girl.”

Emotion moved warmly through the soulmate bond.

Before Ellie could answer, one of the security managers approached quickly from the hallway behind them.

Yoongi straightened immediately at the look on his face.

The manager lowered his voice, “They found him.”

Everything inside Ellie went still, “What?”

“The stalker.” He glanced briefly between them. “Law enforcement confirmed identification an hour ago.”

Silence settled heavily around the small backstage area.

“He was detained near another venue connected to the tour route.” The manager exhaled quietly. “Male. Late twenties. Had been following travel schedules online for months.”

Ellie stared at him. Not because she was shocked. Because suddenly the faceless fear had become real—Human.

“He was active in multiple fan communities,” the manager continued carefully. “Most of the access came through manipulated staff interactions and stolen credentials.” A pause. “He genuinely believed you were damaging Yoongi’s reputation.”

The words landed cold. Not surprising Still painful.

Yoongi’s hand found hers instinctively.

The manager softened slightly afterward.

“He’s in custody now. There won’t be further contact.”

Ellie let the information settle slowly inside her chest. No dramatic relief came with it No instant disappearance of fear. But something unclenched anyway. The future suddenly felt possible again.

Then the stage manager shouted: “Places!”

The moment fractured immediately back into movement. Crew members rushed forward. Dancers moved into formation. The crowd screamed louder as the VCR neared its end.

Yoongi squeezed Ellie’s hand once before letting go reluctantly.

“You okay, baby?”

Ellie looked at him. Really looked at him.

The man who stayed through panic and fear and ugly nights where both of them thought love might collapse beneath pressure neither knew how to survive.

Then she looked toward the stage waiting beyond the darkness. And suddenly she realized something extraordinary: She was excited again.

A slow smile spread across her face.

“Yeah,” she answered honestly. “I really am.”

Something visibly eased in Yoongi’s expression at the response.

Then the lift platform activated beneath the stage. The crowd erupted.

And BTS walked into the light.

————————

The concert felt different that night. Lighter. Not because the fear disappeared completely. Not because the last several months stopped existing. But because everyone onstage finally seemed able to breathe again.

Ellie stood near stage left during the first ment translating quickly through her headset for local production staff while sweat-damp members laughed over each other beneath oceans of waving lightsticks.

Taehyung grabbed a water bottle dramatically.

“We survived rehearsal today,” he announced in Korean. “Please clap for us.”

Ellie translated automatically into English:

“Taehyung says they worked very hard today and deserve praise.”

Jungkook laughed loudly. “That is not what he said.”

Taehyung pointed accusingly toward side-stage. “Translator bias!”

Even Ellie laughed at that.

Namjoon stepped forward afterward, smile softer beneath the stage lights.

“There were difficult moments this year,” he said carefully in English. “For us and for people around us.”

The arena quieted almost instantly.

Namjoon continued: “But we learned something important too.” He glanced briefly toward the members beside him. “Protecting the people you love matters.”

Emotion rippled visibly through the stadium. Just honest enough that fans understood what remained unsaid.

Jimin nodded beside him.

“And thank you,” he added softly in Korean, “for staying with us through everything.”

Ellie translated automatically again

Then Yoongi looked toward her. Not obvious enough for cameras to catch. Just instinctive. Like some part of him automatically searched for her in every room now.

The soulmate bond warmed instantly. It felt like home.

———————————

Eeeekkk!

Like Comment reblog!

Xoxo, Bumble

Taglist: @bbl32 @bb3armira @bjoriis @lumora-the-white @itsluvie @traumaanatomy @joonmonjagi @thedelulusafespace @blue-and-grey-swan @dayquilforthewin @jajabro @ineed-myspace @airwolf92

[deaddumblbumble]

Soft Places to Land | MYG pt 18

SUMMARY: After the world learns BTS can actually have soulmates, shy interpreter Ellie Parker joins the U.S. leg of BTS’s Arirang tour unaware that Min Yoongi recognizes her instantly as his soulmate. As growing public attention and a dangerous fan obsession threaten Ellie’s fragile sense of safety, Yoongi becomes the quiet place she keeps finding herself drawn back to. This is a slow-burn story about learning that love can be gentle, protective, and safe enough to finally stop surviving.

WARNINGS: past emotional abuse, anxiety, panic responses, stalking, invasion of privacy, obsessive fan behavior, toxic family dynamics, emotional manipulation, Contains heavy angst, hurt/comfort, and discussions of trauma and healing throughout.

A/N: This chapter contains mature/adult content— MDNI

Masterlist

———————————-

The stadium emptied slowly after the encore.

From side-stage, Ellie watched the last waves of fans disappear through the glowing exits while crew members began dismantling sections of the set around them. Equipment cases rolled across concrete floors. Cables disappeared beneath practiced hands. Somewhere overhead, lighting rigs descended gradually from the rafters.

The familiar rhythm of post-show breakdown usually comforted her. Tonight it left her feeling strangely emotional instead. Because life had continued.

After Seattle, some part of her had genuinely believed everything might stop there. The tour. The relationship. Her ability to stand inside this world without fear swallowing her whole.

Instead, the concert had happened anyway. Not perfectly. Not easily. But it had happened.

Ellie removed the headset resting around her neck and handed it back to one of the production assistants before leaning briefly against the edge of the monitor table. Only then did she realize how exhausted she was.

“You look dead on your feet.” Avery appeared beside her holding two water bottles and a sympathetic expression.

Ellie accepted one gratefully. “That obvious?”

“You haven’t relaxed your shoulders once in four hours.”

“That sounds medically concerning.”

“It probably is.”

A small smile tugged briefly at Ellie’s mouth before fading again.

The adrenaline from the performance had begun wearing off now, leaving behind the lingering emotional fatigue she had been holding at bay all evening. Her bruises ached beneath makeup and costume fabric. Every loud noise still made tension climb instinctively through her body before logic corrected it a second later.

Healing, apparently, was not linear.

Avery studied her quietly for a moment, “You did good tonight.”

Ellie looked out toward the darkened stadium floor. “I almost walked out twice.”

“But you didn’t.”

No. She hadn’t. Because sometime during the concert, standing side-stage while seventy thousand people screamed loud enough to shake the arena, she had realized something important:

Fear was still there. It simply no longer controlled every decision she made.

Movement near the stage tunnel pulled her attention up. The members emerged surrounded by staff, still damp with sweat from the performance while managers discussed exit routes around them. Taehyung was speaking animatedly about something no one else seemed particularly invested in while Jungkook laughed hard enough to nearly miss a turn in the corridor.—Normal. Messy. Familiar.

Then Yoongi looked up. His attention found her immediately across the backstage corridor. The soulmate bond reacted softly at once, no longer sharp with urgency or emotional overload. Just awareness. Recognition. Relief.

Yoongi crossed toward her while security continued clearing the surrounding hallways.

“You stayed the entire show.”

Ellie frowned slightly. “I said I would.”

“I know.”

But the answer carried enough honesty underneath it that she understood what he really meant: there had been a time recently when neither of them knew if she still could.

Yoongi stopped beside her, close enough now that Ellie could see exhaustion lingering around his eyes beneath fading stage makeup.

“You should sit down before you fall over,” he said quietly.

“That’s romantic.”

“I’m serious.”

“I know.”

For a moment neither of them spoke.

The backstage corridor remained crowded around them—staff shouting timing updates, equipment moving past in loud metallic bursts, managers coordinating transportation schedules—but the tension that had dominated the last several weeks no longer pressed painfully between them.

Yoongi looked at her carefully, “You were calmer tonight.”

The observation surprised her because he was right. Not fearless Not unaffected. Just steadier.

Ellie glanced down briefly at the water bottle in her hands,“I think I finally stopped waiting for everything to collapse.”

Something moved through the soulmate bond at the admission. Warm. Quiet.

Yoongi understood immediately. For months, fear had shaped nearly every part of their relationship: fear of exposure, fear of the bond, fear of needing each other too much, fear of what loving him would cost her.

Seattle had pushed all of it to its breaking point. And somehow, surviving it had left behind something calmer than before.

Yoongi reached up absently and brushed his thumb once beneath her jaw, careful around fading bruises. The gesture was small enough that no one nearby paid attention.

Ellie looked up at him.

“You know,” she said quietly, “this is probably the first conversation we’ve had in weeks that wasn’t about security.”

A tired laugh escaped him. “That’s depressing.”

“A little.”

But when Yoongi smiled afterward, it looked genuine for the first time in days.

And standing there beneath harsh backstage lights while the arena slowly emptied around them, Ellie realized the relationship no longer felt fragile. Just real.

—————————————————

The hotel suite was dim except for the lamp beside the bed and the city light filtering through rain-streaked windows. After the noise of the stadium, the quiet felt almost disorienting.

Ellie sat near the foot of the bed in one of Yoongi’s sweatshirts, twisting the sleeve absently around her fingers while damp hair cooled slowly against the back of her neck. Her makeup was gone now. Without concealer covering them, the fading bruises along her throat remained visible beneath the warm light. She caught herself staring at them again.

“You’re doing it.” Yoongi’s voice came softly from across the room.

Ellie looked up.

He stood near the small table by the windows pouring water into two glasses, dark T-shirt hanging loose against tired shoulders, blond hair still damp from his shower. The exhaustion of the last few weeks lingered visibly around him, but it no longer hollowed him out the way it had after Seattle.

“What?”

“Looking at them like they’re going to tell you something different this time.”

Ellie lowered her eyes briefly. “I can’t really help it.”

Yoongi crossed the room slowly and handed her one of the glasses before sitting beside her on the bed.

For a few moments neither of them spoke. Rain moved quietly against the windows. Somewhere below, traffic drifted through wet streets. Ordinary sounds. The kind Ellie once would not have noticed at all. Now they felt precious.

Yoongi leaned back against the headboard beside her with a tired exhale. Ellie shifted instinctively closer until her shoulder rested lightly against his arm.

The movement happened without thought. That still surprised her sometimes. Not the affection itself. How easy it had become to stop resisting it.

“You were calmer tonight,” Yoongi said after a while.

Ellie smiled faintly. “You’ve mentioned that already.”

“I know.”

“Then why say it again?”

His fingers moved absently against the side of the glass in his hand before he answered. “Because I kept waiting for you to disappear.”

The honesty in it settled heavily between them. Not dramatic. Not possessive. Just true.

Ellie looked down at her lap. “I almost did.”

He turned toward her immediately.

“During the concert,” she clarified quietly. “Right before the opening.”

Yoongi stayed silent.

“I kept thinking…” Ellie swallowed once. “If I walked away now, maybe things would finally become easier for you.”

Something in his expression changed then Not shock. Pain.

He set the untouched water glass down on the bedside table carefully before speaking, “Do you really still believe that?”

Ellie didn’t answer right away. Because some part of her still did. Not logically. Not even consciously most days. But fear had a way of making old beliefs feel reasonable again.

“My father used to tell me,” she said slowly, “that love only lasts as long as you remain useful to someone.”

The room grew very quiet.

“He thought needing people made you weak. And if someone needed you too much…” She laughed softly without humor. “Eventually they’d resent you for it.”

Yoongi stared at her for several long seconds after she finished speaking.Then he reached over and took her hand. Not urgently. Not to interrupt. Just to hold it.

“I wasn’t useful to you like this,” Ellie admitted quietly, eyes fixed on their joined hands. “I was causing too many problems. I thought eventually you’d resent me for it.”

The confession seemed to hit him harder than anything else she had said.

“Baby,” he said softly, almost immediately.

Ellie shook her head once before continuing.

“The stalker, the media, the security issues… your tour almost got suspended because of me.” Her throat tightened around the words. “I kept waiting for the moment you realized loving me cost too much.”

Yoongi’s hand tightened gently around hers.

“Pretty girl,” he said quietly, “none of those things ever made me love you less.”

Emotion rose warm and immediate through the soulmate bond. Steady. Certain.

“I think you spent so long surviving people who treated love like a transaction,” he continued, “that you don’t know what to do with being chosen without conditions.”

Ellie looked away quickly. Because he was right.

The soulmate bond moved softly between them now, no longer loud enough to overwhelm thought. She could feel his exhaustion, his affection, the lingering fear he still carried after Seattle—but beneath all of it sat something steady enough that it no longer frightened her to lean into.

Yoongi watched her carefully.

Pretty girl,” he said quietly, “I need you to stop thinking love only survives when it’s convenient.”

Emotion moved warm and immediate through the soulmate bond. Steady. Certain.

Ellie’s throat tightened painfully around it.

Yoongi shifted closer. Not enough to crowd her. Enough that warmth surrounded her completely now.

“You know what actually scared me?” he asked softly.

She shook her head once.

“That you were going to leave before I got the chance to love you properly.”

The confession hit hard enough that Ellie physically stopped breathing for a second.

Yoongi looked exhausted saying it. Honest in a way that stripped him completely bare.

“I spent weeks watching you pull away every time something went wrong,” he continued quietly. “And all I wanted was to keep touching you long enough for you to understand you didn’t have to earn staying with me.”

The soulmate bond surged painfully warm.

Ellie could feel all of it now: how badly he missed her even while standing beside her, how afraid he’d become of distance, how deeply he craved the reassurance of simply being allowed close again. Not possessiveness. Not control—Yearning.

Yoongi’s hand slid slowly into her damp hair, fingers curling lightly at the back of her neck like he couldn’t quite stop himself from needing contact.

“You have no idea what you did to me after Seattle,” he admitted quietly.

Ellie looked up at him.

“I’d wake up in the middle of the night, if I ever slept, and reach for you before I was even fully conscious.” His voice roughened slightly. “And every time you weren’t there, it felt wrong.”

Something inside her cracked softly at the confession. Because Yoongi sounded almost ashamed of how much he needed her.

Ellie lifted one hand carefully to his chest beneath the thin fabric of his shirt.

His heartbeat was fast.

“You could’ve told me.”

A faint, tired laugh escaped him, “I was trying not to suffocate you.”

The honesty of it nearly hurt.

Yoongi leaned forward slowly until his forehead rested against hers, eyes lowering shut briefly.

“I think I spent so much time being careful with you,” he murmured softly, “that I forgot you might actually want me to hold on.”

Ellie felt tears sting unexpectedly behind her eyes. Not from sadness. From finally understanding how deeply he had restrained himself these last few weeks out of fear of hurting her further.

She touched his face gently.

“You never scared me by loving me,” she whispered. “You scared me by looking like you were teaching yourself to live without me.”

Yoongi inhaled sharply.

The emotion that moved through the soulmate bond afterward felt almost unbearable in its intensity: love, relief,want, the deep aching loneliness of nearly losing someone emotionally before getting them back.

Then he kissed her. Not rushed. Not hesitant either. Like someone starved for closeness finally allowing himself to have it.

His hands moved over her slowly afterward—through her damp hair, along her waist, across the bare skin of her thighs beneath the oversized sweatshirt—touching her with a kind of reverence that made Ellie’s chest ache.

Every movement carried feeling behind it. Weeks of fear. Sleepless nights. The terror of almost watching the relationship collapse under pressure neither of them knew how to survive.

Yoongi kissed her again deeper this time, and Ellie moved instinctively into him until he pulled her fully into his lap with a quiet sound against her mouth that felt more emotional than restrained.

“Baby,” he whispered softly, almost like the word hurt.

Ellie buried her face briefly against his neck, overwhelmed suddenly by how much he wanted her there. Not because she fixed anything. Not because she made life easier. Because she was his.

——————————————-

The silence in the room was a quiet that only settled between them once the world outside had been thoroughly locked away.

Yoongi remained perfectly still, his forehead resting against hers, his hand curved firmly against the side of her neck. He didn't just hold her; he anchored her, his thumb moving slowly beneath her jawline.

"There’s my girl," he murmured. The words were a low, dark vibration that Ellie felt in the marrow of her bones.

She looked at him, her eyes tracing the sharp, beautiful lines of his face, the way his dark eyes studied her with a reverence that felt like a secret religion. She reached up, her fingertips grazing his jaw, needing the physical proof that he was real, that he was here, and that he was hers.

"You really didn't resent me?" she asked. Small, quiet.

Yoongi’s expression shifted instantly. The adoration in his gaze darkened into something fierce, something possessive and profound.

"Baby," he breathed, the word heavy. He shifted, his hands sliding firmly to her waist to pull her closer, settling her fully into his lap until they were flush, chest to chest. "I was terrified. I was exhausted. But I never once wanted less of you. I have only ever wanted *all* of you."

The soulmate bond between them hummed—an unwavering current that felt less like a storm and more like a homecoming.

He kissed her, and this time, it was an act of worship. It was unhurried, agonizingly patient, and centered entirely on the privilege of touching her. His hands roamed over her, tracing the curve of her spine, the dip of her waist, the way her breath hitched whenever his palms pressed into her skin.

He pulled back just enough to look at her, his hands still gripping her hips, holding her in place as if he were afraid the world might try to steal her away.

"You okay?" he asked, his voice rough, thick with the weight of how much he adored her.

Ellie nodded, the movement slow and sure. "Yeah. I’m okay."

Yoongi’s gaze intensified, his pupils dilating until he looked like he was staring at something sacred. He didn't wait; he brought his lips back to hers, his kiss deepening as he tilted her head back.

He buried one hand into her hair, pulling gently until she was forced to arch into him, her hands seeking the steady, solid anchor of his shoulders.

"Pretty girl," he murmured against her mouth, a possessive, grounding claim that left no room for doubt. "You don't have to brace yourself with me. Not ever again."

He traced the line of her jaw with his tongue, his hands splaying wide against her back, shielding her, claiming her, worshipping her. Ellie realized then that this—the heat, the intensity, the way he looked at her like she was the only thing in the universe that mattered—wasn't just passion. It was his way of saying he would never let her go.

She leaned into him, letting the possessive warmth of his hands wash over her, finally letting go of the last of the tension. She in the hands of the man who looked at her like she was his entire world.

————————-

Yoongi was a man of action more than words. Ellie knew. But seeing that action, feeling it, stole her breath.

He started at her throat, his lips tracing the pulse that hammered there. His hands were a roaming, possessive map, tracing the line of her collarbone and the yellowing, tender skin of her shoulder with his thumbs.

He spent time in the valley between her breasts, his tongue swirling against her skin, tasting the salt of her sweat and the heat of her blood. Every time she shivered, he would stop, look up at her, and ground her with that dark, intense stare, his hand sliding up her thigh to hold her steady. He was mapping her—taking the time to learn exactly where she was the most sensitive, exactly what kind of touch made her head roll back and her breath hitch.

He used his fingers, too—slick, sure, and patient—to find the center of her pleasure, working her with a rhythmic, circular motion that built the heat slowly. He didn’t care how long it took. He wanted her ruined for anyone else, wanted her gasping his name, wanted to feel her entire body arching for him.

He shifted, moving her back until she was resting on the bed, knees and feet hanging off the mattress. He moved between her knees with a purpose that felt sacred . He looked up at her from the floor—down on his knees, fully at her mercy—and the adoration in his eyes was so potent it almost felt like a physical weight.

"You deserve to be worshipped, Ellie," he said, his voice a low, steady rumble of conviction. "Every inch of you. I want to know every part of you that you’ve tried to hide."

He pushed her legs wide, not with force, but with a deliberate, possessive claim, and the sight of her completely open to him seemed to steal his breath. He pressed a kiss to the inside of her thigh, his lips hot against her skin. Then he slowly pushed her panties down her legs—deliberately slow.

"So pretty," he murmured against her skin, his breath hitching as he felt her tense, that old instinct to shrink away flaring up the bond.

He paused, looking up, his thumb stroking over her pulse point with a gentle, grounding rhythm. "No. Don’t hide. Don’t you dare close up. You are mine to look at. You are mine to adore."

When he finally lowered his head, he didn't rush. He started with slow licks that made her toes curl into the sheets, his tongue tracing the soft folds of her, tasting her until she was trembling. He was, patient, and entirely focused on her. He wanted to hear the exact sound she made when she finally realized she was allowed to be this undone.

He took her into his mouth with a hunger. He swirled his tongue against her, his hands sliding up to grip her thighs, holding her steady, pinning her to the bed in the best possible way. He used his fingers to tease, to stretch, to ensure she was completely saturated with the attention he had on her.

"Yeah, just like that," he growled against her, his voice muffled by her skin, vibrating through her. "You feel that? That’s all for you. That’s because you’re mine, and I want you to feel as good as you make me feel."

Every time she moved to pull away, to apologize for the noise she was making, he would stop, pull back just enough to catch her eye, and shake his head.

"No. None of that. You don't have to earn this, Ellie. You just have to be here. You are enough. You have always been enough."

He returned to her with renewed intensity, his tongue flicking rapidly against her clit. his hands massaging her inner thighs. He was relentless, tracking her reactions—the way her back arched, the way her fingers dug into the mattress. He was memorizing her pleasure.

By the time she was gasping, her body locking tight as the pleasure spiked, he was still there, holding her, grounding her, ensuring that when she finally shattered, he was there to catch her.

——————————

The pleasure began as a low, humming vibration in her lower belly, a stark contrast to the hollow ache she had lived with for so long. As Yoongi’s tongue swirled with precision, Ellie felt her mind begin to fray at the edges.

"Yoongi," she gasped, her voice sounding foreign, raw and thick. Her fingers tangled into the duvet, white-knuckled as she tried to anchor herself to the bed. "Wait—"

"No waiting," he rumbled against her, his voice vibrating deep inside her body. He pulled back just enough to look up, his dark eyes obsidian, filled with a frantic, beautiful devotion. "You’re done apologizing. You’re done hiding. I want to hear you, Ellie. I want to know exactly what I’m doing to you."

He dove back in, his tongue flicking against her wet clit and pushed two fingers inside her.

"Ah—fuck, Yoongi—" Her hips bucked, an involuntary, desperate movement.

The sound of her own voice, uninhibited and needy, terrified her for a split second. But then she felt his hands—firm, heavy, and possessive—clamp down on her thighs, keeping her right there, keeping her from slipping away.

"That’s it, pretty girl," he groaned, his breath hot against her, "Tell me you’re mine. Let me hear it."

"Yours," she sobbed, the word slipping out before she could check it. "I’m yours, Yoongi. Just… please, I can’t—"

"You can," he commanded, he sucked on her clit as he increased the speed of his fingers inside her, "You’re doing so well, baby. You’re perfect."

The praise hit her harder than the pleasure. Growing up, she had been told to be quiet, to be compliant, to be small. But here, Yoongi was feeding off her volume, his intensity spiking every time she cried out.

"Yoongi—oh god—"

Her back arched off the mattress, a sharp, ragged cry escaping her as the first wave of her release crashed over her. She couldn't breathe, couldn't think, couldn't do anything but shatter under his mouth. Her body convulsed, her legs shaking violently as she came undone.

"See?" he whispered, his voice dark but prideful, "You’re safe. You’re right here with me. You’re mine, Ellie. My beautiful, perfect girl."

———————————

The aftershocks of her release were still rippling through her nerves, leaving her body feeling heavy and sensitive. She shifted, her skin sliding slick and warm against the sheets as she moved to bridge the gap between them. She wanted to give back. She wanted to prove that she was just as hungry, just as desperate to have him.

She reached for the waistband of his sweats, her movements deliberate She wanted to worship him the way he’d just worshipped her.

“Can I—“

But the moment her fingers brushed the skin at his hip, Yoongi let out a guttural sound that wasn't quite a groan, but a plea. He didn't let her finish. His hand shot out.

"Don't," he rasped, his voice sounding like gravel

"Yoongi, I want to," she whispered, her hands still trembling.

He felt the spike on panic int he bond

“It’s not that I don’t want it, pretty girl.” He said looking her in the eyes,

“I just can’t wait.” He admitted holding on to the last bit of his restraint.

He shifted, pulling off his sweatpants and tossing them somewhere to be dealt with later.

Ellie watched in awe as his cock bulged in his black boxers, straining. He slowly pulled down his boxers too, watch her bite her lip in anticipation. His cock sprung free, rock hard and angry red at the tip. He pumped himself a couple of times trying it find a bit of relief—Fuck, he wanted to take a picture of that look on her face, her watching him, and burn it into his mind forever.

He crawled forward, his knees pressing into the mattress as he hovered over her, his eyes dark, blown-out, and heavy with a desire

He looked at her, and his eyes were that of a man who was utterly undone by the sight of her. "I want to be inside you, but I want you to lead. I need to know you’re ready for this."

Ellie watched him, realizing the shift. He was waiting for her consent, for her initiation, even though his own control was visibly rattled. Choice. An exit he always left open for her.

She shifted, placing a hand on his shoulder and gently pushing him down. He laid back on the pillows, watching her.

Ellie threw one leg over his hip, her skin sliding against his with a soft, friction-heavy grace. His hands instinctively went to her hips, steadying her. The bond buzzed between them— Want. Desire. Love.

She moved slowly, her hands finding his shoulders to steady herself as she lowered her body onto him.

She let out moan as his cock pushed through her folds, filling her pussy, stretching her.

Yoongi let out a low, guttural groan, his head falling back against the mattress. He was watching her, his dark eyes wide and fixed on her face. He didn’t try to take over; he gave her the space to find her own rhythm, to feel the way they fit together.

"You're so tight," he rasped, his voice dropping an octave, thick with a mix of awe and hunger. "My pretty girl... look at how you take me."

Ellie moved, a slow, tentative slide upward on his cock before sinking back down. The friction was intense, a slick, wet slide that pulled a broken moan from her throat.

“Fuck—Yoongi—it feels— I—“

She could feel his heart hammering against her chest where their bodies were pressed flush together, a frantic, steady rhythm that matched the rising heat in her own blood.

“Fuck, Ellie, baby..” he moaned deep. Broken. Like a man barely holding on to sanity.

She began to move with more purpose, her hands finding the solid, straining muscles of his shoulders for leverage. The way he looked at her made her feel powerful. She was in control of the friction, in control of the depth, and every time she rode him down, his breath hitched, his hips bucking upward to meet her, his hands sliding up her back to hold her against him, to deepen the connection.

"Yeah," he growled, his voice vibrating through her. "Just like that. Give it to me."

She picked up the pace, her body moving in a frantic, uncoordinated rush. She wanted to feel everything—the stretch, the fullness, the way he filled her so completely that there was no room for anything else. The pleasure began to coil deep in her belly that made her vision blurr.

"Yoongi," she cried out, her voice raw, her head lolling back as she ground her hips against him.

"Fuck…" he whispered, his voice thick with a mixture of awe and protective, doting care. "Tell me what you need, pretty girl."

Ellie moved, a slow, deliberate slide that had him groaning, his head dropping back against the mattress.

"More," she breathed, the word feeling powerful, a reclamation of her own desire.

He moved his hand guiding her hips to between her folds, finding her clit. He watched her face with a concentrated intensity, his thumb stroking over her, his expression so filled with love and adoration that it made her chest ache with a beautiful, sharp relief.

Ellie let out a satisfied moan when she felt him circle her already aching clit. Her own ears were already ringing with the buzz of the bond she barely registered her voice.

"Shit," he murmured, his voice laced with pride, his gaze soft and searching. "Look at you. You’re so beautiful, Ellie.“

She leaned down, pressing her forehead against his, their breaths mingling. She felt his heartbeat—fast, erratic, and entirely for her. She moved, a little faster now, the friction building into a steady, rhythmic pulse that drew a broken, needy sound from her throat.

"Yoongi," she sighed, her name for him a testament to the safety she’d finally found.

"I've got you," he whispered, his arms wrapping around her, pulling her close so that there was no space left between their hearts. He was holding her, a partner in the most intimate, soul-binding sense.

"You’re doing so well," he murmured, his voice a low, gravelly rasp that vibrated through her. “Keep your eyes on me."

Ellie arched into him, her movements becoming more frantic as the pleasure began to coil tighter in her core. She felt him shift, his hips rising to meet her in sharper thrusts that shattered her rhythm and forced her to follow his lead. He wasn't just worshipping her; he was consuming her.

He leaned forward, his hands sliding up her sides to cup her breasts, his thumbs brushing over her skin with a possessive touch. He watched her with a dark focus, his eyes tracing the way her head fell back, the way her lips parted in a breathless, needy gasp. He was the one driving the intensity now, his hips grinding against hers in a slow, torturous slide that had her crying out, her nails digging into his shoulders to keep from flying apart.

"That's it," he growled. He stopped moving for a second, forcing her to stay trapped against him, forced to feel every inch of him, every ounce of his hunger. "I want you to feel exactly how much you belong to me right now. No room for anything else. Just me."

He kissed the line of her throat, still gentle, still mindful. He moved with a heavy rhythm, his hands roaming her body, pressing into her, demanding more, ensuring that every nerve ending was lit up with his presence.

She was lost in it, lost in the way he held her, the way he watched her, the way he possessed her.

"Look at me," he commanded, his voice a low, gravelly growl that vibrated through the very marrow of her bones.

Ellie obeyed, her vision blurring, her head lolling back as he thrusted into her. Every time she tried to catch her breath, he would grind his hips against hers, a slow, torturous friction that drew a broken, needy sob from her throat.

"That's it, pretty girl," he rasped, his eyes dark with a possessive fire that made her heart hammer against her ribs. "Let go. Don't you dare hold back for me. Give me everything."

He reached up, his hand tangling in her hair to pull her head down so their mouths could collide. It wasn't a gentle kiss; it was a desperate, hungry exchange of air and heat, his tongue tangling with hers as he drove into her, harder, faster. She could feel the pressure building in her core, a white-hot, coiled spring of sensation that threatened to snap.

"Yoongi—I can't—" she gasped, her nails digging into his shoulders, her body bucking against his steady, relentless pace.

"You can," he growled, his voice thick with the effort of holding his own release at bay. He wanted her there first; he wanted to witness the exact moment she shattered. "Cum for me, baby. I want to feel you come apart on my cock."

He picked up the pace, his thrusts deep and punishingly rhythmic. The bond between them flared, a golden, pulsing current of pure sensation.

She was vibrating, her skin sensitive to the slightest touch, the air thick with the scent of their combined heat. He watched her fall apart.

"Yes," he whispered, his voice a broken, desperate sound as he felt her reach it. "That’s it. Fuck."

She felt the first wave of her release, a shattering, electric surge that ripped through her, Her body convulsed around him, her throat tight with a sound that was half-sob, half-cry, her entire being pouring into him. And as she shattered, he didn't pull away; he held her with a fierce, possessive weight, his eyes locked onto hers as he drove into her one last time.

———————————————

Her body seized, muscles locking and releasing that left her breathless and gasping, her forehead dropping onto his shoulder as she wept with the sheer intensity of it. She let out a soft whimper as she pulled off his still hard cock. Her mind in complete shambles.

He waited until the last of her tremors subsided into soft, ragged gasps. He simply adjusted his grip, his hands sliding from her waist to her hips, shifting her weight with a practiced, seamless ease.

"Not yet, pretty girl," he rasped, his voice dark and heavy with the effort of his own restraint. "We aren't done.”

Before she could catch her breath, he flipped her over. Her back hit the mattress with as much grace as either of them could muster in this moment.

He entered her again, a slow, deliberate slide that had her crying out, her body already slick and eager for him. He leaned down, his lips grazing the shell of her ear, his breath hot against the sensitive skin.

"I’m not finished," he growled, the possessiveness in his tone now absolute.

He began to move again, but this time, the rhythm was different—more deliberate, more insistent. He used his hips to grind against her, hitting angles that made her breath hitch and her eyes roll back. Every thrust sent a wave through the bond.

He kept his hands moving over her breasts, her hips, everywhere. Making her feel the full weight and power of his devotion. He pushed into her, deeper, his pace escalating as he felt her begin to fray all over again.

"Fuck, Ellie— fuck, come on, baby…. Cum for me again.” his voice a low, gravelly vibration.

She opened her eyes, meeting his gaze. He looked like a man possessed, his eyes dark with a hunger. As he increased the intensity, his thrusts becoming powerful and rhythmic, he leaned down to whisper against her lips, his voice a promise he would spend the rest of his life keeping.

"I love you, Ellie," he groaned, his control finally beginning to splinter. “My soulmate, Made for me.”

He drove into her, one final, authoritative surge that made her cry out his name, his body collapsing over hers, his arms wrapping around her.

——————————————-

My attempt at smut again 🫣 I wanted it different than JKs but idk if I did it well.

Like, comment, reblog!

Xoxo, Bumble

Taglist: @bbl32 @bb3armira @bjoriis @lumora-the-white @itsluvie @traumaanatomy @joonmonjagi @thedelulusafespace @blue-and-grey-swan @dayquilforthewin @jajabro @ineed-myspace @airwolf92

[deaddumblbumble]

Soft Places to Land | MYG pt 17

SUMMARY: After the world learns BTS can actually have soulmates, shy interpreter Ellie Parker joins the U.S. leg of BTS’s Arirang tour unaware that Min Yoongi recognizes her instantly as his soulmate. As growing public attention and a dangerous fan obsession threaten Ellie’s fragile sense of safety, Yoongi becomes the quiet place she keeps finding herself drawn back to. This is a slow-burn story about learning that love can be gentle, protective, and safe enough to finally stop surviving.

WARNINGS: past emotional abuse, anxiety, panic responses, stalking, invasion of privacy, obsessive fan behavior, toxic family dynamics, emotional manipulation, Contains heavy angst, hurt/comfort, and discussions of trauma and healing throughout.

Masterlist

————————————

The tour stopped for three days after Seattle.

Officially, HYBE released a statement citing “health concerns and production restructuring.” Fans online immediately spiraled into theories, but management avoided confirming anything specific beyond asking for privacy.

Inside the hotel, nobody used the word attack out loud. Not because it wasn’t true. Because saying it made everything irreversible.

Ellie spent most of the first day asleep. Not naturally. The medic finally gave her something strong enough to force her nervous system into shutting down after nearly thirty hours awake. When she finally surfaced sometime late the next afternoon, rain still moved steadily against the windows outside and the suite sat dim and quiet around her.

For several disoriented seconds, she didn’t remember where she was. Then the bruises along her throat pulled painfully when she swallowed. Memory crashed back immediately.—The hotel room. The stranger’s hand around her wrist. You don’t belong near him.

Ellie sat up too quickly. The movement sent pain sharply through her shoulder. A soft voice from across the room interrupted before panic could fully take hold.

“Easy.”—Yoongi.

He sat near the windows in sweatpants and a black hoodie with his laptop open beside him untouched, though it looked like he hadn’t actually been working. Judging from the untouched coffee cups scattered across the table nearby, he probably hadn’t slept much either.

Ellie looked at him for a long moment, “You stayed.”

The sentence came out rough with sleep and emotion.

Something painful crossed his expression briefly, “Where else would I go?”

Ellie looked away first. The room felt strange now—not uncomfortable, but fragile somehow. As though both of them were moving carefully around something cracked beneath the surface.

Yoongi stood slowly and crossed toward the bed. “You should eat something.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“You haven’t eaten since yesterday.”

The quiet persistence in his voice sounded familiar enough that her chest tightened unexpectedly.

Before Seattle, this conversation would have felt ordinary. Now everything felt loaded.

Ellie pushed herself farther upright against the headboard while Yoongi handed her a bottle of water from the bedside table.

Their fingers brushed briefly. The soulmate bond reacted instantly.—Warmth. Relief. Exhaustion. The emotional clarity of it startled her slightly after the chaos of the last several days.

Yoongi must have felt it too because his hand stilled for half a second before he pulled away. That hurt more than she expected. The hesitation between them had become habitual now.

Ellie stared down at the water bottle twisting slowly between her hands.

“Namjoon told me they’re considering ending the tour early.”

Yoongi leaned back against the nearby chair, “They are.”

“Because of me.”

His expression sharpened immediately, “No.”

“But it’s happening because someone followed me.”

“It’s happening because someone committed a crime.”

The firmness in his voice cut through the room sharply enough that Ellie looked up.

Yoongi exhaled slowly afterward like he regretted sounding harsh. Then quieter: “You need to stop talking about yourself like you’re the problem people are trying to solve.”

The words landed painfully because she knew he meant them.

Ellie looked toward the rain outside again, “I don’t know how not to.”

Silence settled between them. Heavy silence.

Yoongi rubbed tiredly at the back of his neck before finally speaking again.

“When I said this life changes people…” He paused briefly. “I didn’t mean it should erase them.”

Ellie looked over slowly.

He stared down at his hands while he talked, voice roughened by exhaustion and something deeper she couldn’t fully name.

“I spent so much time trying to keep you safe that somewhere along the way, I started treating fear like it mattered more than you did.”

The honesty in the confession pulled something tight inside her chest.

“You were trying to protect me.”

“I know.” He laughed quietly without humor. “That doesn’t automatically mean I did it well.”

For several seconds neither of them moved.

Then Ellie said the thing she had been trying not to admit even to herself, “I was starting to resent you.”

Yoongi nodded once immediately. “I know.”

No defensiveness. No argument. Somehow that made it worse.

Ellie closed her eyes briefly, “I hated that every room suddenly felt safer when you were inside it.” Her throat tightened painfully around the words. “Because I knew that wasn’t healthy.”

When she opened her eyes again, Yoongi was already looking at her—Heartbroken.

“You think needing someone means losing yourself.”

The quiet certainty in his voice told her he had understood that fear long before she managed to explain it.

Ellie looked down at the blanket gathered loosely in her lap, “My father used to say people only stay around as long as you make yourself useful.”

The admission slipped out before she could stop it. The room went completely still.

Yoongi’s expression changed immediately—not pity, never pity, but something deeply wounded on her behalf.

And suddenly Ellie realized she had never actually told him that before. Not directly. Not in words that plain.

“He said needing people made you weak,” she continued quietly. “And I think some part of me believed him for a really long time.”

Yoongi stared at her for several seconds. Then he crossed the remaining distance between them carefully and sat down beside her on the edge of the bed.

This time, when he reached for her hand, he didn’t hesitate.

————————————

The storm outside finally broke sometime after midnight. Seattle’s skyline emerged slowly beyond the hotel windows as rain thinned into scattered droplets across the glass, the city below washed silver beneath streetlights and wet pavement.

Ellie sat curled sideways against the headboard while Yoongi remained beside her, one hand still loosely wrapped around hers.

Neither of them had moved much in nearly an hour. For the first time in weeks, silence no longer felt strained. Just tired.

The soulmate bond had quieted too. Not disappeared, but settled into something softer after days of relentless panic and emotional noise. Ellie could still feel him there beneath the surface—exhaustion, concern, lingering fear—but no longer sharp enough to overwhelm everything else.

Yoongi traced his thumb absently against her knuckles. “You should sleep more.”

Ellie huffed softly. “You first.”

“That’s fair.” The faintest hint of amusement touched his voice before fading again.

Across the room, one of the muted televisions continued cycling through entertainment news coverage with captions scrolling beneath celebrity footage. Ellie tried not to look at it. Tried not to think about the photographs from earlier. The public speculation. The bruises.

Eventually she spoke anyway. “What happens now?”

Yoongi leaned back slightly against the mattress beside her. “With the tour?”

“With us.”

The question lingered between them quietly. Not because he didn’t have an answer. Because he was choosing how honest to be.

Finally he said, “I don’t know what happens with the tour yet.”

Ellie nodded once.

“But I know I’m done pretending distance protects either of us.”

Her chest tightened unexpectedly.

Yoongi looked down briefly at their joined hands before continuing.

“When you left after Minneapolis, I told myself it was logical. Lower visibility. Fewer patterns. Better security.” A tired laugh escaped him. “Then I spent two days feeling like I couldn’t breathe properly.”

Ellie looked at him slowly. “You never said that.”

“I know.”

The confession settled heavily between them. Yoongi had spent so long trying to contain everything—fear, responsibility, guilt—that hearing him speak this openly still startled her sometimes.

He turned slightly toward her, “I kept thinking if I controlled things well enough, eventually this would stop hurting you.”

“It wasn’t your responsibility to fix.”

“I know that now.” The answer came immediately. No resistance left in it. No defensiveness. Just acceptance.

Ellie studied him quietly in the dim hotel light. The exhaustion remained visible everywhere: dark circles beneath his eyes, tension still lodged through his shoulders, the slight roughness in his voice from lack of sleep and too many difficult conversations over too few days. But something else had changed too.

For the first time since Seattle, he no longer looked like he was trying to hold the entire world together with his bare hands. The realization loosened something inside her unexpectedly.

“I was scared you regretted me,” she admitted softly.

Yoongi’s head turned toward her immediately. “What?”

“The hesitation.” Ellie swallowed hard. “After the attack.”

Understanding crossed his face almost painfully fast, “When I stopped touching you.”

She nodded once.

Yoongi closed his eyes briefly and rubbed tiredly at his forehead.

“Ellie, I wasn’t afraid of you.” His voice lowered. “I was afraid every time I looked at you I could still see what almost happened.”

Emotion tightened sharply through the soulmate bond—Not doubt. Terror.

Ellie’s throat ached suddenly, “You looked at those bruises like they were your fault.”

“They should never have existed.” The answer came so quickly that it hurt.

Yoongi exhaled slowly afterward, gaze dropping toward the blankets gathered across her lap, “I think part of me believed if I loved you correctly enough, nothing could reach you.”

Ellie felt tears sting unexpectedly behind her eyes. Because that had always been the impossible thing about Yoongi: he loved people like protection was a moral obligation. And when protection failed, he blamed himself before anyone else could.

Very carefully, Ellie shifted closer.

Yoongi looked up immediately.

“I can’t promise this stops being frightening,” she said quietly. “I don’t think either of us can.”

He stayed still, listening.

“But I also don’t think I can survive turning you into something I run from every time I’m scared.”

The words settled between them softly. Not dramatic. Certain.

For several seconds Yoongi said nothing at all.

Then, with visible care, he lifted one hand to her face. This time he did not hesitate.

His fingers brushed gently along her jaw beneath fading bruises, expression tightening briefly at the sight of them before his hand settled against her cheek.

The soulmate bond surged warm and aching all at once.

“You are not ruining my life,” he said quietly. “You are the only thing making any of this worth surviving.”

—————————————————

Management wanted the tour suspended indefinitely. The argument started at eight in the morning and lasted nearly three hours.

Ellie heard most of it through the partially open conference room door while sitting farther down the hotel corridor with a cup of coffee gone cold between her hands. Security remained stationed at both ends of the floor now, radios crackling intermittently through the quiet.

Inside the room, voices rose and fell in exhausted waves.

“It’s becoming a liability issue—”

“We cannot guarantee venue security at this scale—”

“The press already has photographs—”

“Police are recommending reduced public exposure—”

Ellie closed her eyes briefly.—Reduced public exposure. Such a clinical phrase for disappearing.

The conference room door opened suddenly.

Namjoon stepped out first, looking like he had aged several years overnight. He stopped the moment he saw her sitting there, “You should be resting.”

Ellie gave him a tired look. “Nobody in this hotel has slept.”

A faint smile touched his face before fading again almost immediately.

Behind him, the argument inside the room continued.

Then Yoongi’s voice cut through clearly enough to reach the hallway, “No.”

The single word silenced the room.

Namjoon exhaled softly under his breath like he had been expecting exactly this moment.

Ellie looked toward the doorway instinctively.

One of the managers answered sharply, “Yoongi, this is no longer only about preference.”

“And canceling the tour fixes what exactly?”

“It removes visibility.”

“It removes her.”

The silence afterward stretched long enough that even the security guards farther down the hallway looked up briefly.

Ellie felt something tighten painfully in her chest.

A second later Yoongi stepped out into the hallway.

The room behind him remained tense and quiet now, management clearly regrouping after whatever expression he must have had inside there.

His eyes found Ellie immediately. Not startled to see her there. Just tired…Always tired lately.

“You should’ve told me they were discussing cancellation,” she said quietly once he reached her.

Yoongi leaned back briefly against the wall beside her, “You needed sleep more than another argument.”

“And what if they’re right?”

He looked at her immediately.

Ellie stared down at the coffee cup between her hands, “What if ending the tour actually is safer?”

For several seconds Yoongi said nothing.

Then he crouched carefully in front of her chair so they were level with each other, “Ellie.”

The gentleness in his voice made her throat tighten, “You think disappearing fixes this because everyone around us keeps talking like fear is something you negotiate with.” His gaze held hers steadily now. “It isn’t.”

She swallowed hard, “Yoongi—”

“No.” He shook his head once. “I spent weeks trying to control every variable around you. Hotels. Security. Schedules. Distance.” A tired laugh escaped him quietly. “And none of it stopped anything.”

The honesty of the admission settled heavily between them.

Yoongi rested his forearms against his knees, exhaustion visible in every line of him now.

“I am done treating you like something that needs to be hidden to survive this industry.”

Emotion surged sharply through the soulmate bond. Not fear this time. Certainty.

Ellie stared at him, “You’re talking like going back onstage changes something.”

“It does.”

“How?”

Yoongi’s expression softened slightly then, something steadier finally emerging beneath the exhaustion of the last week.

“Because the entire point of this was isolation.”

The words landed immediately. The stalker wanted distance. Fear wanted distance. Management wanted distance. Even Ellie herself had started believing distance was the only way to protect him.

Yoongi continued quietly: “I’m not letting someone turn loving you into something we have to retreat from.”

The corridor fell silent around them.

For the first time since Seattle, Ellie felt the soulmate bond settle fully instead of pulling painfully between fear and guilt and panic.

Behind them, the conference room door opened again.

Jungkook leaned halfway into the hallway first, “So,” he announced carefully, “management is currently losing the will to live.”

Taehyung appeared behind him immediately. “Yoongi hyung threatened three executives with eye contact alone.”

“I did not.”

“You absolutely did.”

For the first time in days, Ellie laughed.

The sound surprised everyone slightly, including herself. Yoongi looked up at her immediately. And something in his expression changed the moment he heard it—Relief. Real relief. Not because the danger disappeared. Because she was still here inside it with him.

——————————————————

The decision to continue the tour was announced privately before the public statement ever went out. Security protocols doubled immediately afterward. Venue access narrowed. Transportation routes changed. Additional guards were added to every backstage corridor and hotel floor.

Nobody pretended things were normal anymore. That, strangely, helped.

The silence and secrecy surrounding the attacks had made everything feel unreal, as though Ellie were slowly disappearing inside a situation nobody wanted to acknowledge directly. Now the danger existed openly inside every conversation and decision. It no longer felt like something she had to carry alone.

The first show back was scheduled in San Francisco three nights later.

By the afternoon of the concert, the entire stadium operated under visible tension. Security staff lined backstage entrances in heavier numbers than usual while managers spoke constantly into earpieces and production crews moved with clipped efficiency across the arena floor.

Ellie stood near wardrobe trying unsuccessfully to steady her breathing.

Around her, dancers stretched quietly while stylists adjusted final costume pieces beneath harsh backstage lighting. Music from the opening VCR thundered faintly through concrete walls overhead as fans filled the stadium beyond them.

Normally the pre-show chaos grounded her. Tonight it only made her pulse worse.

You don’t belong near him.

The memory surfaced so fast it stole air from her lungs. Ellie closed her eyes briefly.

Immediately the soulmate bond reacted. Warmth moved through her chest almost at once, steady and familiar now instead of overwhelming. Not intrusive. Not consuming.—Present.

A hand touched lightly against her lower back, “You’re spiraling again.”

Yoongi’s voice remained quiet enough that only she heard it over the backstage noise.

Ellie looked up.

He stood beside her already dressed for the opening set, dark stage clothes and dark hair contrasting under the fluorescent lights above. Exhaustion still lingered faintly around him after Seattle, but for the first time in days he no longer looked hollowed out by panic. Just focused.

“You felt that?” she asked softly.

“You practically shouted it through the bond.”

Despite herself, Ellie smiled faintly. Yoongi’s expression softened immediately at the sight of it.

Around them, staff continued moving frantically through final checks while stage managers counted down remaining minutes before opening. Neither of them paid attention.

“I thought this would feel worse,” Ellie admitted quietly.

Yoongi nodded once. “Me too.”

The honesty in the answer loosened something inside her unexpectedly. For several seconds they simply stood there together amid the backstage chaos while the soulmate bond settled warm and calm between them. No sharp emotional static anymore. No painful surges. Just certainty. The realization still startled her.

After months of intensity and emotional noise, the quietness of the completed bond felt almost sacred.

Yoongi studied her face carefully, “You can still leave after tonight if you want.”

Ellie frowned immediately. “What?”

“The tour.” His voice remained calm. “The industry. All of this.” He glanced briefly toward the arena beyond the concrete walls. “Nobody would blame you.”

The offer mattered because she understood what it cost him to say it. No pressure. No expectation. No asking her to endure this life for him. Just choice.

Ellie looked at him for a long moment before answering.

“If I leave,” she said quietly, “I want it to be because it’s my decision. Not because someone tried scaring me out of your life.”

Something deep and emotional moved through the soulmate bond so strongly she felt it physically. Yoongi looked briefly overwhelmed by it himself. Then the stage manager shouted the two-minute warning.

Instantly the backstage environment shifted. Dancers moved toward entrance positions. Staff rushed final adjustments. Crowd noise thundered louder through the stadium as opening lights dimmed overhead.

Yoongi still hadn’t looked away from her.

“You ready?” he asked quietly.

Ellie listened carefully to herself before answering.

For the first time in weeks, the fear was still there without controlling everything around it. And somehow that difference changed everything.

She nodded once. “Yeah,” she said softly. “I think I am.”

The opening music detonated through the stadium a second later. The floor beneath them vibrated with the sound of seventy thousand people screaming.

Yoongi reached for her hand briefly before stepping toward the stage entrance.

This time neither of them hesitated.

——————————-

See! Healing! I promise! :)

Like, comment, share, reblog!

Xoxo, bumble

Taglist: @bbl32 @bb3armira @bjoriis @lumora-the-white @itsluvie @traumaanatomy @joonmonjagi @thedelulusafespace @blue-and-grey-swan @dayquilforthewin @jajabro @ineed-myspace @airwolf92

[deaddumblbumble]

Soft Places to Land | MYG pt 16

SUMMARY: After the world learns BTS can actually have soulmates, shy interpreter Ellie Parker joins the U.S. leg of BTS’s Arirang tour unaware that Min Yoongi recognizes her instantly as his soulmate. As growing public attention and a dangerous fan obsession threaten Ellie’s fragile sense of safety, Yoongi becomes the quiet place she keeps finding herself drawn back to. This is a slow-burn story about learning that love can be gentle, protective, and safe enough to finally stop surviving.

WARNINGS: past emotional abuse, anxiety, panic responses, stalking, invasion of privacy, obsessive fan behavior, toxic family dynamics, emotional manipulation, Contains heavy angst, hurt/comfort, and discussions of trauma and healing throughout.

A/N: this chapter contains violence that may be triggering to some — read at your own discretion.

Masterlist

——————————

The hotel in Seattle was quieter than the others had been.

No fans gathered outside barricades. No leaked arrival videos circulating online within minutes of check-in. Security had moved the group through a private underground entrance just after midnight, and for the first time in weeks, the floor outside the rooms remained almost unnervingly silent.

Management considered that reassuring—Ellie didn’t trust it.

She sat alone near the window of her room sometime after one in the morning with a blanket wrapped loosely around her shoulders and her laptop open beside her untouched. Rain streaked steadily across the glass thirty floors above the city while headlights blurred through the streets below.

She and Yoongi had barely spoken since Vancouver.

Not because they were angry anymore.

The argument had burned through anger quickly and left something heavier behind: the quiet realization that both of them were reaching limits they no longer knew how to hide from each other.

Earlier that evening, he had knocked softly on her hotel door just before rehearsal call.

Neither of them mentioned the fight.

Yoongi simply handed her coffee, asked if she’d eaten, then stood there for a few seconds afterward like he wanted to say something else and no longer knew where to begin.

Ellie understood the feeling.

Eventually he left for stage prep, and the distance between them remained unresolved.

Now, alone in the hotel room hours later, she found herself replaying the look on his face in the Vancouver corridor over and over again.

I won’t survive it.

The words still sat painfully beneath her ribs.

A soft buzz from her phone interrupted the thought. Not a message this time—A calendar notification. Ellie exhaled quietly and reached over to dismiss it.

That was when she noticed the bathroom light…She was almost certain she’d turned it off earlier.

For several seconds she simply stared at the thin strip of warm light stretching across the carpet beneath the partially open bathroom door.

Then logic asserted itself immediately—Housekeeping. Fatigue. Distraction.

She stood slowly anyway.

The hotel room remained perfectly still around her except for the muted sound of rain against the windows. Ellie crossed the room toward the bathroom, aware suddenly of her own heartbeat.

The light inside was on. Nothing else appeared wrong.

The towels remained folded neatly beside the sink. Makeup bag untouched. Her toothbrush still resting near the faucet exactly where she left it before leaving for the concert.

Ellie let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding.

Then she saw the mirror.

Words written unevenly through the condensation:

HE’S NOT YOURS

Ellie froze.

The writing looked fresh enough that water still slid slowly down the glass around the letters.

A sharp wave of fear hit instantly…Someone had been here recently—Very recently.

Ellie stepped backward…and heard breathing—Not hers. Close. Behind her.

Every instinct in her body detonated at once. She spun around just as a dark figure moved out from the shadow beside the entry hall.

A man. Tall. Face hidden beneath a hood and black mask.

For one suspended second neither of them moved. Then he started toward her—Fast.

Ellie bolted immediately. Pure instinct.

She lunged for the hotel phone near the bed just as the man grabbed the back of her sweatshirt hard enough to yank her violently off balance.

Pain shot through her shoulder as she crashed sideways against the mattress.

The hotel phone hit the ground opposite her before she could reach it.

Adrenaline wiped her thoughts clean.

Ellie scrambled backward across the bed, breathing hard while the man moved around the opposite side toward her again.

“Stop—” Her own voice sounded strangled.

The stranger said nothing. That terrified her more.

Ellie grabbed the nearest object blindly—a lamp from the bedside table—and hurled it hard enough that it shattered against the wall beside him.

The distraction bought her maybe two seconds.

She ran—The suite door. If she could just reach the hallway—A hand caught her wrist again. Harder this time.

The force spun her backward violently enough that pain exploded through her arm. Ellie cried out involuntarily as the man shoved her against the wall near the entryway.

Her head cracked painfully against drywall.

The room tilted. For one horrifying second, the stranger held her there pinned hard enough that she could barely breathe.

Ellie smelled rain and cigarette smoke beneath hotel detergent.

The hood shifted slightly as he leaned closer.

“You don’t belong near him.”

The whisper barely sounded human.

Panic surged so hard it became strength. Ellie drove her knee upward blindly and twisted violently the second his grip loosened. The man stumbled back just enough.

Ellie tore free and screamed. Not controlled. Not coherent. A full terrified scream ripped out of her before she could stop it.

The reaction outside the suite was immediate. Shouting in the hallway. Footsteps. Security radios exploding to life.

The stranger moved instantly toward the door—and the soulmate bond slammed into Ellie hard enough to nearly drop her to her knees.

Yoongi.

Fear unlike anything she had ever felt from him before—Wild. Primal. Close.

A second later pounding shook the hotel door hard enough to rattle the walls.

“ELLIE.” Yoongi’s voice.

The stranger looked toward the sound for half a second. Then bolted for the adjoining hallway exit near the suite entrance just as security burst through the main door.

Everything happened at once after that. Guards flooding the room. Someone shouting into a radio. The sound of running footsteps disappearing down the service corridor.

And Yoongi— Yoongi reaching her at the exact moment her legs finally gave out beneath her. He caught her before she hit the floor.

Ellie was shaking so violently she could barely breathe.

Yoongi pulled back just enough to look at her properly.

Then his expression changed completely.

There were bruises already forming around her wrist and throat. Red marks blooming beneath the collar of the sweatshirt where the man had pinned her against the wall.

For one terrible second Yoongi simply stared at them. Then Ellie felt the exact moment something inside him broke.

———————————————-

The suite looked destroyed by the time security finished clearing it. Broken lamp glass scattered across the carpet near the bed. One of the side tables overturned during the struggle. Rain blew faintly through the partially opened service exit the stalker had used to escape while security teams flooded the hallway outside in sharp overlapping voices.

Ellie barely registered any of it.

She sat on the floor near the wall where Yoongi lowered her after catching her, one hand pressed shakily against her throat while adrenaline continued crashing violently through her body in waves.

Everything hurt. Her wrist. Her shoulder. The back of her head where it struck drywall. But none of it felt fully real yet.

Across the suite, security replayed hallway footage frame by frame on a tablet while managers argued in increasingly panicked voices about blind spots, service corridors, and how someone managed to bypass a guarded floor for the second time in less than a week.

Yoongi said nothing. That frightened everyone more.

He remained crouched directly in front of Ellie, one hand still wrapped tightly around hers like letting go would physically damage him somehow. His face had gone completely expressionless after seeing the bruises forming along her throat.

A medic knelt beside them carefully. “Ellie, I need to look at your neck.”

She nodded automatically.

The second the medic touched the bruising, pain flared sharply enough that she inhaled hard through her teeth.

Yoongi’s grip tightened immediately.

The medic glanced briefly between them before continuing more gently. “You’ll have heavier bruising tomorrow. Probably your wrist too.”

Tomorrow. The word sounded absurdly normal considering someone had nearly trapped her inside the suite less than twenty minutes earlier.

Across the room, one of the guards spoke sharply into a radio, “We lost visual near the west stairwell.”

Another voice answered through static. “Street exit compromised. No confirmation yet.”

Yoongi finally reacted to something.

His jaw tightened once before he looked toward the security team, “You lost him.”

Not raised. Not emotional. Which somehow made every person in the room go quiet.

The head of security stepped forward carefully. “We’re reviewing exterior cameras now—”

“You lost him,” Yoongi repeated.

Ellie looked up immediately. She had never heard his voice sound like that before. Not angry. Not controlled—Cold.

The security coordinator exhaled slowly. “He knew the service routes. We think he may have entered posing as hotel maintenance earlier tonight.”

Yoongi laughed once under his breath. There was absolutely no humor in it.

“So this person follows her across states, gets onto secured floors twice, puts his hands on her inside a locked suite, and you still don’t know who he is.”

Nobody answered him. Because there was no defense left.

The medic finished examining Ellie’s wrist before standing carefully. “No obvious fracture, but she needs ice and monitoring tonight.”

Tonight. Another temporary word. As though there would be a version of this night that ended cleanly enough to move on from.

The room emptied gradually afterward. Security continued sweeping adjacent floors while managers relocated the rest of the staff to another section of the hotel entirely. At some point Namjoon arrived looking half-dressed and visibly horrified the second he saw Ellie sitting against the wall.

“Jesus.”

Yoongi still had not let go of her hand.

Namjoon crouched beside them carefully. “Are you hurt badly?”

Ellie shook her head automatically. Then stopped. Because that wasn’t entirely true anymore.

Namjoon’s expression tightened as he looked at the bruises around her throat, “He touched you?”

The question hung heavily in the room.

Ellie swallowed painfully before answering, “Yes.”

Silence followed. Not uncomfortable silence. The kind that forms when everyone realizes the situation has crossed into something irreversible.

Namjoon closed his eyes briefly and rubbed one hand over his face. Then quietly: “We need police involved now.”

“They’re already downstairs,” the security coordinator answered.

Yoongi looked at Ellie for the first time in several minutes after that. Really looked at her.

The panic had faded enough now that she could finally see what remained underneath his composure. Guilt. Massive and consuming.

Ellie understood immediately what he was thinking because she had watched him spiral toward this exact place for weeks—‘I should have prevented this.’

The realization hurt almost as much as the attack itself.

Very carefully, Ellie tightened her fingers weakly around his hand, “It’s not your fault.”

Yoongi’s expression changed instantly. Not relieved. Almost angry. Because somewhere inside himself he had already decided that it was.

——————————————-

Police arrived just before four in the morning. By then the adrenaline had begun wearing off enough for Ellie to shake uncontrollably beneath the hotel blanket wrapped around her shoulders. Every bruise hurt more now that panic was no longer overpowering the pain. Her wrist had swollen visibly. Finger-shaped marks darkened steadily along her throat and beneath her jaw.

The medic wanted her evaluated at the hospital. Management wanted the entire incident contained before sunrise. Security wanted footage, timelines, access logs, names. Yoongi wanted none of them near her.

The tension between those priorities filled the suite heavily while officers moved carefully through the room photographing damage and taking statements.

Ellie sat near the window answering questions automatically, “What did he look like?”

“I don’t know.”

“Did you see his face?”

“No.”

“Did he say anything?”

Ellie hesitated. Across the room, Yoongi looked up immediately.

The officer noticed the pause. “Miss Parker?”

“He said…” Her throat tightened painfully. “He said I didn’t belong near him.”

Silence followed.

Not because the statement shocked anyone anymore. Because it confirmed exactly what everyone had already feared. The fixation was personal.

The officer wrote something down quietly. “Anything else?”

Ellie shook her head.

The truth was that most of the encounter had already blurred together inside her memory. Panic had flattened everything into fragments: the smell of cigarette smoke, her shoulder hitting the wall, the pressure against her throat, Yoongi pounding against the hotel door. That last part remained sharpest.

The soulmate bond had carried his fear across the hallway before she even reached the lock. The memory made her stomach twist painfully.

One of the detectives crossed toward the security coordinator near the entrance. “You’re certain there were guards posted on this floor?”

“Yes.”

“And nobody saw him enter?”

The security coordinator looked exhausted. “We think he used the west maintenance stairwell between patrol rotations.”

The detective’s expression suggested exactly what he thought about that explanation.

Across the suite, Yoongi finally stood. The movement drew immediate attention because he had barely moved at all since arriving.

Now he looked exhausted enough to collapse and furious enough not to notice.

“Enough,” he said quietly.

The room stilled.

The detective frowned slightly. “Sir, we still need—”

“You have photographs, statements, security footage, access logs.” Yoongi’s voice remained calm, but strain sharpened every word. “She has been answering questions for over an hour after someone put his hands on her inside a locked room.”

The detective glanced toward Ellie.

Only then did he seem to fully register how pale she looked.

“We can continue tomorrow,” he conceded carefully.

The officers began gathering equipment slowly after that, though the room remained crowded with management and security staff still speaking in clipped, urgent voices near the doorway.

Ellie watched Yoongi from across the suite while the detective handed over contact information.

He looked terrible. Not physically injured. Just hollowed out.

Weeks of fear and exhaustion had finally reached a point where she could see the damage openly now. His shoulders remained rigid beneath the black sweatshirt he still wore from earlier, eyes dark with sleeplessness and something heavier sitting underneath it—Guilt. Again.

Once the police finally left, the suite fell quieter almost immediately.

Namjoon closed the door behind the last officer and turned toward management, “She needs rest.”

The head manager rubbed tiredly at his forehead. “We’re relocating everyone again before daylight.”

“No,” Yoongi said.

The single word cut through the room cleanly. Several people looked at him.

“We are not moving her again tonight.”

The manager hesitated. “Yoongi—”

“She can barely stand.”

Ellie realized suddenly he was right. Now that the adrenaline had faded, exhaustion dragged at her hard enough that even remaining upright felt difficult.

The medic had left an ice pack wrapped in a towel beside her earlier. Melted water now soaked through the fabric untouched.

Yoongi crossed the room finally and crouched in front of her again. Up close, she could see how badly his hands were shaking. That frightened her more than the bruises.

“Hey,” he said quietly.

The softness in his voice nearly undid her.

Ellie swallowed hard. “You should sleep.”

A brief, disbelieving laugh escaped him, “Ellie.”

“I’m serious.”

“You were attacked an hour ago.”

“And you look like you’re about to stop functioning entirely.”

The honesty of the statement landed heavily between them. Yoongi looked away briefly before rubbing both hands across his face. For one awful second, Ellie thought he might actually break down in front of everyone.

Instead he exhaled slowly and looked back at her, “I left you alone.”

The words came out rougher than anything else he had said all night.

Immediate understanding settled painfully through her chest: The dancers’ hotel. The argument. The distance afterward. He had been carrying all of it already, and now this had attached itself to those fears permanently.

“No,” Ellie said quietly. “This is not because we fought.”

“But it happened after.”

The room fell silent again. Because nobody could honestly argue with the emotional logic of it, even if rationally they all knew the blame belonged somewhere else entirely.

Yoongi lowered his head briefly like the weight of everything had finally become physically difficult to carry. And for the first time since she met him, Ellie realized he was genuinely falling apart.

—————————————-

By morning, the story had already started leaking online.

Not the attack itself. Management and security moved too quickly for that. Staff phones were confiscated from anyone on the hotel floor, nondisclosure agreements reinforced before sunrise, transportation rerouted before fans even realized BTS had changed locations overnight.

But rumors spread anyway. Fans noticed the sudden hotel transfer. Noticed increased private security arriving at rehearsal entrances. Noticed Yoongi missing from scheduled soundcheck footage released by staff accounts that morning. The internet filled the gaps almost immediately.

Ellie stopped looking after the first twenty minutes.

She sat near the window of the temporary suite management relocated them into just after dawn, wrapped in a sweatshirt with untouched tea cooling beside her while rain blurred against the glass outside.

The bruises along her throat had darkened overnight. Seeing them in the bathroom mirror earlier had nearly made her sick. Not because they hurt. Because they were real. Proof that someone had actually touched her.

A quiet knock sounded against the adjoining door connecting the suite to Yoongi’s room.

Ellie looked up automatically.

“Come in,” she said softly.

The door opened a second later.

Yoongi stepped inside carrying two paper cups of coffee and looking marginally worse than he had three hours earlier.

Which Ellie would not have believed possible if she were not seeing it herself.

“You should be asleep,” she said.

“You said that already.” His voice sounded rough with exhaustion.

He crossed the room and handed her one of the coffees before sitting carefully on the edge of the opposite chair. The movement itself seemed deliberate now, as though he were operating entirely on discipline rather than energy.

For several moments neither of them spoke. Outside the windows, Seattle remained gray and rain-soaked beneath low clouds while muted city traffic drifted upward from the streets below.

Yoongi finally broke the silence first. “Security found footage from the service stairwell.”

Ellie’s stomach tightened immediately. “They identified him?”

“No.” The answer came flatly. “He kept his face covered the entire time.” Of course he did.

Yoongi stared down at the untouched coffee in his hands before continuing.

“They think he’d been inside the hotel for hours before reaching the floor.”

A cold feeling spread slowly through Ellie’s chest. “Waiting?”

“We don’t know.” But they both understood the implication.

The room fell quiet again.

Ellie watched him carefully across the small distance between them. He had changed clothes sometime during the night, but otherwise looked exactly the same: exhausted eyes, tense shoulders, hands restless against the paper coffee cup like his body no longer knew how to settle properly.

“You need sleep,” she said quietly.

Yoongi laughed under his breath. Not humor. Just disbelief.

“I closed my eyes for twenty minutes.” He rubbed one hand slowly across his jaw. “Every time I did, I kept seeing you against that wall.”

Ellie looked away immediately. The memory surged back too fast: the pressure against her throat, the panic, the voice in her ear telling her she did not belong near him.

She set the coffee down before her hands started shaking again. Yoongi noticed instantly.

His expression tightened, and for a second Ellie thought he might reach for her automatically the way he usually did when the bond picked up panic between them.

This time he stopped himself. The hesitation hurt more than she expected.

“You don’t have to do that,” she said quietly.

“What?”

“Act like touching me suddenly requires permission.”

Something flickered across his face then. Exhaustion. Guilt. Fear. Ellie could no longer separate them cleanly in him, “I scared you yesterday.”

“No,” she answered immediately. “The stalker scared me.”

Yoongi looked down at his hands, “I still should’ve been there.”

The sentence landed heavily because it was the same loop he had been trapped inside since the attack: If they had not fought. If he had stayed. If she had not been alone.

Ellie understood the logic emotionally even while hating it.

“You cannot keep blaming yourself for another person’s choices.”

He looked up then, eyes dark with something sharper beneath the exhaustion.

“You think that because you still believe this happened randomly.”

Ellie frowned slightly.

Yoongi leaned back slowly against the chair. “I don’t.”

The room seemed to narrow subtly around them.

“What do you mean?”

He held her gaze for several long seconds before answering.

“I think this person has been escalating for weeks, and every escalation centered around one thing.”

Ellie already knew.

Still, hearing it aloud made her stomach twist.

“You.”

“No,” Yoongi said quietly. “Us.”

————————————————-

Management canceled the next show by noon.

Officially, the announcement cited “unforeseen production complications.” Fans online immediately began speculating anyway, but for once the rumors remained smaller than the reality behind them.

Nobody inside the tour organization could function normally after Seattle. Not after the photographs. Not after the police reports. Not after seeing bruises wrapped around Ellie’s throat the following morning while she sat through security briefings looking too exhausted to fully process what had happened.

The hotel conference room felt airless by the time the third emergency meeting started.

Security footage played silently across a wall monitor while managers argued over revised protocols and legal exposure. The stalker appeared only in fragments: hooded figure, lowered head, gloved hands, movement through service corridors before disappearing into a stairwell camera blind spot. No clear face. No identification.

Just enough visibility to make the failure feel unbearable.

Ellie sat near the end of the conference table with an untouched bottle of water in front of her while the discussion moved around her in increasingly frustrated circles.

“We cannot continue the tour under current conditions,” one manager said sharply.

Another answered immediately. “Canceling multiple dates creates its own security problems.”

“We already have security problems.”

Across the room, Yoongi remained silent.

That silence had become increasingly unsettling over the last twelve hours. Before Seattle, exhaustion and fear still surfaced visibly in him through frustration, arguments, overprotectiveness.

Now he looked emptied out. Still. Focused. Dangerously calm.

Ellie hated it.

The head of security paused the surveillance footage and turned toward management, “We believe the suspect had access to internal scheduling information.”

The room went quiet instantly.

Namjoon looked up sharply. “Internal how?”

“We’re still investigating.”

“That’s not an answer,” Yoongi said. His voice remained even, but the temperature in the room seemed to drop anyway.

The coordinator exhaled slowly. “Someone knew the floor assignments before arrival.”

Ellie felt her stomach tighten immediately.—Inside access. Or someone close enough to staff movement to predict routes accurately.

The realization made the entire situation feel suddenly larger than one obsessive fan spiraling out of control.

A phone vibrated somewhere against the conference table. Nobody moved at first.

Then one of the managers frowned down at his screen. His expression changed almost immediately.

“What?”

The manager looked up slowly. “TMZ posted photos.”

Ellie went cold. The manager turned the phone screen around reluctantly.

The photographs were grainy and clearly taken from a distance near the hotel entrance that morning. Yoongi beside her. Security surrounding them. And Ellie—Ellie with bruises still visible beneath the collar of her sweatshirt.

For one suspended second the room stopped moving entirely. Then voices erupted at once.

“How the hell did they get those?”

“Who leaked this?”

“Take it down immediately.”

Ellie barely heard any of it. Her attention remained fixed on the image. Public now. Not speculation. Not rumors. Visible proof.

She looked away abruptly.

Across the table, Yoongi stood so suddenly his chair scraped sharply against the floor. The sound cut through the room immediately.

“Meeting’s over.”

Yoongi crossed toward Ellie first, reaching down automatically for her hand before stopping halfway through the motion.

The hesitation lasted less than a second. Still long enough for her to notice. Something tightened painfully in her chest. He noticed her noticing.

For the first time since Seattle, uncertainty flickered visibly across his face. As though he no longer trusted his own instincts around her. As though touching her had become tangled up with fear now too.

Ellie stood before the silence between them could deepen further, “I need air.”

The moment the words left her mouth, half the room visibly tensed.

“You shouldn’t go anywhere alone,” one of the security staff said immediately.

And suddenly Ellie couldn’t do it anymore. The exhaustion. The surveillance. The constant management of her existence.

Something inside her snapped violently. “I know,” she said.

Too sharp. Too loud. Every head turned toward her.

Ellie laughed once without humor and stepped backward from the conference table.

“I know I shouldn’t walk alone. I know I shouldn’t stay alone. I know I shouldn’t go outside, or use elevators, or answer my own phone, or exist without security approval anymore.”

“Ellie—” Namjoon started carefully.

“No.” Her voice shook now, anger and panic tangling together uncontrollably. “You know what’s insane? Everyone keeps talking about safety like I’m still a person inside any of this.”

The room fell completely silent.

Yoongi moved toward her slowly. “Hey.”

She looked at him and immediately wished she hadn’t. Because he looked just as exhausted and frightened as she felt.

And suddenly she couldn’t separate her love for him from what this situation was doing to both of them anymore.

“You were right,” she said quietly.

Yoongi frowned. “About what?”

“This life.” The words hurt coming out.

“The constant fear. The surveillance. Losing parts of yourself just to survive it.” Ellie swallowed hard. “I understand it now.”

Something in his expression shifted immediately. Not relief. Horror.

Because he understood what she actually meant: not understanding fame—understanding damage.

Very carefully, Yoongi said, “Ellie—”

“I can’t breathe inside this anymore.”

The confession shattered something fragile between them.

The room had gone completely still now, everyone else suddenly feeling impossibly far away.

Yoongi crossed the remaining distance carefully, like approaching someone standing too close to the edge of something dangerous.

“You think I want this for you?”

“No,” Ellie whispered. “I think you stopped noticing how much it destroys people because you’ve had to survive it for too long.”

The words landed brutally because they were true.

Yoongi closed his eyes briefly. And for the first time since she met him, Ellie saw genuine defeat settle visibly across his face.

———————————————————

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Soft Places to Land | MYG pt 15

SUMMARY: After the world learns BTS can actually have soulmates, shy interpreter Ellie Parker joins the U.S. leg of BTS’s Arirang tour unaware that Min Yoongi recognizes her instantly as his soulmate. As growing public attention and a dangerous fan obsession threaten Ellie’s fragile sense of safety, Yoongi becomes the quiet place she keeps finding herself drawn back to. This is a slow-burn story about learning that love can be gentle, protective, and safe enough to finally stop surviving.

WARNINGS: past emotional abuse, anxiety, panic responses, stalking, invasion of privacy, obsessive fan behavior, toxic family dynamics, emotional manipulation, Contains heavy angst, hurt/comfort, and discussions of trauma and healing throughout.

Masterlist

—————————————

Ellie called Yoongi three times before he answered. The first call rang out completely. The second ended after half a ring. By the third, panic had already started overtaking rational thought.

When the line finally connected, background noise flooded through immediately—voices, movement, the sharp distortion of someone speaking through a radio nearby.

“Ellie?”

His voice sounded strained and distracted at once.

Relief hit her so hard she had to close her eyes briefly.

“Are you okay?” She asks.

A pause.

Then Yoongi replies a little more sharply, “Why wouldn’t I be?”

Avery looked up from beside her on the bed the moment Ellie repeated the question aloud.

Yoongi’s side of the line grew quieter abruptly, like he’d moved away from whoever he’d been speaking to.

“What happened?” he asked.

Ellie swallowed hard before answering, “I got more messages.”

“What kind of messages?”

Ellie hesitated only long enough for him to understand the answer would be bad.

“Photos.”

Another pause.

Then: “Of what?”

“The hotel.”

Yoongi exhaled slowly through his nose. She could practically picture the exact expression settling across his face right now—tired, focused, already mentally moving three steps ahead trying to calculate routes and possibilities and failures.

“There’s more,” Ellie said quietly.

“Send them to me.”

She forwarded the images while Avery contacted security directly from her own phone. The room suddenly felt too small again, tension pressing against every surface while they waited.

Yoongi spoke again after several seconds, “They knew you changed hotels.” It wasn’t really a question.

“Yes.”

“Did anyone besides staff know where the dancers were staying?”

“I don’t think so.”

Another long silence followed.

Then Ellie heard a door shut hard somewhere on his end of the line.

When Yoongi spoke again, his voice sounded closer now, “Stay inside the room.”

“I already am.”

“Don’t open the door for anyone except security or me.”

Avery raised an eyebrow slightly at that but wisely said nothing.

Ellie rubbed one hand across her forehead. “Yoongi—”

“No, listen to me for a second.”

Something in his tone stopped her immediately. Not anger. Not control.—Fear. Real fear.

“You need to take this seriously now.”

The words landed heavily because she finally understood he was no longer trying to prevent escalation. In his mind, escalation had already happened.

A knock sounded against the hotel door.

All three of them froze.

Ellie looked instinctively toward Avery, whose expression sharpened immediately as she stood from the bed.

Another knock came.

“Security,” a voice called from outside.

Avery crossed the room first and checked through the peephole before unlocking anything.

Two hotel security staff stood outside alongside one of the dancers’ managers.

Only then did Ellie realize her pulse was hammering hard enough to make her feel lightheaded.

“You still there?” Yoongi asked quietly through the phone.

“Yes.”

The security team entered quickly after Avery opened the door. One of them already held a tablet displaying the forwarded photographs while another immediately began checking hallway access records.

The manager looked pale.

“We’re moving floors,” he said without preamble.

Ellie laughed once in disbelief. “Again?”

“We don’t know how someone got these images.”

“That seems to be a recurring theme lately.” The bitterness slipped out before she could stop it.

Over the phone line, Yoongi said something quietly in Korean that Ellie didn’t fully catch except for the frustration underneath it.

Then more directly: “I’m coming there.”

The manager looked up immediately. “That’s not a good idea right now.”

Yoongi ignored him completely.

“We can’t move him between hotels this late without exposure risk,” the manager continued, now addressing the phone itself like Yoongi could somehow stare him down through audio alone. “If media or fans see—”

“I don’t care.” The flatness of the answer silenced the room.

Ellie closed her eyes briefly. Of course he didn’t. That was part of the problem now.

Somewhere over the last several weeks, Yoongi’s priorities had begun rearranging themselves in ways that frightened her almost as much as the stalker did.

Security continued moving around the room while discussions overlapped in low urgent voices, but Ellie barely processed any of it. Her attention remained fixed on the phone pressed against her ear.

Finally she spoke quietly enough that only he would hear it.

“You can’t keep tearing your entire life apart every time something happens to me.”

The line went silent.

When Yoongi answered, his voice sounded exhausted in a way she had never heard before.

“Ellie,” he said carefully, “someone is following you across states.”

The simplicity of the statement stripped away every remaining illusion that this could still somehow be managed quietly. Not bad comments. Not invasive fans. Not online obsession.

A person. A real one.

——————————-

Yoongi arrived at the dancers’ hotel just before dawn despite every manager trying to stop him. Ellie learned this not because anyone told her directly, but because she woke to raised voices somewhere outside the suite and immediately recognized his.

Not loud…Which somehow made it worse.

Yoongi rarely raised his voice when he was truly angry. He became quieter instead, each word sharpened down to something difficult to argue against.

Ellie sat up slowly in bed while Avery crossed toward the door already looking exhausted with the entire situation.

“You should probably prepare yourself,” she muttered.

The hallway outside sounded tense enough that Ellie didn’t answer.

A second later the door opened.

Yoongi stood there still wearing yesterday’s black hoodie and baseball cap, exhaustion visible everywhere now: beneath his eyes, in the stiffness of his posture, in the way his attention found Ellie immediately like he’d been holding himself together through the entire drive over solely to confirm she was physically here.—Alive. Unhurt.

For several seconds nobody spoke.

Then Avery looked between them and sighed, “I’m getting coffee before one of you emotionally implodes.”

She slipped past Yoongi into the hallway, quietly closing the door behind her.

Silence settled over the room almost immediately afterward.

Yoongi stepped inside slowly. “Shouldn’t you be asleep?”

Ellie stared at him. “You drove across the city at four in the morning.”

“That’s not an answer.”

Despite everything, irritation flickered briefly through her chest, “There are security guards outside the room.”

“And someone still got photographs of your door.”

The exhaustion in his voice erased whatever response she’d been preparing.

Yoongi removed his cap finally and ran one hand through flattened dark hair before looking around the room once, assessing exits automatically. Even now. Even here.

The realization hurt more than she expected.

“You haven’t slept at all, have you?” Ellie asked quietly.

Yoongi gave a short laugh without humor. “Do you think you’re the only person getting messages tonight?”

Ellie went still, “What?”

The change in her expression made him immediately regret saying it that way.

He exhaled slowly and pulled his phone from his pocket before handing it over.

Three unread messages sat on the screen from anonymous accounts.

You can’t protect her forever.

She makes you weak.

Watch how quickly fear changes people.

Ellie felt something cold settle low in her stomach, “When did these start?”

“After you left.”

The room seemed to tighten around both of them after that.

For the first time, the stalker no longer felt fixated solely on Ellie. The messages had widened somehow, becoming more personal, more aware of the emotional damage already forming between them.

As though someone were deliberately studying where the pressure points existed.

Ellie handed the phone back carefully, “I’m sorry.”

Yoongi looked genuinely startled by the apology, Then tired, “So am I.”

The answer lingered heavily between them because neither of them fully knew what he meant by it— Sorry for the fight. Sorry for the distance. Sorry this was happening at all.

Ellie looked down at the blankets gathered loosely in her lap, “I shouldn’t have left.”

The confession came quietly enough that Yoongi almost missed it.

Immediately he shook his head, “No.”

“You were right about the risk.”

“That doesn’t matter.”

“It clearly does.”

Frustration surfaced across his face then, quick and sharp.

“Ellie, stop trying to turn this into a situation where one of us was correct.”

“Then what is it?”

The question cracked harder than she intended. Because exhaustion had finally stripped both of them down enough that neither really had the energy left to soften things anymore.

Yoongi looked at her for a long moment before answering.

“It’s a situation where I don’t know how to keep you safe without making you miserable.”

The honesty of it landed painfully.

Ellie swallowed hard and looked away toward the pale early-morning light beginning to filter through the curtains.

Outside, Minneapolis was slowly waking beneath snowfall and gray skies while somewhere down the hallway security radios crackled softly through the quiet.

Everything suddenly felt fragile. Their routines. Their relationship. The careful balance they’d spent months building together.

Fear had entered all of it now. And fear changed things.

Yoongi sat down slowly at the edge of the chair near the bed, elbows resting against his knees while he rubbed tiredly at his eyes.

For a while neither of them spoke.

Then Ellie said quietly, “I don’t recognize us lately.”

The words hung in the room long after she finished speaking them. Because both of them knew she was right.

————————————————

The next forty-eight hours passed in a blur of security briefings, altered travel routes, and increasingly strained attempts to keep the tour functioning normally while everything beneath it quietly deteriorated.

By the time they reached Vancouver, Ellie felt as though she had not fully exhaled in days. The worst part was that nothing catastrophic happened. Just continuous pressure.

Messages stopped appearing directly for the moment, but somehow that unsettled Ellie more than if they had continued. The silence felt intentional now, as though whoever had been following her understood exactly how thoroughly fear lingered once it settled into a person’s routine.

A hotel elevator pausing unexpectedly between floors made her pulse spike.

An unfamiliar voice outside a dressing room door made her look up immediately.

Every unknown number became something threatening before it became harmless again.

The exhaustion from that accumulated quietly. Yoongi watched it happen in real time.

——————————

The argument began because Ellie wanted to walk outside….That was all.

Rehearsals had ended early after a stage automation issue delayed soundcheck, leaving nearly an hour before everyone needed to return for final preparations. Vancouver rain moved steadily against the arena windows while crew members reorganized equipment routes across the stadium floor.

Ellie stood near one of the loading entrances pulling on her coat when Yoongi appeared beside her

“Where are you going?”

“Outside.”

“Why?”

The question irritated her immediately.

“Because I haven’t seen daylight properly in three days.”

“I’ll come with you.”

Ellie stopped fastening the buttons of her coat,

“No.”

Yoongi frowned slightly. “No?”

“I want ten minutes alone.”

The silence afterward sharpened instantly.

Not because either of them wanted conflict anymore, but because both recognized how dangerous certain conversations had become lately. Everything now seemed capable of turning into something heavier than intended.

“You shouldn’t be outside alone right now,” Yoongi said carefully.

“There are security staff at every entrance.”

“That’s not the point.”

Ellie let out a tired breath and looked away toward the rain-streaked windows.

“That sentence is becoming your entire personality.”

The moment the words left her mouth, regret followed immediately.

Yoongi’s expression changed, hurt

“I’m serious.”

“I know you are.”

“Then why do you keep acting like I’m trying to punish you?”

Ellie laughed once, exhausted more than angry now.

“Because every solution lately involves shrinking my life smaller and smaller until eventually I stop existing outside of secured hallways.”

“That’s not fair.”

“No,” she said quietly, “none of this is fair.”

The arena noise around them seemed suddenly distant.

Crew members moved equipment nearby while rain hammered softly against the loading dock outside, but the space between them had narrowed into something tense and fragile again.

Yoongi crossed his arms tightly. “You think I enjoy this?”

“I think you’ve gotten so used to surviving this life that you don’t realize how insane it looks from the outside anymore.”

That landed—She saw it immediately.

Yoongi looked away briefly toward the arena floor before speaking again.

“You think I don’t know that?”

His voice remained calm, but exhaustion roughened every word now.

“For years people have followed us through airports, broken into schedules, leaked hotel information, waited outside apartments. I know exactly how unhealthy this is.”

“Then why are you acting like I should accept it so easily?”

“Because pretending it isn’t real won’t protect you.”

The frustration between them shifted abruptly after that. More painful. Because neither of them was truly arguing about security anymore. They were arguing about adaptation.

Yoongi had spent years learning how to survive scrutiny and obsession by controlling every variable possible. Ellie still believed some part of herself should remain untouched by it.

The problem was that the situation no longer allowed that illusion.

“You know what scares me most?” Ellie asked quietly.

Yoongi looked at her immediately.

“That I’m starting to understand why people lose themselves in this industry.”

Something flickered across his face then. Recognition. Because he understood exactly what she meant.

The constant adjustment, The isolation, The way fear slowly trained people to accept smaller versions of their lives as normal.

Ellie folded her arms against herself tightly.

“I don’t want to wake up one day and realize I disappeared while trying to survive this.”

For several long seconds Yoongi said nothing.

Then, quietly: “And I don’t want to wake up one day and realize I failed to keep you alive through it.”

The words hit with enough force that Ellie physically went still.

Neither of them moved afterward because for the first time, the real fear beneath everything had finally been spoken aloud.

—————————————-

The fight finally happened after soundcheck in Vancouver. Not because either of them wanted it to. Because by then there was nothing left cushioning the pressure between them anymore.

The day had already gone badly before Ellie ever saw the email.

Another photograph.

Another anonymous account.

Another reminder that someone was watching closely enough to track Yoongi’s movements now too.

You’re exhausting him.

The sentence lodged itself somewhere deep enough that Ellie could not stop hearing it afterward, especially once she noticed Yoongi across the arena floor rubbing tiredly at his eyes while security spoke quietly beside him.

He looked exhausted.

And suddenly she could not separate what the stalker wanted her to believe from what she had already been afraid might be true.

She left before anyone noticed her expression changing.

The lower service corridor beneath the stage was nearly empty except for stacked equipment cases and the distant vibration of rehearsal music overhead. Cold fluorescent lights reflected sharply against concrete floors while arena staff voices echoed somewhere farther down near the loading docks.

Ellie stopped near the service exit and pressed both hands against her face, trying unsuccessfully to steady her breathing.

She was so tired. Tired of being watched. Tired of feeling frightened. Tired of every conversation becoming about safety and routes and schedules and risk.

Most of all, she was tired of feeling like she was slowly ruining the person she loved.

Footsteps approached quickly behind her.

She already knew who it was before she turned around.

Yoongi stopped several feet away, breathing slightly harder than normal like he had crossed half the arena trying to find her.

“What happened?”

Ellie looked away immediately. “Nothing.”

“That’s obviously not true.”

His voice was careful at first, but exhaustion roughened the edges of it.

For a moment she said nothing. Then she laughed softly without humor,

“They sent another photo.”

Yoongi went still.

“Of you?”

“No.” Ellie folded her arms tightly across herself. “Of you.”

Something shifted immediately in his expression after that.

“What did it say?”

She hesitated long enough that he understood it had landed badly.

Finally she answered, “That I’m exhausting you.”

Silence settled heavily through the corridor.

Yoongi stared at her for several seconds before speaking.

“And you believed them.” It wasn’t a question.

Ellie looked toward the concrete floor instead of at him.

“I don’t know what to believe anymore.”

The admission hung there between them.

When Yoongi spoke again, his voice had gone flatter somehow.

“You think loving you is ruining my life.”

“That’s not what I said.”

“You didn’t have to.”

Frustration finally cracked through her exhaustion after that, “Then stop acting like you’re falling apart.”

The words landed harder than she intended.

Yoongi blinked once like she had physically hit him.

Ellie regretted it immediately, but the damage was already done.

“You barely sleep anymore,” she continued before she could stop herself. “You’re angry all the time, you don’t eat properly, you spend every second watching security reports like if you look away for five minutes something terrible will happen—”

“Because something terrible already happened.”

The sharpness in his voice cut clean through hers.

The corridor went silent.

Yoongi took a step closer, emotion finally surfacing visibly beneath the exhaustion.

“Someone broke into your room, Ellie.”

“I know.”

“Someone is following you across cities.”

“I know.”

“And every time I think we understand how bad this is, it gets worse.”

His voice had risen now, not shouting, but stripped raw enough that the strain underneath it became impossible to miss.

Ellie felt anger surge up just as quickly.

“And what exactly do you want from me?” she asked. “Because I am trying, Yoongi. I’m trying to be careful, I’m trying not to completely lose my mind every time another message shows up, but apparently none of it is enough unless I let everyone else decide where I go and who I’m allowed to be.”

“That’s not what I’m asking.”

“Then what are you asking?”

The question echoed sharply through the empty corridor.

Yoongi opened his mouth—Stopped.

Because for the first time since this started, he genuinely did not know the answer anymore.

Ellie saw it happen in real time.

Saw the exhaustion finally overtaking the control he had been holding together for weeks.

And suddenly her own fear turned vicious.

“You want honesty?” she asked quietly. “Fine. I think this is destroying you.”

Yoongi looked at her like the words physically hurt.

Ellie kept going anyway because once the fear finally surfaced, she couldn’t force it back down again.

“I think every day this gets worse and every day you blame yourself more for not being able to stop it. I think you’re so terrified something’s going to happen to me that you’re destroying yourself trying to prevent it.”

“That’s not because of you.”

“Then what is it because of?”

He stared at her.

For one awful second, neither of them moved.

Then Yoongi said quietly: “Because if something happens to you, I won’t survive it.”

The words shattered the remaining anger cleanly out of the room.

Ellie felt her throat tighten painfully.

But Yoongi looked exhausted now in a way that frightened her more than the shouting had—completely worn down.

He rubbed one hand over his face before speaking again, quieter this time,

“I don’t know how to do this anymore.”

The confession hit harder than anything else had…Because Yoongi never admitted helplessness—Ever.

And suddenly Ellie realized neither of them was winning against this situation anymore.

They were just hurting each other while trying to survive it.

———————————————-

Sorry, I know this one is shorter than my usual chapters. But please enjoy!

Like, share, comment, reblog please

Xoxo, bumble

Taglist: @bbl32 @bb3armira @bjoriis @lumora-the-white @itsluvie @traumaanatomy @joonmonjagi @thedelulusafespace @blue-and-grey-swan @dayquilforthewin @jajabro @ineed-myspace @airwolf92

[deaddumblbumble]

Soft Places to Land | MYG pt 14

SUMMARY: After the world learns BTS can actually have soulmates, shy interpreter Ellie Parker joins the U.S. leg of BTS’s Arirang tour unaware that Min Yoongi recognizes her instantly as his soulmate. As growing public attention and a dangerous fan obsession threaten Ellie’s fragile sense of safety, Yoongi becomes the quiet place she keeps finding herself drawn back to. This is a slow-burn story about learning that love can be gentle, protective, and safe enough to finally stop surviving.

WARNINGS: past emotional abuse, anxiety, panic responses, stalking, invasion of privacy, obsessive fan behavior, toxic family dynamics, emotional manipulation, Contains heavy angst, hurt/comfort, and discussions of trauma and healing throughout.

Masterlist

—————————————

The next morning, management canceled Ellie’s solo movement privileges entirely. The phrasing itself irritated her immediately. As though she were a security liability rather than a person.

She sat across from three managers and two security coordinators inside a temporary production office beneath the arena while they outlined revised procedures in the same calm tone people used to discuss weather delays and transportation schedules.

“No unescorted venue movement.”

“No unscheduled route changes.”

“Security approval before leaving hotel floors.”

By the fourth rule, Ellie had stopped pretending to take notes.

Namjoon sat beside her near the end of the conference table, visibly exhausted but patient in the way he often became during conflict mediation. Across the room, Yoongi leaned silently against the wall with his arms folded, saying almost nothing while security reviewed camera stills from the Portland hotel. No usable face images yet.

Just fragments: a dark baseball cap, partial hallway footage, a shoulder disappearing through service access doors, timestamps proving someone had remained on the floor nearly twenty minutes.

The absence of answers seemed to be affecting everyone more than answers would have.

One of the managers clicked to another security slide, “We’re also recommending temporary separation from publicly visible backstage areas whenever possible.”

Ellie looked up sharply. “What does that mean?”

“It means reducing identifiable patterns,” the manager replied carefully. “Most of the online fixation is centered around visible proximity between you and Yoongi.”

The room went quiet. Tense enough that everyone suddenly became aware of how delicate the conversation actually was.

Ellie glanced instinctively toward Yoongi. He hadn’t moved at all, but something in his expression flattened.

Namjoon spoke before the silence could harden further, “You’re suggesting what, exactly?”

“We’re suggesting limiting situations where they’re photographed together backstage or entering venues together.”

Ellie let out a short breath and leaned back in her chair, “there it is.”

The manager frowned slightly. “Ellie—”

“No, it’s fine.” Her voice remained calm, though she could already feel frustration beginning to build beneath it. “I was wondering how long it would take before someone suggested making me disappear again.”

“That’s not what this is.”

“Then what is it?”

The question lingered longer than anyone seemed comfortable with.

Finally the security coordinator answered instead, “This individual appears emotionally fixated on your relationship to Yoongi specifically. Public visibility may be escalating the behavior.”

The explanation was logical. That was the problem.

Ellie hated that part of her understood exactly why they were suggesting it.

Across the room, Yoongi finally spoke, “So your solution is what?”

The quietness of his voice drew everyone’s attention immediately.

The manager straightened slightly. “Temporary distancing would ideally reduce public reinforcement.”

“And if it doesn’t?”

No one answered quickly enough.

Yoongi nodded once like he’d expected that.

The room settled into silence again.

Ellie looked down at the untouched notebook in front of her, suddenly aware of how tired she felt. Not emotionally dramatic. Just worn thin in ways sleep hadn’t fixed for days now.

Because this was the part nobody talked about openly:

fear became logistical very quickly.

At first everyone asks if you’re okay.

Eventually they start discussing where you should stand, which hallways you should avoid, how invisible you can realistically make yourself without disrupting operations.

Namjoon rubbed one hand slowly across his jaw before speaking again.

“We can discuss route adjustments and security changes,” he said carefully. “But separating them every time someone online becomes obsessive is not sustainable.”

The manager’s expression tightened slightly. “We’re trying to prevent escalation.”

“And we’re already in escalation,” Yoongi said.

The room went still again.

His tone hadn’t changed. If anything, he sounded more exhausted than angry now.

“That stopped being theoretical when someone entered her hotel room.”

No one argued with him. Because there was nothing left to argue about there.

The coordinator closed the security folder after a moment. “For now, we’re increasing active monitoring around venue transitions and hotels. We’ll reassess after the next city.”

The meeting dissolved shortly afterward, though nobody seemed relieved by its ending. Staff filtered slowly back into rehearsal preparation while managers remained behind discussing revised movement schedules in low voices.

Ellie stayed seated a moment longer after everyone else stood.

Eventually Yoongi crossed the room and stopped beside her chair, “You okay?”

The question sounded careful, but not overprotective this time. Just tired.

Ellie stared at the conference table for a second before answering honestly, “I think I’m starting to understand why celebrities get lonely.”

Something about that answer visibly affected him. Enough that he pulled out the chair beside her and sat down instead of rushing her toward the next schedule.

For a while neither of them spoke.

The arena hummed faintly around them through concrete walls while rehearsal music echoed distantly from the stage above.

Finally Yoongi said quietly, “This part of it isn’t normal either.”

Ellie looked over.

“The surveillance?” she asked.

“The isolation.” He leaned back slightly in the chair beside her. “People start treating safety like the only thing that matters, and eventually your entire life gets reduced to risk management.”

The words landed heavily because she already felt it happening. Schedules replacing spontaneity. Security replacing privacy. Fear slowly reorganizing ordinary life into something smaller.

Ellie rubbed tiredly at her eyes, “I don’t know how you’ve lived like this for years.”

Yoongi was quiet for a moment before answering, “You stop noticing how much of yourself you’ve adjusted to survive it.”

————————————-

The next city blurred past Ellie almost without her noticing it. Flights, security routes, rehearsals, hotel transfers. Every day followed the same carefully controlled structure now, as though management believed routine itself might eventually contain the situation if they tightened it enough.

In some ways, the predictability helped.

In others, it made the fear feel permanent.

By the end of the week, Ellie realized she had stopped doing simple things without thinking first. Entering elevators alone. Walking through hotel hallways. Leaving rooms without checking behind her afterward.

Even sleep had become inconsistent. Not because she expected immediate danger every moment, but because some part of her nervous system no longer fully powered down.

The exhaustion from that settled into her body quietly. Yoongi noticed before she did.

———————————-—

The arena in Sacramento was still empty when Ellie arrived for rehearsal the following afternoon. Production crews moved through the stadium floor assembling camera rigs while sound checks echoed intermittently through the open space above.

Ellie sat alone near one of the translation stations reviewing revised ment notes when Yoongi appeared beside the table holding two coffees. He set one down near her notebook without speaking.

Ellie looked up slowly. “You’re becoming predictable.”

“You look tired. Are you okay?”

“So do you.”

“That’s not an answer.”

She leaned back in her chair and wrapped both hands around the coffee cup, mostly for warmth. The arena air conditioning had left the entire backstage level cold enough that everyone seemed permanently underdressed.

For a few moments neither of them spoke.

That had become one of the stranger side effects of everything happening lately: silence between them no longer felt uncertain. It simply existed. Comfortable more often than not.

Today, though, tension lingered underneath it.

Ellie noticed Yoongi studying the rehearsal schedules spread across the table.

“What?”

His attention shifted back toward her. “You added extra translation sessions.”

“I’m covering some of the press coordination too.”

“You already worked until three in the morning yesterday.”

Ellie shrugged lightly. “I couldn’t sleep anyway.”

The answer clearly did not reassure him.

Yoongi pulled out the chair across from her and sat down, elbows resting loosely against his knees while he looked at her with an expression she couldn’t fully read.

“You don’t have to keep pretending this isn’t affecting you.”

Something about the phrasing irritated her immediately, “Pretending?”

“You know what I mean.”

“No, actually, I don’t.”

The sharpness in her voice surprised both of them slightly. Ellie looked away first.

“I’m working,” she said after a moment. “That’s not pretending.”

Yoongi stayed quiet long enough that she knew he was choosing his next words carefully.

“Ellie, you barely sleep. You jump every time someone walks behind you now. Half the time you look like you’re waiting for something bad to happen.”

Because she was.

The thought surfaced instantly before she could stop it. Her grip tightened slightly around the coffee cup.

Across the table, Yoongi exhaled slowly and leaned back in his chair, “I’m not criticizing you.”

“I know.”

“Then why are you angry with me?”

The question settled between them heavily because Ellie wasn’t entirely sure she knew the answer herself. Not angry exactly. Cornered, maybe.

Everyone kept watching her now. Security. Management. Yoongi. Even the members, however unintentionally. Every conversation eventually circled back to whether she was alright, whether she was sleeping, whether she should be alone.

She understood why. But she was beginning to feel less like a person and more like a situation everyone was trying to manage.

Ellie stared down at the schedules spread across the table.

“I need one thing in my life to still feel normal,” she admitted quietly. “Work is the only thing left that does.”

The frustration left Yoongi’s expression immediately. In its place came something more complicated. Understanding, unfortunately.

He rubbed one hand tiredly across his face before speaking again.

“I know you’re trying to hold onto routine.” His voice remained calm. “But you’re running yourself into the ground doing it.”

Ellie laughed softly, though there wasn’t much humor in it. “You realize you haven’t slept properly in almost a week, right?”

“That’s different.”

“That’s convenient.”

For the first time all conversation, Yoongi looked briefly annoyed.

“There’s a reason security keeps increasing restrictions.”

“And there’s a reason I’m trying not to let this consume my entire life.”

The words landed harder than she intended. Silence followed almost immediately afterward.

Around them, rehearsal music thundered suddenly through the arena speakers before cutting off again in a burst of static. Crew members shouted directions somewhere across the stadium floor.

Neither of them moved.

Finally Yoongi spoke, quieter this time, “You think I’m trying to control you.”

Ellie opened her mouth automatically to deny it. Then stopped.

Because some part of her did think that lately, even though she knew his fear came from concern rather than possessiveness.

Yoongi nodded once at her silence like that answered enough.

“I’m trying to keep you safe,” he said. “I don’t know how to do that without asking you to give things up.”

————————————

The tension had simply accumulated slowly over days of interrupted sleep, security reroutes, and conversations that never fully resolved because there was never enough uninterrupted time to finish them before another schedule demanded attention.

The breaking point arrived after rehearsal in Minneapolis.

Ellie had just finished translating a production briefing when one of the security coordinators informed her that her hotel assignment had been changed again.

Different floor. Restricted access. Additional overnight monitoring.

She listened quietly until he mentioned that Yoongi approved the adjustment earlier that afternoon.

Something inside her went very still.

“Approved?” she repeated.

The coordinator nodded, immediately sensing too late that he had said the wrong thing.

“It was recommended by security, but Yoongi agreed it made the most sense logistically.”

Ellie thanked him politely before walking away.

By the time she found Yoongi backstage near wardrobe, her frustration had already hardened into something colder.

“You changed my hotel room again.”

Yoongi looked up from his phone immediately. “Security changed it.”

“They said you approved it.”

His expression shifted slightly at her tone. “Ellie—”

“No. I want an actual answer.”

Nearby staff instinctively began disappearing from the corridor.

Yoongi slipped his phone into his pocket slowly. “The new floor is harder to access.”

“That isn’t what I asked.”

A long silence followed.

Finally he said, “Yes. I agreed to it.”

Ellie laughed once in disbelief and folded her arms tightly across herself.

“You realize everyone keeps making decisions about my life without asking me first.”

“This isn’t about controlling your life.”

“Really? Because lately I need permission to walk down a hallway.”

Yoongi’s exhaustion surfaced immediately after that.

“You think I’m doing this because I enjoy it?”

“I think you stopped seeing me as a person somewhere around Portland.”

The words landed harder than she intended.

Yoongi stared at her for several seconds before answering, “That’s unfair.”

“Is it?”

“Yes.”

For the first time in weeks, frustration cracked visibly through his composure.

“You want honesty?” he asked quietly. “I’m exhausted, Ellie. Every day security finds another problem, another breach, another reason to think this is escalating, and half the time you act like everyone’s overreacting because you’re tired of being inconvenienced.”

The accusation hit immediately.

Ellie felt her expression change before she could stop it, “Inconvenienced.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“No, I think it actually is.”

She stepped backward slightly, suddenly needing distance just to think clearly.

“You know what the worst part is?” she asked. “I understand why you’re scared. I do. But somewhere along the way, everyone stopped asking what I wanted because apparently fear automatically means I stop being allowed to decide things for myself.”

Yoongi rubbed a hand across his face, already looking like he regretted the conversation and unable to stop it anyway.

“That’s not what anyone is trying to do.”

“Then stop managing me.”

Silence…Heavy enough now that even distant backstage noise seemed muted around them.

When Yoongi finally spoke again, his voice sounded flatter, “I’m trying to keep you safe.”

“And I’m trying to feel like a human being again.”

Neither of them moved.

Ellie realized suddenly that they were no longer actually arguing about security. They were arguing about what fear was turning them into.

Yoongi looked exhausted in a way she had never seen before. Weeks of pressure had stripped him down to raw nerve and routine. Every decision lately seemed calculated around minimizing risk, controlling movement, anticipating danger before it happened.

And Ellie was suffocating under it.

Finally Yoongi looked away first.

“What do you want me to do?” he asked quietly.

The question should have softened her immediately.

Instead it made her angry all over again because she suddenly understood he genuinely did not know anymore.

“I want one thing in my life that still belongs to me.”

The words settled between them.

Yoongi nodded once after a long silence, Then he said the worst possible thing.

“Maybe you should stay with the dancers’ hotel group for a few days.”

Ellie stared at him.

He continued before she could respond.

“It’s a lower-profile setup. Different transportation routes. Less visibility.”

“You want me away from you.”

“No,” he said immediately. “I want you somewhere safer.”

But the damage had already landed.

Because for the first time since this started, Ellie heard distance in his solution instead of comfort.

Her throat tightened painfully.

“Fine,” she said quietly. “Maybe that’s best.”

Yoongi’s expression shifted instantly like he wanted to take the suggestion back the second she accepted it.

But neither of them spoke again.

And by midnight, Ellie was checking into a different hotel across the city with the dance team instead of BTS.

————————————-

The dancers’ hotel was quieter than the BTS hotel. Smaller too. No underground parking structure. No rotating security routes. No managers stationed outside every elevator bank speaking into radios at all hours of the night.

Under different circumstances, Ellie might have appreciated the simplicity of it.

Tonight it only felt wrong.

She stood alone inside the unfamiliar room after midnight staring at the second keycard resting beside the lamp and trying unsuccessfully to convince herself that the tightness in her chest came from the argument rather than the separation itself.

The soulmate bond had never liked distance. Now it felt unsettled in ways she could physically sense.

Ellie crossed slowly toward the windows overlooking downtown Minneapolis. Snow drifted lightly across the streets below, softening traffic noise into something muted and far away.

For several minutes she simply stood there. Still angry. Still hurt. And beneath both emotions, something worse: regret.

The fight replayed itself relentlessly in her head now that she was alone with it. Not because either of them had said something unforgivable, but because both of them had finally spoken too honestly while exhausted enough to stop softening the edges.

Maybe you should stay with the dancers’ hotel group for a few days.

The sentence kept landing differently every time she remembered it.

Rationally, Ellie understood exactly why Yoongi suggested it. Lower visibility. Different routes. Less predictable movement.

Emotionally, however, it felt like being quietly removed from his life for convenience.

She knew that interpretation was unfair. That didn’t stop it from hurting.

Her phone buzzed against the nightstand.

For one stupid second hope surged hard enough that she crossed the room immediately.

A message from Avery instead:

Jungkook says Yoongi’s been staring at the same wall for twenty minutes.

You two are exhausting.

Despite everything, Ellie laughed softly. Then almost cried from how much she missed him already.

The realization unsettled her enough that she set the phone back down without answering.

The room felt too quiet after that. Empty.

Ellie changed into sleep clothes mechanically before sitting cross-legged near the end of the bed with her laptop open in front of her, pretending to review translation notes for tomorrow’s show. She reread the same sentence four times without processing it.

Eventually she gave up and closed the computer entirely.

Outside the hallway, distant voices drifted briefly past her door before fading again.

The dancers’ floor lacked the suffocating security presence of the BTS hotels, and the difference should have made her feel freer.

Instead, she found herself listening for movement constantly.

At nearly two in the morning, exhaustion finally began outweighing adrenaline.

Ellie switched off the bedside lamp and slid beneath the blankets, leaving only the muted city glow filtering through the curtains.

Sleep still didn’t come easily.

Without Yoongi beside her, the room seemed strangely unfamiliar despite its simplicity. Over the last several weeks she had become accustomed to his presence in ways she hadn’t fully acknowledged until now: the warmth beside her during late flights, quiet conversations half-asleep in dark hotel rooms, the immediate steadiness that came whenever the bond settled against him. Now all she felt was distance.

Ellie closed her eyes anyway. Somewhere between waking and sleep, her phone vibrated once against the nightstand.

She reached for it automatically.

A text message.

Not from a saved contact.

No caller ID.

Just an image attachment.

Ellie frowned and opened it before caution fully caught up with her.

The photograph loaded slowly across the screen.

Her hotel door.

Taken from the hallway outside.

The timestamp in the corner read: 11:48 PM.

Less than three hours ago.

For a moment Ellie couldn’t move at all.

Then another message appeared beneath the image.

Different hotel.

Same mistake.

————————————-

Ellie did not answer the message. For several seconds she simply sat upright in bed staring at the photograph on her screen while her heartbeat accelerated hard enough to make her hands feel numb.

The image had clearly been taken recently. The hallway lighting matched the floor outside her room exactly, and near the edge of the frame she could even make out part of the housekeeping cart parked near the elevators earlier that evening.

Someone had been standing outside her door….Watching.

The realization settled differently than the earlier incidents.—The notes in backstage rooms had felt invasive. The hotel breach in Portland had felt violating.

This felt immediate.

Ellie checked the lock instinctively before she could stop herself. Still engaged. Chain locked too. It didn’t help.

Another message appeared before she could think what to do next.

You really thought he could protect you from this?

The words knocked the remaining anger from earlier cleanly out of her system.

Suddenly the argument with Yoongi felt distant and horribly unimportant compared to the fact that whoever had been following her already knew about the hotel change.

Her first instinct was to call him immediately.

The second instinct stopped her.

Because part of her still remembered the look on his face backstage before they separated—exhausted, frustrated, barely holding himself together beneath the constant pressure of trying to anticipate every possible threat before it reached her.

And now it had reached her anyway.

A sharp knock against the hotel door made Ellie physically jerk. Unexpected enough that adrenaline crashed violently through her chest.

Silence followed.

Ellie stared toward the door without moving.

Another knock came several seconds later.

Then a familiar voice, muffled through the wood, “Ellie?”

Relief hit so quickly it almost hurt—Avery.

Ellie crossed the room immediately and opened the door just enough to see her standing there in oversized sweatpants and a hoodie with concern already written across her face.

“You didn’t answer your phone,” Avery said quietly. “I figured that either meant you were sleeping or spiraling.”

Then she saw Ellie’s expression properly, “What happened?”

Ellie stepped aside silently.

The second Avery entered the room, Ellie handed her the phone.

Avery read the messages once. Then again more slowly.

Her expression hardened immediately, “Did you send this to security?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

Ellie laughed once without humor and sat down heavily at the edge of the bed. “Honestly? I think my brain stopped processing new levels of terrible somewhere around Portland.”

Avery sat beside her.

For a moment neither of them spoke.

Then Avery said carefully, “You need to tell Yoongi.”

Ellie rubbed tiredly at her eyes. “We just had our first major fight.”

“And?”

“And maybe he deserves one night where he isn’t convinced I’m about to get murdered.”

The bluntness startled a weak laugh out of Avery despite the situation.

“That’s definitely not how he’s spending tonight.”

Ellie knew that already.

The soulmate bond still carried traces of him beneath the distance: exhaustion, frustration, restless wakefulness. Nothing sharp enough to overwhelm her, but enough to know he was not sleeping either. Guilt twisted painfully through her chest.

Avery watched her quietly for several seconds before speaking again.

“You know he didn’t send you here because he wanted distance.”

“I know.”

“You’re still angry anyway.”

Ellie looked down at the phone in her hands.

“I think I’m angry that this situation keeps forcing us into versions of ourselves I don’t recognize.”

Yoongi had become increasingly controlling without meaning to. Ellie had become defensive about every restriction before anyone even finished suggesting it. Fear had slowly distorted both of them around the edges.

Avery leaned back against the headboard with a long sigh.

“Unfortunately,” she said, “trauma is not especially good for communication.”

Despite herself, Ellie smiled faintly.

Then her phone vibrated again.

Both women froze immediately.

Another image attachment loaded onto the screen. This time the photograph showed the hotel lobby from above. Taken recently enough that Ellie could identify herself entering beside two dancers earlier that evening.

A final message appeared beneath it.

You shouldn’t have left him alone tonight.

—————————————————-

Angst! I told yall!

Like, comment, reblog!

Xoxo, Bumble

Taglist: @bbl32 @bb3armira @bjoriis @lumora-the-white @itsluvie @traumaanatomy @joonmonjagi @thedelulusafespace @blue-and-grey-swan @dayquilforthewin @jajabro @ineed-myspace @airwolf92

[deaddumblbumble]

Soft Places to Land | MYG pt 13

SUMMARY: After the world learns BTS can actually have soulmates, shy interpreter Ellie Parker joins the U.S. leg of BTS’s Arirang tour unaware that Min Yoongi recognizes her instantly as his soulmate. As growing public attention and a dangerous fan obsession threaten Ellie’s fragile sense of safety, Yoongi becomes the quiet place she keeps finding herself drawn back to. This is a slow-burn story about learning that love can be gentle, protective, and safe enough to finally stop surviving.

WARNINGS: past emotional abuse, anxiety, panic responses, stalking, invasion of privacy, obsessive fan behavior, toxic family dynamics, emotional manipulation, Contains heavy angst, hurt/comfort, and discussions of trauma and healing throughout.

Masterlist

———————————————

After Las Vegas, Ellie stopped checking social media entirely. Not because management told her to. At this point half the team had already given up trying to control what she did online. It was more that the constant awareness of being watched had started bleeding into other parts of her brain and he couldn’t continue it anymore. Comments became difficult to separate from reality once someone started leaving messages in physical spaces. That was the part nobody prepared you for.

The internet had always felt ugly in an abstract way. Anonymous people said cruel things every day about celebrities, relationships, appearances, entire lives they knew nothing about. Ellie understood that intellectually. But seeing those same sentiments translated into real-world behavior changed something fundamental in her brain.

Now every unfamiliar face lingered too long in her memory. Every accidental brush of shoulders in crowded hallways made her tense automatically. And worst of all, she had started noticing patterns. Or at least she thought she had.

The tour arrived in San Diego under heavy fog that rolled in from the water. From the upper production levels, the city skyline looked heavy beneath low clouds while crew members rushed through setup around the arena floor.

Ellie stood near side stage reviewing updated cue sheets with one of the production coordinators when she noticed him again—A man in a black baseball cap near the lower barricades.

At first there was nothing strange about him. Hundreds of people moved through venue floors during setup: local staff, security teams, camera operators, vendors. But twenty minutes later, when Ellie crossed toward wardrobe, she saw him again near the tunnel entrance.

Then again outside catering…Always far enough away that she couldn’t clearly see his face. Always looking elsewhere by the time she noticed him.

By the fourth time, unease had settled heavily enough in her chest that she lost track of the conversation happening beside her.

“Ellie?”

She blinked hard and looked back toward Hobi, who was watching her with growing concern, “You okay?”

Ellie hesitated.The answer should have been yes.Maybe it still was.

But the problem with weeks of escalating security issues was that they rewired your instincts until you no longer trusted your own judgment. She couldn’t tell anymore whether she was becoming observant or paranoid.

“I think…” She stopped briefly, glancing back toward the corridor entrance. Empty now. “I think someone’s been following me.”

Hobi’s expression changed immediately. Not dramatic fear. Focus.

“Who?”

“I don’t know.” Ellie rubbed at the bridge of her nose, frustrated with herself already. “Maybe nobody. I might just be overthinking things.”

“You’re not overthinking anything right now.”

The firmness in his voice caught her off guard. Hobi rarely sounded sharp unless he was genuinely concerned.

He looked toward the hallway once more before lowering his voice. “Tell security.”

Ellie exhaled quietly. “I don’t want to become the reason everyone panics every five minutes.”

“Ellie.”

Something about the exhaustion in Hobi’s expression made her finally look at him properly.

“You are not causing this,” he said carefully. “Someone else is.”

The words echoed uncomfortably close to what Yoongi had been trying to tell her for weeks now. Still, guilt lingered anyway.

Before she could answer, movement near the far side of the arena floor caught her attention again.—The baseball cap. This time the man disappeared into one of the lower access tunnels almost immediately after she spotted him.

Hobi followed her line of sight instantly, “Was that him?”

“I think so.”

That was enough. Hobi reached for his radio immediately.

The response from security was fast enough to be unsettling.

Within minutes two guards were reviewing corridor footage while another quietly asked Ellie for a description near the production offices. The entire conversation remained low-key enough that most nearby staff didn’t notice anything unusual happening, but tension spread quickly among the people who did.

Yoongi arrived less than ten minutes later. No one had called him directly. Which meant the soulmate bond had probably carried enough anxiety across to him that he’d noticed something wrong on his own again.

“What happened?” he asked immediately.

Ellie hated how relieved she felt seeing him.

Hobi answered before she could, “She thinks someone’s been tracking her movement backstage.”

Yoongi’s expression hardened almost imperceptibly, “Thinks?”

Ellie crossed her arms tightly. “I don’t know if I’m imagining it.”

“You’re not.” The certainty in his voice startled her.

Yoongi looked toward the security guard standing nearby. “Did you pull footage?”

“We’re reviewing it now.”

“Good.”

Everything about him felt controlled in a way Ellie had learned usually meant he was angrier than he appeared.

One of the guards spoke quietly into an earpiece before turning back toward them, “We found him on two cameras,” he said. “No staff credential visible.”

The atmosphere shifted immediately.

“Can you identify him?” Hobi asked.

“Not yet.”

The guard hesitated briefly before continuing, “But he appears in footage outside the hotel this morning too.”

Silence settled over the group. Ellie felt her stomach drop slowly…Hotel. Not just the venue.

Yoongi looked at the guard for a long moment before speaking, “Show me.”

————————————-

San Diego ended under low fog and cold ocean wind. By the time BTS finished final bows, Ellie was exhausted enough that even the noise of eighty thousand people was a distance memory. The adrenaline that usually carried her through concerts had been wearing off faster lately, replaced instead by a constant low-grade vigilance she could never fully shut off.

She noticed exits now. Unfamiliar faces. People standing too still in crowded spaces. The habit had become automatic.

Backstage, the members disappeared into the usual post-show chaos of wardrobe changes, cooldown discussions, and staff rushing to keep the tour moving on schedule. Somewhere down the corridor, Taehyung argued loudly about food while dancers filtered toward the buses in clusters of exhausted conversation.

Ellie stayed behind near one of the side production offices to finish translating revised schedule notes for the next city. The room was quiet except for the steady hum of fluorescent lighting overhead and the muffled sound of equipment being dismantled outside.

For the first time all night, she felt briefly alone. Not lonely. Just still.

She sat at the edge of the conference table rubbing tiredly at the corner of one of the laminated schedule sheets while her laptop screen glowed dimly in front of her.

That was when she realized something was wrong.

At first it was only a feeling. A subtle awareness that the room looked slightly different than it had twenty minutes earlier.

Ellie frowned and glanced around again. Her backpack sat beside the chair where she left it. Her headset rested near the edge of the table. Half-finished coffee still beside her laptop.

Nothing obviously disturbed. Then she noticed the drawer. The small side drawer beneath the conference table had been left partially open.

Ellie was almost certain it had been closed earlier. She stared at it for several long seconds before standing slowly.

This is ridiculous, she told herself immediately. People had been in and out of production offices all night. Staff used these rooms constantly during shows. Still, unease settled low in her stomach as she crossed the room.

The drawer contained nothing important. Spare batteries. Venue paperwork. Sharpies.

And sitting directly on top of everything else— a laminated backstage pass. Not hers.

Ellie picked it up carefully.

The credential looked old enough to belong to local venue staff, but someone had written across the back in black marker.

HE LOOKED HAPPIER BEFORE YOU.

For a moment she simply stared at the words. Not because they shocked her anymore. That was the frightening part. The sentiment itself had become familiar. Online comments. Messages. Notes.

But there was something uniquely invasive about finding it in a room she had been alone inside only minutes earlier. Someone had entered while she was nearby. Someone close enough to watch where she went afterward.

The fluorescent lights suddenly felt too bright overhead. Ellie set the credential down immediately and reached for her phone with unsteady fingers.

She barely had time to unlock it before voices approached outside the office door.

Yoongi appeared first. The tension left her lungs so abruptly it almost embarrassed her.

He stopped the second he saw her expression.

“What happened?”

Ellie didn’t answer immediately. She simply handed him the pass.

She watched his face carefully while he read the message.

A second later Namjoon appeared behind him, followed by one of the security coordinators. The atmosphere in the room shifted almost instantly once Yoongi handed over the credential.

“Where did you find this?” the coordinator asked sharply.

“In the desk.”

“Was anyone else in here?”

“I don’t know.” That answer clearly unsettled everyone more than if she’d said yes.

Namjoon looked around the room slowly before turning back toward security. “How long was she alone?”

“Maybe twenty minutes,” Ellie answered quietly.

The coordinator swore softly under his breath and immediately reached for his radio.

Within seconds the calm backstage atmosphere outside the office changed. Security staff began moving through nearby corridors while production managers looked increasingly confused about why certain access points were suddenly being locked down.

Ellie stayed where she was beside the table, arms folded tightly across herself.

Yoongi crossed the room after a moment and stopped directly in front of her, “You should’ve called someone before staying back alone.”

The words weren’t harsh, but exhaustion had started roughening the edges of his composure lately.

Ellie looked up at him. “I was translating schedule changes, not wandering into traffic.”

“I know.”

His hand moved briefly against the back of his neck before falling again, frustration directed far more at the situation than at her.

The problem was that both of them understood what this actually meant now. The messages weren’t random anymore. Someone was testing access. Watching routines. Learning where she would be alone.

And for the first time since this started, Ellie saw something in Yoongi’s expression that unsettled her more than anger ever could—true fear.

—————————————————-

By the time the tour reached the next city, Ellie had begun to understand why people in dangerous situations so often described fear as exhausting rather than dramatic.

Nothing about the last week had looked cinematic from the outside. No public confrontations. No screaming threats. No obvious violence.

But nothing comforting either. Messages left in private spaces. Someone tracking her movements closely enough to anticipate where she would be alone. Security changing routines almost daily because every precaution seemed temporary the moment it was implemented.

The worst part was how quickly everyone around her adapted to it.

At some point during the flight from San Diego, Ellie realized nobody questioned the security escort outside her hotel room anymore. Even the members had stopped reacting visibly when guards redirected hallways or checked venue access points twice before letting staff through. Hypervigilance had become routine.

—————————

The argument started because Ellie wanted coffee…. Just coffee.

The arena in Portland was still mostly empty when she slipped out of the production office during rehearsal break, intending to walk the two-minute route toward catering before the next translation meeting started.

She made it halfway down the corridor before one of the security staff intercepted her.

“Sorry,” he said politely, “we need someone with you.”

Ellie blinked. “To get coffee?”

“It’s protocol now.”

Something inside her snapped quietly. Not explosively. Just enough.

“I’m walking fifty feet inside a secured venue,” she said carefully. “I’m not escaping into international waters.”

The guard looked deeply uncomfortable. “I understand, but—”

“No, I don’t think you do.”

The frustration surprised even her once it surfaced. For days she had tried to stay cooperative because logically she understood why everyone was taking precautions. But every new restriction seemed to shrink her life slightly smaller than before.

Don’t walk alone.

Don’t use public hallways.

Don’t stay behind after rehearsal.

Don’t answer unknown numbers.

Don’t go anywhere unescorted.

The constant management of her existence was becoming suffocating.

Unfortunately, Yoongi arrived halfway through the conversation….Of course he did.

He had apparently developed an uncanny ability to appear whenever tension started building around her, which under normal circumstances Ellie might even have found comforting. Today it only made her more irritated.

“What happened?” he asked, looking between them.

The security guard answered first. “She was trying to head toward catering alone.”

Yoongi looked at Ellie immediately. “Why?”

Ellie stared at him in disbelief. “For coffee, Yoongi. People usually drink it.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“No, I know exactly what you meant.”

The atmosphere shifted almost instantly. Nearby staff suddenly became very interested in absolutely anything happening elsewhere in the corridor.

Yoongi’s expression remained calm, but Ellie could see exhaustion sitting heavily underneath it now. He looked like someone who had not slept properly in days and was surviving entirely on caffeine and control.

“I’m not trying to start a fight,” he said carefully.

“Well, congratulations. You accidentally did anyway.”

The words came out sharper than she intended.

Silence settled briefly between them.

Yoongi lowered his voice. “You can’t disappear without telling anyone anymore.”

“There were six people in this hallway.”

“That’s not the point.”

Ellie crossed her arms tightly. “Then what is the point?”

The question hung there longer than expected. Yoongi glanced once toward the security guard still standing awkwardly nearby before looking back at her.

“The point,” he said evenly, “is that someone has been following you across multiple cities, and every time we think we understand the extent of it, something worse happens.”

The exhaustion in his voice cut through some of Ellie’s anger immediately. Not because he sounded controlling. Because he sounded tired. Deeply, genuinely tired.

For a moment neither of them spoke. Then Ellie rubbed both hands over her face and looked away down the corridor.

“I know,” she said quietly. “I just… I don’t know how to live like this.”

That changed the conversation instantly. The tension in Yoongi’s posture eased almost as quickly as it had appeared. When he spoke again, his voice sounded gentler.

“I know.”

And somehow that was worse. Because Ellie suddenly realized he did know.

This had been his reality for years in ways she was only beginning to understand now: constantly monitored movement, security routes, public ownership disguised as admiration, the slow normalization of invasive behavior until it stopped feeling abnormal altogether.

The difference was that Yoongi had learned to function inside it. Ellie still felt trapped by it.

A long silence stretched between them before Yoongi finally nodded once toward the catering hallway.

“Come on,” he said. “I’ll get coffee with you.”

It wasn’t really a solution. But it was the closest thing either of them had to one anymore.

——————————————

The concert itself went smoothly enough that fans online spent the rest of the night posting videos from the encore and arguing over which member had cried during the final ment.

Backstage, however, the atmosphere had become brittle by the time everyone returned to the hotel.

The argument earlier that afternoon still lingered quietly between Ellie and Yoongi, not unresolved exactly, but unsettled in the way conflicts often became when neither person was entirely wrong.

Ellie understood why security restrictions existed. Yoongi understood why she was beginning to feel suffocated by them. Neither of those truths made the situation easier.

By midnight the hotel floor had gone mostly silent. Security remained stationed near the elevators, but even the constant radio chatter had faded into occasional bursts of static behind closed doors.

Ellie stood alone in the hallway outside her room for a moment after returning from Namjoon’s suite, fumbling tiredly through her bag for the correct keycard while balancing a half-finished bottle of water beneath one arm.

Exhaustion dulled everything slightly around the edges. The hallway lights. The muffled hum of ventilation. The lingering ache behind her eyes from another night inside an arena.

She finally found the keycard and slid it against the lock. The door opened immediately.

At first nothing looked wrong.

The room remained dim except for the lamp near the bed that housekeeping had apparently left on earlier in the evening. Her suitcase sat beside the dresser where she remembered leaving it, clothes folded across the armchair near the window.

Ellie stepped inside automatically. Then stopped.

Something smelled different. Not obvious. Just unfamiliar enough to pull her attention short.

Her eyes moved slowly across the room again. The bed remained untouched Bathroom light off. Laptop still charging near the television…Normal.

Ellie let out a quiet breath, irritated with herself for immediately assuming the worst now every time something felt slightly out of place.

She crossed toward the dresser to set down her water bottle….That was when she noticed the hoodie.

Yoongi’s black hoodie—the one she’d borrowed two nights earlier and left draped over the desk chair before leaving for the concert—now sat neatly folded in the center of the bed.

Ellie stared at it.

A cold feeling spread slowly through her chest. She knew exactly where she left that hoodie.

Very carefully, she looked around the room again. Nothing appeared disturbed. Which somehow made it worse.

Someone had not tossed the room searching for things. They had moved through it calmly…Deliberately.

Her pulse began climbing hard enough that she could hear it in her ears now.

Ellie stepped toward the bed slowly.

Something white rested partially beneath the folded hoodie—Paper.

For one irrational second she didn’t want to touch it because touching it would make everything real in a way it still somehow wasn’t yet, then she pulled it free.

The handwriting matched the backstage credential from San Diego.

You shouldn’t wear things that belong to him.

The room tilted unpleasantly around her. Not dramatically. Just enough that she had to sit down abruptly at the edge of the mattress before her knees gave out completely. Someone had been inside. Not trying to steal anything Not trying to hurt her. Just making sure she understood they could reach her whenever they wanted.

Her hands shook hard enough that unlocking her phone took two tries.

She pressed Yoongi’s contact almost automatically.

He answered immediately, “Ellie?”

For a second she couldn’t speak.

The silence must have told him enough anyway because his voice changed instantly.

“What happened?”

Ellie looked down at the note still crumpled in her hand.

“I think someone was in my room.”

————————————

Yoongi reached her room in less than two minutes. The knock came hard and immediate against the door, followed by his voice low enough not to carry into the hallway.

“Ellie.”

She unlocked the door with unsteady hands.

The moment Yoongi stepped inside, his eyes moved over her quickly, checking for injuries before anything else. Only after confirming she was physically unharmed did his attention shift toward the room itself.

Ellie handed him the note silently.

Yoongi read the message once, then looked toward the bed where the folded hoodie still rested exactly where she had found it.

“You didn’t leave it there.” It wasn’t a question.

Ellie shook her head.

For several seconds he said nothing at all. Then he took his phone from his pocket and made a call immediately.

“Get up here,” he said the second someone answered. “Now.”

———————————

The hotel floor exploded into motion within ten minutes.

Security staff moved through the room wearing gloves while managers spoke in clipped, urgent voices near the hallway entrance. Someone photographed the note before sealing it into an evidence bag. Another person checked electronic lock records while hotel management apologized repeatedly in increasingly panicked tones.

Ellie sat near the window through most of it feeling strangely detached from the scene unfolding around her.

The room no longer felt like a room. It felt contaminated somehow. A violation.

Namjoon arrived shortly after security confirmed there had been unauthorized access to the floor approximately forty minutes earlier.

“Someone used a duplicated service credential,” one of the security supervisors explained quietly. “No cameras caught them entering the room itself.”

Yoongi let out a short, humorless laugh from beside the desk, “That seems like a major problem.”

Ellie looked down at her hands, still wrapped tightly around the untouched bottle of water she’d brought upstairs earlier, “What happens now?”

The question pulled everyone briefly silent. Management exchanged looks. Finally the head of security answered carefully.

“We’re relocating hotels tonight.”

Ellie blinked. “Tonight?”

“Yes.”

“It’s two in the morning.”

“We’re aware.”

The calmness of the response made the situation feel even more surreal.

Around the room, people were already moving again. Staff began discussing transportation routes and private exits while security coordinated floor sweeps through their radios.

Everything was happening quickly now. Too quickly.

Yoongi remained near her through all of it without speaking much. The stillness in him had become unsettling over the last hour. Ellie knew him well enough by now to recognize when his emotions had gone past anger into something quieter and harder to read. That frightened her more than yelling would have.

One of the hotel managers approached carefully near the window.

“We sincerely apologize for—”

Yoongi cut him off before he finished.

“How did someone get onto a restricted floor?”

The manager faltered immediately. “We’re currently investigating—”

“No.” Yoongi’s voice remained perfectly level. “You’re explaining.”

The room went very still.

Ellie looked over at him automatically.

He hadn’t raised his voice once since arriving. Hadn’t lost control. Hadn’t lashed out. But exhaustion and fear had stripped away whatever patience usually softened the edges of his temper.

The manager swallowed visibly. “It appears someone accessed an employee service entrance during shift change.”

“And nobody noticed.”

“We are reviewing all staff movement now.”

Yoongi glanced once toward the bed. Toward the hoodie…The note.

When he looked back again, his expression had gone flat in a way that made even the security staff seem uncomfortable.

“They were inside her room long enough to move things around,” he said quietly. “That’s not a small mistake.”

The manager had no answer for that.

Across the room, Namjoon stepped in before the situation escalated further.

“We need to move Ellie first,” he said firmly. “Arguments can happen later.”

That finally redirected the room back into motion.

One of the coordinators approached Ellie carefully. “We’ll have another room prepared within twenty minutes.”

Ellie stared at him—Another room. As though changing rooms still meant anything anymore.

The thought must have shown somewhere on her face because Yoongi crossed the room immediately afterward and crouched in front of her chair.

For the first time all night, his expression softened slightly, “Hey.”

Her throat tightened unexpectedly.

“I don’t want to stay here anymore.” The admission came out quieter than she intended.

Yoongi nodded once, “You won’t.”

—————————————-

At three in the morning, security moved BTS and essential staff through an underground service exit while exhausted guests slept several floors above them completely unaware that half a tour had just been evacuated because someone breached a restricted room.

Rain fell steadily across Portland as black SUVs pulled beneath the covered loading entrance one after another.

Ellie sat in the backseat beside Yoongi staring out the window while city lights blurred across wet glass.

Neither of them had spoken much since leaving the hotel. Not because there was nothing to say. Because there was too much.

The note still sat folded inside a sealed evidence bag somewhere with security. The image of the hoodie placed neatly across the bed refused to leave Ellie’s mind no matter how hard she tried to think about literally anything else.

Someone had touched her things calmly enough to fold clothing. The intimacy of that frightened her more than destruction would have.

Across from them, Namjoon finally broke the silence, “We’ll stay at the secondary hotel until the next flight.”

Ellie looked away from the window. “You already had a secondary hotel?”

Namjoon gave a tired smile that held absolutely no humor in it. “There are backup plans for most things on tour.”

The answer somehow made the entire situation feel even larger than she wanted it to.

Yoongi sat beside her with his hood pulled low, one arm resting against the door while his phone lit repeatedly in his hand with incoming security updates he clearly wasn’t reading anymore. Exhaustion had started hollowing him out around the edges.

Ellie noticed because she had started noticing everything about him lately.—The slight delay in his reactions. The tension headaches. The fact that he had stopped sleeping properly days ago. And now this.

Guilt settled heavily in her chest again.

She looked back toward the rain outside before the feeling became visible on her face.

Unfortunately, Yoongi caught it anyway, “You need to stop doing that.”

Ellie frowned slightly. “Doing what?”

“Acting like this is somehow your fault.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You didn’t have to.”

The quiet certainty in his voice made her throat tighten unexpectedly.

The SUV fell silent again after that, the only sound the steady hiss of tires across rain-slick streets.

When they finally arrived at the new hotel nearly forty minutes later, the entire entrance had already been locked down privately. Security escorted everyone directly through underground access elevators without stopping at the main lobby.

Ellie barely registered the route itself. She only realized they’d reached the new floor when one of the managers handed her a room keycard, then Yoongi reached for it first.

Inside the new room, everything looked aggressively untouched. Perfectly made bed. Blank walls. Sterile hotel lighting—Temporary.

Ellie stood near the doorway after security finished sweeping the room, suddenly unwilling to move farther inside.

Yoongi noticed immediately, “You okay?”

She let out a short breath that almost resembled a laugh. “I think my brain officially stopped recognizing hotel rooms as safe.”

He closed the door quietly behind them.

For several seconds neither of them moved.

Then Ellie said, very honestly, “I’m scared to fall asleep.”

The admission hung heavily in the room.

Yoongi looked at her for a long moment before setting both keycards down on the table beside the door. Then he crossed the room and pulled her into his arms so naturally it almost felt instinctive now.

Ellie folded into him immediately. Yoongi rested his chin lightly against the top of her head, “You’re not sleeping alone tonight.”

———————————————-

More drama!!

Like, comment, reblog please!!!

Xoxo, bumble

Taglist: @bbl32 @bb3armira @bjoriis @lumora-the-white @itsluvie @traumaanatomy @joonmonjagi @thedelulusafespace @blue-and-grey-swan @dayquilforthewin @jajabro @ineed-myspace @airwolf92

[deaddumblbumble]

Soft Places to Land | MYG pt 12

SUMMARY: After the world learns BTS can actually have soulmates, shy interpreter Ellie Parker joins the U.S. leg of BTS’s Arirang tour unaware that Min Yoongi recognizes her instantly as his soulmate. As growing public attention and a dangerous fan obsession threaten Ellie’s fragile sense of safety, Yoongi becomes the quiet place she keeps finding herself drawn back to. This is a slow-burn story about learning that love can be gentle, protective, and safe enough to finally stop surviving.

WARNINGS: past emotional abuse, anxiety, panic responses, stalking, invasion of privacy, obsessive fan behavior, toxic family dynamics, emotional manipulation, Contains heavy angst, hurt/comfort, and discussions of trauma and healing throughout.

Masterlist

———————————————-

Ellie barely slept. Every time she drifted close to it, her brain replayed the same image in different variations: a stranger standing in the hallway outside her original hotel room, keycard in hand, fully expecting to find her inside.

By four in the morning she gave up entirely. Carefully, so she wouldn’t wake Yoongi, she slipped out of bed and crossed the room toward the windows. The city was still dark beneath the rain, the streets below reflecting blurred streaks of red brake lights and neon signs across wet pavement.

Behind her, the room remained quiet. For a few minutes Ellie simply stood there, arms folded tightly against herself, trying unsuccessfully to settle the uneasy feeling that had followed her since security showed them the copied keycard.

The fear itself wasn’t dramatic. That was what made it difficult to explain.

She didn’t feel hysterical. She didn’t feel unsafe in the immediate sense. The hotel floor was locked down, security sat outside the room, and Yoongi was asleep less than ten feet behind her. But something fundamental had shifted anyway.

Until tonight, the situation had still felt containable. Disturbing, yes, but distant enough that logic could keep pace with it.

Online comments, Obsessive fan accounts, People speculating. Those things were ugly, but familiar in the way internet ugliness had become familiar for everyone connected to celebrity culture.

This was different. Someone had physically tried to reach her.

A quiet rustle behind her pulled Ellie from her thoughts.

“You should be sleeping.”

Yoongi’s voice was rough with exhaustion. She turned to find him sitting upright against the pillows now, hair messy from sleep, watching her through the dim light spilling in from the windows.

“I tried.”

He studied her for a moment before moving the blanket beside him silently in invitation.

Normally Ellie would have hesitated, if only out of habit. She had spent most of her life instinctively minimizing her own need for comfort. Tonight she crossed the room immediately.

The mattress shifted beneath her weight as she settled beside him, and the moment Yoongi’s arm wrapped loosely around her waist, some of the tension she’d been carrying since backstage eased enough to let her breathe properly again. Neither of them commented on it.

The soulmate bond had become increasingly difficult to separate from ordinary instinct lately. Comfort no longer arrived as something dramatic between them. It existed in smaller things now: unconscious touches, shared silence, the immediate way their bodies relaxed around each other.

Yoongi rested his chin lightly against the top of her head, “What are you thinking about?”

Ellie stared at the rain sliding down the glass across the room, “I think I kept expecting there to be a line.”

“A line?”

“Something obvious enough that everyone would stop pretending this was normal fan behavior.” She paused briefly. “I think tonight was probably that line.”

Yoongi didn’t answer immediately. Because she was right.

After a moment he said quietly, “This isn’t your fault.”

Ellie laughed softly, though there wasn’t much humor in it. “You know, logically I understand that.”

“But...”

“But if I wasn’t here, none of this would be happening.”

Yoongi leaned back slightly just enough to look at her properly, “That’s not true.”

“Yoongi—”

“No.” His voice remained calm, but there was something immovable underneath it now. “People like this don’t appear because someone falls in love. They appear because they think they own access to parts of your life that were never theirs in the first place.”

Ellie looked down at her hands.

“It still feels like I brought danger into yours.”

That, more than anything else she’d said all night, seemed to affect him.

She felt it immediately through the bond: frustration, exhaustion, and beneath both, something sharper she couldn’t entirely name.

“You think my life was safe before you?” he asked quietly.

The question caught her off guard enough that she looked up.

Yoongi rarely talked directly about the uglier parts of fame unless something forced him to. Tonight clearly had.

“I’ve had sasaengs follow me home,” he said. “People have broken into private schedules, bought flight information, waited outside apartments. This industry teaches you very quickly that obsession stops feeling flattering the second someone decides you’re not fully human to them anymore.”

The room fell quiet again after that. Rain continued tapping steadily against the windows while somewhere down the hallway a security radio crackled faintly through the door.

Ellie rested her forehead briefly against his shoulder, “What happens now?”

Yoongi’s hand moved slowly against her back, thoughtful rather than soothing.

“Now,” he said after a long moment, “security gets more serious.”

The answer should have comforted her. Instead, something about the certainty in his voice made the situation feel more real than ever.

——————————————

Security became impossible to ignore. Before, the precautions had existed mostly in the background of the tour—extra guards near exits, adjusted travel routes, managers quietly checking hotel floors before anyone arrived.

Now it affected everything. Two security staff accompanied Ellie at all times inside venues. Elevator access changed daily. Staff credentials were reissued every morning, and production teams started using color-coded clearance zones backstage because someone had copied a pass already.

Nobody said it directly, but the message underneath all of it was obvious: someone had gotten too close.

The worst part was how quickly everyone adapted. By the time the tour reached Denver three days later, even Ellie had started instinctively checking hotel locks twice before bed.

——————————

The arena itself was enormous, all concrete corridors and exposed loading docks that made backstage movement feel strangely open despite the heavy security presence.

Ellie stood near catering before rehearsal translating last-minute schedule changes for one of the production managers while crew members rushed around them carrying lighting equipment toward the stage.

Across the room, Yoongi was speaking quietly with Namjoon near the monitor stations. Or at least he had been.

Ellie noticed the exact moment his attention shifted toward her. Not because he moved dramatically. He rarely did.

But after weeks of the soulmate bond deepening between them, she had become acutely aware of the strange instinctive pull of his focus whenever something around her changed.

A second later, one of the newer venue security guards approached her holding a folded piece of paper.

“Someone asked me to give you this,” he said uncertainly.

Ellie frowned immediately. “Who?”

The guard hesitated. “I assumed it was production staff.”

Something cold settled low in her stomach.

Across the room, Yoongi had already started walking toward them.

Ellie unfolded the paper carefully.

At first glance, the handwriting looked neat. Almost delicate.

You don’t belong beside him.

Her pulse lurched hard. The note continued beneath it.

You’re making him weak.

For a second the arena noise seemed to disappear entirely. Not because the message itself was shocking. Ellie had already seen variations of those sentiments online for weeks.

But holding the words physically in her hands felt different. Real in a way comment sections never had.

The soulmate bond tightened sharply with her anxiety just as Yoongi reached her side.

“What is it?”

Ellie handed him the note silently. She watched his expression close almost immediately as he read it. As though something he’d been expecting had finally arrived.

Namjoon appeared beside them seconds later, followed by one of the managers who took one look at Yoongi’s face and immediately asked, “What happened?”

Yoongi handed over the paper without a word.

The manager swore softly under his breath after reading it, “Where did this come from?”

The security guard straightened uncomfortably. “Someone passed it to me near catering about five minutes ago. I thought they were with staff.”

“Can you identify them?”

“I—I’m not sure.”

The answer clearly did not help anyone’s mood.

Nearby, several crew members had started glancing over, sensing tension without fully understanding it.

Namjoon folded the note once, expression unreadable now. “We need to lock down backstage access again.”

“It already is locked down,” the manager replied tightly.

“Then it’s not working.”

The silence that followed carried enough frustration that even the surrounding staff seemed to instinctively back away.

Ellie stared at the floor for a moment, arms folded tightly across her chest.

You’re making him weak.

The sentence lodged somewhere unpleasant beneath her ribs because it targeted exactly the fear she already carried quietly on her own: that loving her was becoming dangerous for him.

Yoongi noticed the shift in her immediately, “Don’t.”

Ellie looked up.

His voice remained calm, but she could feel the tension beneath it through the bond now, tightly controlled and growing sharper by the day.

“You do not get to internalize this,” he said quietly.

“That’s easy for you to say.”

“No,” he replied. “Actually, it isn’t.”

That answer caught her off guard enough that she went silent. Around them, rehearsal continued moving in fragmented starts and stops while management argued with venue security several yards away.

Yoongi stepped slightly closer, lowering his voice.

“People like this want access,” he said. “And the second they realize they can’t control someone anymore, they look for a person to blame for it.”

Ellie swallowed hard. The frightening part was that she understood exactly what he meant. The note wasn’t really about her. It was about ownership.

—————————————

The note in Denver changed something in Yoongi. Not visibly, at least not to most people.

He still moved through rehearsals with the same quiet focus he always had. He still sat through production meetings half-slouched in his chair, still deadpanned through Taehyung’s increasingly inappropriate attempts to “lighten the mood,” still performed every night with the same level of precision fans expected from him.

But Ellie noticed the difference almost immediately. His attention followed her constantly now.

Not in an overbearing way. If anything, Yoongi became more restrained physically after Denver, as though he understood that obvious protectiveness only fueled speculation online. But the awareness never left him. The second she moved backstage, his gaze tracked automatically. If she disappeared too long between venue sections, he noticed. The soulmate bond made hiding that impossible.

By the time the tour reached Phoenix, even the members had stopped pretending not to see it.

“You know,” Jin said mildly during dinner one night, “at this point I think Yoongi-hyung tracks Ellie’s location more accurately than hotel security.”

Yoongi didn’t even look up from his phone. “Hotel security seems unreliable lately.”

No one really argued with him.

——————

Phoenix was dry heat, crowded barricades, and relentless press outside the venue entrances despite management changing arrival routes twice that day.

Ellie spent most of the afternoon moving between production offices and side-stage rehearsal positions translating technical changes after one of the stage lifts malfunctioned during setup.

By the time soundcheck ended, she had a headache building steadily behind her eyes and exactly fifteen minutes before wardrobe check. All she wanted was coffee and silence.

The smaller catering lounge near the lower loading corridor was usually empty during that window, mostly because the rest of the staff stayed closer to the main production areas once rehearsals wrapped. Ellie stopped there on instinct.

The room was quiet except for the hum of refrigeration units and distant arena noise vibrating faintly through concrete walls. Someone had left a television running muted in the corner above the coffee station, local news captions scrolling beneath weather reports no one was watching.

For the first time all day, the silence felt manageable. Ellie exhaled slowly and moved toward the coffee machine.

That was when she noticed the phone.

It rested near the condiment station beside a stack of paper cups, placed carefully enough that it looked intentional rather than forgotten. The screen was dark initially, but as Ellie stepped closer, it lit automatically.

A photograph filled the lock screen…It took her a second to recognize herself.

The picture had clearly been taken that morning outside the arena entrance. Ellie stood near the security barricades with a coffee in one hand and her credential badge clipped to her jacket pocket, head turned slightly away from the camera as though she’d been caught mid-conversation.

The angle unsettled her immediately.

Whoever took it had been standing close…Too close.

Before she could fully process that thought, another notification appeared across the screen—No message preview. No contact name.

Just a timestamp from less than two minutes earlier.

Ellie stared at it without moving. Then, very carefully, she looked around the room again.

Nothing appeared visibly wrong. The hallway outside remained empty. Somewhere down the corridor, metal equipment cases rattled across concrete floors while stage crew reset lighting positions for the show. Normal arena noise.

But the phone remained there on the counter like something deliberately placed to be found.

A cold, deeply unpleasant feeling settled in her stomach. Ellie stepped backward slowly and reached for her own phone.

The moment she unlocked it, a text from Yoongi appeared.

Where are you?

Her throat tightened unexpectedly at the timing. Before she could answer, another notification lit up the abandoned phone across the room.

This time the message preview appeared clearly across the screen.

Pretty girls shouldn’t stand next to people they can’t protect.

—————————————————

Ellie did not touch the phone. For several seconds she simply stood there staring at the message glowing across the screen, trying unsuccessfully to reconcile the ordinary appearance of the device with the fact that someone had almost certainly left it there intentionally.

The catering lounge suddenly felt smaller than it had a moment earlier. Not visibly threatening. Nothing dramatic had changed. The muted television still flickered silently in the corner. Ice shifted somewhere inside one of the refrigeration units. Farther down the hallway, crew members laughed briefly as equipment rolled across concrete floors toward the stage.But the room no longer felt empty in a harmless way.

Her own phone vibrated again in her hand.

Yoongi.

Ellie?

The soulmate bond had clearly picked up enough anxiety from her already that he knew something was wrong.

She typed back quickly.

Lower catering lounge by loading corridor.

Don’t come alone.

The message sent before she could overthink how serious that sounded.

Ellie looked back toward the abandoned phone.

The photograph bothered her almost more than the message itself. Whoever took it had been physically close enough to capture details she hadn’t even realized were visible that morning: the frayed stitching near the sleeve of her jacket, the credential clipped against her pocket, the slight turn of her head while she spoke to someone off-camera. It was the kind of picture someone took while watching .

A sound in the hallway made her straighten immediately. Footsteps.

For one awful second her mind supplied every possible worst-case scenario before one of the venue coordinators walked past the open doorway carrying lighting paperwork without even glancing inside.

Ellie let out a slow breath she hadn’t realized she was holding.

Then the abandoned phone lit up again. Another notification.

You make him distracted.

This time her stomach turned hard enough that she physically looked away.The wording itself wasn’t overtly threatening. In some ways that made it worse. There was something deeply unsettling about how calm the messages sounded, as though the sender genuinely believed they were making reasonable observations. Someone had followed her closely enough to photograph her unnoticed. Someone knew where she was inside the venue. And someone had either remained nearby or was watching closely enough to know she’d found the phone.

The realization settled heavily in her chest.

The hallway outside erupted suddenly with approaching voices and quick footsteps. A second later Yoongi appeared in the doorway with Namjoon and two security staff directly behind him.

The change in Yoongi’s expression the moment he saw her standing there unharmed hit Ellie unexpectedly hard. Relief crossed his face first, immediate and unguarded, before his attention shifted toward the phone still resting on the counter.

“What happened?”

Ellie pointed silently.

One of the guards moved forward immediately, pulling gloves from his pocket before carefully lifting the phone from the counter.

Yoongi looked between Ellie and the device, his expression tightening the longer he studied her face.

“Did someone talk to you?”

“No.” Her voice sounded steadier than she felt. “I think they left it for me.”

Namjoon stepped closer. “What was on it?”

Ellie hesitated briefly before answering, “A photo. Messages.”

Yoongi’s jaw shifted slightly. “What kind of messages?”

She looked at him then and realized almost instantly that he already knew the answer. Not the exact wording. The intention.

The security guard glanced up from the phone carefully. “There’s no active account linked to the messages. Probably routed through a temporary encrypted app.”

“Can you track who left it?” Namjoon asked.

“We’ll pull corridor footage.”

Yoongi still hadn’t taken his eyes off Ellie.

“You shouldn’t have stayed here alone.”

The words came out quieter than criticism, which somehow made them land harder.

Ellie folded her arms tightly across herself. “I went to get coffee, not disappear into the wilderness.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“I know.”

The tension between them settled into the room almost immediately—not anger exactly, but the sharp edge of fear trying unsuccessfully to disguise itself as practicality. Namjoon noticed it too.

“We need to move,” he said before either of them could continue. “Now.”

One of the guards nodded toward the hallway. “We’re relocating all remaining backstage movement to secured routes only.”

The group began moving almost immediately after that, security falling into position around them with practiced efficiency. Ellie stayed half a step behind the others as they crossed into the restricted production corridor leading back toward artist areas.

Only once they turned the corner did Yoongi slow slightly beside her, “You okay?”

The question sounded careful now. More careful than before.

Ellie looked ahead toward the security team walking several feet in front of them, “I think I’m still trying to figure out whether I should be scared.”

Yoongi was quiet for a moment. Then, very honestly, he said: “I think you should start being careful.”

———————-

The incident in Phoenix never reached the public. Management handled it quickly, confiscating the phone before anyone outside security and the members could photograph the messages or leak details online. By the next morning, the official explanation circulating among staff was vague enough to sound routine: a credential issue, a restricted-area violation, additional precautions moving forward.

But the atmosphere around the tour changed again anyway. Fear had a way of spreading quietly through people even when nobody discussed it directly.

Ellie noticed it in the small adjustments first. Staff no longer questioned why security stayed close to her. Venue coordinators stopped leaving her alone backstage during transitions. Even the dancers, most of whom still didn’t know the full situation, had started unconsciously waiting for her before moving between rehearsal spaces.

And Yoongi…Yoongi stopped pretending his concern was subtle.

Not publicly. He was still careful about that. Years of media training and survival instinct made restraint second nature to him. But privately, the strain was beginning to show.

Three days after Phoenix, the tour reached Las Vegas. The stadium itself was overwhelming in the way only Vegas could manage: oversized screens, blinding lights, noise bleeding in from every direction long before doors even opened. The city seemed permanently awake, as though silence was impossible. Ellie hated it almost immediately.

By midafternoon she sat cross-legged on the floor of one of the backstage production rooms surrounded by translation notes and revised stage scripts while trying unsuccessfully to concentrate on rehearsal changes for the night’s ment sections.

Her focus lasted maybe thirty seconds at a time. Every unfamiliar face made her look up now. Every unexpected noise caught her attention. The worst part was realizing how quickly hypervigilance became habit.

A knock sounded against the open doorway. Ellie looked up automatically, pulse jumping before she recognized Namjoon standing there holding two coffees.

The reaction must have shown on her face because his expression shifted almost immediately, “That bad?”

Ellie let out a tired breath and accepted one of the cups. “Apparently I’ve developed the nervous system of a small woodland animal.”

A faint smile touched Namjoon’s mouth as he leaned against the doorframe, “That’s probably a reasonable response right now.”

The honesty in his voice made her laugh softly despite herself.

Namjoon had always been unusually careful with people’s emotions. He rarely dismissed fear outright, even when he was trying to reassure someone.

“You know,” he said after a moment, “Yoongi’s barely sleeping.”

Ellie looked up sharply.

Namjoon sighed quietly, already regretting bringing it up and continuing anyway.

“He keeps checking security updates during the night. Managers. Hotel access reports.” He paused briefly. “I don’t think he realizes anyone notices.”

Guilt twisted low in Ellie’s stomach almost immediately, “Namjoon—”

“This is not me blaming you.”

“I know.”

But some part of her still felt responsible anyway.

Namjoon studied her for a second before speaking again.

“The problem with people like Yoongi is that once something matters to him, it matters completely.” He glanced down the hallway toward the main arena floor. “And right now he feels like he failed to keep you safe.”

The statement landed harder than Ellie expected. Yoongi had started viewing her safety as something personally attached to him. And every escalation chipped away at that belief a little further.

Before Ellie could answer, voices drifted closer from somewhere down the corridor. A moment later Yoongi himself appeared outside the room, stopping briefly when he noticed them sitting together.

“There you are,” he said automatically. Then he seemed to realize what he’d said and looked mildly annoyed with himself.

Namjoon laughed immediately. “You really do say that every single time now.”

Yoongi ignored him completely, attention already back on Ellie, “You disappeared.”

“I went thirty feet away to review translations.”

“You didn’t answer your phone.”

Ellie glanced down at the device beside her papers: Three missed calls.

Her stomach sank slightly. “I didn’t hear it.”

Yoongi exhaled slowly, rubbing a hand across the back of his neck in a way that made him suddenly look exhausted rather than irritated.

For a moment none of them spoke. Then Ellie set down her coffee and stood, crossing the room until she stopped directly in front of him.

“You need to sleep tonight.”

Yoongi blinked once, clearly not expecting that response, “Ellie—”

“I’m serious.”

The concern in her voice softened something in his expression almost immediately, though tension still lingered visibly around the edges.

“You can’t spend every night waiting for something bad to happen. Security is here for a reason. ”

A complicated look crossed his face then, difficult to fully untangle.

Someone was watching her, Following her, Getting close enough to leave messages in empty rooms and copied hotel keys in stairwells. The danger was no longer hypothetical.

Yoongi looked down at her quietly.

“I don’t think that the worst part” he said

Ellie frowned slightly. “What?”

He hesitated just long enough for the answer to feel important.

“I don’t think they’re trying to scare you yet.”

The room went still. Even Namjoon’s expression tightened slightly from the doorway.

Yoongi’s voice remained calm when he continued.

“I think they’re trying to make sure you know they can reach you.”

————————————————-

OHHHHH drama!

Link, comment, reblog please!

Xoxo, bumble

Taglist: @bbl32 @bb3armira @bjoriis @lumora-the-white @itsluvie @traumaanatomy @joonmonjagi @thedelulusafespace @blue-and-grey-swan @dayquilforthewin @jajabro @ineed-myspace @airwolf92

[deaddumblbumble]

Soft Places to Land | MYG pt 11

SUMMARY: After the world learns BTS can actually have soulmates, shy interpreter Ellie Parker joins the U.S. leg of BTS’s Arirang tour unaware that Min Yoongi recognizes her instantly as his soulmate. As growing public attention and a dangerous fan obsession threaten Ellie’s fragile sense of safety, Yoongi becomes the quiet place she keeps finding herself drawn back to. This is a slow-burn story about learning that love can be gentle, protective, and safe enough to finally stop surviving.

WARNINGS: past emotional abuse, anxiety, panic responses, stalking, invasion of privacy, obsessive fan behavior, toxic family dynamics, emotional manipulation, Contains heavy angst, hurt/comfort, and discussions of trauma and healing throughout.

Masterlist

———————————

The soulmate bond did not calm after the kiss. If anything, it settled deeper.

Ellie discovered this four hours later when she woke before sunrise curled against Yoongi’s chest, one of his arms wrapped securely around her waist. The hotel room was dim and quiet, soft gray light filtering through the curtains while the city still slept beyond the glass.

For a moment, she did not move. She was warm. Safe. Completely still in a way that did not feel forced. No tension sat between her shoulder blades. No instinctive alertness tugged her awake. No fear waited beneath the surface, ready to punish her for relaxing too much. She had slept. Really slept.

Yoongi’s voice rumbled against her hair, low and rough with sleep. “You’re thinking.”

Ellie looked up carefully.

He was barely awake, hair messy, eyes heavy, still holding her as if his body had made the decision long before his mind arrived.

“You’re awake,” she whispered.

His mouth curved faintly. “Good observation.”

Then his gaze cleared a little. He seemed to realize fully where they were. Ellie, curled against him willingly. Comfortable. Trusting.

His arm tightened around her waist before he could stop it. Ellie softened closer on instinct. The bond surged so warmly that Yoongi closed his eyes and pressed his face briefly into her hair, as if he needed one second to survive the feeling.

“You’re clingy,” Ellie murmured.

“You are using me as a pillow.”

“You’re a comfortable pillow.”

A quiet laugh moved through his chest. Then the room settled again.

After a moment, his voice softened. “You stayed.”

The words broke something small and tender inside her. Like some part of him had expected her to panic eventually. To wake up, remember what had happened, and disappear behind a wall of fear.

Ellie swallowed. “I wanted to.”

Yoongi went still. Then he kissed the top of her head, gentle and unthinking.

“You okay, baby?”

The sleepy softness of it nearly ended her.

Before Ellie could recover, loud knocking hit the suite door.

“Yoongi hyung!”—Taehyung…Of course.

Yoongi closed his eyes. “I’m going to kill him.”

Ellie laughed against his chest, and the bond warmed immediately. For a few seconds, despite everything waiting outside the room, she felt impossibly happy.

⸻

Breakfast became chaos. The members crowded around takeout containers while Yoongi and Ellie kept drifting toward each other without meaning to. Standing shoulder to shoulder. Brushing hands while reaching for coffee. Looking for each other whenever someone else spoke too loudly.

Avery noticed first. Her expression changed, “That’s what happened before Jungkook and I completed our bond.”

The room quieted. Ellie froze mid-sip. Yoongi went still beside her.

Jungkook leaned back against the counter, suddenly serious. “It started with needing proximity more. Feeling calmer together. Separation becoming harder. Emotions bleeding through stronger.”

As Avery nodded, something inside Ellie tightened. Warmth crashed through her chest without warning. Too much. Too sudden. The room blurred slightly at the edges.

Yoongi reached her instantly, “Hey.”

Ellie grabbed the front of his shirt before she could think. His hands steadied her, and the second he pulled her closer, the overwhelming intensity eased.

The room went silent. The bond was not simply progressing anymore. It was accelerating.

⸻

Afterward, the mood shifted. No one joked while Ellie sat curled on the couch with water in both hands and Yoongi beside her like an anchor.

“That wasn’t normal,” Namjoon said quietly.

Avery shook her head. “Ours didn’t react like that until later.”

The realization settled heavily over the room. The bond between Yoongi and Ellie had become almost biological in its response. Stress intensified it. Fear sharpened it. Proximity stabilized it.

Namjoon looked toward Ellie gently. “You’ve been under nonstop pressure for weeks. The posts, the hotel leak, the crowds, people shouting your name. The bond may be responding protectively.”

Ellie looked down immediately, guilt curling low in her stomach.

Yoongi felt it before she could speak. “No. You are not responsible for this.”

The firmness in his voice cut through the spiral before it could take shape.

Ellie sighed softly. “I hate when you do that.”

“Do what?”

“Know what I’m thinking.”

Yoongi looked completely unbothered. “Then think quieter.”

Taehyung gasped. “He’s flirting.”

“I have always flirted.”

The room erupted in laughter. Yoongi realized his mistake one second too late and for the first time all morning, the tension finally loosened.

⸻

The first real problem happened during rehearsal. That was what worried Namjoon most. Emotional intensity was one thing. Interfering with tour logistics was another.

“Ellie?”

No response…The production coordinator repeated himself across the empty stadium floor, “Ellie.”

She blinked hard. The lighting team waited expectantly while Korean production staff looked back from center stage.

“Sorry,” Ellie said quickly. “The cue timing needs to shift after the VCR transition.”

The words came out smoothly enough, but Yoongi still looked up instantly from the extended stage platform.The farther apart they were, the worse it became.

Within twenty minutes, Namjoon noticed both of them struggling. Ellie kept losing focus mid-translation. Yoongi missed two positioning calls. Neither of them normally made mistakes during rehearsal.

When the break started, Namjoon walked straight toward Avery, “You were right.”

Avery sighed. “I know.”

Jungkook joined them near the monitor table, concern replacing his usual amusement. “It’s moving faster.”

Everyone could see it now. Whenever Ellie and Yoongi were separated across the stadium too long, Ellie grew distracted, Yoongi became restless, and the bond spiked harder when they reunited.

Ellie sat near the side-stage stairs reviewing notes when Yoongi finally crossed back toward her. The second he sat beside her, the static in her head disappeared so quickly she exhaled.

His jaw tightened. “I officially hate this.”

Ellie looked over. “Which part?”

“The part where being thirty feet away from you feels unbearable.”

Despite herself, she laughed softly. Warmth moved through the bond.

Yoongi rubbed tiredly at his face. “This cannot be normal.”

“No,” Avery said from behind them. “It isn’t.”

Both of them looked up. Avery, Jungkook, and Namjoon approached slowly.

Jungkook sat across from them on an equipment case. “It’s just moving faster than ours did.”

Yoongi leaned forward, forearms braced against his knees. “Why?”

Avery exchanged a glance with Jungkook before answering, “Because your bond formed differently.”

Ellie frowned. “How?”

Namjoon handed Yoongi coffee before speaking. “You recognized the connection almost immediately. There wasn’t prolonged denial about what was happening.”

Jungkook gave a quiet laugh. “Avery and I were a disaster for months.”

“Still are,” Taehyung called from somewhere offstage.

Avery ignored him and looked at Ellie. “And you attach deeply once you feel safe.”

Ellie looked down.

Avery’s voice stayed gentle. “You spent most of your life bracing against people. Once your nervous system stopped seeing Yoongi as dangerous, the bond had nothing left to fight.”

The explanation settled over the empty stadium. Yoongi’s expression shifted, not with surprise, but understanding.

Namjoon leaned against the production table. “And the stress likely accelerated it. Soulmate bonds react protectively under sustained fear, especially when one person becomes emotional regulation for the other.”

Ellie stared at him. “So the bond thinks Yoongi is anti-anxiety medicine.”

Jungkook laughed. Even Yoongi smiled faintly.

Avery looked between them carefully. “The bond did not create your feelings. It only removed the barriers faster.”

Silence settled softly afterward.

Yoongi reached for Ellie’s hand without hesitation. Warm. Steady. Ellie let him.

⸻

The next concert was in Boston. The moment BTS stepped onto the stage, the stadium erupted. Screaming shook the floor beneath Ellie’s sneakers while she adjusted her headset beside the side-stage monitors.

“Mic check for translation,” she said.

“Good,” the production manager answered. “You’re live for ment one.”

The concert moved forward in familiar waves. Music. Pyro. Fans singing loud enough to rattle the air.

For the first time in days, Ellie felt almost normal. The stage made sense. Timing made sense.Language made sense.

People, soulmate bonds, and emotionally devastating Korean rappers were much harder.

Halfway through the set, the first ment section began. The members gathered near the extended stage while the crowd screamed themselves breathless.

Ellie stepped toward the translation mic. Professional mode.

Namjoon started first, speaking warmly in Korean, “Boston, your energy tonight is incredible.”

Ellie waited for the natural pause, then translated smoothly, “Boston, your energy tonight is incredible.”

The crowd erupted. Namjoon smiled at the reaction. And Yoongi, standing two members away, felt warmth move through the bond at the sound of her voice.

Not because of the translation itself. Because she sounded confident. Like herself. He loved watching her work.

Jin stepped forward next, grinning in a way Ellie deeply distrusted, “Taehyung forgot lyrics during rehearsal today.”

Ellie sighed into the mic before translating, The crowd laughed immediately.

“Jin says Taehyung forgot lyrics during rehearsal today.”

The stadium screamed.

Taehyung pointed at her in betrayal.

Ellie looked directly toward him from side-stage. “He says betrayal.”

Taehyung protested loudly.

Ellie lifted a brow. “It was not one word. It was an entire line.”

The crowd lost it. Even Yoongi laughed openly this time. Warmth surged through the bond.

Ellie felt it while smiling into the microphone, and for one terrifying second, she understood exactly why fans kept making edits of the way Yoongi looked at her during ment sections. Because she could feel it now—Affection. Pride. Softness…All directed at her.

The ment continued smoothly after that. Hoseok grew emotional talking about touring again. Jimin praised the crowd until they screamed themselves hoarse. Jungkook flirted shamelessly and knew exactly what he was doing.

And through all of it, Ellie translated effortlessly. Quick transitions. Natural delivery. Perfect timing.

The crowd reacted to her now too. Cheering after translations. Laughing at her dry comments. Calling her name between member speeches. It still startled her every time.

Yoongi noticed. He noticed the small blink of surprise whenever the audience cheered for her directly. The way she still seemed unable to believe people could like her without needing something from her. It softened something painful in him.

Then, midway through Namjoon’s next speech, everything went wrong.

His Korean stretched thoughtful and emotional for nearly a minute while Ellie listened carefully, already shaping the translation in her mind.

Then her headset cut out. Static exploded sharply through her ear.

Ellie flinched…The stadium audio dropped silent.

Namjoon noticed from center stage.

The crowd quieted in confusion, waiting for the translation.

Production staff started scrambling near the monitors. “Audio issue.”

“We lost her feed.”

“Get backup on channel three.”

Ellie pressed one hand against the earpiece, trying to hear anything beneath the static. Nothing. Thousands of fans waited.

And suddenly panic climbed hard into her chest. Too many people. Too much attention. Everyone waiting. The bond reacted instantly.

Across the stage, Yoongi felt it like a shockwave—Fear.

His head snapped toward side-stage.

Ellie stood frozen near the translation mic while staff moved frantically around her.

Without thinking, Yoongi crossed the stage toward her. In front of everyone.

⸻

The internet would lose its mind later. Ellie barely processed it in the moment.

Her headset still crackled violently with static while production staff tried to switch feeds. Then Yoongi was there. His hand closed gently around her elbow. Grounding.

“It’s okay, baby” he said quietly. Low enough only she could hear.

The panic eased. Not fully. But enough for her to breathe.

Unfortunately, every camera in the stadium caught it. The crowd exploded. This was not subtle. Not a glance. Not speculation.

Yoongi had left formation because Ellie panicked. And Ellie visibly relaxed the second he touched her.

Namjoon recovered first. He stepped forward smoothly, drawing the audience’s attention while production scrambled behind him.

“Technical difficulties,” he called in English, calm and smiling.

The crowd cheered.

Yoongi stayed beside Ellie. Not leaving. Not pretending not to be worried.

Ellie looked up at him. “I’m okay.”

The bond pulsed.

Yoongi ignored the lie. “You went pale.”

“Because sixty thousand people stared at me.”

His mouth twitched. “Fair.”

Finally, the static disappeared.

A staff member exhaled in visible relief. “You’re live again.”

Yoongi’s hand lingered at her elbow for one second longer before he stepped back.

“Breathe first,” he murmured.

Then he returned to formation.

Ellie translated Namjoon’s speech with a steady voice, even though her pulse still hadn’t settled.

The concert recovered quickly. Professionally, at least…Online did not.

⸻

Backstage after the show felt tense immediately. Managers moved too quickly. Staff whispered into phones. Security clustered closer around every exit.

The second BTS entered the secured hallway, one of the PR managers approached Namjoon with a phone in hand.

“We have a problem.”

Taehyung glanced at Jin. “That sentence never brings joy.”

The manager turned the screen toward them. Millions of views already. Every platform. Every angle—Yoongi crossing the stage. Yoongi touching Ellie’s arm. Yoongi scanning her face. Ellie calming instantly.

The hashtags were worse…Yoongi’s name. Ellie’s title. Soulmate speculation.

And the clip where he appeared to mouth, “it’s okay baby”

Ellie stopped walking—Oh no.

The bond sharpened beside her…Yoongi was not panicking. He was angry. Because Ellie looked scared.

The PR manager continued, voice tight. “Fans found her full name.”

Silence fell.

Ellie’s stomach dropped. “What?”

“Your old translation company profile was reposted.”

The world tilted…Not anonymous anymore. Not background staff…Visible. Findable.

Yoongi stepped closer automatically.

“Hey, breathe,” he said, softer this time. Grounding. But for the first time, it did not fully calm her. Because now people knew who she was.

Namjoon took the phone and reviewed the posts quickly.

His expression darkened. “This is escalating too fast.”

“Management wants immediate damage control,” another staff member said.

Yoongi’s eyes narrowed. He knew that tone. So did Ellie.

Damage control meant hiding her. Removing her. Treating her like the problem.

The old guilt rose instantly—I’m becoming difficult.

Yoongi felt it before she could speak, “No.”

His voice cut through the hallway. Everyone looked at him. Including Ellie.

Yoongi stared directly at management, “She is not leaving because your security failed.”

The hallway went dead silent.

A few feet away, Namjoon was listening to one of the PR managers with the exhausted focus of someone already anticipating a problem before hearing it aloud.

“What exactly leaked?” he asked.

The manager glanced briefly toward Ellie before answering, “Her full name spread across several larger fan accounts tonight. People connected old staffing records to her translation agency profile.”

Ellie went still, For a second, the words didn’t fully register.

Then they did all at once—Her full name. Not “the interpreter. Not vague edits or blurry concert clips—Ellie Parker. Real enough now for strangers to search.

Yoongi, standing beside her, shifted almost imperceptibly closer. The movement was subtle, instinctive enough that he probably didn’t realize he’d done it, but Ellie felt the change immediately through the soulmate bond. Not panic—Yoongi rarely panicked—but a sharp, controlled anger that had been simmering beneath his calm exterior ever since Chicago.

Namjoon rubbed a hand across the back of his neck. “How much information are we talking about?”

“Old social media accounts. University records. Hometown information.” The manager hesitated. “Somebody also reposted photos from her family’s property in Texas.”

The hallway fell quiet. Not theatrically silent, just still enough that Ellie became suddenly aware of everything else around her: the static crackling through a security radio, the distant rumble of equipment carts being pushed down concrete corridors, the faint ringing still lingering in her ears after two hours inside a stadium.

Texas. Her parents.

The fact that complete strangers now knew where she came from made something deep in her stomach tighten unpleasantly.

“That should never have been accessible,” Hobi said quietly.

“It wasn’t,” the PR manager replied. “People have been digging through archived accounts and public databases for the last forty-eight hours.”

Taehyung swore softly under his breath from where he leaned against the wall beside Jungkook.

Ellie crossed her arms tightly, less from defensiveness than from a growing urge to hold herself together physically before the anxiety spreading through her chest became obvious to everyone else. Too late.

Yoongi tilted his head slightly toward her. “Hey.”

No dramatic reassurance. No public scene. But the grounding effect was immediate anyway, which only irritated her further because she hated how dependent her nervous system had become on him lately.

“I’m okay,” she muttered automatically.

Yoongi looked unconvinced but let it go for the moment.

Across the hallway, one of the security staff suddenly pressed a hand to his earpiece before turning sharply toward the management team. The shift in body language was immediate enough that everyone noticed.

“What happened?” Namjoon asked.

The guard approached quickly, keeping his voice low despite the empty corridor.

“We detained two individuals near the restricted service elevators ten minutes ago.”

Jungkook straightened. “Fans?”

The guard nodded once. “They were carrying copied venue credentials.”

Ellie felt the blood drain from her face. Copied credentials meant planning; Access; Intent. Not someone accidentally wandering into the wrong hallway.

“Did they reach artist areas?” Jin asked.

“No,” the guard answered immediately. “Security intercepted them before they made it past the lower access corridor.”

Yoongi’s jaw tightened slightly. Ellie only noticed because she was standing close enough now to recognize the subtle changes in him that other people often missed.

Namjoon glanced between the security guard and the PR manager. “Did they say why they were there?”

The hesitation before the answer was small..Still long enough.

“One of them specifically asked for Ellie.”

For a moment, nobody spoke.

Ellie actually thought she’d misheard him, “What?”

The guard looked uncomfortable now. “They asked which room belonged to the translator traveling with BTS.”

The corridor seemed to narrow around her. Until now, the situation had still felt partially abstract, existing mostly online in the form of invasive comments and obsessive speculation. Disturbing, yes, but still separated from reality by screens and distance.

This wasn’t distant. Someone had entered a restricted backstage area actively looking for her. Beside her, Yoongi went very still. That frightened Ellie more than if he’d exploded.

The soulmate bond carried enough emotional bleed-through now that she could feel the force of his anger beneath the surface, tightly leashed and getting harder to contain with every passing day.

“We’re increasing security effective immediately,” the PR manager said quickly, clearly trying to regain control of the conversation before Yoongi said something unforgiving. “Ellie will no longer move through public staff routes, and hotel floor access is being restricted to essential personnel only.”

Ellie let out a quiet breath, trying unsuccessfully to steady herself, “This is insane.”

“No,” Yoongi said, his voice calm enough that everyone looked at him immediately. “This is serious.

———————-

Management moved Ellie to a different hotel room before midnight. No one asked her opinion about it.

Around her, the atmosphere on the hotel floor felt tense in a way that had nothing to do with the usual post-show exhaustion. Two additional guards stood near the elevators, another outside the stairwell access door. Even the members had gone quieter over the last hour, the adrenaline from the concert completely replaced by the lingering unease from backstage.

Yoongi stepped out of the elevator behind her just in time to hear that they were moving her, “Why?”

The coordinator glanced toward him carefully. “We’re consolidating secure rooms onto one side of the floor.”

“Meaning somebody got this room number too,” Yoongi said flatly.

The coordinator didn’t answer. Which was answer enough.

Ellie rubbed both hands over her face for a second, suddenly exhausted all the way through. “This feels insane.”

Namjoon looked tired rather than surprised. “Unfortunately, this is pretty standard once people start leaking hotel information.”

“That shouldn’t happen.”

“It shouldn’t,” Jin agreed quietly.

The coordinator handed Ellie a replacement keycard. “Security will escort you.”

Yoongi reached for the card first. The guard gave Yoongi a brief look before handing it over without argument.

—————————————

The new room sat three doors down from Namjoon’s suite and directly across from two security staff who now occupied the hallway full time.

Ellie stopped just inside the doorway after the guards cleared the room, staring at the unfamiliar space with growing discomfort.

Nothing was wrong with it. That was almost the problem.

The bed was neatly made, lights dimmed low, untouched water bottles lined up near the television. A perfectly normal hotel room that suddenly felt strange simply because someone else had already decided she was no longer safe alone.

Behind her, the door clicked shut. Yoongi stayed near the entrance while security spoke quietly through the partially opened doorway one last time before leaving them alone.

The silence afterward stretched longer than usual. Ellie dropped her overnight bag beside the desk and looked out toward the rain-slick skyline through the windows.

“I feel ridiculous.”

“You shouldn’t.”

She crossed her arms tightly. “I’m a translator, Yoongi. Not a politician.”

He leaned back against the closed door, watching her carefully. “That’s not the part they care about.”

Ellie didn’t answer immediately because they both knew exactly what he meant.

Chicago had made things visible in a way they hadn’t been before. Fans weren’t speculating anymore. They were observing. Tracking patterns. Watching the way Yoongi gravitated toward her instinctively in every behind-the-scenes clip and shaky concert video uploaded online.

And people had started reacting to that. Not everyone.

Honestly, most fans had been surprisingly supportive.

But obsessive people didn’t need majority support to become dangerous.

“They think I’m affecting you,” Ellie said finally, the words sounding strange once spoken aloud.

Yoongi’s expression flattened slightly. “You are affecting me.”

“That is not helping.”

“It’s true.”

Despite herself, she looked back at him then.

The frustrating thing about Yoongi was that he almost never softened statements to make them easier to emotionally survive. If he believed something, he said it plainly and left you alone with the consequences.

Yoongi crossed the room slowly, stopping in front of her near the windows.

“You know what I think?” he asked quietly.

Ellie sighed. “That already sounds dangerous.”

“I think people got too comfortable believing they had ownership over parts of my life that were never actually theirs.”

The city lights reflected faintly across the glass behind him while rain streaked slowly down the windows.

“You existing publicly beside me disrupted that fantasy,” he continued. “That’s what they’re reacting to.”

Not jealousy exactly. Entitlement.

The distinction settled heavily in Ellie’s chest. Because he was right.

The comments online rarely focused on her as a person. They focused on what she represented: a shift, a change, proof that Yoongi’s emotional world existed outside what fans imagined they controlled. And apparently some people hated that enough to start crossing lines.

A knock at the door interrupted the silence before Ellie could answer. Both of them froze instinctively.

Yoongi reacted first. Not dramatically. He simply moved between Ellie and the door so naturally it took her a second to realize what he’d done.

The soulmate bond tightened sharply with alertness.

Another knock sounded, “Room service.”

The tension eased only slightly.

Ellie frowned immediately. “I didn’t order anything.”

Neither did Yoongi.

The silence that followed felt different this time. He looked toward the door without moving, expression unreadable now in a way Ellie had learned to distrust completely.

Then his phone buzzed.

A message from Namjoon: Don’t open the door. We didn’t call room service.

————————————

Yoongi never opened the door.

The moment Namjoon’s text appeared on his phone telling them not to, something in the atmosphere of the room shifted permanently. Until then, the situation had still felt distant enough that Ellie could convince herself management was overreacting—that security changes and extra escorts and locked hotel floors were precautionary rather than necessary.

But someone knocking on her door after midnight pretending to be room service changed that. Especially because neither of them had ordered anything.

For several long seconds after the footsteps disappeared down the hallway, neither Ellie nor Yoongi spoke. Rain moved steadily against the windows overlooking the city, and somewhere deep below them traffic hissed across wet pavement.

Yoongi checked the lock once, then again. .

“You think it was someone from the venue?” she asked eventually.

“I don’t know.”

Which, coming from Yoongi, was not reassuring.

Ellie sat down slowly on the edge of the bed, trying to ignore the lingering adrenaline still crawling unpleasantly beneath her skin. The entire evening had felt slightly unreal since management informed them her full name had spread across social media. At first it had simply been uncomfortable—strangers discussing her hometown, old photos, archived accounts she barely remembered existed.

Now it felt invasive in a way she couldn’t mentally organize into something manageable. Someone had come to her door. The thought kept repeating itself in increasingly unsettling ways.

A sharp knock interrupted the silence again nearly ten minutes later.

This time Yoongi checked the peephole before opening it. Namjoon stood outside alongside two members of hotel security and one of HYBE’s managers. The expressions on their faces immediately made Ellie stand.

“What happened?” she asked.

One of the guards held up a hotel keycard sealed inside a clear evidence bag.

“We found this in the service stairwell,” he explained.

Ellie frowned slightly, not understanding.

The guard continued carefully. “It’s programmed for your original room.”

For a second, the words didn’t fully register…Then they did.

Her original room. The one management had moved her out of less than an hour earlier. A cold, heavy feeling settled low in her stomach.

Beside her, Yoongi’s expression didn’t visibly change, but the atmosphere around him seemed to sharpen instantly.

“How did someone get it?” he asked.

“We’re still investigating,” the hotel security supervisor answered. “At some point tonight, a duplicate card was created using copied floor credentials.”

Namjoon rubbed a hand tiredly across his face. “And if she hadn’t been moved?”

Nobody answered him immediately. They didn’t need to. The silence itself was enough.

Ellie looked down at the carpet, suddenly unable to stop imagining someone stepping into the wrong room and finding it empty. The thought should have made her feel relieved. Instead it made her nauseous. Because whoever had done this clearly believed she would still be there.

The manager stepped forward carefully. “We’re relocating the entire floor access plan. Security will remain outside this room for the rest of the night, and tomorrow we’ll move transportation routes entirely off schedule.”

Ellie barely heard him. Her attention had fixed instead on the keycard still sealed inside the plastic bag. It looked so ordinary. A plain hotel card with the hotel logo stamped across the front.

Yoongi finally looked over at her fully then, his expression softening the second he realized how pale she’d gone.

“Ellie.”

She swallowed hard before meeting his eyes, “This doesn’t feel real.”

His jaw tightened briefly, like he hated the fact that he couldn’t honestly reassure her otherwise, “I know.”

That frightened her too because Yoongi almost always tried to make things feel manageable for her. Tonight he didn’t.

—————————-

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Soft Places to Land | MYG pt 10

SUMMARY: After the world learns BTS can actually have soulmates, shy interpreter Ellie Parker joins the U.S. leg of BTS’s Arirang tour unaware that Min Yoongi recognizes her instantly as his soulmate. As growing public attention and a dangerous fan obsession threaten Ellie’s fragile sense of safety, Yoongi becomes the quiet place she keeps finding herself drawn back to. This is a slow-burn story about learning that love can be gentle, protective, and safe enough to finally stop surviving.

WARNINGS: past emotional abuse, anxiety, panic responses, stalking, invasion of privacy, obsessive fan behavior, toxic family dynamics, emotional manipulation, Contains heavy angst, hurt/comfort, and discussions of trauma and healing throughout.

Masterlist

————————————-

The atmosphere changed instantly. One sentence, and the entire backstage hallway shifted into controlled panic.

“It’s all over Twitter right now.”

Ellie stared at the staffer’s phone while her pulse dropped hard into her stomach. The screen showed the hotel name, blurry photos of the entrance, guesses about floors, screenshots spreading faster than anyone could stop them.

Cold moved through her limbs—No…No, no, no.

The soulmate bond snapped sharp enough that Yoongi reached her before Ellie fully processed him moving. His presence pushed warmth into the panic, but this time it did not erase the fear completely.

Yoongi looked at the phone once. His expression changed.

Namjoon arrived seconds later with two security staff close behind him. “What happened?”

The young staffer answered quickly. “The hotel leaked online after the ment.”

Namjoon went very still. That was bad. Especially after the way fan attention around Yoongi and Ellie had escalated so visibly during the show.

He took the phone carefully and scanned the posts. His jaw tightened. “How widespread?”

The staffer swallowed. “Trending.”

Ellie wrapped both arms around herself without realizing it. The bond tightened protectively around her panic, and Yoongi stepped closer on instinct, close enough that her breathing steadied slightly despite everything.

“Okay,” Namjoon said, his voice calm in the way it became only when things were serious. “Nobody goes anywhere alone tonight.”

Security nodded immediately. One manager was already speaking rapidly into comms, coordinating vehicle reroutes and hotel access changes. The hallway began moving around them with quiet urgency.

Ellie looked toward Namjoon, “I’m sorry.”

Every member reacted at once. Yoongi closed his eyes briefly as if the words had hurt him. Namjoon’s expression softened. Hoseok looked heartbroken.

The guilt came anyway…It rose fast and familiar, filling every empty space fear had not already taken. This was because of her. Because of the ment. Because fans had noticed too much. Because she had stood too close and they saw.

The bond pulsed with Yoongi’s immediate rejection of the thought, “No.”

Ellie looked at him.

“You are not responsible for people crossing boundaries.”

She wanted to believe him. Part of her did. But the fear would not leave this time. She kept imagining the hotel entrance crowded with strangers. People waiting in the lobby. Someone learning her room number. Someone appearing outside her door.

Yoongi felt every turn of the spiral. His own emotions sharpened in response, protectiveness turning almost dangerous beneath the surface.

Namjoon noticed. He stepped aside with the security staff, speaking quietly about updated room assignments. After several seconds, his gaze moved to Yoongi. A silent conversation passed between them.

Ellie caught it too late. “What?”

No one answered quickly enough.

Her stomach sank. “No.”

Yoongi turned toward her fully. “Ellie.”

“No.”

His expression stayed calm. Too calm.

“We are not arguing about security tonight.”

Ellie looked between him and Namjoon in disbelief. “You cannot seriously be about to suggest—”

“Your room location is compromised,” Namjoon said gently. “Security wants minimized exposure.”

“And?”

“And you should not stay alone.”

The hallway seemed to fall quiet around her. Because suddenly she understood exactly where this was going.

The bond moved with Yoongi’s tension. Not discomfort. Not reluctance. Concern. Restraint. The careful effort of someone trying not to overwhelm her while every instinct in him wanted to put locked doors between her and the rest of the world.

“I can stay with Avery,” Ellie said quickly.

Avery’s face softened with apology before she even spoke. Jungkook answered instead, quiet and regretful. “Our room leaked too.”

Namjoon exhaled slowly. “Yoongi’s room location has stayed offline.”

Ellie froze. Yoongi remained very still beside her. The bond hummed with patience and worry.

“I’ll be fine,” she said. The lie was obvious before it finished leaving her mouth.

Namjoon’s voice softened. “You’re shaking.

Ellie looked down. Her hands trembled faintly around the translation binder still pressed against her chest.

Before she could hide it, Yoongi stepped closer. “Hey.”

Her breathing caught. She hated how quickly he calmed her. Or maybe she hated that she wanted him to.

“We are not forcing anything,” Yoongi said carefully.

Her voice came out smaller than she wanted. “I don’t want to make things difficult.”

Yoongi’s expression broke a little. There it was again. Ellie treating her own safety like an inconvenience.

He reached gently for the binder she had clutched against her chest and lowered it from her grip. His fingers brushed hers, warm and steady.

“Baby,” he said softly, before he seemed to realize the word had left his mouth.

The hallway froze. So did Ellie.

Yoongi blinked once, as if he had heard himself a second too late. The bond flared between them with embarrassment, tenderness, and fierce protectiveness.

Ellie forgot how to breathe.

Yoongi looked at her steadily. He did not take it back.

“You are not difficult.”

For a moment, no one recovered from the pet name. Least of all Ellie. It had not sounded practiced. It had slipped out of him softly, instinctively, while he was trying to comfort her. Not teasing. Not flirting. Protecting.

Taehyung was the first to react, his eyes wide as he grabbed Jimin’s arm.

Namjoon warned, “Taehyung.”

Taehyung pressed his lips together, clearly suffering.

Hoseok looked emotionally overwhelmed.

Jin covered part of his face with one hand.

Avery whispered, “Oh my God.”

Ellie remained motionless, staring at Yoongi while her pulse raced.

Yoongi noticed everyone, but his attention stayed on her. The bond carried her reaction straight into him: shock, warmth, vulnerability.

His voice lowered. “Breathe.”

Ellie let out one weak, breathless laugh. “That is difficult after what you just said.”

Yoongi’s mouth twitched despite himself. For one fragile second, the fear loosened. Then reality returned. The hotel was still leaked.

Namjoon gently clapped his hands once, reclaiming focus. “As meaningful as that was, we need to move.”

Yoongi glanced at him. “Thank you.”

Security stepped back into motion, and Ellie tried desperately to focus on logistics instead of the fact that Yoongi had accidentally called her baby in front of BTS, their staff, and at least three security personnel. She failed completely.

—————⸻

The drive back to the hotel was tense. Security vehicles surrounded the vans, and the route changed twice before they reached the property. Outside, fans had already begun crowding parts of the perimeter despite the late hour. Phone screens flashed in the darkness beyond tinted windows. Ellie’s stomach twisted at the sight.

By the time they entered through the secured access route, her nerves were stretched painfully thin. Too much noise. Too much attention. Too much visibility.

Security moved quickly, guiding them through a private entrance while fans screamed somewhere beyond the underground garage. Ellie kept her head down automatically.

A sudden bang echoed from above, sharp and metallic, as something struck near the barricades. Ellie flinched violently.

Before she could recover, Yoongi’s hand settled gently at the back of her neck.

“Hey,” he said softly beside her. “You’re okay.”

The touch steadied something inside her immediately—Safe. Ellie leaned into it slightly before she thought better of it. Yoongi felt the trust move through the bond like lightning.

Upstairs, security swept Yoongi’s room before allowing anyone inside. Even after the door locked behind them, the tension lingered. Too much adrenaline. Too much fear still alive beneath the skin.

Ellie stood near the entryway with her overnight bag in hand, trying not to feel like an intrusion. The old guilt crept back in. Too needy. Too inconvenient.

The bond pulsed sharply with Yoongi’s disagreement before she fully finished the thought.

He crossed the suite quietly, “Stop.”

Ellie blinked.

“You’re spiraling.”

She looked away.

Yoongi stopped in front of her, close but not crowding. His voice softened. “You’re safe here.”

The words landed heavily because she believed him. Completely.

A soft knock interrupted them. Then Jin opened the door halfway without waiting. “Security update.”

Behind him, Namjoon, Hoseok, Jimin, Taehyung, Jungkook, and Avery hovered visibly in the hallway.

Ellie stared. “Why are all of you still awake?”

Jin looked offended. “Why would we sleep right now?”

Namjoon stepped inside, phone in hand. “Security doubled floor coverage. No one gets upstairs tonight without clearance.”

He looked at Ellie gently, “You are safe here.”

Ellie nodded slowly.

The fear eased a little. Not fully. But enough.

Taehyung’s gaze suddenly shifted to Yoongi. His eyes narrowed. “You are not getting away with what happened earlier.”

Ellie wanted the floor to open beneath her. Jimin started laughing under his breath. Avery hid her face against Jungkook’s shoulder.

Yoongi closed his eyes. “Leave.”

Taehyung smiled. “You sounded very in love.”

Yoongi threatened violence exactly four times before everyone finally left the suite.

“You said it so softly,” Taehyung continued while backing toward the door, delighted by his own survival. “Like she was made of glass.”

“Leave.”

“And then she looked at you—”

“Kim Taehyung.”

Hoseok clung to Jimin, laughing quietly. Avery still refused to lift her face from Jungkook’s shoulder. Ellie remained near the couch, frozen somewhere between embarrassment and emotional collapse.

The bond still pulsed warm between her and Yoongi, threaded with residual embarrassment and something far more dangerous—Affection.

Namjoon finally stepped in before Yoongi could commit a crime, “Enough.” His leader voice settled the room immediately.

Then he looked at Ellie, gentler. “Try to sleep tonight.”

The concern nearly hurt. Ellie nodded. “I will.”

Jin pointed at Yoongi before leaving. “If she spirals, make tea.”

Yoongi frowned. “Why is that your advice?”

“Because tea helps.”

“That is not medical advice.”

“It is Jin advice.”

————————-

The door finally closed behind them. Silence settled. Real silence this time. And Ellie became painfully aware that she was alone in Yoongi’s hotel suite.

The bond shifted between them now that the room had quieted, intimate in a way that made her look anywhere except directly at him.

Unfortunately, Yoongi looked directly at her.

“You okay?” he asked. The same low voice. The same voice that had called her baby earlier.

Ellie’s heartbeat stumbled again. She gave a faint, tired laugh. “I think my nervous system surrendered tonight.”

The corner of his mouth lifted slightly.

The silence stretched, softer this time.

Ellie shifted her overnight bag higher on her shoulder. “I can sleep on the couch.”

Yoongi’s expression changed immediately.

The bond carried his objection before he spoke.

Ellie blinked. “That was a strong reaction.”

“Yes.”

The bluntness startled a small laugh from her.

Yoongi moved farther into the suite, slowly, as if giving her time to adjust. “You are not sleeping on a couch because someone violated your privacy.”

The protectiveness in his voice wrapped warmly around her chest.

Ellie hesitated near the entryway. “Are you sure?” The question came quieter than she intended.

Yoongi looked at her steadily. “Ellie.”

Her pulse jumped.

“You do not have to ask permission to exist near me.”

The suite bedroom felt almost painfully normal. A large hotel bed. Dim bedside lamps. A hoodie draped over the chair. Yoongi’s headphones resting on the nightstand. The intimacy of the room unsettled Ellie more than the danger downstairs had.

She stood near the edge of the room while Yoongi pulled an extra blanket from the closet. She watched him quietly, and then the truth hit her all over again.—This was the man she loved…Fully.

Her mind faltered under the weight of it.

“You’re staring,” Yoongi said.

Ellie blinked, mortified. “I was thinking.”

“Dangerous.”

She huffed softly, but he stepped closer before the moment could turn into deflection.

He stopped in front of her without touching, leaving her space to move away if she wanted it, “Hey.”

Ellie looked up slowly.

Yoongi’s expression had softened completely, “You know you don’t scare me, right?”

Her throat tightened. He understood. Of course he understood. This still frightened her. Not him, exactly, but everything that came with him. Needing someone. Depending on someone. Loving someone in a way that made leaving feel unimaginable.

“I’m trying,” she admitted.

“I know, baby.”

There it was again. Softer this time. Intentional.

Ellie stopped breathing. Warmth flooded the bond so intensely it almost hurt.

Yoongi noticed immediately, and a faint smile touched his mouth. He liked what the word did to her…That was dangerous.

Her voice came out barely above a whisper. “You can’t just say things like that.”

Yoongi stepped one inch closer. “Why?”

The quiet amusement in his voice nearly undid her. He knew what he was doing now.

Ellie looked at him helplessly, and beneath the fear, beneath the embarrassment and the lingering panic, something inside her reached for happiness instead of running from it.

——————-⸻

Ellie did not sleep. To be fair, neither did Yoongi. Sharing space with someone she loved while trying not to fall apart from it turned out to be terrible for rest. The suite stayed dim and quiet long after midnight. Outside, Dallas traffic hummed faintly beyond the windows.

Ellie lay stiffly on one side of the bed, staring at the ceiling, trying not to think about Yoongi beside her. Trying not to think about the fact that this was the safest she had felt in years.

Beside her, Yoongi shifted slightly. “You’re thinking too loudly.”

Ellie closed her eyes. “You cannot prove that.”

“You sighed seven times.”

“I hate that you counted.”

A soft laugh escaped him.

Silence returned for a moment. Then, quieter, he asked, “Are you really okay?”

The question landed differently in the dark.

Ellie stared at the ceiling for another few seconds before answering honestly, “I don’t know.”

The vulnerability moved through the bond at once.

Yoongi rolled onto his side to face her more fully. The mattress shifted gently beneath him, “Do you want to talk about it?”

Ellie swallowed. “I think part of me keeps waiting to wake up and realize none of this is real.”

She laughed faintly, though there was little humor in it, “Which sounds ridiculous, considering there are people leaking our hotel online. That part feels very real.”

A pause, “I just don’t understand why this happened to me.”

The honesty struck him hard.

Yoongi moved closer before stopping himself halfway. The bond reacted immediately.—Need.

Ellie felt it too. Her pulse jumped.

“I think you spent so long surviving,” he said quietly, “that happiness feels suspicious now.”

Ellie turned her head toward him. Dim light softened the angles of his face. Her voice dropped. “What if I ruin this?”

Yoongi’s expression changed. There it was again. Ellie assuming love depended entirely on how well she performed.

He moved closer this time, slowly enough that she could pull away. She did not. The distance between them narrowed to inches.

Yoongi’s voice lowered to nearly a whisper. “You are not powerful enough to ruin being loved.”

Her eyes burned. His love was not that fragile. That was what he meant. It could withstand her fear. Her panic. Her bad days. Her doubt. It could stay.

“Hey,” he murmured. His hand lifted carefully, then brushed a strand of hair back from her face. Warm fingers touched her temple. The bond surged between them. Yoongi felt her trust immediately. Felt how still she went beneath his touch. His chest ached with how much he loved her.

Ellie blinked hard against tears. “You say comforting things like you were personally designed to destroy me.”

A startled laugh left him, soft and warm. Ellie smiled despite herself.

Then she whispered, “And the baby thing is unfair.”

Yoongi’s eyes warmed with amusement. “So we are talking about that.”

“No.”

“You brought it up.”

“You started it.”

The room softened around them afterward. No longer tense. Only intimate in the dangerous quiet way that made every breath feel too honest. Ellie became painfully aware of his hand still near her face.

Then something shifted. A pull beneath the warmth. Recognition. Need. The bond tightened, not painfully, but deeply enough that Ellie felt it in the center of her chest.

Her breath caught. “Did you feel that?”

Yoongi’s gaze stayed fixed on hers. “Yeah.”

The word settled heavily between them. They both understood. The bond was changing again. Deepening. And neither of them knew how much further it intended to go before it finally completed.

—————————————

After Dallas, the bond became impossible to ignore. Ellie discovered this the next afternoon when production schedules separated her from Yoongi for nearly four hours.

At first, it seemed manageable. Unpleasant, maybe, but manageable. BTS had interviews across town while Ellie remained at the stadium for revised production meetings with American event staff. It was normal tour logistics. Nothing dramatic. Nothing she had not handled before.

Except two hours in, Ellie realized she had reread the same scheduling email six times without understanding a single word.

The bond buzzed restlessly beneath her ribs, not painful, but constant. Static in the bloodstream. A low, insistent awareness of absence.

Ellie pressed both hands against the conference table and tried to focus while venue managers discussed lighting changes around her.

“Ellie?”

She blinked hard.

“Sorry.” Her voice came out distant. “Could you repeat that?”

The venue coordinator gave her a sympathetic smile. “Long tour day?”

Ellie managed a weak nod…If only.

Across Dallas, Yoongi was doing no better. BTS noticed immediately.

“You’re pacing,” Namjoon said from the dressing room doorway.

Yoongi stopped mid-step. “No, I’m not.”

“You have walked past this room four times.”

Jimin looked worried already. “You and Ellie have only been separated for three hours.”

Yoongi rubbed a hand over his face. Logically, three hours should not matter. The bond did not care about logic.

It felt wrong now. Not unbearable, but wrong, as if some instinctive part of him kept searching for Ellie and failing to find her. It made concentration difficult. The interview staff had already repeated one question because Yoongi had stopped listening halfway through his own answer.

Jungkook leaned against the wall, far too amused. “Hyung, this is getting serious.”

Yoongi gave him a tired look. “Do not start.”

Taehyung’s eyes widened with sudden delight. “Wait. Are you anxious?”

“No.” The lie arrived too quickly.

Everyone stared at him.

Yoongi closed his eyes briefly. “Maybe a little.”

Hoseok made a small, wounded sound, like he had just witnessed something historic.

Jungkook pointed at him. “The bond is progressing.”

Namjoon did not laugh. He looked concerned. Because this was fast. Faster than he expected.

⸻

Back at the stadium, Ellie’s phone buzzed. The second she saw Yoongi’s name, relief hit so sharply it nearly hurt.

She answered too quickly. “Hi.”

A pause. Then his voice, low and familiar, “Hey.”

The effect was immediate. The static in her chest eased. Her shoulders dropped without permission. Across the conference table, one of the venue staff exchanged a discreet, amused glance with another coordinator. Ellie ignored them.

“Are you okay?” Yoongi asked. Not hello. Not what are you doing…Are you okay?

“I’m fine.” The bond pulsed—Lie.

Yoongi sighed softly through the phone. “You sound tired.”

Ellie looked helplessly at the paperwork spread in front of her because now that he had said it, she realized she did feel bad. Restless. Frayed. Unfocused in a way that unsettled her.

Her voice lowered. “It feels bad today.”

Silence answered her. Because he felt it too.

Across town, Yoongi leaned back against the dressing room wall and closed his eyes. The bond softened at the sound of her voice. Relief moved through him, warm and immediate.

“Mine too,” he admitted.

The confession settled between them. Saying it aloud made it real. The bond was affecting them physically now.

“You should eat something,” he said.

Ellie blinked. “What?”

“You skipped lunch.”

Her mouth fell open. “How do you know that?”

“Because you get quieter when you need food.”

Ellie stared at the phone, betrayed by the accuracy. Yoongi’s mouth curved faintly.

“You cannot just know things,” she said.

“I can.”

“That feels invasive.”

“You are soulmate bonded to me.”

Despite herself, Ellie smiled. Warmth moved through the bond immediately, and Yoongi relaxed against the wall like her happiness had physically steadied him.

The realization struck him hard. Ellie regulated him now. Not metaphorically like Actually.

“Hey,” he said, softer.

Ellie’s pulse jumped. “What?”

A brief pause then, low and quiet, “I’m coming back soon, baby.”

Ellie stopped functioning for one full second.

His voice was too warm. Too natural. Like the pet name had already found a place between them and intended to stay there.

She leaned forward over the conference table and covered part of her face with one hand while the venue staff politely pretended not to notice her emotional collapse.

“That is unfair,” she whispered.

Yoongi laughed softly through the phone. The restless ache beneath her ribs loosened enough for her to breathe normally again.

——————————————-

After that, Yoongi started waiting for her. Not intentionally. At least, that was what he told himself. But every time BTS returned from a schedule without Ellie, he somehow ended up near backstage entrances, outside production rooms, or in hallways where she was expected to appear.

“You are waiting for her,” Taehyung said.

Yoongi looked up from the stage notes he was pretending to read. “I’m working.”

“You have been on the same page for fifteen minutes.”

Jungkook’s expression brightened. “It proves longing.”

Yoongi narrowed his eyes. “Never say that to me again.”

The stadium corridor hummed with pre-show movement around them. Staff crossed quickly between rooms. Dancers stretched near the walls. Production assistants moved past with tablets and radios.

Yoongi remained by the side entrance, outwardly calm, inwardly stretched thin by the bond that kept tugging toward Ellie somewhere deeper in the stadium.

The doors finally opened. Ellie stepped through carrying translation binders against her chest, looking tired and mildly overwhelmed. The bond settled instantly. Relief flooded Yoongi so strongly his shoulders loosened before he could hide it.

Across the hallway, Ellie visibly relaxed too. The others watched it happen.

Jimin pressed a hand to his chest. “That is actually painful to witness.”

“They calm down when they see each other now,” Hoseok murmured.

Namjoon remained quiet, thoughtful. The speed of the progression worried him. Soulmate bonds deepening this rapidly usually meant the completion pull had already begun. And neither Ellie nor Yoongi seemed to understand yet how intense that could become.

Ellie crossed toward Yoongi automatically. She no longer thought about it.

He reached for the binders in her arms, and she handed them over without hesitation. The familiarity of the motion was so simple it felt intimate.

Taehyung stared at them. “You two know this is unbearable, right?”

Yoongi flipped him off..

Ellie laughed softly. Yoongi looked calmer the moment she did.

Ellie realized that she actually calmed him too… wait what? Somehow she had still been thinking of herself as the one who needed comfort, the one who leaned too hard, the one who required too much. But the bond had never moved in only one direction. Yoongi needed her too.

“You look tired,” Yoongi said.

Ellie looked up at him. The concern in his voice wrapped warmly around her ribs.

“I’m okay.”

He raised one eyebrow.

She sighed. “I had six meetings.”

“There it is.”

“What?”

“The exhausted voice.”

Ellie stared at him.

Taehyung made a strangled sound from behind them. “I cannot watch this calmly.”

“Then don’t watch,” Yoongi muttered.

Namjoon rubbed at his forehead, distracted. “This bond is progressing faster than I expected.” The words slipped out before he could stop them.

Silence followed. Ellie froze. Yoongi’s expression shifted.

Namjoon realized too late what he had said. “Right.”

Anxiety flickered low in Ellie’s chest—Faster than expected.

The bond carried the fear directly to Yoongi. He stepped closer at once, “There is nothing wrong.”

Namjoon nodded quickly. “There isn’t.” His voice softened. “It is just intense.”

Ellie looked down. Intense was one word for it. The bond had become almost physical in its awareness now. Distance felt wrong. Proximity felt necessary. And somehow, that truth scared her less every day.

————————-⸻

The concert started an hour later. Dallas screamed even louder on the third night.

Ellie stood side-stage with her headset and translation notes while adrenaline buzzed through the arena. The moment BTS stepped onto the stage, the stadium erupted. Pyrotechnics flashed overhead. Fans sang lyrics loud enough to shake the floor beneath her feet.

Ellie loved this part. The energy. The movement. The beautiful chaos of live performance. Here, she felt competent. Useful. Certain.

During the first ment section, Namjoon spoke warmly about returning to Texas, and Ellie translated smoothly beside the stage. Her voice rang through the arena speakers, steady and confident.

Through the bond, Yoongi felt it—Pride.

He loved watching her become fearless while she worked. Loved the way she stopped shrinking when she held a microphone. Loved the way her voice carried not only language, but meaning.

The realization hit him hard enough that he almost missed his cue.

Jungkook noticed immediately.

He grinned toward Yoongi’s mic and said in Korean, “I think Suga is distracted tonight.”

The crowd screamed.

Ellie sighed into her translation mic. “Jungkook says Suga seems distracted tonight.”

The stadium lost its mind.

Yoongi closed his eyes briefly.

Side-stage, Ellie laughed despite herself.

The problem with Dallas was that the crowd noticed everything now. Every glance. Every smile. Every movement between Yoongi and Ellie.

By the end of the concert, clips of “Yoongi smiling at the interpreter again” were already spreading online before BTS had even left the stage.

Backstage exploded into controlled chaos after the encore. Staff rushed through hallways. Managers shouted timing changes into comms. Security coordinated exits while fans still screamed somewhere beyond the venue walls.

Ellie moved through the madness on instinct, translating rapid instructions between American venue staff and Korean management.

“Vehicle three is rerouted to the west exit.”

“Copy.”

“Press access denied on lower levels.”

“Understood.”

This kind of work grounded her. One instruction at a time. One person at a time. But beneath it all, the bond kept pulling softly toward Yoongi somewhere deeper backstage. It felt almost physical now, invisible gravity beneath her ribs.

Ellie exhaled and tried to ignore it.

“Ellie.”

She turned. A security coordinator approached quickly, tension visible in his expression.

“We need you upstairs for route confirmation.”

“Okay.”

He hesitated. “And security wants you with BTS directly tonight.”

Fear returned immediately. Right…The hotel leak.

The bond reacted before Ellie fully did.

Across the backstage corridor, Yoongi stopped mid-conversation.—Fear. Not his. Hers.

He turned toward her so quickly that Namjoon noticed.

“What happened?” Namjoon asked.

“She got anxious again,” Yoongi answered automatically.

Ellie stared. He said it so naturally now, as if her emotions were information he carried too. Namjoon’s expression tightened slightly

The security coordinator continued carefully, “There are more fans outside than expected.”

Ellie’s stomach dropped. “How many?”

“A lot.” Not reassuring.

“People have been livestreaming the exits for the last hour,” he added.

Of course they had. The old guilt rose instinctively. This is because of me.

The bond pulsed sharply with Yoongi’s refusal of that thought.

He crossed the hallway toward her, “You stay between us during exits tonight,” he said quietly.

Ellie looked up. “Us?”

“Me and Namjoon.”

Namjoon nodded. “We’ll keep the path tight.”

The protectiveness in both their voices nearly hurt because neither of them sounded burdened by it.

Yoongi’s hand brushed lightly against her lower back as he guided her toward the secured hallway route.

Ellie relaxed before she could stop herself. She trusted him in crowds now more than she trusted herself. The realization frightened her…But only a little.

————-⸻

The garage exit was chaos. Fans screamed beyond the barricades. Phones flashed violently in the darkness. Security moved fast, surrounding BTS as they advanced toward the waiting vehicles. Ellie stayed between Namjoon and Yoongi exactly as instructed. The noise pressed in from every side.

“Yoongi!”

“Ellie!”

“Look here!”

Her name echoing through the crowd sent adrenaline sharply through her chest. Too loud. Too close. Too many people.

Yoongi’s hand found her wrist automatically. Warmth moved through the panic, and Ellie’s breathing steadied slightly.

Then something slammed hard against a barricade nearby.

A fan screamed above the noise, “Stay away from him!”

Everything changed. Security moved instantly.

The atmosphere shifted from chaotic to dangerous in less than a second.

Yoongi went rigid beside her. The bond surged violently—Protectiveness, Fear, Anger.

Ellie froze. This was not internet speculation anymore. This had escalated.

“Move,” security ordered.

The group was pushed forward at once. Managers barked into radios. Fans screamed louder. Phones flashed endlessly. Yoongi’s hand tightened around Ellie’s wrist as security rushed them toward the waiting SUV. He held on like losing track of her was not an option.

Ellie stumbled slightly on the pavement.

Yoongi turned immediately. “You okay?”

His voice was urgent. The bond roared between them.—Stay close. Safe.

Ellie nodded too quickly. “Yeah.” A lie.

Her pulse hammered as security pushed them into the SUV. The doors slammed shut.

Silence dropped heavily inside.

Outside, fans still screamed through tinted glass.

Inside, everyone looked shaken.

Jimin wrapped his arms around himself. Hoseok had gone pale. Taehyung was quiet. No jokes. No teasing.

Namjoon rubbed a hand over his face. “That crossed a line.”

Yoongi still held Ellie’s wrist. The protectiveness flooding the bond was so intense it almost hurt.

Then Ellie looked down.

His hand was shaking..Subtly, But enough. Enough to terrify her.

Yoongi had always felt steady to her. Calm during panic. Grounded during chaos. The person who stabilized everyone else. Now the bond carried everything clearly. Fear. For her.

The SUV remained quiet except for the muffled screams outside. Security vehicles surrounded them while the escort cleared the route ahead.

No one said what they were all thinking. This was not excitement anymore. It was obsession becoming entitlement. Dangerous entitlement.

Namjoon finally spoke, quiet and controlled. “Security is updating protocols tonight.”

Jimin nodded. “That person got too close.”

Hoseok did not speak.

Ellie swallowed hard.

The reality settled cold in her stomach. Yoongi’s thumb brushed unconsciously against the inside of her wrist. Ellie’s breathing steadied a little, but she realized something else at the same time. He was calming himself through her too.

“Yoongi.”

His eyes shifted to her immediately.

Ellie looked down at their joined hands. “You’re shaking.”

The others looked over quietly. Yoongi’s jaw tightened.

His voice came low. “You scared me.”

The honesty hit harder than she expected. Yoongi almost never admitted fear directly.

Ellie swallowed. “I’m okay.”

His expression changed. “You do not have to say that automatically anymore.”

She looked down.

Yoongi exhaled slowly. “It is okay if this scared you, baby.”

Ellie’s chest tightened.

Namjoon watched them from the opposite seat, careful and quiet.

The bond had shifted drastically in only a few days. Too drastically, maybe. The mutual emotional regulation was unmistakable now. They calmed each other almost instantly. Felt distress before words. Reacted before conscious thought could catch up.

And tonight, Yoongi’s fear response had been strong enough to change the atmosphere around them.

Namjoon’s voice stayed careful. “We may need temporary schedule adjustments.”

Ellie looked up immediately. “What?”

“Security precautions.”

The guilt hit fast.

Yoongi spoke before she could. “We are not separating.”

The certainty in his tone stunned the SUV into silence.

Namjoon looked at him calmly. “That is not what I said.”

“It is what security will suggest.”

No one contradicted him because he was probably right. Standard protocol would involve minimizing visible contact, especially after public fixation escalated this badly.

The bond sharpened with Yoongi’s resistance. Protective. Almost possessive.

Ellie felt it clearly. This time, it did not scare her. Some careful, hidden part of her loved that he wanted to stay.

————————-

The SUV finally pulled into the secured hotel entrance underground. Security moved immediately outside the vehicles, fast and efficient, but the atmosphere remained tense.

Yoongi’s hand had not left Ellie’s wrist. It was as if he needed physical confirmation that she was still beside him.

When the door opened, security surrounded them again. Namjoon stepped out first, already coordinating with staff.

Yoongi looked at Ellie before moving. “You staying close?”

The question was quiet. Almost too quiet. Like some part of him still feared she might disappear into the chaos.

Ellie’s chest ached. Yoongi was not only protecting her anymore. He was afraid of losing her.

She nodded once. “I’m here.”

The words affected him instantly. The bond surged warm with relief so intense it nearly stole her breath.

Yoongi looked at her for one long second then he said, low and soft, as if the truth had slipped out before he could stop it, “Good.”

A pause.

His voice dropped further. “Need you here, pretty girl.”

Ellie completely forgot how to function—That was worse than baby. Lower. Rougher. More intimate.

The bond flared warm enough to make her dizzy.

Across the hallway, Taehyung silently grabbed Hoseok’s shoulder as if he needed support. Jimin covered his mouth. Avery looked like she might actually scream. Jungkook looked delighted.

Yoongi seemed to realize what he had said one second too late. Then his expression shifted. A faint, almost dangerous smile touched his mouth.

Ellie stared at him helplessly. The hotel hallway blurred around the edges. The fear was still there. The danger was still real. But beneath it, impossibly, something warm had begun to bloom.

Because Yoongi was scared too. Yoongi needed her too. And for the first time, Ellie did not feel like a burden because of it.

—————————

The words pretty girl lingered between them long after Yoongi said them. Not because the nickname itself was shocking. Because of the way he said it.

Baby had sounded soft. Protective. Instinctive.

But pretty girl sounded intimate in a way Ellie was not emotionally prepared for. Low and rough around the edges, like Yoongi had forgotten anyone else existed for a second. And through the soulmate bond, she felt exactly what sat beneath the words—Need.

By the time they reached the hotel corridor, Ellie’s nervous system had completely stopped cooperating.

“Did everyone hear that?” Taehyung demanded.

“Unfortunately,” Jin answered calmly.

Jimin looked deeply distressed already. “He said it so naturally.”

Hoseok pressed a hand dramatically against his chest. “This relationship is becoming emotionally dangerous for me.”

Meanwhile Ellie walked beside Yoongi in complete silence while security escorted them toward the elevators because her brain no longer functioned correctly. The bond still glowed warm between them.

Yoongi looked affected too, though less embarrassed than resigned. Like maybe he had not realized until tonight how naturally affection had started slipping into his voice around her.

The private elevator doors finally closed behind the group. Security remained outside while only BTS, Avery, and Ellie rode upward. The atmosphere inside was catastrophic.

Taehyung stared openly at Yoongi. “Pretty girl.”

Yoongi shut his eyes briefly. “Please stop speaking.”

“No, because that was insane.”

“That’s enough,” Namjoon warned.

Jungkook grinned shamelessly. “Hyung’s gone.”

“Completely gone,” Jin agreed.

Ellie covered part of her face weakly. “I would like to disappear.”

Avery looked deeply sympathetic. “I know exactly how you feel.”

The elevator chimed softly at their secured floor. The second the doors opened, security staff approached Namjoon immediately with updated reports. More fans had gathered outside the hotel perimeter. Livestreams were spreading online. Someone had apparently tried accessing the private entrance level before being stopped by hotel staff.

The warmth inside Ellie’s chest cooled instantly. Fear returned fast and quiet beneath her ribs.

Yoongi noticed before she spoke. His hand settled automatically against the small of her back, guiding her down the hallway. Ellie relaxed before consciously deciding to.

——————————

Inside Yoongi’s suite, the atmosphere loosened slightly once multiple locks clicked into place behind them—Safe. Or safe enough.

Jimin collapsed dramatically onto the couch. “I hate stalkers.”

“Same,” Hoseok muttered quietly.

Namjoon remained near the windows scrolling through security updates while Jin handed out bottled water like emergency supplies.

Taehyung, however, remained emotionally trapped on one issue, “Pretty girl.”

Yoongi looked genuinely murderous now. “Kim Taehyung.”

“I’m just saying—”

“Don’t.”

“You sounded like you were in a romance movie.”

“Please leave.”

Jungkook laughed loudly.

Meanwhile Ellie stood near the kitchen counter trying very hard not to think about the way Yoongi’s voice had sounded in the garage. Unsuccessfully.

“You okay?”

Ellie looked up immediately. Yoongi stood beside her now. Close enough that the restless tension in her chest eased automatically. Across the suite, the others kept talking, instinctively giving them partial privacy.

Ellie nodded automatically. Then stopped herself.

Yoongi noticed immediately. Something warm moved through the bond. Quiet approval.

Ellie exhaled softly. “…Still anxious.” Honest. The answer visibly relieved him more than I’m fine would have.

Yoongi leaned lightly against the counter beside her. “That’s normal.”

Ellie stared down at the water bottle in her hands. “I don’t like people knowing where I am.”

The vulnerability in the admission moved sharply through the bond. Yoongi’s jaw tightened. Protectiveness surged immediately beneath the surface again.

“I know.”

Across the room, Namjoon finally looked up from his phone. “Security wants additional guards on this floor overnight.”

Nobody argued. That alone told Ellie how serious this had become.

Jin frowned slightly. “This can’t keep escalating.”

Silence answered him. Because everyone understood he meant more than tonight. The fixation. The entitlement. The way certain fans had started talking about Ellie online like she was something standing between them and Yoongi instead of a real person.

Ellie wrapped both arms around herself unconsciously. Immediately, Yoongi turned toward her. His expression softened at once and, without thinking, he reached up and tucked a loose strand of blonde hair behind her ear.

The room went silent. The gesture was devastatingly gentle. Intimate in a way that felt almost private.

Yoongi froze slightly afterward, like he only realized everyone had witnessed it once it was already done.

Taehyung whispered dramatically, “They are violently in love.”

Nobody corrected him.Honestly, nobody could.

⸻

No one wanted to leave the suite afterward. Normally, post-show nights dissolved quickly into showers, food, exhaustion, and sleep. Tonight nobody moved much. Too much adrenaline still clung to the air after the garage incident. Too much fear.

So instead: Jimin curled into one end of the couch half-asleep. Hoseok quietly made tea in the kitchenette. Jin ordered enough food for twelve people. And Taehyung continued watching Yoongi and Ellie like he was observing a live documentary.

“You’re staring again,” Yoongi muttered eventually.

Taehyung blinked innocently. “No, I’m studying.”

“Please stop studying us.”

Jungkook looked up from beside Avery. “To be fair, everyone else is too.”

Because the atmosphere between Yoongi and Ellie had changed dramatically over the last forty-eight hours. Everyone could feel it.

The bond between them had deepened into something heavier now. Not frantic. Not unstable. Just undeniable.

Avery noticed it most clearly. The pull between them reminded her painfully of the weeks before her own bond with Jungkook completed. The way proximity started feeling necessary instead of comforting. The way emotional awareness sharpened into instinct.

And judging by the way Yoongi kept unconsciously tracking Ellie’s movements through the room, they were getting close. Very close.

⸻

Ellie sat cross-legged on the rug with a mug of tea warming her hands while trying unsuccessfully not to think about: pretty girl, Yoongi touching her hair, the fact that she no longer felt fully calm unless he was nearby.

The soulmate bond hummed softly now from where Yoongi sat only a few feet away on the floor beside the couch. Close enough that the restless ache from earlier finally stayed quiet.

God, She was becoming dangerously attached to him.

“Okay,” Jin announced suddenly while opening takeout containers. “Serious question.”

“No,” Yoongi answered immediately.

“You don’t even know the question.”

“I know enough.”

Jin ignored him completely. “When did you realize you were in love with Ellie?”

Ellie nearly inhaled tea directly into her lungs. Taehyung screamed. Hoseok dropped his chopsticks. Jimin sat upright so fast he almost slid off the couch.

Meanwhile Yoongi looked at Jin like murder had become reasonable, “Hyung.”

“What? I’m curious.”

“That’s deeply invasive.”

“No,” Jungkook corrected cheerfully. “That’s family.”

Ellie covered her face instantly. “Please let me die quietly.”

The horrifying part was that Yoongi actually considered the question. Ellie noticed immediately through the bond—Warmth. Thoughtfulness. Memory.

“Don’t answer that,” she whispered weakly.

Taehyung pointed at him dramatically. “He’s thinking about it!”

Namjoon looked mildly amused now over the rim of his coffee cup. “To be fair, I’m also curious.”

Yoongi rubbed tiredly at his face while the room waited, then finally: “I don’t know.”

Everyone groaned immediately.

“Oh, come on,” Taehyung complained.

Yoongi ignored him, “I’m serious.”

And through the bond, Ellie felt it—Truth.

Yoongi’s voice lowered slightly, thoughtful now, “It didn’t feel sudden.”

His eyes flicked briefly toward Ellie before he looked away again.

“It just stopped feeling temporary.”

The room went quiet. That answer hit Ellie so hard it physically hurt. Because that was exactly it. Not one moment. Not one realization.

Just thousands of tiny choices slowly becoming permanent. The soulmate bond surged warm and aching between them.—Recognition. Home.

“Oh,” Jimin whispered immediately, looking emotional.

Hoseok clutched his chest again. “That’s horrible. I hate how romantic that was.”

“That’s genuinely one of the most romantic things I’ve ever heard,” Avery murmured.

Taehyung looked close to tears himself.

Meanwhile Yoongi appeared mildly horrified that he had apparently said all of that out loud. The bond flooded warm with embarrassment.

Ellie laughed softly before she could stop herself. Instantly, Yoongi relaxed.

The tension left his shoulders automatically at the sound. Everyone noticed…Again.

Namjoon leaned back against the couch watching them carefully. “You regulate each other now.”

The room quieted slightly at the weight beneath the statement. Because he was right. The emotional synchronization between them had become undeniable.

Ellie looked down at her tea. Something was changing. And for the first time in her life, she no longer wanted to run from it.

⸻————

By three in the morning, everyone finally left. Reluctantly…Very reluctantly in Taehyung’s case.

“You better not have emotional development without us,” he warned while backing toward the suite door.

“That sentence alone should get you removed from the building,” Yoongi muttered.

Jin physically shoved Taehyung into the hallway.

Hoseok hugged Ellie tightly before leaving. “Text us if you need anything.”

“We’re one floor down,” Jimin added immediately.

Namjoon lingered last near the doorway.

His eyes moved quietly between Yoongi and Ellie. Thoughtful.

Then he looked toward Ellie gently. “Try to rest tonight.”

The concern in his voice settled warmly in her chest. Ellie nodded once.

Then finally the suite door shut. Locks clicked. Silence settled. Real silence this time.

Ellie stood near the kitchen counter holding tea she had long forgotten to drink while Yoongi dimmed lights around the suite and checked security notifications on his phone. The domesticity of it hit her suddenly.

Ellie watched him quietly. And there it was again…The truth—She loved him. Not with panic attached anymore. Just certainty.

“You’re staring again.”

Ellie blinked immediately.

Yoongi crossed toward her slowly before stopping close enough that the bond softened warmly between them.

“You tired?” he asked softly.

Ellie hesitated.

Yoongi’s mouth twitched slightly. “There it is.”

“What?”

“The exhausted silence.”

She looked offended. “You can’t invent emotional categories for me.”

“I’m not inventing them.” Yoongi looked directly at her now, “I pay attention to you.”

The simplicity of it nearly stole the breath from her lungs. Because he said it like it was obvious. Natural.

Ellie looked away first. Too much.

“Hey.” His voice softened further.

Ellie looked back automatically.

Yoongi’s expression had changed again. Open now. Unguarded. “You know something?”

Ellie’s pulse jumped. “What?”

A pause.

“I think you’re finally starting to believe me.”

The words settled quietly into her chest.

He meant: that he would stay, that he loved her, that she was not too much, that this was not temporary.

Ellie laughed weakly under her breath. “That seems emotionally irresponsible.”

A quiet laugh escaped him too.

Then softer: “You don’t have to be afraid of happy things forever.”

The room fell silent afterward. The bond pulsed low between them. Slow. Deep. Pulling.

Yoongi felt the shift first. Something tightening beneath the surface again.

Ellie noticed seconds later. Her breathing changed subtly. The bond reacted instantly—Closer. Like some part of them suddenly needed less distance.

Yoongi went still. Because this was new. The pull settled low beneath his ribs almost painfully.

Ellie swallowed softly. “…Yoongi.”

He looked at her immediately. The room suddenly felt too warm. Too quiet.

The soulmate bond tightened slowly between them—Need..

Ellie’s pulse hammered hard enough she was sure he felt it too. He probably did.

Yoongi stepped one inch closer unconsciously.

Ellie did not move away..Six months ago she would have fled this level of closeness immediately. Now she stood there looking up at him with trust so open it physically hurt him—Fuck.

Yoongi lifted one hand slowly. His fingers brushed softly along her jaw.

Ellie’s breath caught instantly. The bond surged.—Wanting.

His thumb moved lightly beneath her chin, guiding gently.

“Pretty girl,” he said softly.

Ellie leaned into his touch before realizing she was doing it.

Yoongi’s eyes darkened slightly. The bond pulsed harder.

And suddenly Ellie realized with terrifying certainty: if Yoongi kissed her right now—she would kiss him back without hesitation.

———⸻

Neither of them moved. Yoongi’s hand remained against Ellie’s jaw while the soulmate bond pulsed violently between them. The pull felt almost physical now. Heavy beneath her ribs. Warm enough to ache.

Ellie could feel his breathing. Could feel the exact moment Yoongi realized she was not pulling away.

“Ellie.” Her name sounded different now. Lower. Careful. Like he understood this moment mattered.

Ellie looked up at him silently.

His thumb brushed softly beneath her cheekbone. Yoongi should stop. He knew that. Not because he did not want to kiss her.

That was the problem. He wanted to far too much. And through the bond, he could feel Ellie wanting it too.

His voice lowered carefully. “If I do this…”

The unfinished sentence hung heavily between them: If I kiss you. If I cross this line. If I stop pretending this isn’t already everything.

Yoongi’s jaw tightened slightly. Because he needed her to understand something first:

This was not casual. Not with her. Never with her.

“I know,” Ellie whispered.

Yoongi went completely still. She knew.

Yoongi stepped closer slowly until only inches separated them. Still he waited. Still he gave her room to stop him.

Their foreheads nearly touched. “You can say no.”

The gentleness in his voice almost shattered her. Because even now, Yoongi made sure she had a choice.

Ellie looked up at him beneath the quiet hotel lights, her voice shaking softly. “I don’t want to say no.”

That was it. The last thread of restraint inside Yoongi snapped quietly. His other hand rose carefully to her face. Holding her gently now.

Ellie melted toward him instinctively and the trust in the movement nearly destroyed him.

“Pretty girl,” he whispered shakily.

Then finally— Yoongi kissed her. Soft. God, so soft. Not rushed. Not desperate. Like he was terrified of hurting her.

The soulmate bond detonated instantly—Relief. Love.Want.

Ellie gasped softly against his mouth at the emotional force of it. Like every lonely part of her had finally found where it belonged. The realization overwhelmed her instantly.

Yoongi felt it too. His hands tightened gently against her face as the bond surged harder. Then Ellie kissed him back. Not hesitant anymore. Choosing him.

The second Yoongi realized she was kissing him back willingly, fully, something inside him broke open completely.

The kiss deepened softly. Needier now. Months of restraint unraveling quietly between them.

Ellie’s hands caught lightly in the front of his shirt. The bond roared around them—Closer. Closer. Closer.

Then the soulmate bond tightened violently the moment Ellie kissed him back. Yoongi felt it immediately. Like something beneath them locked suddenly into place.

Ellie made a soft startled sound against his mouth as warmth flooded through her chest. Too intense. Too much. But not wrong.

Yoongi pulled back first only barely. Foreheads touching. Breathing uneven.

His hands still cradled her face carefully like he physically could not let go.

His voice came rough and quiet. “…Did you feel that?”

Ellie nodded immediately. Because yes. Oh God, yes. The bond felt different now. Like every wall between them had cracked open during the kiss.

Yoongi’s thumbs brushed softly beneath her cheeks, grounding her before she could spiral.

Ellie stared up at him silently. And suddenly she realized something terrifying. She was not scared anymore. Not of the closeness. Not of the love. Not even of how deeply the bond wrapped around both of them now.

The fear that remained had changed shape entirely. Not: what if he leaves? But: what if she loses this somehow?

Yoongi felt the shift immediately. His expression softened painfully.

He kissed her once more before thinking. Soft. Instinctive.

Ellie melted toward him immediately.

“You kissed me,” she whispered finally.

Yoongi looked faintly amused despite the emotional devastation currently happening between them. “I’m aware.”

“I might actually be hallucinating.”

A quiet laugh escaped him. Ellie’s knees nearly gave out because now she understood: every laugh, every smile, every touch…she felt all of it through the bond too. No wonder this had become impossible to resist.

Yoongi rested his forehead lightly against hers again. “You okay?”

Ellie laughed weakly. “You just rearranged my entire soul.”

His shoulders shook once with quiet laughter. “Yeah. Same.”

The honesty wrapped warmly around her ribs. God…She loved him so much.

Yoongi felt the realization the exact second it fully formed. The soulmate bond surged violently.

Ellie froze…Oh no. Because through the bond, Yoongi felt it—Love. Complete. Certain. Undeniable.

His breathing caught softly. “Ellie.”

The way he said her name nearly destroyed her.

She covered her face immediately in panic. “Nope.”

Yoongi actually laughed. “Are you hiding after accidentally confessing through the soulmate bond that you love me?”

“I didn’t know it worked like that.”

“That seems like information we should have assumed.”

Ellie groaned into her hands. “This is humiliating.”

“No,” Yoongi corrected softly while pulling her hands gently away from her face. “It’s my favorite thing that’s ever happened to me.”

The sincerity in his voice hit hard enough that Ellie physically stopped breathing.

Yoongi looked at her like he still could not believe she was real, Then quietly: “I love you too, pretty girl.”

Tears filled Ellie’s eyes instantly.

Yoongi’s expression softened at once. “Oh, baby.”

There it was again. That impossible softness he only used with her.

Ellie laughed shakily through tears. “You cannot keep saying things like that.”

His thumbs brushed gently beneath her eyes, catching tears before they could fall, “Sure I can.”

“Yoongi.”

A small smile touched his mouth. “You love me. It’s too late now.”

The soulmate bond glowed warm with smug affection.

Ellie stared at him in betrayal. “Oh my God.”

He kissed her again before she could argue further.

And this time, Ellie kissed him like she had finally stopped being afraid of keeping something good.

—————————————-

FINALLY!!

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[deaddumblbumble]

Soft Places to Land | MYG pt 9

SUMMARY: After the world learns BTS can actually have soulmates, shy interpreter Ellie Parker joins the U.S. leg of BTS’s Arirang tour unaware that Min Yoongi recognizes her instantly as his soulmate. As growing public attention and a dangerous fan obsession threaten Ellie’s fragile sense of safety, Yoongi becomes the quiet place she keeps finding herself drawn back to. This is a slow-burn story about learning that love can be gentle, protective, and safe enough to finally stop surviving.

WARNINGS: past emotional abuse, anxiety, panic responses, stalking, invasion of privacy, obsessive fan behavior, toxic family dynamics, emotional manipulation, Contains heavy angst, hurt/comfort, and discussions of trauma and healing throughout.

Masterlist

——————————————

The first time Ellie reached for Yoongi on purpose, neither of them acknowledged it out loud. Mostly because Ellie suspected the embarrassment alone might actually kill her.

Atlanta’s stadium pulsed with noise the following afternoon. Rehearsal days always felt slightly chaotic, but this one bordered on overwhelming. Music thundered through the arena speakers while stage crews shouted timing adjustments across the floor. Backup dancers moved through formations beneath blinding rehearsal lights. Managers crossed between production stations with clipboards and headsets while translators attempted to keep three conversations happening in two different languages from collapsing into disaster.

Ellie stood near the side-stage monitors with a tablet pressed against her chest, rapidly translating schedule changes between American production staff and Korean management while trying to ignore the mounting pressure building behind her ribs. Too loud. Too much movement. Too many people needing things from her at once.

A heavy equipment case suddenly slammed against the concrete floor nearby with a violent metallic crash. Ellie flinched hard before she could stop herself.

Heat rushed into her face immediately afterward. She hated that reaction. Hated how instinctive it still was, how quickly her body betrayed her before her mind could catch up.

Across the stage, Yoongi’s head lifted instantly. The soulmate bond shifted sharp and immediate between them the second his attention found her. Ellie barely had time to breathe before he was already crossing backstage toward her, weaving through staff and dancers without hesitation.

The moment he stopped beside her, the static under her skin eased—Just like that. Relief moved warmly through the bond—hers and his together this time.

Ellie exhaled shakily before she could think better of it, and her fingers curled lightly around the sleeve of his hoodie…Just enough to ground herself.

The second it happened, both of them froze. Because it was the first time she had ever reached for him first. Ellie felt the realization move through the soulmate bond like a pulse of electricity.

Yoongi looked down slowly toward her hand resting against his sleeve before lifting his eyes back to hers.

Ellie’s entire face burned. “I—”

Yoongi interrupted before she could dissolve from humiliation completely “You okay?” he asked quietly. His voice stayed impossibly gentle, but the soulmate bond betrayed him immediately. Warmth surged through it so suddenly and intensely that Ellie nearly lost her breath from the force of it. She reached for him. Voluntarily.

Ellie nodded too quickly. “Yeah.” She was still overwhelmed. Still embarrassed. Still painfully aware of her own heartbeat, but she was calmer now…Because he was there.

For several seconds neither of them moved. Ellie didn’t even realize she was still holding onto his sleeve until her body relaxed before her thoughts did. Yoongi stayed perfectly still beside her, careful in a way that made something ache softly inside her chest. Like he understood sudden movements might scare the moment away.

Then awareness finally caught up to her. Ellie released his sleeve immediately. “Sorry.”

Yoongi looked at her for a long moment, exhaustion and quiet fondness softening the edges of his expression. “You apologized for touching your soulmate.”

“When you phrase it like that, it sounds ridiculous.”

“It is ridiculous.”

A startled laugh escaped her before she could stop it. Warmth flared brightly through the bond in response. That still surprised her every time—the immediacy of it. She could feel his relief when she relaxed. His happiness when she laughed. The constant undercurrent of attention he paid to her comfort without ever making it feel suffocating. Unfortunately, they were not alone.

“Oh my God.”

Both of them looked up.

Jimin stood several feet away staring at them with open emotional devastation.

Behind him, Taehyung grabbed Hoseok’s arm hard enough to nearly spill his coffee, “She touched him first.”

Hoseok looked genuinely moved. “We’re witnessing growth.”

“This feels invasive,” Ellie informed them weakly.

“No,” Taehyung corrected immediately. “This feels historic.”

Yoongi closed his eyes briefly like he regretted every life decision that had led him here.“Can any of you behave normally for one day?”

“Absolutely not,” Jin answered while passing by with an alarming number of coffee cups balanced in his hands. Then he paused. Looked at Ellie. Looked at Yoongi. His eyes narrowed immediately. “You smiled again.”

Yoongi looked deeply tired. “I hate all of you.”

Ellie laughed harder this time, bending slightly forward as warmth flooded the soulmate bond again. And there it was. That feeling. Yoongi reacting to her laughter like it physically mattered to him.

———————-⸻

Later that evening, Ellie sat backstage beside Hoseok reviewing translation notes she had already read three times because her thoughts kept drifting helplessly back to the sleeve incident. “You’re smiling at paperwork.”

Ellie startled violently. “I am not.”

“You are.”

“No.”

“Ellie.”

She glanced down at the papers in her lap..Okay. Maybe a little.

Hoseok’s expression softened almost immediately. “You reached for him.”

Heat climbed straight into her face. “Why does everyone here know everything immediately?”

“Because all of us are emotionally invested in this relationship.”

“That sounds unhealthy.”

“It probably is.”

Ellie laughed under her breath before looking back down at the translation sheets. Her voice came quieter this time, “I didn’t even think about it.”

Hoseok watched her carefully for a moment before smiling softly, “That’s usually how you know something matters.”

The words settled gently somewhere deep inside her chest. Not just the soulmate bond. Something real.

Atlanta greeted them with suffocating humidity the second they stepped outside the venue. Ellie stopped walking immediately and closed her eyes for one brief, emotional moment, “Oh, thank the Lord.”

Jin blinked beside her. “What exactly are you thanking God for?”

“It’s warm.”

“That’s your reaction?”

Ellie looked genuinely sincere. “You don’t understand. New York winter nearly killed me.”

Taehyung laughed loudly from somewhere behind them. “Aren’t you from Texas?”

“Texas heat and East Coast cold are completely different experiences.”

“That sounds fake.”

“It’s not fake.”

Yoongi stepped down from the van last, and Ellie shifted unconsciously closer beside him the second he appeared. The soulmate bond settled warm and familiar immediately. Backstage catering descended into chaos roughly ten minutes later when Ellie discovered the venue had stocked sweet tea—Not regular sweet tea. Real Southern sweet tea.

Ellie stopped so abruptly she nearly dropped her translation binder. “Oh my God.”

Hoseok looked alarmed. “What happened?”

“She found sweet tea,” Yoongi answered from beside her…Like that explained everything. To be fair, it did.

Ellie held the plastic cup with visible reverence after the first sip. “This actually tastes correct.”

Namjoon accepted the drink cautiously before taking a sip himself, Then blinked slowly. “Oh.”

“Exactly.”

“That’s an unreasonable amount of sugar.”

“That’s how you know it’s good.”

Jin tried it next and immediately looked betrayed by his own enjoyment. “Why is this delicious?”

“Because the South understands happiness.”

Taehyung grabbed another cup instantly. “We need more.”

“This is why Americans concern me,” Yoongi muttered.

Ellie gasped in offense. “Take that back.” Warm amusement flickered through the soulmate bond immediately afterward, and Ellie felt herself smiling before she even looked at him.

“You know,” Jimin said thoughtfully, “your accent gets stronger when you’re excited.”

Ellie froze. “Does it?”

Hoseok nodded enthusiastically. “A little.”

Ellie covered part of her face with one hand. “Oh no.”

Taehyung looked delighted. “Say something in Texan.”

“That’s not how accents work.”

“Say y’all.”

“No.”

“Coward.”

Unfortunately, Jin joined immediately. “Wait, say the ‘fixin’ to’ thing again.”

Ellie stared at him in disbelief. “I said that once.”

“You said it three times yesterday,” Namjoon corrected calmly.

Her horror deepened. “No I didn’t.”

“You absolutely did,” Yoongi said. The room went strangely quiet afterward. Because his tone had shifted. Softer. Fonder.

Ellie felt the warmth move through the soulmate bond before she even looked at him, and her heartbeat stumbled painfully hard in response.

Taehyung pointed between them dramatically. “There. That look again.”

Yoongi sighed heavily. “Please find hobbies.”

“No,” Jin answered immediately.

Ellie liked the way Yoongi noticed things about her. Not grand things. Small things. The way her accent slipped when she got emotional. The tea she reached for first without thinking. The fact that she hated being cold. The way she dismantled sandwiches absentmindedly while translating. No one had ever paid attention to her gently before. Most people only noticed Ellie when she became inconvenient. Yoongi noticed her like she was worth learning.

————————-

Ellie should not have answered the phone. She knew it the instant the Texas area code flashed across her screen during a rare stretch of hotel downtime in Miami. Her stomach dropped so suddenly it almost hurt.—No.

The phone rang once. Twice. Three times.

She stared at it, frozen, while every instinct in her body told her not to pick up….Then habit won. Because some habits did not leave quietly. Some lived in the bones.

Ellie answered in a low voice. “Hello?”

Across the room, Avery looked up from the couch immediately.

The change in Ellie’s voice was small But wrong.

“Eleanor.”

Ellie flinched. Avery sat upright. No one called her Eleanor. No one except him.

Her father sounded exactly the same as he always had. Not angry. Not loud. That would have been easier somehow. His voice was controlled, measured, quiet in the way that made Ellie’s body brace before her mind could form a thought.

“I saw you online.”

Ellie stared down at the hotel carpet. Several rooms away, the soulmate bond flickered sharply enough that Yoongi’s head lifted from where he sat beside Namjoon reviewing stage revisions—Fear. Not anxiety. Fear.

Yoongi stood before he made the conscious decision to move.

Namjoon noticed instantly. “What happened?”

Yoongi’s jaw tightened. “Something’s wrong.”

Inside the suite, Ellie wrapped one arm around herself while Avery watched from across the room, concern slowly hardening into anger.

Her father continued calmly, “You certainly seem comfortable embarrassing yourself publicly.”

There it was. The first cut.

Ellie’s throat tightened. “I’m working.”

“You’re on the internet clinging to musicians.”

Avery’s expression darkened.

Ellie swallowed. “It’s my job.”

A small sound came through the phone. Not quite a laugh. Not quite a sigh. Just enough dismissal to make her shoulders curl inward.

Years later, and her body still remembered what to do with that tone. Make herself smaller. Breathe quieter. Do not argue unless she was willing to pay for it.

“You know your sister never needed this kind of attention.”

Ellie closed her eyes. There it was too. The comparison.

Her younger sister had always been easier to explain. A doctor. Stable. Respectable. Something her father could mention proudly without needing to qualify it. Ellie had always been the other one. Too emotional. Too dramatic. Too difficult to summarize without disappointment.

“You always were too sensitive,” her father continued. “And now you’ve attached yourself to people who encourage that.”

Avery stood. Ellie shook her head once, barely moving—Please don’t.

A firm knock sounded at the suite door. Ellie startled so hard the phone almost slipped from her hand.

Her father paused. “Who’s that?”

“No one.” The lie barely made it out. The bond was screaming now.

Avery crossed to the door and opened it before Ellie could stop her. Yoongi stood on the other side with Namjoon just behind him. The second Ellie saw him, relief crashed through her so violently it nearly broke her composure.

Yoongi entered slowly, his eyes fixed on her face. He did not ask what happened. He did not need to. The bond had already told him enough. He stopped beside the couch, close enough that Ellie’s breathing steadied despite herself.

Her father noticed the silence immediately, “Is that him?”

Ellie’s stomach twisted.

Yoongi stayed still, but the anger moving through the bond had gone cold and sharp.

“You know,” her father said, voice cool, “this is exactly what I worried about with you.”

Ellie stared at the floor.

“You get emotional, and suddenly strangers become more important than family.”

The shame hit before Ellie could defend against it. Yoongi felt it. His expression went frighteningly calm.—Enough.

He crouched in front of her, careful and steady, lowering himself into her line of sight. Ellie looked at him automatically, and the moment their eyes met, the bond softened around them both.

Her father kept speaking faintly through the phone.

Yoongi held her gaze for another second. Then, with deliberate gentleness, he reached up and took the phone from her hand.

The room went completely silent. Even Avery froze.

Yoongi lifted the phone to his ear. His voice was calm enough to be dangerous. “Do not speak to her like that again.”

The silence that followed felt absolute.

Ellie sat frozen on the couch while Yoongi remained in front of her, one hand holding her phone, the other resting lightly near her knee. The soulmate bond pulsed between them, fierce and protective.

She had never felt anger like that before. Not directed at her…For her.

Her father spoke first. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me.”

The calmness made it worse. Yoongi did not sound emotional. He sounded certain.

“You don’t know anything about our family,” her father said coldly.

“No,” Yoongi agreed. His eyes stayed on Ellie. “But I know what she looks like after talking to you.”

Ellie’s throat tightened. Small. Ashamed. Trying to disappear without moving.

Her father gave a quiet, dismissive laugh. “Eleanor has always been dramatic.”

Ellie flinched. Everyone saw it. Something in Yoongi went still.

“She is not dramatic.”

“You don’t know her.”

Yoongi finally looked away from Ellie.

His voice lowered. “I know she apologizes every time she needs something. I know she flinches when people raise their voices. I know she thinks love disappears the moment she becomes inconvenient.”

He paused.

“And I know somebody taught her that.”

Ellie stopped breathing.

Her father’s voice sharpened. “You have no right to speak to me this way.”

“You’re probably right,” Yoongi said quietly, then his voice cooled. “But you do not get to make her feel small anymore.”

The words struck Ellie so deeply that tears filled her eyes before she could stop them. Someone was standing between her and the hurt. Not asking her to endure it. Not telling her to calm down. Standing there.

Her father went silent for several seconds.

Then he said, “You’ll figure out eventually how exhausting she is.”

The bond spiked. Ellie felt her own self-worth fold inward on instinct, as if some ancient part of her believed him before she could even decide not to. For the first time since she had known him, Yoongi lost some of his composure.

“No,” he said sharply. “I will not.”

The room went still.

Yoongi stood slowly, phone still pressed to his ear. “She is not difficult to love.”

A tear slipped down Ellie’s cheek. Then another.

Her father started speaking again.

Yoongi ended the call. No warning. No apology.

He silenced the phone, placed it facedown on the table, and turned back to her. The room remained silent.

Ellie stared at him through tears while the bond flooded with so much protectiveness and aching tenderness that it almost hurt to feel.

Yoongi looked like he was trying to hold himself together by force.

“Hey,” he said softly. The gentleness undid her.

Ellie looked down quickly and wiped at her face. “I’m sorry.”

Every person in the room reacted. Namjoon closed his eyes. Avery looked like she might cry. Yoongi looked devastated.

“There it is again,” he whispered.

Ellie’s throat tightened because she had not even realized she had said it. Sorry for crying. Sorry for needing comfort. Sorry for being witnessed.

Yoongi crossed the small distance between them and knelt in front of her again. His hands settled lightly against her knees, careful and grounding.

“Listen to me,” he said.

The room seemed to fall away.

Ellie looked at him.

“I am never going to look at you and see something exhausting.”

The words broke something open inside her. Ellie cried harder after that. Not prettily. Not quietly. Something inside her simply gave out. Years of tension loosened all at once, and the relief was almost painful. She covered her face quickly, embarrassed by the force of it.

Yoongi reached for her wrists before she could fully hide.

“Ellie,” he said gently. “You do not have to hide from me.”

No one else moved. Not because they were uncomfortable. Because the moment felt too fragile to interrupt.

Jimin stood near Hoseok with tears in his eyes. Taehyung looked furious in a way Ellie had never seen before. Jin’s arms were crossed tightly over his chest, his expression dark with protective anger. Namjoon remained near the doorway, quiet and steady, watching Ellie with the heavy understanding of someone finally seeing the full shape of her pain.

This was not simply insecurity. It was conditioning. Years of learning not to need too much. Not to react too loudly. Not to become inconvenient. Years of apologizing before anyone could accuse her of being a burden.

“Ellie,” Yoongi said again.

She looked at him through blurred vision. His hands still held her wrists lightly. For the first time, she noticed how tired he looked. As if hearing someone speak to her that way had wounded him too.

Fresh tears burned, “Oh no,” she whispered.

Yoongi blinked. “What?”

“You’re upset.”

The room went still. Of course that was where her mind went. Not to her own hurt. To his.

Yoongi’s expression softened so quickly it hurt to look at. “Ellie.”

She shook her head. “I didn’t mean for you to—”

“You need to stop apologizing for how other people hurt you.”

Ellie looked down helplessly. “I don’t know how.”

The honesty of it broke the room in a quieter way. Yoongi’s fingers slipped from her wrists to her hands instead, holding them gently.

Namjoon spoke from across the room, his voice soft, “I think you spent so long surviving someone else’s emotions that you started treating your own like a problem to manage.”

Ellie looked up slowly.

“You apologize before anyone can blame you,” he continued. “Because blame feels safer when you get there first.”

The accuracy knocked the breath from her.

Her voice came out barely audible. “That sounds terrible when you say it out loud.”

“It sounds sad,” Hoseok said quietly.

Ellie’s throat tightened again.

Yoongi shifted closer, and Ellie leaned toward him before she could think better of it. Small. Instinctive. But enough to change the air in the room.

His hands tightened gently around hers. “You think love has to be earned every day,” Jin said, quieter now. “But that is not how it works here.”—Here. He did not only mean the hotel suite. He meant them. The strange, loud, protective family standing around her with no intention of stepping away.

Ellie looked around the room slowly. At Hoseok’s worried eyes. At Jimin wiping his face. At Taehyung’s clenched jaw. At Namjoon’s calm steadiness. At Avery standing beside Jungkook, both of them watching her like her pain mattered. And at Yoongi kneeling directly in front of her, holding both of her hands as if letting go had never occurred to him.

The soulmate bond pulsed softly.—Home.

The realization terrified her. Because for the first time in her life, Ellie Parker understood what it felt like to be wanted without conditions attached.

—————————

The word stayed with her for days afterward.—Home. Not Texas. Not a city. Not a house she could return to…People.

Yoongi handing her coffee before she asked. Jimin checking whether she had eaten. Namjoon noticing when she disappeared. Taehyung making her laugh when her thoughts turned cruel. Hoseok hugging her like affection cost nothing. Jin pretending not to hover while absolutely hovering. It felt real.

That was the frightening part. Miami became strange after the phone call. Not bad. Just different.

The members watched her with a new kind of understanding now, as if a missing piece of her had finally settled into place for them. They understood why she apologized so quickly. Why she flinched at conflict. Why kindness startled her more than anger ever had. Ellie hated being known that clearly. She also did not know how to stop wanting it.

“You’re thinking too loudly.”

Ellie looked up from her laptop.

Yoongi sat across from her in the hotel lounge near one in the morning, his own laptop open in front of him. He had been working on music while she reviewed interview notes, though Ellie had read the same paragraph six times without absorbing a word.

She leaned back in her chair. “I don’t know what to do with all of this.”

Yoongi glanced up. “All of what?”

She gestured vaguely around them. “You. Them. People caring.” Her voice grew quieter. “It still feels temporary in my head.”

Yoongi closed his laptop. The soft click made her pulse react.

He stood and came around the table, stopping in front of her.

“I think you keep waiting for proof that we’ll leave.”

Ellie looked down at her hands.

His voice softened. “And I think you do not realize we already chose you.”

The words went straight through her defenses. The bond warmed between them, aching and steady. Yoongi felt Ellie unravel quietly beneath it: fear, hope, disbelief, trust.

“Yoongi,” she whispered.

He looked at her immediately.

“How are you not scared?”

The question surprised him. “Of what?”

“Me depending on you.” Ellie swallowed. “My dad always said people get tired eventually.”

The sentence landed heavily in the quiet lounge.

Yoongi felt anger rise in him again, low and controlled. The more he learned about Ellie’s life, the less he understood how anyone could look at her and decide she was difficult to love.

He stepped closer, “You know what happens when you depend on me?” he asked.

Ellie shook her head once.

Yoongi’s answer came without hesitation, “I stay.”

For one terrifying second, Ellie believed him completely.

—————————————————

The soulmate bond changed after Miami. Not all at once. Not dramatically enough for Ellie to name it immediately.

It was quieter than that, something settling deeper beneath the surface of both of them, like roots finding softer ground. The bond no longer felt like a sudden pull that appeared only when one of them panicked or reached too far emotionally. It became steadier. More constant. A quiet awareness beneath her ribs that seemed to know where Yoongi was before her eyes did.

Ellie noticed it first during soundcheck in Dallas. The stadium was mostly empty, its thousands of seats disappearing into dim shadows while the crew prepared for that night’s show. Soft rehearsal lighting spilled across the stage. Staff moved through the aisles and across the floor with headsets and tablets, calling out adjustments while BTS ran partial transitions before doors opened.

Ellie stood near the extended stage platform with a headset over one ear, translating production notes into Korean while one of the American stage managers explained changes to the timing for a lighting cue.

It should have been normal. She knew this work. She understood the rhythm of it: listen, process, translate, clarify, move on.

Except Yoongi was across the stadium reviewing track timing with the sound engineers, and Ellie could still feel him.

His presence sat inside her like an invisible thread pulled taut between them, not painful, but impossible to ignore. She knew where he was without looking. She could feel the calm concentration of him, the quiet edge of his focus, the faint tiredness he had been pretending not to carry since morning. The awareness distracted her badly enough that she mistranslated half a timing note before catching herself.

“Sorry,” she said quickly, correcting the sentence before anyone could misunderstand.

The production manager waved it off kindly. “No problem.”

Still, Ellie’s pulse kicked hard…Mistake. Mistake. Mistake.

Across the arena, the bond flickered sharply. Yoongi looked up instantly.

Their eyes found each other through the dull glow of rehearsal lights, and the panic eased before Ellie could even breathe through it properly.

Beside the monitor table, Avery went still, Then she sighed softly. “That’s getting stronger.”

Ellie turned too quickly. “What is?”

Avery’s expression shifted into something sympathetic. “The bond.”

Ellie’s eyes betrayed her, flicking immediately toward the far side of the stadium where Yoongi had already started walking toward them. The closer he came, the easier it became to breathe. Avery noticed that too.

“That’s what happened with me and Jungkook,” she said quietly. “Right before our bond completed.”

Ellie froze. Completed. Right…That. Heat rushed instantly into her face.

Avery’s eyes widened. “Not like that. I mean, not only like that.”

Ellie stared at her helplessly.

Avery softened and leaned closer so no one else would hear. “The completion starts emotionally before anything else. It is less about the bond demanding something from you and more about your heart finally stopping its fight against being loved.”

Ellie looked away. The words landed too deeply.—Your heart finally stopping its fight against being loved.

Yoongi reached them a moment later, quiet and observant, his gaze moving immediately to Ellie’s face.

“What are we talking about?”

“Nothing,” Avery said, far too quickly.

Yoongi’s eyes narrowed slightly before returning to Ellie. The bond settled as soon as he stood close enough. Ellie felt her own body relax. Yoongi noticed. The realization passed between them without words, and fear flickered through Ellie first, followed immediately by guilt. She depended on his presence now. Not occasionally. Not only when things became too loud. Now.

Yoongi felt the guilt and his expression tightened.

Before he could speak, Namjoon approached from stage left holding production notes. He stopped, looked once between Ellie and Yoongi, and understood far too much from far too little.

“Ah,” he said quietly.

Ellie looked at him with weak suspicion. “That sounded ominous.”

Namjoon ignored that and looked at Yoongi. “The bond is deepening.” Not a question.

Yoongi nodded once.

Namjoon rested the papers against the production table. “How intense?”

“Excuse me,” Ellie said.

Namjoon turned toward her, gentle but direct. “How uncomfortable does distance feel right now?”

Ellie hesitated. Too long.

Yoongi did not look away from her.

Through the bond, he already knew the answer.

She rubbed nervously at the sleeve of her hoodie. “It is not painful.”

Namjoon waited.

Ellie swallowed. “It just doesn’t feel good.”

The words seemed to echo in the hollow space of the stadium.

Namjoon’s expression softened. “That usually means your emotional walls are lowering.”

Ellie let out a faint, humorless laugh. “That sounds terrifying.”

“For you,” Namjoon said honestly, “I imagine it is.”

Eventually, rehearsal resumed. Music thundered back through the stadium. Lights shifted. Staff moved between marks, and Ellie returned to her notes because the work still needed doing. But Avery’s words stayed with her.

‘Your heart finally stopping its fight against being loved.’

The sentence followed Ellie through the next two hours until she could no longer pretend not to understand it. Maybe that was what frightened her most. Not the bond becoming stronger. Not the distance becoming harder. But the fact that part of her had begun to want the safety instead of fear it. And she still did not know whether she was allowed to have it.

—————-⸻

Dallas changed something in her too. Maybe Texas always did. Ellie became softer there in ways she could not fully control. Her accent slipped more easily. Her laughter came quicker. She moved through the world with a small piece of her guard loosened, as if some buried part of her nervous system recognized the air and remembered who she had been before fear settled permanently beneath her skin.

Yoongi noticed before she did. “You’re happier here.”

Ellie looked up from her sweet tea. The restaurant buzzed warmly around them after rehearsal, all low country music, dim lighting, fried food, and barbecue smoke lingering in the air. Management had let them take over an entire back section after someone argued that authentic Texas food counted as cultural immersion.

Ellie sat between Yoongi and Hoseok while the others debated whether biscuits could be considered dessert. —They could.

Yoongi watched her over the rim of his glass.

Ellie blinked. “What?”

“You’re happier,” he repeated.

The observation startled her because she had not realized it was visible.

Namjoon looked up from across the table. “You are.”

Ellie glanced around the table. “You are all alarmingly observant.”

“We have discussed this already,” Jin said while stealing fries from Jungkook’s plate.

Jungkook frowned. “Those were mine.”

“They were near me,” Jin said simply, as if that settled the matter.

Ellie laughed despite herself. Warmth moved instantly through the bond.

Yoongi felt her happiness loosen something inside his chest, and for one unguarded moment, he simply watched her.

Texas Ellie scared her a little. Texas Ellie remembered how to exist before survival became second nature..Not completely, But enough.

Enough that her accent thickened when she got animated. Enough that she interrupted more. Teased back faster. Forgot, every now and then, to apologize for taking up space.

The members noticed all of it. Especially Yoongi. Which meant Ellie kept catching him looking at her that night like he was watching her return to herself in real time.

“You said y’all six times in one sentence,” Jimin said, delighted.

Ellie gasped. “I did not.”

“You did,” Hoseok said, smiling. “It was very cute.”

“This is discrimination.”

Taehyung shook his head. “No, this is affection.”

“That is worse.”

Yoongi’s shoulders moved slightly beside her in a silent laugh. Ellie turned toward him. That was a mistake. Because he was smiling. Not one of those small, hidden almost-smiles he tried to pretend did not exist. A real one. Soft at the edges. Warm in a way that reached his eyes.

The bond glowed with affection. Ellie’s heartbeat stumbled. The table noticed immediately.

Jin pointed between them with the weary authority of someone who had seen enough. “There. That.”

Yoongi looked down. “Please stop.”

“He keeps smiling like that,” Hoseok said to Namjoon, sounding moved.

Namjoon lifted his drink. “I know.”

Ellie looked helplessly around the table. “You are making this unbearable.”

Avery, seated beside Jungkook, gave her a sympathetic look that was not remotely helpful. “You two are not exactly subtle anymore.”

The word settled hard in Ellie’s stomach. Subtle. No. Maybe they were not.

Not because they meant to be careless, but because she and Yoongi had started moving around each other like gravity. Standing closer. Looking first. Settling only when the other was near. And now Ellie did not want distance anymore. That realization frightened her more than the bond ever had.

——————————————

Later that night, after dinner finally ended, Ellie stepped outside while everyone waited for the vans. Warm Texas air wrapped around her immediately.

She closed her eyes for half a second.—God, she had missed this. Not all of it. Not the old house. Not the tension. Not the memories that still knew where to press.

But the warmth. The way she did not have to brace against the cold.

The parking lot was mostly empty beneath gold streetlights, with the hum of distant highway traffic moving beyond the buildings. For a moment, the quiet felt almost gentle.

“You disappeared.”

Ellie smiled before she even turned around. “You always know where I am.”

Yoongi stopped beside her near the curb. Ellie leaned, just slightly, toward the feeling of him before catching herself.

“You okay?” he asked.

She nodded. “Just thinking.”

“Dangerous.”

.Yoongi leaned one shoulder against the brick wall and watched her with quiet attention. “You miss this.” It was not a question.

Ellie looked toward the highway lights. “Parts of it.”

“Not all.”

“No,” she said softly. “Not all.”

For a while, she only listened to the passing cars. Then she exhaled, “I think I keep grieving childhoods I almost had.”

Yoongi’s expression changed. Softened. The sentence hurt him. She felt it through the bond before his face fully betrayed it.

Ellie gave a small, embarrassed laugh and looked down. “That sounded dramatic.”

“No,” Yoongi said. “It sounded true.”

A motorcycle roared somewhere down the street. The sound split sharply through the quiet parking lot. Ellie flinched before she could stop herself. Shame came immediately afterward, fast and familiar. But before she could apologize, Yoongi’s hand closed gently around her wrist. The bond steadied at once.—Protective.

Ellie’s breathing eased before she could think her way through it. She stared down at his hand around her wrist and realized, with a strange ache in her chest, that she trusted him enough to calm down the second he touched her. Neither of them spoke about it. They did not need to.

⸻

The next morning began badly, though not in any way Ellie could explain. She woke before sunrise in her hotel room with anxiety already sitting heavily in her chest. There had been no nightmare. No loud noise. No reason she could point to.

The room felt too quiet. Too empty. Ellie sat upright slowly, one hand pressed against her sternum as she tried to breathe through the restless pressure beneath her ribs. Her phone read 5:12 a.m. Too early for normal people. Unfortunately, not too early for tour schedules.

She rubbed both hands over her face. The ache did not stop. It was not panic exactly. It was absence. An awareness of distance so sharp it felt almost physical. Then she understood.—Yoongi.

The moment his name formed clearly in her mind, the ache sharpened.

Ellie stared at the ceiling. “Oh, this is terrible,” she whispered to no one.

Twenty minutes later, she wandered down toward the hotel lounge in oversized sweats and Yoongi’s hoodie. The hotel was quiet at that hour. Soft lighting warmed the hallway. Somewhere nearby, coffee brewed.

Ellie rounded the corner into the lounge and stopped. Yoongi sat alone near the windows with a coffee beside him and his laptop open. The second he lifted his head and their eyes met, the pressure in her chest disappeared.—Completely.

Relief rushed through the bond so strongly that Ellie had to close her eyes for a moment.

“Oh,” she muttered. “This is bad.”

Yoongi blinked slowly. “What?”

She gestured vaguely between them as she walked toward him. “This.”

His mouth curved faintly. “You felt it too.”

Ellie stopped beside the couch. “You did?”

“Couldn’t sleep.”

The confession settled heavily between them. Distance affected him too. Ellie dropped onto the couch beside him with a quiet sigh, and the moment she sat close enough, the bond settled fully. Neither of them spoke for a minute.

Both of them, Ellie suspected, were privately processing the fact that being separated by hotel floors had apparently become an inconvenience to their souls.

Finally, she murmured, “I hate this.”

“You say that often for someone who keeps moving closer.”

Ellie looked down. The bond warmed with his amusement.

“I’m serious.”

“So am I.”

Silence settled again, Then Yoongi said, quieter, “You stopped fighting proximity days ago.”

Ellie’s breath caught. Because she had. At some point, she had stopped choosing chairs across the room. Stopped creating space on instinct. Stopped pretending she did not feel calmer beside him. Now she simply ended up near him.

“You know what’s strange?” she asked.

Yoongi looked at her.

Ellie stared down at the coffee cup warming her hands. “I don’t think it feels scary anymore.” She took a slow breath. “It is intense. And confusing. But I am not scared of you anymore.”

Yoongi went still.

She felt the sentence reach him through the bond. Trust, from Ellie, was not casual. It did not arrive easily. It had to crawl through years of fear first.

His voice lowered. “Good.”

Ellie looked over at him. “You feel everything now too, don’t you?”

Yoongi did not answer immediately.

Her throat tightened. “That must be exhausting.”

The bond jolted.

Yoongi’s expression changed, “Don’t.”

Ellie blinked. “What?”

“That word.”

Oh. Exhausting. Her father’s word.

Yoongi looked at her steadily. “Do not turn yourself into a burden every time someone loves you.”

The sentence struck straight through her defenses. Because he had said loves you. Present tense. So naturally. So simply.

The bond surged warm between them. Ellie’s breath caught. And then she realized something terrifying. Yoongi was not falling in love with her. He already was.

⸻—

The problem with realizing someone loved you was that it changed everything that had happened before. Suddenly Ellie saw it everywhere. In the way Yoongi checked whether she had eaten before rehearsals. In the way he found her in crowded venues before anyone else did. In the way he adjusted his pace to match hers without thinking. In the coffee he handed her exactly how she liked it, never asking anymore. In the quiet attention he gave not because the bond forced him to, but because he wanted to know her.

And the bond meant Yoongi felt her awareness. Not all of her thoughts. Not the exact shape of them. But enough. Enough to feel the fragile warmth flickering in her chest. Enough to know she was noticing him differently now. Which made rehearsals nearly impossible.

“Ellie.”

She looked up quickly.

Namjoon stood beside the production monitor table holding a tablet and an expression that suggested he had already said her name more than once.

“Sorry.”

“You translated half of that sentence into Korean and the other half into English.”

Taehyung, passing behind them, laughed. “A new specialty.”

Ellie frowned at him. “That was unnecessary.”

“It was also accurate.”

She tried not to laugh. Failed.

The second she did, warmth moved through the bond from across the arena. Ellie froze mid-sip of water. Namjoon noticed instantly. His eyes moved to Yoongi, seated across the floor reviewing camera angles, and then back to Ellie. “Ah.”

Ellie lowered the water bottle slowly. “I am beginning to fear that syllable.”

“You should.”

“That was not comforting.”

“It was not meant to be.”

The problem worsened during soundcheck because Yoongi kept looking at her. Ellie would glance toward stage left and find his eyes already on her, steady and quiet and far too warm for the amount of people standing around them.

Avery appeared beside her backstage with an iced coffee and a concerned expression.“You look like someone handed you an existential crisis.”

Ellie accepted the coffee automatically. “He loves me.”

Avery blinked once. Then said, very gently, “Yes.”

Ellie turned toward her in betrayal. “You say that like it’s obvious.”

“It is.”

Ellie closed her eyes. “Oh no.”

Avery leaned against the equipment case beside her. “What happened?”

“Nothing happened. That’s the problem.”

Because nothing dramatic had caused the realization. No confession. No sweeping gesture. No moment she could point to and say there, that was when. It was accumulation. A thousand tiny choices becoming impossible to explain away.

Avery’s expression softened. “That is usually how real love feels.”

The sentence landed quietly. Maybe Ellie had expected love to arrive loudly because every version of it she had known before had demanded something from her. Attention. Management. Silence. Performance. Yoongi loved her like breathing. Steady. Constant..

The bond hummed softly beneath the thought.—Home.

Ellie looked down at the coffee cup. “You know what else scares me?”

Avery waited.

“I think I understand him now before the bond tells me.” Her voice dropped. “I can tell when he is tired. Or irritated. Or pretending he is fine.”

Avery went very still. Because that mattered. That was not just soulmate instinct. That was intimacy.

“Yeah,” Avery said softly. “That happened with me and Jungkook too.”

Ellie’s pulse jumped. The completion. Recognition becoming second nature.

“This feels dangerous,” Ellie whispered.

Avery’s smile turned sympathetic. “That is because you are in love.”

The words hit the center of Ellie’s chest. Present tense. Not falling. Already in love.

Ellie looked away because the whole arena suddenly felt too bright. “Oh no.”

Avery sighed. “Unfortunately, yes.”

————————-⸻

Dallas Day Two was so loud the stadium seemed to shake beneath Ellie’s feet. She stood side-stage with her headset pressed over one ear while pyrotechnic smoke drifted toward the ceiling and sixty thousand fans screamed below. The Arirang tour had become even bigger since Jungkook and Avery’s livestream. More attention. More press. More scrutiny. And now that rumors surrounding Yoongi and Ellie had started spreading too, fans watched everything. Especially her.

Ellie adjusted her in-ear monitor and forced herself to focus. “Mic check?”

“Good,” the production manager answered through comms. “You’re live after Namjoon.”

“Copy.”

The concert moved around her in waves of sound and heat. Music thundered through the stadium. Lights cut across the crowd. The roar between songs was almost physical. Beneath all of it, the bond pulsed steadily in her chest.

Yoongi stood center stage finishing the final verse of the current song. Even through the chaos, Ellie felt him.

The song ended beneath screams and confetti, and the members gathered near the extended stage, breathless and glowing under the lights.—Ment section.

Ellie straightened automatically. This part required precision. The members spoke naturally in Korean during shows, and Ellie translated their words live into English through the stadium audio feed. Timing mattered. Tone mattered. Emotion mattered. It was not simply language. It was trust.

Namjoon stepped forward first, sweat-damp hair pushed back from his forehead while the cheers rolled through the stadium.

“Dallas,” he said warmly in Korean, “it’s been a long time. Every time we come back to Texas, the energy feels huge.”

Ellie waited half a beat, then brought the mic closer, “Dallas, it’s been a long time. Every time BTS comes back to Texas, you make the energy feel enormous.”

The crowd erupted. Namjoon smiled when he heard the reaction. Ellie felt herself settle into the rhythm.

Onstage, or close enough to it, she did not feel exposed in the same way. She was not asking anyone to look at her. She was carrying someone else’s meaning from one language into another. That, she understood.

Jin stepped forward next with a grin that made Ellie immediately suspicious.

He spoke into the mic in Korean, voice bright with mischief. “I ate too much Texas food today. If I dance now, I may not survive.”

Ellie sighed before translating, and the crowd laughed at her reaction alone. Jin looked delighted.

She shook her head and spoke into the mic. “Jin says he ate too much Texas food and now believes dancing might kill him.”

The stadium exploded.

Jin pointed toward side stage. “Translate exactly!”

Ellie lifted a brow. “He says my translation was perfect.”

The laughter grew louder. Taehyung bent forward laughing near center stage.

Across the stage, Yoongi’s amusement reached her, warm and immediate. It wrapped softly around her voice, and Ellie smiled before she could stop herself. This was the version of Ellie fans had started recognizing online. Not the anxious version who disappeared in hotel hallways. Not the overwhelmed version who apologized too quickly.

This Ellie was quick. Confident. Dry when she wanted to be. Capable of holding sixty thousand people in the palm of her voice without ever stepping fully into the spotlight.

Yoongi watched her like she had hung the moon. It nearly distracted him. Because every time Ellie translated live, she changed. Her posture straightened. Her voice deepened slightly. Her accent sharpened around certain words. She became brighter without trying to be—Alive. And Yoongi loved watching her work.

Hoseok took the mic next, beaming out at the crowd.

“How was your day?” he asked in Korean. “Were you happy?”

Ellie translated easily. “Hobi wants to know if everyone had a happy day today.”

The stadium screamed yes.

Hoseok grinned and continued in rapid Korean, much too fast.

Ellie paused.

Then lowered the mic slightly and looked at him. “No.”

The crowd burst into laughter.

Hoseok turned toward her, offended.

“You spoke too fast,” Ellie said into the mic.

He protested in Korean.

“Yes, you did,” she replied.

The stadium roared.

Taehyung leaned against Jungkook laughing. Namjoon covered his face with one hand. Even Yoongi smiled. Not a small smile. A real one. Fans near the barricade noticed immediately and screamed so loudly Ellie heard it over her in-ear.

The warmth that followed through the bond was full of pride. Affection too.

Now Ellie understood which look caused the edits online. That one. The look Yoongi only seemed to wear when he was looking at her.

The ment continued for several more minutes. Jimin grew emotional and sweet with the crowd. Jungkook flirted shamelessly and knew exactly what he was doing. Taehyung said something that made no sense but delighted everyone anyway. Namjoon tried to keep them organized with the patience of a man who had accepted his fate years ago.

And Ellie translated all of it.

The crowd responded to her naturally now. They cheered after her translations. Laughed at her timing. Recognized her voice. That should have terrified her.

Instead, standing side-stage beneath the stadium lights while BTS trusted her with their words, Ellie felt something dangerous bloom quietly in her chest.—Belonging.

Then Yoongi stepped forward. The stadium changed. The screams deepened, swelling until they seemed to rise from the concrete itself.

Ellie adjusted her headset.—Focus.

Yoongi stood beneath soft amber light, slightly breathless from performing. Then his eyes shifted instinctively toward side stage. Toward her. The bond struck warm through her chest.

He spoke slowly in Korean, “When you tour for a long time, sometimes you start to forget where home is.”

The stadium quieted almost immediately.

Ellie swallowed. Translation mode. Focus.

But Yoongi continued, and the bond flooded her with something so warm and aching she almost missed her cue, “But sometimes, certain people begin to feel like home instead.”

Oh…He knew exactly what he was saying.

The arena waited. Ellie lifted the mic.

Somehow, her voice stayed steady.

“Yoongi says that when you tour for a long time, sometimes you forget where home is.”

The silence held. Ellie’s heartbeat thundered, “But sometimes certain people can start to feel like home instead.”

The roar that followed shook the building. And through the bond, Yoongi’s emotions wrapped around her completely. Directed entirely at her.

Everyone saw it. Not only the members. Not only Ellie. The crowd saw it too.

The moment Ellie translated Yoongi’s words, sixty thousand people seemed to understand at once that something had passed between them in the open. The screams did not stop.

Yoongi moved into the next segment like he had not just altered the entire emotional atmosphere of the stadium.

Jungkook stepped beside him wearing the expression of someone about to become a problem. He looked out at the crowd and said in Korean, “Everyone looks really happy tonight.”

Ellie forced herself back into work mode. “Jungkook says everyone looks really happy tonight.”

The crowd screamed.

Then Jungkook glanced directly toward side stage, smirked, and added, “Especially some people.”

The audience shrieked.

Ellie stared at him. “No.”

Jungkook smiled wider.

Taehyung folded over laughing. Jimin looked as if he had aged several years in one second. Namjoon rubbed a hand down his face. Yoongi looked ready to end Jungkook’s life on a live broadcast.

The bond carried Yoongi’s embarrassment directly into Ellie’s chest, and it made her want to laugh despite herself.

Jungkook gestured toward her. “Translate it.”

Ellie brought the mic closer, her voice dry. “Jungkook has decided to become difficult.”

The stadium exploded.

Jungkook gasped in betrayal.

Ellie added, “He says he feels betrayed.”

Taehyung grabbed Jungkook’s shoulder, laughing hard enough to nearly lose his balance. Fans were screaming now, phones raised everywhere.

This was exactly the dynamic the internet had latched onto: the teasing, the warmth, the way Yoongi and Ellie reacted to each other before either of them remembered to hide.

Backstage, staff had started looking tense. Production managers exchanged quick glances near the monitors. Security shifted closer to stage exits. Fan energy had intensified, not dangerously yet, but enough for the professionals to notice. Ellie noticed too.

The front rows shouted her name when she translated. Phones followed her movements side-stage. Fans pointed whenever Yoongi glanced toward her. Too visible.

The old anxiety stirred beneath her ribs. Yoongi felt it immediately. His eyes found hers from the stage, and Ellie relaxed almost against her will. Namjoon noticed that as well. His expression shifted subtly.—Concern.

Not because of the bond itself. Because of how public it had become. The problem was not fans realizing Yoongi cared about Ellie. The problem was fans realizing how much. That kind of visibility could become dangerous very quickly.

The concert moved on. Music thundered through the stadium again. Lights exploded across the crowd. Fans sang every lyric loud enough to vibrate through the floor. Ellie returned to backstage production work on instinct, but Yoongi’s words kept echoing in her mind.—‘Certain people can start to feel like home.’

He had meant it. She knew he had meant it. And that knowledge followed her through the rest of the show like a hand pressed gently between her shoulder blades.

⸻

After the concert ended, backstage erupted into controlled chaos. Staff moved quickly through corridors with wardrobe bags and equipment cases. Security coordinated exits while managers spoke rapidly into comms. Production runners crossed between dressing rooms and transport routes…Normal post-show madness.

Ellie stood near a side hallway translating instructions between American venue staff and Korean management while adrenaline still buzzed through her veins.

“VIP exits are delayed ten minutes,” one staffer said.

Ellie nodded, turning to relay it in Korean, “Security wants alternate vehicle routes confirmed.”

“Understood.”

This was where she excelled. No room to overthink. No space for feelings.

Only the next sentence, the next instruction, the next person who needed her to be steady. Then—

“Ellie!”

She turned automatically.

A young female staffer hurried toward her holding a phone, face pale with panic. “Someone leaked your hotel.”

The world stopped. For one horrible second, Ellie heard nothing. Not the comms. Not the staff. Not the fading roar of the stadium. Cold spread through her chest.

The staffer swallowed hard. “It’s all over Twitter.”

The soulmate bond detonated.—Fear.

Across backstage, Yoongi stopped moving.

———————————————-

Okay this was a rewrite… I hope it doesn’t feel rushed? Before there were so many moments that I loved but it was just slowing down the main plot. Maybe ill do small extra posts later on those soft moments I had. :)

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