The dorm was unusually quiet which should have been a good thing. Unfortunately, the members of CORTIS had collectively decided that quiet meant something was wrong. Specifically—
Y/n was putting on her shoes and carrying her purse and heading toward the front door, alone.
"Where are you going?" Martin asked immediately from the couch.
Y/n didn't even look up. "Out."
"Out where?"
"Outside.”
"That's suspiciously vague." He raised eyebrows at the younger girl who's basically a sister to him.
"It's not."
"It is."
Y/n sighed. The group had exactly one free day after weeks of schedules. One and she intended to enjoy it by herself. "Noona," Seonghyeon whined from the kitchen, "take me with you."
"No."
"Please?"
"No."
"Pretty please?"
"No."
Keonho appeared beside him joining in
"Double pretty please?"
"Nooo." She dragging the word out a bit. Juhoon looked up from his phone. Before he can say something Y/n pointed at him.
"I won't even talk." He said before she can shoot him down
"That's the biggest lie you've ever told."
"I can be quiet."
Martin snorted. "No, you can't."
"Nobody asked you." Juhoon narrowed his eyes towards him. James was leaning against the counter watching the entire conversation unfold with amusement. "So you're really leaving us?"
Y/n narrowed her eyes. "James."
"What?"
"You sound like I'm abandoning children."
Martin immediately gasped. "She IS abandoning children."
Y/n rolls her eyes at what he says "I'm literally younger than you."
"Age doesn't matter."
"It absolutely matters." She shot back. The room dissolved into arguments. Y/n grabbed her dorms keys. "I'm leaving."
"Noona—"
"Bye."
"Y/N—"
"Goodbye."
"Bring us food!" Keonho yells as she walks out.
The door shuts behind her and then there's silence for a second. A beat passed. Two beats. Then Martin stood.
"...How long do you think she'll be gone?"
James checked his phone. "It only been ten seconds you bro. Guys can't wait more than an hour before bugging her to come back."
His phone buzzed. Open the notification from the group chat
[: 5 overgrown children 💬:]
[Martin🧸: Come back. ]
James held up the screen.
"Told you."
⸻
Meanwhile Y/n was free. Like Actually free. There were no schedules, no intimidating managers, no long practice, and most noticeable there were no boys yelling her name every five minutes.
It was wonderful she thought while smiling to herself. Once she gets her destination the mall, wasn't even particularly crowded. She wandered through clothing stores first, trying on a few outfits and buying a cute oversized sweater she'd been eyeing online for weeks. Then she browsed accessories then books she thought maybe she can pick out a new book to read after finishing her last one. Then a stationery shop finding nothing she really needed there so she move on another clothing store. Halfway through shopping her phone buzzed.
"•💬Martin🧸 Notification" on her screen. She opened it wondering what could he possibly want right now.
[Martin 🧸 :We're starving.]
Y/n looked at the message. She Ignored it.
Five seconds later:
[Martin 🧸: This is your fault.]
Y/n laughed.
[Y/n: There's food in the kitchen.]
Immediately:
[Martin 🧸: Not the point.]
⸻
Ten minutes later: "•💬Juhoon🐢 Notification"
[Juhoon🐢: What color should I dye my hair next?]
Attached was a photo of seventeen color options.
Y/n stared. She hadn't even reached the second floor of the mall yet.
[Y/n: Why are you asking me?]
[Juhoon🐢 : Because you're the smart one.]
She snorted.
⸻
Fifteen minutes later:"•💬Keonho😤Notification"
[Keonho😤:Noona.]
[Y/n: What??]
[Keonho😤: Martin is trying to cook.]
Y/nfroze.
[Y/n: STOP HIM!!]
⸻
Back at the dorm—
"Why did you tell her?" Martin complained.
Keonho didn't even look guilty.
"Because I enjoy living."
⸻
Y/n spent the next hour happily browsing stores. By the time she reached a small gift shop she found herself stopping in front of a display. The items were small, simple, cute. And somehow every single thing reminded her of someone.
She picked up a tiny bear keychain.
Martin, obviously, the bear had the same chaotic expression he did most days. Into the basket it went. Then a miniature basketball charm for Juhoon. A little cat pin for James, something about it reminded her of him immediately.
Mostly Calm, observant and always pretending not to care. Into the basket it went. Then comes tiny dinosaur plush for Seonghyeon. No explanation needed. And a cute fox-shaped phone charm for Keonho, Perfect.
She smiled to herself. The gifts weren't expensive they were just little things. But she'd always liked buying things when they reminded her of people.
⸻
An hour later the group chat exploded.
•💬5 Overgrown Children•
[Martin 🧸:Y/N COME HOME
[Juhoon🐢:He's bored.
[Martin🧸:WE'RE bored.
[Seonghyeon💫:Correction. Martin is bored.
[Keonho: I miss noona.
[James🛩️: bro you guys literally saw her three hours ago.
[Seonghyeon💫: And? That's way too long to be out.
[Martin🧸: Exactly so Y/N COME BACK BRO
Y/n rolled her eyes.
⸻
At the dorm Martin threw himself dramatically onto the couch. "This is terrible."
Juhoon looked up. "She's shopping."
"I know." He groaned out
"So?"
"Who am I supposed to annoy?"Martin sat up.
The room paused.
"...Us?" Keonho suggested.
Martin looked offended. "That's not the same."
James laughed quietly.
⸻
Three stores later—Y/n's phone rang. She answered immediately without looking who even called. "What happened?"
Because nobody from the group called unless something had happened.
"Wow." James sounded offended.
"Nice to know you think so highly of us."
Y/n sighed. "So nothing happened?"
"Nope"
"Then why are you calling?"
There was a pause. "...Martin wanted to know if you'd buy him snacks."
"James."
"What?"
"You called me for that?"
"He was annoying everyone."
Fair. "Tell him no."
"I already did."
"Good."
A beat passed. Neither hung up immediately. Y/n continued walking through the mall. James leaned against the kitchen counter back at the dorm.
"You having fun?" he asked.
His voice sounded softer than before, less teasing.
"A lot."
"Good to hear.."
Something warm settled in her chest. James always did that. He's never overly dramatic, never too clingy, he was just quietly checking in.
"You guys surviving?" She peeped out
"Debatable."
She laughed. "I'll be back later."
"Okay."
Another pause.
Then "Be careful."
Her smile softened. "I will."
⸻
By late afternoon, Y/n finally headed back. Arms full of shopping bags. Phone at 4%. Legs tired. Mood excellent. The second she opened the dorm door—
"Y/N!"
Chaos..Immediate chaos. Martin was first.
Then Seonghyeon. Then Keonho.Then Juhoon.
It was like she'd returned from war.
"I was gone six hours."
"Too long." Martin says pulling her from the door. She walks away from the boys and makes her way to the kitchen island.
"It was NOT too long." She says dramatically.
"It was." Seonghyeon said matching her tone.
Y/n laughed then noticed James standing behind everyone else. Hands in his pockets. Watching the reunion with amusement.
"Hi." He says
"Hey what's up" Simple, easy, comfortable like always.
An hour later everyone gathered in the living room. Y/n dumped a small pile of bags onto the table. "I got you guys something."
Five heads snapped up immediately.
"What?" Juhoon mumbles
"Noona!" Keonho shouts
"For us?" Seonghyeon says with a grin on his face
Martin looked emotional already.
Y/n handed out each gift.
The tiny bear.
The basketball charm.
The cat pin.
The dinosaur plush.
The fox charm.
The room instantly filled with reactions.
"LOOK IT'S A BEAR." Martin says grabbing the bear inspecting it.
"Because you're annoying." She deadpanned
"I love him thank you ." He smiled to her pulling her into a quick hug.
Juhoon immediately attached his charm to his bag. Seonghyeon hugged the dinosaur. Keonho was already putting the fox charm on his phone.
James quietly turned the cat pin over in his hands. A smiles appearing on the boys faces. One of those rare smiles. The genuine ones.
"You remembered all of us."
Y/n blinked. "Of course I did why wouldn't I??"
The room went quiet for a second because to her it was obvious. They were her members.Her second family. Why wouldn't she?
Keonho ruined the moment immediately. "I'm framing this."
"It's a phone charm bro." James says looking at keonho's gift.
"I'M FRAMING IT."
The room exploded into laughter. And as Y/n looked around at the five idiots she'd spent her entire day missing despite wanting "me time"
She realized something. The shopping had been fun. The quiet had been nice but somehow...
I lowkey want to start writing Cortis FFs but idk if their still to new to write about..Yk.. anyways testing this fanfic I had in my drafts
∘ ∘ ∘ ( °ヮ° ) ?
﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌
The group chat name was currently:“Cortis flop era”
Which already told you enough about how rehearsal day was going. You sat cross-legged near the mirrors in Cortis's practice room, flipping through choreography notes while the members argued in the background for what felt like the fiftieth time that hour.
"Y/n noona," Juhoon stated , "tell Martin he's being annoying."
"I'm literally sitting right here," Martin deadpanned.
"Unfortunately."
"You're brave for someone whose predebut karaoke video still exists." Y/n says after him.
Juhoon gasped.
You looked up slowly. "Don't test me today."
The room immediately quieted because everyone in Cortis knew one thing, You knew too much.
You'd been around since trainee days helping performance staff and support choreography, meaning you unfortunately witnessed every embarrassing phase the members went through before debut.
And you remembered everything.
Literally everything.
"You wouldn't," Keonho said carefully eyeing you across the room.
You smiled.
Wrong move.
"Oh really? Because I specifically remember you, Keonho crying during vocal evaluations because someone told him he looked nervous." She says with a small smirk.
"I WAS OVERWHELMED."
"You hiccuped while crying."
The room exploded. Keonho dropped to the floor in betrayal while you cackled quietly to yourself.
"Y/n noona is evil," Seonghyeon muttered.
"You people annoy me daily. This is self-defense."
Across the room, James laughed under his breath while stretching against the wall. You pointed immediately.
"And James—"
His smile vanished instantly.
"No."
"Remember when—" You got cut off quickly.
"Y/n."
"—you accidentally called the dance instructor 'mom' during monthly evaluations?"
The younger members SCREAMED.
Martin physically fell backward onto the practice room floor laughing while James covered his face with both hands. You know this from his “Traniee A” days.
James and you have been good friends for a couple years now. Your guys friendship goes a little beyond pre debut Cortis.
"I was sixteen," he groaned.
"And traumatized apparently."
"You said MOM??" Juhoon wheezed.
James pointed accusingly at you. "You are the reason I have trust issues."
"You survived."
"Barely."
You grinned proudly before your phone buzzed beside you. The members immediately noticed.
Unfortunately.
"Who texted noona?" Seonghyeon asked nosily.
"Mind your business." You narrowed your eyes at him.
"Is it your secret boyfriend?"
You threw a rolled-up practice sheet at him. "You're literally a child."
"I'm only two years younger!"
"And your point is?" You deadpanned at Seonghyeon. James snorted quietly while Martin suddenly leaned over your shoulder.
Then paused.
"...Wait."
His eyes narrowed.
"Why did you answer James faster than me yesterday?"
Silence.
You blinked slowly. "What?"
Martin sat up straighter now, fully offended. "I texted you first."
James looked up immediately. "No, because she literally answered me in thirty seconds."
"That's because your text was important," you said absentmindedly.
Martin looked devastated.
"Oh so mine WASN'T?"
"What even was your text?"
Martin grabbed his phone dramatically. "'Do u think penguins have knees.'"
The room lost it instantly.
"That IS important," Seonghyeon argued.
"THANK YOU."
James rolled his eyes. "Mine was about rehearsal times."
"And she still answered you faster," Martin muttered bitterly.
Now everybody was invested. Juhoon scooted closer immediately. "Wait wait wait. Who does noona text back the fastest normally?"
You sat there in horror as every member suddenly started shouting over one another.
"Definitely me."
"No way."
"She leaves Martin on delivered constantly."
"Because Martin sends nonsense."
"You replied to James during your lunch break once," Keonho accused dramatically.
James tried and failed to hide his smug expression.
"Oh my god," Martin whispered, pointing. "Look at his FACE."
"I don't have a face."
"You literally look proud."
"I'm not proud."
"You're sitting differently."
James immediately fixed his posture. "Shut up."
You buried your face in your hands.
"This is the dumbest conversation we've ever had."
"No it's not," Juhoon replied instantly. "Remember when Martin tried flirting and accidentally insulted someone?"
Martin looked offended. "That happened ONE time."
"You told her she looked 'surprisingly decent today.'"
The room collapsed into screaming again. You laughed so hard you nearly tipped over sideways while Martin defended himself for dear life.
"I panicked!"
"You freestyle rap on stage but can't talk to women?" James asked.
"That's DIFFERENT."
"You're all embarrassing," you sighed.
"And yet you keep hanging out with us," Seonghyeon pointed out knowingly.
You opened your mouth then paused because unfortunately... he was right. They were loud annoying, dramatic, overgrown children most of the time. But somewhere between trainee years and debut chaos, they became family.
Even James, who quietly tossed you a water bottle before anyone noticed you'd run out.
Even Martin, who still looked offended about the texting thing.
Even the younger members calling you "noona" every five minutes like it was second nature now.
"You're getting sentimental," Martin accused suddenly.
You blinked. "I literally wasn't."
"You had the face."
"What face?"
"The fond one."
The members immediately started making disgusted noises.
"EWWWW."
"STOP HAVING EMOTIONS."
"You guys are actually unbearable," you laughed.
Juhoon pointed dramatically. "And yet noona still texts us back."
James smirked faintly from the wall. "Some of us faster than others apparently."
There are rules to this. Unspoken,carefully followed, and never acknowledged.
In public, you are just a friend.
You stand a step behind, never too close. Your laughter is quieter when cameras are on. Your touches are brief passing, casual, explainable. You've perfected the art of almost.
Almost reaching for his hand.
Almost saying his name too softly.
Almost looking at him the way you want to and Jimin..he plays his part just as well. Charming, playful, untouchable.
Except he always finds you in a room full of people. Always. Like instinct. Like breathing.
Behind closed doors, though...
There are no rules.
"Y/N."
Your name sounds different when it's just the two of you. Softer, warmer. Like it belongs there on his lips, in the quiet space between you.
You're curled up on his couch, legs tucked beneath you, while he sits too close..closer than necessary, closer than safe. His shoulder brushes yours, and neither of you moves away.
"You're staring again," you murmur, not even looking at him.
"I am not," he lies instantly.
You glance over, catching the way his eyes linger on you gentle, unguarded, something dangerously close to everything.
"You are."
"...Can you blame me?"
Your breath falters.
This is why there are rules because moments like this make it hard to pretend there's nothing here.
Because if you let yourself believe this means something... there's no going back.
⸻
It's easier when there's distance between
Schedules
Flights
Chaos You tell yourself it's better this way.
Until it isn't...
The livestream wasn't supposed to be a big deal.
Just Jimin, relaxed, talking to fans, smiling that familiar smile that belongs to the world.
You're off to the side, out of frame, scrolling through your phone, half-listening. You've done this a hundred times. You know your place.
"Ah, I was practicing earlier," he says to the camera, stretching slightly. "But I kept messing up because—"
He pauses just for a second. Then, without thinking—
"—because Y/N kept distracting me."
Silence
It hits you before it hits him
Your name, no, Not "a friend." Not "someone." Not vague, not careful.
Your name..
Spoken clearly. Casually like it belongs there too.
Jimin freezes the chat explodes. Your heart drops somewhere into your stomach.
"...Ah," he laughs nervously, eyes darting off-camera toward you. "I mean—uh—"
But there's no taking it back.
Not really because the way he said it... wasn't a mistake. It was natural..Honest..Real.
And everyone heard it.
⸻
You don't wait. You slip out quietly, the sound of your pulse louder than anything else. Your phone buzzes almost immediately.
'Jimin ☆'
His contact shows up on your phone screen
You don't answer. You can't because if this becomes real if people start asking questions, looking closer, connecting dots.
What happens to this?
To you? To him?
⸻
The door to your apartment hasn't even fully closed behind you when there's a knock.
Fast. Urgent.
You don't need to check to know who it is. You open it anyway. Jimin stands there, breathless, hoodie thrown on like he didn't even think before leaving. His eyes find yours instantly wide, searching, a little scared.
"I messed up," he says.
You swallow. "Yeah. You did."
There's a beat of silence then he steps closer.
"I didn't mean to say it like that," he continues, softer now. "It just... came out."
"Because it's true?" you ask quietly. He doesn't hesitate.
"Yes."
That word it settles somewhere deep in your chest. Dangerous, heavy, more honest. You look away first.
"You can't do that, Jimin," you whisper. "You know what this is—we agreed—"
"I know what we said," he interrupts, voice tightening. "But that's not what this is."
Your chest aches.
"Then what is it?"
He steps closer again, slow this time, like he's afraid you'll pull away.
"Home," he says.
Your breath catches because that's exactly what it feels like. With him, everything quiets. Everything softens. Everything makes sense in a way it shouldn't.
And that's the problem.
"You can't say things like that," you murmur, even as your voice weakens. "Not when—Jimin, the whole world is watching you. One mistake—"
"You're not a mistake."
The words land hard firm and certain.
"I'm not scared of them," he continues. "I'm scared of losing this because we keep pretending it's something smaller than it is."
Your eyes sting.
"Then what do you want?" you ask, barely above a whisper.
He exhales shakily, like he's been holding this in for far too long.
"You," he says.
No hesitation.
No mask.
Just him.
"I want to say your name without thinking about it," he adds, voice softer now. "I want to look at you the way I do when it's just us—without having to hide it. I want..." He swallows. "I want this to be real. Not just behind closed doors."
Your heart is racing now because this is the moment. The one you've both been dancing around for so long. If you say yes everything changes. If you don't... you might lose him anyway.
"...Jimin," you start, unsure, scared, hopeful all at once.
He takes your hand.
Warm. Steady. Certain.
"Say my name again," you whisper suddenly.
He blinks. "What?"
"On the livestream," you clarify. "You said my name like it mattered. Like it... belonged there."
His fingers tighten around yours.
"It does," he says softly.
You search his face and for the first time... you don't see hesitation. You see just the truth.
"Then say it again," you whisper.
This time, there's no camera.
No audience
No rules
Just you
"Y/N," he says gently.
And somehow it feels louder than anything before. You step closer.Close enough to erase the space you've both been pretending to keep.
"Okay," you breathe.
He stills. "Okay?"
You nod, a small smile breaking through.
"Let them hear it next time."
For a second, he just stares at you—like he's not sure he heard you right. Then he smiles soft bright with yours and when he pulls you into him, there's no hesitation this time.
The first time Kim Seokjin read your letter, it was past midnight.
The dorm was quiet lights were dim, the world outside finally still and he sat cross-legged on his bed with a small stack of unopened envelopes beside him. It was something he didn't really admit to anyone, not even the members.
He read them.
Not all the time. Not every single one.
But on nights when everything felt too loud even in silence—he found himself reaching for them.
For something real.
For something honest.
For something that reminded him why.
He picked one at random.
No name on the front. Just his.
Inside, the handwriting was neat but not perfect slightly slanted, like the writer had been rushing to get their thoughts out before they lost the courage.
He smiled faintly.
Then he read.
"Hi, Jin…I don't really know how to start this. I guess... thank you feels too small, but it's the only word I have."
His expression softened immediately not dramatically nor exaggerated.
Just... simple. He kept reading.
"I had a bad day today. The kind where everything feels heavier than it should. But I watched one of your videos, and you were laughing about something so small... and it made me feel a little lighter too."
Jin exhaled quietly.
"You probably hear this all the time, but... you make things easier. Even if it's just for a few minutes."
His grip on the paper tightened slightly.
"I hope you're taking care of yourself too. You deserve that, even if you forget sometimes."
He blinked.
Once and then again.
"Anyway... I'll stop here before this gets too long. You don't know me, and you don't have to. I just wanted you to know that you matter. A lot more than you think.
-Y/n”
He read it twice. Then a third time and for reasons he didn't quite understand...
He kept it.
—
It became a habit after that.
Late nights a quiet rooms and your letters. They didn't come every day. Not even every week but when they did, he always knew.
The same handwriting.
The same quiet honesty.
The same way you never asked for anything. You never begged for attention. Never asked to be noticed. Never even expected him to read them.
You just... wrote.
About your days..
About small things…
About how you hoped he was okay.
And Jin—
He started looking for them. Out of all the letters, all the messages, all the noise. He looked for yours.
Months passed
Schedules got busier. Life got louder.
But your letters stayed. They were constant. Something steady. Something... grounding.
Until one day the letters stopped
At first, he didn't think much of it.
Maybe you were busy. Maybe life got in the way.
It happened but then a week passed.
Then two.
Then a month.
And for the first time, when he sat down late at night with a stack of letters—
He felt the absence.
Noticeable.
Loud.
Unsettling.
He didn't like it.
—
"Hyung, you're staring at that pile like it offended you," Hobi joked from across the room.
Jin blinked, snapping out of it. "I'm not."
"You've been sitting there for ten minutes."
"I'm thinking."
"About fan mail?"
He hesitated.
"...maybe."
They laughed it off.
But he didn't.
Because he knew exactly what he was thinking about or rather who. He told himself it didn't matter. That it was just letters. That he didn't even know you but that didn't stop the way his eyes lingered a little longer.
Didn't stop the quiet disappointment when your handwriting wasn't there. Didn't stop the question that kept coming back—
Why did you stop?
He never got an answer.
Not in a letter.
Not in a message.
Not in anything.
Until—
"Today, we'll be inviting a few fans for a small event," the staff explained.
Jin nodded along with the others, listening, smiling, doing what he always did.
But something about it felt different.
He didn't know why.
Not yet.
—
You almost didn't come. Standing outside the venue, invitation clutched in your hand, you seriously considered turning around.
This had been a mistake. A huge mistake. What were you thinking? You hadn't written in months. You'd disappeared without explanation and now you were here?
Face-to-face?
It felt wrong maybe too real, to much but before you could convince yourself to leave—
The doors opened and suddenly you were inside..
Jin wasn't expecting anything.
Not really.
Just another fan event. Another day.
Until…
He saw you. He didn't know why you stood out there were dozens of people. Dozens of faces.
But something…Something felt familiar.
Not your face, not your voice but something.
You stepped forward when it was your turn, hands slightly shaking, heart beating far too fast.
And when you looked up—
Your eyes met his and for a second—
Everything paused.
Jin smiled automatically, warm, practiced but it faltered.
Just slightly because there was something in your expression.Something he'd seen before, felt before. Even go to say read before.
"You okay?" he asked softly.
Your breath caught.
"...yeah," you said quickly. "Sorry."
Your voice.
His heart stuttered not because he recognized it but because it felt like he should. Like it belonged somewhere in his memory. Somewhere important..
"What's your name?" he asked.
He didn't usually ask.
Not like this.
Not with this much focus.
You hesitated just for a second. Then—
"Y/n."
—
It clicked not all at once. Not perfectly but enough.
Enough for his expression to shift subtly carefully in a way.
"...Y/n," he repeated.
Your stomach dropped. You forced a smile.
"It's nice to meet you."
But your hands were trembling.
Your voice wasn't steady.
And Jin—
Jin noticed everything.
"You've written before," he said quietly.
It wasn't a question it was a guess but it landed like truth. Your breath hitched.
"I—" you started, then stopped.
Because what were you supposed to say?
Yes, I'm the one who disappeared?
Yes, I'm the one who wrote those letters like they meant everything?
Yes, I couldn't keep writing because it started to feel too real?
You looked down and that was answer enough.
—
Jin didn't say anything for a moment. He didn't push nor did he make it harder.
He just—Reached out gently and slid a small piece of paper toward you. Your eyes flickered to it then back to him. Confusion took over your face.
"Next time," he said softly, a small smile tugging at his lips, "don't stop writing."
Your heart stuttered.
"You..." your voice wavered. "You read them?"
He let out a quiet huff of a laugh. "Not all of them."
Then, after a beat—
"But yours, I looked for."
You froze completely because somehow that felt bigger than anything you'd written. Bigger than anything you'd imagined.
"...why?" you whispered.
Jin tilted his head slightly, studying you—not like a fan. Not like a stranger but like someone he'd known in pieces.
In words.
In quiet moments you'd never shared out loud.
"Because," he said simply, "you never wrote for me to read."
Your chest tightened.
"And that made me want to read them more."
—
You didn't realize you were crying until you felt it.
Warm
Silent
Embarrassing
You laughed weakly, wiping your face. "This is so—"
"Real?" he offered.
You nodded.
"Yeah."
He smiled. Softer this time, less polished, more like him.
"Good," he said.
Then, gently—
"I like real."
You looked down at the paper in your hand.
A number..
Simple, unexpected and impossible.
Your heart raced even more.
"You don't have to," he added quickly, like he suddenly realized what he'd done. "Just—if you ever feel like writing again..."
You looked back up at him and for the first time since you walked in you didn't feel like leaving.
"...maybe I will," you said quietly.
Jin smiled and this time it didn't feel like something meant for everyone.
It taps gently against the window, a quiet rhythm that fills the room while you sit curled up on the couch, wrapped in a blanket you've claimed as your own. The world outside looks blurred, gray skies, slick pavement, people rushing with umbrellas like they're trying to outrun something.
You sigh, tucking your chin into the fabric.
Perfect weather to stay inside.
Perfect weather to not deal with anything.
"Y/n."
You don't even look up. "No."
A beat.
Then, dramatically, "You don't even know what I was going to say."
"I do," you mumble, eyes still fixed on the rain. "And the answer is still no."
There's the sound of shuffling, then footsteps light, quick, familiar. The couch dips beside you, and suddenly there's a face far too close to yours, eyes bright with something that should probably concern you.
"Come outside with me."
You finally turn your head, unimpressed. "Absolutely not."
"Why?" he asks, already halfway to pouting.
You gesture vaguely toward the window. "It's raining."
"And?"
"And I don't want to get wet."
He gasps like you've personally offended him. "Y/n, that is the point."
You stare at him.
He stares back, completely serious.
"...No."
He leans closer, lowering his voice like he's about to share something important. "You're missing it."
"Missing what?"
His lips curl into a soft, almost secret smile. "This."
Before you can question him, he's already grabbing your wrist.
"Taehyung—"
Too late.
⸻
The door swings open, and the sound of rain rushes in louder now, heavier. The air is cool, fresh, wrapping around you instantly as you step outside, shoes hitting damp pavement.
"Kim Taehyung!" you protest, trying to pull your hand back. "I am not—"
He doesn't let go.
Of course he doesn't.
Instead, he turns to face you, already soaked at the edges dark hair beginning to cling to his forehead, drops of water tracing down his cheeks. And yet, he's smiling like this is the best thing that's happened all day.
"Relax," he says, softer now. "It's just rain."
"It's cold," you argue, shivering slightly as another drop hits your neck.
He tilts his head, studying you for a moment really looking at you. Then, without warning, he steps closer.
"Trust me?"
You hesitate.
Because it's him.
Because it's always been him.
"...I don't like where this is going."
He grins.
And then he spins you.
A startled laugh breaks out of you as the world tilts..his hand steady in yours, pulling you into a slow circle. The rain falls harder now, soaking through your clothes, your hair, everything but somehow it doesn't feel as miserable as you thought it would.
"Taehyung !" you laugh, trying to steady yourself.
"See?" he says, voice light, almost triumphant. "Not so bad."
You shake your head, breathless. "You're insane."
"Probably," he agrees easily.
But he doesn't stop.
He spins you again faster this time and your laughter comes easier, louder, mixing with his. It echoes in the open air, blending with the sound of rain hitting the ground, the rooftops, everything.
For a moment, it feels like the world shrinks.
No expectations.
No pressure.
No noise beyond this.
Just you.
Just him.
Just this.
He slows eventually, hands still holding yours as you come to a stop, a little unsteady, a little dizzy. Your hair is a mess, your clothes cling uncomfortably, and you're definitely going to regret this later—
but you're smiling.
And he's looking at you like he knew you would be.
"Better?" he asks quietly.
You try to roll your eyes, but it doesn't land the way it usually does. "A little."
"A little?" he repeats, mock-offended.
"Okay..fine," you admit, softer now. "Maybe more than a little."
He beams.
There's a pause.
The rain doesn't let up, falling steadily around you, but neither of you move to go back inside.
Instead, he steps closer again. Closer than before.
Close enough that you notice the way his smile softens, the way his eyes linger just a second longer than they should.
Close enough that your breath catches just slightly.
"You should smile like that more," he says.
Your heart stumbles. "Like what?"
"Like you're not thinking about everything else."
You swallow, suddenly very aware of how close he is. "And what makes you think I can just... turn that off?"
His thumb brushes lightly against your hand, still holding onto yours like he forgot to let go.
"You don't have to," he murmurs. "Not all the time."
The world feels quieter.
Or maybe it's just you.
"Just sometimes," he adds, almost like a promise, "I'll remind you."
Your chest tightens, but not in a bad way.
Not in the way it usually does.
"...By dragging me into the rain?" you ask, trying to keep your voice steady.
He laughs softly. "Exactly."
You shake your head, but you don't pull away.
"Unbelievable."
"Admit it," he nudges. "You're glad I did."
You hesitate.
Then, quietly—
"...I am."
His smile returns, softer now. Warmer.
And for a moment, standing there in the rain with his hand still in yours, it really does feel like nothing else matters.
Not the things waiting for you tomorrow.
Not the worries you carried just minutes ago.
Just this.
Just him.
Just the way he looks at you like you're something worth pulling into the rain for.
"Next time," you say after a while, "we're staying inside."
It clings to the walls, echoes down the hallways, lingers in the pounding of his chest as Jung Hoseok runs backstage with the others, breathless and glowing, adrenaline still buzzing under his skin like electricity.
"Let's go, let's go!" someone shouts maybe Jeon Jungkook, maybe Park Jimin—it all blurs together in laughter and overlapping voices.
They're all loud
Too loud
Hoseok laughs with them anyway, bright and effortless, because that's who he is here, what he needs to be. The sun, the energy, the afterglow.
But his hands are still shaking. His heartbeat hasn't caught up with the fact that it's over.
Not yet
Not until
His eyes start searching
Instinctively, automatically
Past staff rushing by. Past camera flashes. Past the controlled chaos of managers and stylists pulling the group in different directions.
He's looking for you
Always you
You weren't supposed to stand out in a place like this.
Just another familiar face among staff and security, tucked slightly to the side like you always preferred. But somehow, to him, you're the only still thing in a moving world.
You spot him at the same time.
And just like that
Everything else fades.
Hoseok doesn't slow down at first, still caught in the current of the members around him. Namjoon is saying something beside him, Jin laughing loudly behind them, hands clapping against someone's shoulder.
But Hoseok's gaze locks on you.
And it softens.
The shift is instant. Subtle to anyone else.
Obvious to you.
You've known him too long.
"Hobi—" you start, barely getting his name out before he's in front of you.
He doesn't say anything at first.
He just grabs you.
Not dramatic. Not rushed.
Just firm.
Grounding.
His arms wrap around you like he's anchoring himself, like if he doesn't hold onto something real right now, he might just float right out of his own body.
You blink in surprise, but your arms come around him just as naturally.
"Hey," you murmur softly, your voice cutting through everything else.
He exhales and it's shaky
"You came," he says, his voice lower than usual, muffled slightly where his face is tucked into your shoulder.
You huff a quiet laugh. "You told me not to miss it."
"Yeah, but—" he pulls back just enough to look at you, his eyes still bright, still overwhelmed, still too full— "you're actually here."
You tilt your head, studying him.
The sweat-damp hair, the flushed cheeks, the way his smile doesn't quite sit the way it usually does.
"You okay?" you ask gently.
He opens his mouth to give the usual answer—of course, I'm great, that was amazing, did you see the crowd?—
But it doesn't come out.
Not to you.
His shoulders drop just slightly.
"...It's a lot," he admits instead.
And there it is.
The truth he never lets anyone else hear. Behind him, the members start to slow down, noticing.
Yoongi leans casually against the wall, watching with knowing eyes. Taehyung nudges Jungkook, both of them grinning like they've just witnessed something important.
"Found her already?" Taehyung teases under his breath.
Hoseok doesn't even turn around.
Doesn't let go of you.
"Obviously," he mutters back, like it's the most natural thing in the world.
You smile a little at that, but your attention stays on him.
"Breathe," you tell him quietly.
It's something you used to say when you were kids. Back when performances were school stages and talent shows and he'd bounce on his toes backstage, nerves hidden behind excitement.
Back when it was simpler.
He lets out a soft laugh at the memory, eyes closing for just a second.
"Still bossy," he mumbles.
"Still spiraling," you shoot back.
That earns you a real smile.
The kind that reaches his eyes.
You reach up without thinking, brushing your thumb lightly under his eye where his makeup has started to smudge.
"Hey," you say softly, grounding him again, "you did amazing."
His gaze flickers.
Not toward the stage.
Not toward the members.
Just—on you.
And something in his chest settles because he believes you.
More than anyone else.
"I always look for you first," he admits suddenly.
The words slip out like they've been waiting.
You blink. "What?"
"After shows," he says, a little quieter now, a little more vulnerable than the chaos allows. "Or... before. Or whenever it gets too loud in my head."
He huffs a breath, almost embarrassed.
"You've always been the easiest thing to find."
Your heart stutters.
"Hoseok..."
He shrugs lightly, but he doesn't pull away.
"Everyone else sees the performance," he says. "You just... see me."
The noise comes rushing back in slowly—staff calling for them, someone announcing schedules, footsteps echoing again.
Reality returning.
But his hands are still holding onto yours.
Steady now.
Grounded.
"Alright, break time's over!" a manager calls.
The members start moving again, energy building back up.
Hoseok squeezes your hand once before letting go—but not completely.
His fingers linger.
"Stay?" he asks, softer this time. Not the performer. Not the idol.
You shouldn't have told Kim Seokjin you were going to cook.
That was your first mistake
Your second mistake?
Letting him watch
"You know," Jin said, leaning casually against your kitchen counter like he owned the place, arms crossed and expression already suspiciously evaluative, "as someone with an incredibly refined palate—"
You didn't even look up from the pan. "If you say one more word, I'm poisoning your portion."
He gasped. "You wound me. I'm just here to support."
"You're here to judge."
"Supportively judge."
You pointed your spatula at him. "Out."
He didn't move
Of course he didn't
Instead, he leaned in closer, peering into the pan like a food critic inspecting a five-star dish. "Is that... garlic?"
You turned slowly. "Yes, Jin. It's garlic."
"Hm." He nodded thoughtfully. "Bold choice."
"Get. Out."
He didn't get out. Instead, he pulled up a chair then turned it around.
It started, like most things with Kim Namjoon, with a thud.
Not a dramatic crash. Not even loud enough to alarm anyone outside the room. Just a dull, familiar sound followed by a quiet, almost sheepish, "...ah."
You didn't even look up at first.
"Please tell me that wasn't something expensive," you said, flipping a page in your book as you sat on the couch in his studio.
A pause.
"...Define expensive."
You sighed, already closing your book as you turned your head—and there he was. Standing in the middle of the studio, one hand hovering awkwardly over a knocked-over lamp, the other scratching the back of his neck.
You stared at him.
He stared back.
"...You broke a lamp," you deadpanned.
"It's not broken," he defended quickly, nudging it with his foot.
The lampshade promptly fell off.
You blinked once. Twice.
"Namjoon."
"I said not broken," he insisted, crouching down like if he moved slowly enough, reality might change.
You couldn't help it—you laughed
It bubbled out of you easily, familiar and warm, the kind of laughter that had become second nature whenever you were around him.
"You're unbelievable," you said, shaking your head as you stood up. "How do you manage this every single time?"
"I don't manage it," he muttered, trying (and failing) to reattach the shade. "It just... happens."
"That's worse."
He glanced up at you then, a small smile tugging at his lips despite himself. "You're very supportive, you know that?"
"Oh, I'm incredibly supportive," you shot back, walking over. "Emotionally. Not structurally—because clearly you're a danger to furniture."
He huffed out a laugh, soft and quiet, eyes crinkling slightly.
And there it was—that look.
The one you pretended not to notice.
The one that lingered just a second too long.
You ignored it like you always did, crouching beside him and effortlessly fixing the lampshade into place.
"There," you said, brushing your hands off. "Crisis averted."
He watched you for a moment. "You make it look easy."
"That's because I'm not fighting inanimate objects on a daily basis."
"I'm not fighting them—"
"Joon, you lost a battle with a chair last week."
"It was uneven!"
"It was a chair."
You grinned, already stepping away, and he just shook his head, smiling under his breath like he always did when you got like this.
⸻
It became a pattern.
You teasing.
Him pretending to be offended.
And somehow, always, both of you lingering just a little longer than necessary in each other's space.
⸻
"Careful."
You said it absentmindedly this time, barely glancing up from your phone as Namjoon reached up to grab a book from the high shelf in his studio.
"I've got it," he replied.
You hummed. "That's what you said before you almost took out an entire bookshelf."
"That was one time."
"It was yesterday."
He exhaled through his nose, stretching just a little higher—and for a second, everything looked fine.
Normal.
Routine.
Until it wasn't.
The book slipped.
His balance shifted.
And then—
A sharp crack echoed as his hand came down awkwardly against the edge of the shelf.
This time, you did look up.
Immediately.
Your phone dropped onto the couch without a second thought.
"Namjoon—"
He sucked in a breath, stepping back quickly, his expression tightening in a way you had never seen before.
Not embarrassment.
Not mild annoyance.
Pain.
Real pain.
And suddenly—
Everything in you snapped into place.
Gone was the teasing.
Gone was the lightness.
All that remained was sharp, immediate panic.
"Hey—hey, let me see," you said, already crossing the room before he could even respond.
"I'm fine," he tried, instinctively pulling his hand back.
You didn't let him.
"Namjoon."
Your voice was different now.
Firm. Urgent.
He stilled.
Slowly, reluctantly, he let you take his hand.
The moment you saw it, your chest tightened.
His knuckles were already reddening, a faint swelling starting to form, and when you shifted his fingers slightly—
He flinched.
Actually flinched.
"Oh my god," you breathed. "Joon—why would you say you're fine when you're clearly not fine?"
"It's not that bad," he insisted, but his voice lacked its usual steadiness.
You shot him a look. "You literally winced."
"I—no, I didn't—"
"You did," you cut in, already pulling him toward the couch. "Sit down."
He blinked, a little caught off guard by the sudden shift.
"You don't have to—"
"Sit."
He sat.
Immediately.
⸻
You were moving before you even fully processed it—grabbing a cold pack, a small towel, anything you could find that might help.
Your hands were quick.
Precise.
Careful.
So, so careful.
"Does this hurt?" you asked softly, gently pressing the cold pack against his knuckles.
He inhaled sharply—but didn't pull away.
"...A little."
Your brows knit together. "You're unbelievable."
There was no bite in it this time.
Just worry.
Thick and undeniable.
"You're always so careful with everything else," you murmured, your fingers adjusting their grip to make sure you weren't pressing too hard. "Your words, your music, your members... but when it comes to yourself, you're just—reckless."
He didn't answer right away.
Didn't joke.
Didn't deflect.
He just watched you.
Really watched you.
The way your expression tightened every time he so much as shifted.
The way your touch stayed steady despite the way your fingers trembled just slightly.
"...You're worried," he said quietly.
You froze.
Just for a second.
Then you scoffed lightly, avoiding his eyes. "Obviously. You just smashed your hand into a shelf."
"That's not why."
Your grip faltered.
"Joon—"
"That's not why," he repeated, softer this time.
You swallowed.
And for the first time since it happened, your movements slowed.
"You could've really hurt yourself," you said, barely above a whisper now. "What if it was worse? What if you couldn't—" You stopped, your throat tightening. "What if something happened and you just brushed it off like you always do?"
He tilted his head slightly. "You sound like you care a lot."
You let out a shaky breath, finally meeting his eyes.
"I do."
The words came out before you could stop them.
Too honest.
Too raw.
Too real.
Silence settled between you.
Heavy.
But not uncomfortable.
Just... full.
Namjoon's gaze softened, something warm and almost disbelieving flickering across his expression.
"You know," he said gently, "for someone who calls me a danger to furniture, you're awfully quick to take care of me."
You huffed weakly. "Don't make this a thing."
"It is a thing."
"It's not—"
"It is," he insisted softly.
Your heart was beating too fast now.
You tried to pull your hand away.
He didn't let you.
Carefully—so carefully you almost missed it—he shifted his grip, his uninjured hand wrapping loosely around your wrist.
Not restraining.
Just... holding.
"Stay," he murmured.
You did.
Of course you did
Because despite all the teasing
Despite all the jokes
Despite how easy it was to pretend this was just normal
Moments like this made it impossible to ignore
"You should be more careful," you whispered after a while, your thumb brushing lightly over his knuckles without thinking.
He smiled.
Soft.
Fond.
"Only if you promise to keep taking care of me like this."
You rolled your eyes, even as your face warmed. "You're unbelievable."
In a world where soulmate marks appear after first touch, fate is easy to miss.
╰┈➤ Chapter 2 Ch1 <𝟑 .ᐟ
Morning came too fast. For Y/N, it felt like she hadn't slept at all. The words were still there.
They hadn't faded overnight. Hadn't blurred or softened or turned into something easier to ignore.
If anything they felt more real. She stood in front of her mirror again, sleeve pushed up, eyes fixed on the inside of her wrist.
"You ask questions like you're searching for something you lost."
Her fingers hovered just above the skin, like touching it might make it disappear, it didn't.
A soulmate mark.
The thought settled heavily in her chest not unfamiliar, not impossible but just... inconvenient because the problem wasn't what it was.
It was when? Yesterday ? It had to be yesterday. She hadn't noticed anything before then no marks, no writing, nothing out of the ordinary.
Which meant it had to be somewhere between arriving at the studio... and leaving it...
She had touched them.
Her soulmate.
Y/N let out a slow breath, dragging her hand down her face.
"Okay," she muttered to herself. "Think."
The studio had been full with staff, crew, camera operators and producers. Seven members.
Her grip tightened slightly on the edge of the sink.
Seven.
No—stop.
That didn't mean anything. Statistically, it was more likely to be someone from the crew. A passing interaction. A brush of hands she hadn't even registered.
It didn't have to be—
Her thoughts cut off because her mind, unhelpfully, replayed a moment. Fingers brushing against hers.
Warm.
Brief.
Gone.
Y/N straightened immediately, shaking her head like she could physically push the memory away.
"No," she said under her breath.
That didn't mean anything
It couldn't
It was one second. Less than that and besides she had brushed past other people too. Adjusting her mic. Moving through the set. Handing things off.
It could've been anyone.
Anyone.
So why?
Why did that one moment feel clearer than the rest?
⸻
Across the city—
Kim Namjoon was thinking the exact same thing.
He hadn't told anyone
Not yet
The words sat beneath his collarbone, hidden beneath fabric, unseen by the rest of the world but he felt them. Not physically just there.
Present in a way that made it impossible to forget.
Namjoon leaned back in his chair, phone resting loosely in his hand, unread messages lighting up the screen.He ignored them because his mind was elsewhere.
Yesterday.
He retraced it carefully.
Schedules..Movements..Conversations.
Fans? No. There hadn't been any direct contact.
Staff?
Maybe.
Stylists adjusting his outfit. A manager passing something to him but nothing stood out. Nothing felt... significant.His gaze drifted slightly, unfocused.
Until—
A memory surfaced. It was clearer than the rest.
A hand...Small movement...The faint brush of skin. His fingers tightening slightly around a sheet of paper.
"...the questions."
Her voice.
Calm. Professional.
Y/N
Namjoon exhaled quietly, gaze dropping to the floor. That didn't mean anything, it couldn't. It was a normal interaction. Expected forgettable interaction.
So why?
Why was it the only one he could recall so clearly?
⸻
Y/N paced her apartment. Back and forth. Back and forth.
"This is ridiculous," she muttered.
She was overthinking. That's all this was a coincidence. The mark could've come from any interaction yesterday. It didn't have to be meaningful. It didn't have to be memorable.
That was the whole point of how this worked.
And yet
Her thoughts circled back.
Again.
And again.
And again.
To him.
To the way he answered her questions like he was speaking to something deeper than the surface.
To the way he had looked at her, not like an interviewer but like he was trying to understand something.
Y/N stopped pacing abruptly.
Her heart did something uncomfortable.
"...No."
She shook her head firmly.
"Absolutely not."
She was not about to spiral over someone she had spoken to for less than an hour.
Someone who—
Her thoughts paused again because the words on her wrist...They didn't feel random..They felt... specific.
Personal like they had been meant for her.
Her stomach tightened slightly because there was only one person yesterday who had said something even remotely like that.
⸻
Namjoon sat forward suddenly, elbows resting on his knees. His thoughts had been circling for too long now there going nowhere, repeating. The same moments. The same possibilities.
He exhaled, running a hand through his hair.
"This doesn't make sense..."
Soulmate marks weren't supposed to feel like this. They were supposed to be... grounding.
Certain.
Not—
Confusing because the words on his skin they felt familiar. Maybe too familiar like something he would say. Like something he had said. His mind replayed the interview again. Every answer. Every question.
And then—
It stopped.
Right there.
"Sometimes you don't realize what something means to you until later."
His own voice.
Clear
Unmistakable
Namjoon went still because that was it.That was exactly what was written on his skin. A slow realization settled in it was heavy, unavoidable.
"...No way."
⸻
Y/N stared at her reflection. The room felt too quiet, too still because the more she thought about i. The less it felt like coincidence Aland more like something she didn't want to name yet.
Her fingers curled slightly at her sides because if she followed that thought to its end. If she actually let herself believe it then that meant—
⸻
Namjoon leaned back slowly, heart no longer racing—but not steady either.
Just... different because if he was right If the words on his skin came from that moment then that meant—
In a world where soulmate marks appear after first touch, fate is easy to miss.
ꫂ Chapter 1
In a world that romanticized fate, soulmates were anything but loud.
There were no glowing strings.
No sudden, heart-stopping recognition.
No invisible force pulling two people together like destiny had something to prove.
Instead it was quiet.
Everyone was born the same: unmarked
No names carved into skin.
No symbols, no dates, no promises of forever etched into something permanent.
Just skin and the understanding that one day that would change because soulmate marks didn't appear at birth. They appeared after after the first touch, skin against skin , more like fleeting moment. A brush so small it could be dismissed as nothing at all and when it happened there was no sign.
No warmth.
No spark.
No shift in the air that made your heart stop and whisper, this is it.
The mark came later.
Quietly.
Unannounced, sometimes hours after.
Sometimes days and by then the moment itself was already gone.
Forgotten...
Lost in the hundreds of interactions that made up a single day.
That was the cruel part.
You could meet your soulmate and never even realize it.
⸻
Y/N didn't think about it much not because she didn't believe in it but because her life didn't leave room for things she couldn't control. Deadlines didn't wait for destiny and interviews
____
Interviews didn't care about fate.
"Y/N!"
She looked up, blinking as her producer rushed toward her, phone still clutched in his hand, expression somewhere between disbelief and excitement.
"You need to hear this."
"That doesn't sound reassuring."
"It's not—it's better."
That made her sit up straighter. "What happened?"
He stopped in front of her, barely containing himself.
"We got them."
A pause.
"Got who?"
A breath and then..
"BTS."
Silence.
Real silence.
Y/N stared at him, waiting for the joke.
"...No, we didn't."
"We did."
"That's not—no. That's not possible. Do you know how many networks are trying to get them right now?"
"Yes," he said, grinning now, "which is exactly why this is insane."
Her fingers tightened slightly around the cue cards in her lap.
"They're promoting their new album," he continued, pacing now. "We got an exclusive sit-down for Love Yourself: Her. Full interview. You're leading it."
Something shifted in her chest it was sharp, unexpected. This wasn't just big it was career-defining.
"Y/N," he added, softer now, "this is your moment."
Soulmates?
Not even a passing thought.
⸻
The day of the interview arrived faster than she wanted it to. The studio buzzed with controlled chaos—staff moving quickly, camera rigs being adjusted, lighting tested and retested.
"Check audio."
"Camera three ready."
"Backdrop needs to come two inches left—yeah, there."
Y/N sat in her chair, posture straight, cue cards neatly stacked in her hands. Calm. Collected.
Every bit the professional she had built herself into.
"Five minutes!" someone called.
She exhaled slowly, eyes scanning her notes.
Themes: love. identity. youth.
Questions layered—designed to mean something.That's what she did she didn't just interview—She listened.
The door opened and everything shifted. It wasn't dramatic, no one gasped. Nothing stopped but the energy in the room changed.
They entered with quiet greetings and polite bows, laughter slipping easily between them as they acknowledged staff.
BTS.
Seven different presences.
Seven different energies.
Her gaze moved professional, quick and then slowed.
Kim Namjoon.
He stood just slightly behind the others at first, eyes taking everything in before stepping forward. There was something steady about him.
Grounded like he existed just a little deeper than the moment in front of him.
"Hello," he greeted, voice warm, easy.
Y/N stood, bowing politely as introductions began, moving down the line with practiced ease.
Everything was smooth, controlled, and familiar.
Until she reached toward him, extending the printed questions.
"Here are the—"
Her words paused just for a fraction of a second because his fingers brushed against hers barely there . Fleeting warm touch now gone.
"...questions for the interview," she finished, like nothing had happened.
"Thank you," he said softly.
And that was it.
No pause.
No reaction.
Nothing to mark the moment at all.
⸻
"Rolling!"
"Action!"
⸻
"Hello, I'm Y/N, and today we're joined by global artists BTS as they return with their new album, Love Yourself: Her. Thank you for being here."
"Thank you for having us," Namjoon replied, naturally taking the lead.
The interview began easily with introductions, light humor, a rhythm that settled quickly into something comfortable. Y/N guided it smoothly but she didn't stay surface-level for long.
"This album explores different forms of love," she said, glancing briefly at her notes before looking up again. "Not just romantic love, but self-perception, identity... Was there a moment during production where that became personal for you?"
There was a shift.
Subtle shift.
Namjoon leaned forward slightly, resting his arms on his knees, fingers loosely intertwined.
Thinking.
"Love is..." he paused, searching, "it's not always something obvious. I think we expect it to be loud, or clear but sometimes it's not."
Y/N's attention sharpened.
He continued, voice quieter now.
"Sometimes you don't realize what something means to you until later. Until you look back."
Something about the way he said it lingered. Like it meant more than it should.
"So it's something you understand in hindsight?" she asked gently.
His eyes met hers then.
"I think so."
For a second—
It felt like the conversation wasn't just for the cameras.
⸻
The interview flowed.
Other members chimed in—stories, laughter, playful interruptions that softened the heavier moments.
Y/N adjusted effortlessly, letting the conversation breathe when it needed to, guiding it back when it drifted.
But there was something else now something more subtle. Every time she asked a question, she could feel it..That awareness.
And across from her Namjoon felt it too. He found himself watching her not obviously, not enough for anyone to comment but enough.
Noticing the way she listened.
The way she didn't rush.
The way her questions felt like they were searching for something just beneath the surface.
"You ask questions differently," he said at one point.
She blinked slightly. "Differently?"
He nodded. "Like you're looking for something."
There it was again. That strange feeling of being seen just a little too clearly.
Y/N smiled faintly. "Maybe I am."
"What is it?"
A simple question but it landed heavier than expected.
She hesitated.
"...Something honest."
His gaze didn't leave hers and for reasons neither of them could explain that answer stayed.
⸻
"Cut!"
The room came back all at once.
Movement. Voices. Laughter. The moment dissolved like it had never existed.
Y/N exhaled softly, lowering her cards as staff began wrapping up.
"Thank you," she said politely as they stood.
Small bows
Gratitude exchanged
Normal
Routine and yet as she turned, gathering her things, her arm brushed lightly past someone beside her.
Another fleeting contact
Unnoticed
Unimportant
Or so it seemed
⸻
🌙 Later That Night
The quiet of her apartment felt heavier than usual.
Y/N stood in front of the mirror, absentmindedly adjusting the sleeve of her shirt and paused.
"...Wait."
On the inside of her wrist it was faint, delicate, like ink beneath her skin.
Words.
Her breath caught. Slowly, she turned her arm, heart beginning to race as she read—
"You ask questions like you're searching for something you lost."
Silence because soulmate marks didn't lie and those words, they didn't feel like hers.
⸻
🌙 Somewhere Else
The dorm was quiet.
Rare.
Namjoon stood in front of the sink, water running briefly over his hands before he shut it off. Something felt... off not wrong. It's just different. His gaze shifted, catching something in the mirror.
"...What?"
Just below his collarbone faint, new Words.
He stepped closer, heart stuttering slightly as he read—
"Sometimes you don't realize what something means to you until later."
His breath slowed because he knew those words.
Felt them but he had never written them like this.
Never kept them and if the mark had appeared then that meant somewhere, sometime today he had already met them.
Three weeks that's how long y/n had been working on the Wings album now.Three weeks of long hours, late nights, and slowly finding her place in a world she once only watched from the outside.
And somehow—
She was still standing, still learning, and still proving to herself that she belonged here.
—
The studio was quieter today. Not empty—but calm andFocused. Y/n slipped inside, setting her bag down in her usual spot before moving straight to the desk no hesitation or no second-guessing.
Work came easier now it grounded her. She flipped open the folder in front of her, eyes scanning the title at the top of the page.
"First Love"
Her fingers stilled slightly against the paper.
She knew this one
Not the finished version—not yet—but she knew who it belonged to
She wasn't naïve
She knew exactly who she was working with, knew who was part of this album.
Knew that eventually—
She would see him the thought had been there from the beginning
From the moment she received the email
"We're pleased to inform you..."
She remembered staring at the screen, heart racing—not just from excitement, but from something heavier.
Bittersweet.
Because alongside the opportunity...
Came him
An old friend
One who probably didn't want to see her.
Y/n swallowed softly, pushing the thought away as she focused back on the paper in front of her.
"First Love"
She let out a quiet breath.Then, without really thinking she started reading.
Softly
Barely above a whisper
"I remember back then..."
Her voice trailed slightly, the words settling deeper than she expected.The lyrics weren't just words they were memories but not hers..
But close enough that it felt like they could be.
Her gaze softened, a faint, almost sad smile forming as she leaned back slightly in her chair.
"First love"
Something you never really let go of. The something that stays with you—no matter how much time passes.
Her mind drifted
Back to shared headphones...
Late nights...The quiet way he used to sit beside her, not saying much—but saying everything at the same time.
The way music always came first for him.
The way she never minded because she understood.
Because she was part of it, in her own way...Her fingers traced lightly over the lyric sheet.
"...you never really forget it," she murmured under her breath.
A small exhale left her, the smile still there—but heavier now, more fragile.
Because some things didn't stay in the past as easily as she wanted them to
Because some people—
Didn't either
The soft click of the door broke the silence.
Y/n blinked, pulled from her thoughts as she turned slightly in her chair and froze.
Him.
Standing just inside the doorway
Min Yoongi.
Her breath caught—just for a second
Her eyes widened slightly before she quickly forced herself to recover, straightening in her seat as her gaze flickered past him to the figure stepping in behind.
Pdogg.
Professional. Is all the can think as soon as she seen Pdogg
Be professional Y/n..
Y/n stood quickly, bowing her head.
"Good morning."
Pdogg nodded as he stepped further inside "Morning."
He gestured casually toward Yoongi
"This is Min Yoongi, Bangtan's Suga. He's the one behind First Love."
The words felt heavier than they should have.Y/n bowed again, just as polite
Just as composed
"Nice to meet you," she said.
Like she didn't already know him
Like she hadn't spent years knowing him
Like her heart didn't recognize him instantly
Silence..
Just for a second.
"...Yeah," Yoongi replied.
Simple.
Controlled.
But his voice..
It hadn't changed she thinks to herself
Not really
Y/n forced herself not to react, lifting her head just enough to meet his eyes briefly before looking away again.
Professional
Keep it professional Y/n
Because if she looked too long—
She might see something she wasn't ready for.
Or worse—
Nothing at all..
—
Yoongi, on the other hand, couldn't look away.
Of course he remembered her that wasn't even a question.He remembered everything..
The late nights
The music
The way she used to sit beside him like she belonged there
The last night
The question he asked..
The way he left anyway without a word. His jaw tightened slightly as his thoughts rushed all at once—
Y/n.
Here?
Working here?
With him?
After all this time?
He forced it down. All of it he pushed it somewhere deep enough that it wouldn't show.
Because this wasn't the time.
"...Let's get started," Pdogg said, breaking the tension before it could settle any further.Y/n nodded quickly, grateful for the shift, turning back toward the desk as Yoongi stepped further into the room.
Work.
Focus on work.
Pdogg gestured toward the lyric sheet. "You've looked it over?"
"Yes," y/n replied. "It's... emotional."
"That's the point," Yoongi said quietly.
Her breath hitched almost imperceptibly at his voice being closer now but she didn't look at him.
"First love isn't supposed to feel clean," he continued, tone more focused now. "It's messy. It stays with you—even when it shouldn't."
Y/n swallowed
"...Right," she said softly.
Pdogg leaned forward slightly. "So how do we translate that into sound?"
Y/n hesitated for a second—
Then spoke
"Minimal at first," she said. "Something simple. Almost... nostalgic."
Yoongi glanced at her
Really glanced this time
She continued, unaware—or maybe pretending not to notice.
"Then build it," she added. "Not all at once. Gradually. Like memory coming back."
Silence
Then—
"...With something raw underneath," Yoongi finished.Y/n's fingers tightened slightly against the edge of the desk.
She nodded. "Yeah."
Pdogg looked between them, satisfied. "Good. That's the direction."
They worked like that for a while talking through layers, sound choices, Emotion.
And somehow—
Despite everything—
It felt... easy
Natural even
Like slipping back into something familiar
Like nothing had changed..
Which was the most dangerous feeling of all
—
Eventually, Pdogg's phone buzzed. He glanced at it, sighing lightly. "Give me a minute."
He stood, already stepping toward the door "Keep working through the structure."
And just like that—
He was gone the door clicked shut behind him.
Now Yoongi and Y/n were metSilence.
Thick and unavoidable silence.Y/n didn't move at first. She didn't look up she couldn't bring herself to do the simple head movement. She kept her eyes on the papers in front of her, even though she wasn't reading them anymore.
Because she could feel it
Him right there so close yet so far it felt like.
Familiar in a way that made her chest tighten
Seconds passed
Too many..
Finally—
She exhaled softly, setting the paper down
"...So," she started, her voice quieter now.. Less professional... More real...
A pause
Then—
"Are you going to pretend you don't know me again?"
The words hung in the air
Sharp — Honest — Inevitable.
Across from her, Yoongi stilled and just like that—
Everything they'd been avoiding finally caught up to them.
Y/n has been working for the company little under a month now. She been in and out of studios in the building observing taking in the knowledge of the producing world..
However there was something different in the air.
Y/n felt it the moment she stepped into the building—an unspoken urgency, a quiet intensity that lingered in every hallway, every passing conversation.
People moved faster, spoke less, worked harder.
Whatever was happening...it mattered.
"Y/n."
She turned at the sound of her name, spotting a staff member gesturing her over.
"You're needed in Studio B," they said. "You'll be assisting the main producer for the upcoming project."
Her stomach flipped.
Main producer?
"Right now?" she asked.
They nodded
Y/n tightened her grip on her notebook. "Okay."
—
Studio B felt... important.
The kind of room where things didn't just happen—they started. She paused outside the door, taking a steady breath before knocking.
"Come in."
She stepped inside
The man at the console barely looked up at first, focused on the screen in front of him, fingers moving quickly over controls with practiced ease.
"You must be the new assistant," he said.
Y/n nodded quickly. "Yes, I'm y/n."
He finally turned slightly, giving her a brief but assessing glance.
"I'm Pdogg," he said. "You'll be working with me."
Her eyes widened just a bit.
Pdogg?
She knew that name
"Nice to meet you," she said, bowing her head slightly, nerves settling in.
He gestured toward the setup. "We're starting early stages of a new album."
Her attention snapped back.
"An album?"
He nodded. "Title's still in development, but the concept is set."
A pause.
Then—
"Wings."
The word landed softly—but it carried weight.
Y/n repeated it under her breath. "Wings..."
"It's centered around growth," Pdogg continued. "Temptation. Youth. The transition between innocence and experience."
Her mind immediately started connecting pieces.
Themes. Sound. Emotion.
"So it's not supposed to feel stable," she said slowly. "More like... something that's evolving?"
Pdogg glanced at her, mildly impressed.
"Exactly."
He clicked a few things on the screen, pulling up a file.
"We're starting with the intro track," he added. "Boy Meets Evil."
The title alone sent a small chill down her spine.
"Dark," she murmured.
"Dark, but controlled," he corrected. "It needs tension. Conflict. Something that feels like a fall—but not all at once."
Y/n stepped a little closer, eyes scanning the layout on the screen.
"Like it's pulling you in slowly," she said. "Not pushing you."
Pdogg gave a small nod. "You catch on quick."
Before she could respond—
The studio door opened.
"Hyung, is this the track you—oh."
The voice was bright, energetic—completely different from the quiet intensity of the room.
Y/n turned.
Two men stepped inside.
One with a warm, easy smile that seemed to light up the space instantly.
The other calmer, observant, eyes already taking in everything at once.
"Didn't know we had someone new," the first one said, tilting his head slightly.
Pdogg leaned back slightly in his chair. "Perfect timing. You'll be working with her."
He gestured toward y/n.
"This is y/n. She's assisting on the project."
Y/n straightened slightly. "Hi."
The brighter one stepped forward first, grin widening.
"I'm J-Hope—but you can call me Hobi if you want," he said easily, offering a small bow. "Nice to meet you!"
His energy was immediate, warm, welcoming.
It eased her nerves just a little.
"Nice to meet you," she replied, smiling faintly.
The second one stepped forward next, more composed but just as kind.
"I'm RM," he said. "Thanks for helping out with this."
His voice was steady, thoughtful
"Of course," y/n said. "I'm glad to be here."
"Good," RM nodded, glancing toward the screen. "Because this one's going to be intense."
Letting go of Min Yoongi wasn't something that happened all at once.
It wasn't dramatic. There was no final moment where everything just... stopped hurting.
It was quieter than that.
Messier.
It looked like unanswered texts that eventually turned into deleted conversations.
Like a contact name you couldn't bring yourself to erase—until one day, you finally did.
Like hearing his name less and less until it didn't feel like a punch to the chest anymore.
Or at least... not every time.
By 22, y/n had learned how to live with it.
Not move on.
Not completely.
But live with it.
—
Seoul was nothing like Daegu.
Faster. Louder. Colder, somehow—even when it wasn't.
People didn't stop for each other here. They didn't linger on street corners or sit under dim lights talking about dreams that felt too big for their lives.
Everyone was going somewhere.
Everyone had something to prove.
Including her.
"Another rejection email," y/n muttered under her breath, staring down at her phone as she sat on the edge of her bed.
She shouldn't be surprised.
She'd been applying for weeks now—studios, small labels, production teams—anywhere that would even consider taking in someone like her.
Someone with potential, but no real experience.
Someone who loved music... but didn't have a name behind it.
Her thumb hovered over the screen before she locked it with a sigh, dropping her phone beside her.
"Okay," she whispered to herself. "One more."
That's what she'd been saying for days.
One more application.
One more email.
One more chance.
She pushed herself up, crossing the small apartment to her desk. Papers were scattered across it—notes, lyrics, half-finished ideas she never quite had the confidence to complete.
For a moment, she just stood there, staring at them.
Music had always been something she loved.
But somewhere along the way... it became something that hurt too.
Because it reminded her of him.
The way he used to hand her an earbud.
The way he used to listen like it meant everything.
The way he made it feel like maybe—just maybe—she could belong in this world too.
Y/n swallowed, shaking her head.
"No," she murmured. "We're not doing that today."
She sat down, pulling her laptop closer.
This wasn't about him anymore.
It couldn't be.
It had been years.
Years since he left
Years since she last heard his voice
Years since she stopped expecting him to come back.
He had his life now.
A big one.
A distant one.
And she—
She needed to focus on hers.
—
The email almost didn't feel real.
Y/n read it once.
Then twice.
Then a third time, just to be sure her brain wasn't playing some kind of cruel joke on her.
We're pleased to inform you...
Her heart started pounding.
"...No way," she whispered.
Her eyes scanned the screen again, landing on the name that made everything feel just a little unreal.
BIGHIT MUSIC.
A small position.
Entry-level “Assistant Producer”
It wasn't glamorous.
It wasn't big.
But it was something.
It was everything.
A shaky laugh escaped her as she covered her mouth, her eyes stinging slightly.
"I got it," she breathed. "I actually got it."
After weeks of doubt, of rejection, of wondering if she was chasing something too far out of reach—
This felt like proof.
That she wasn't just the girl who stood on the sidelines, watching someone else chase their dreams.
This time it was hers.
—
The building was bigger than she expected.
Sleek. Modern. Intimidating in a way that made her straighten her posture the moment she stepped inside.
"Okay," y/n whispered under her breath. "Act like you belong here."
Even if her heart was racing.
Even if her palms felt a little too warm.
Even if a small voice in the back of her mind kept whispering that she was completely out of her depth.
"You're here for the new assistant position, right?"
Y/n blinked, turning toward the voice.
A staff member stood nearby, offering a polite smile.
"Yes," she nodded quickly. "That's me."
"Right this way."
She followed, her gaze drifting around as they walked. Studios, Offices,People moving with purpose.It felt... alive.
Like the kind of place where things happened.
Where music wasn't just something you listened to—It was something you created.
Her chest tightened slightly in a good way.
In a hopeful way.
"This will be your main workspace," the staff member said, gesturing toward a smaller studio room.
It wasn't huge but it was enough. There was a desk, equipment. It was a space to think, to create, to learn.
Y/n stepped inside slowly, taking it all in.
"This is where I'll be?" she asked softly.
The staff member nodded. "You'll be assisting with production tasks, organizing files, helping where needed. It's a starting position, but if you do well, there's room to grow."
Grow...
The word settled warmly in her chest.
"Thank you," she said, her voice genuine.
After a few more instructions, the staff member left, the door clicking shut behind them.
Silence filled the room.
Y/n stood there for a moment then let out a long breath.
"I'm really here," she whispered.
No more waiting.
No more wondering.
This was the start of something new.
Something that belonged to her.
She walked further into the room, running her fingers lightly over the edge of the desk, grounding herself in the moment.
This was her life now.
Not Daegu.
Not the past.
Not him.
Just Her.
And for the first time in a long time...
That felt like enough.
—
She didn't notice the name on the schedule board down the hall
Didn't notice the studio was booked later that week.
Didn't notice the familiar name written in clean, simple letters:
Min Yoongi
Because if she had—
She might've realized something sooner.
Moving on was never going to be as simple as she thought.
Before he was Min Yoongi—before the music, before the world knew his name—he was just yours.
Not forever.
Not in the way that mattered.
And when he left, he didn’t say goodbye.
_______________________________________________
Before he was someone the world knew, Min Yoongi was just... yours. Not in the way people think.
Not romantic. Not labeled.
Just—yours.
And you were his.
—
It started small.
Shared walks home from school because you lived a few streets apart. Sitting side by side on the curb, kicking at loose gravel while talking about nothing and everything all at once.
"Y/n, you walk too slow."
"You walk too fast," you shot back, adjusting your bag on your shoulder. "Not everyone's in a rush to get nowhere."
He huffed, slowing his pace anyway.
Yoongi wasn't easy with people.
You figured that out quickly.
He didn't talk unless he had something worth saying. He didn't smile unless he meant it. He didn't let people in.
But somehow-
He let you.
"Listen to this."
That's how it always started.
One earbud pressed into your hand, the other already in his ear as he leaned closer than necessary, waiting.
You rolled your eyes. "You could at least warn me first."
"I just did."
"That doesn't count."
But you took it anyway.
Always.
Music was his thing. His language. The way he said things he couldn't put into words.
And you learned to understand it.
You learned that when he handed you a song, he was telling you something.
When the bass was heavy, he was frustrated.
When the lyrics were soft, he was thinking too much.
When he didn't say anything after it ended... that was when it mattered most.
"You're going to do something with this someday," you told him once, pulling the earbud out as the song faded.
He scoffed. "Yeah, sure."
"I'm serious, Yoongi."
"So am I. It's not that easy."
"Doesn't mean you won't do it."
He glanced at you then, something unreadable flickering in his eyes.
"You make it sound simple."
"It is simple," you said with a shrug. "You love it. You're good at it. That's kind of the whole point."
He huffed out a quiet laugh. "You're ridiculous."
"Admit it. I'm right."
"...You're annoying."
You grinned. "That's not a no."
He didn't answer.
But he didn't disagree either.
—
It became routine after that.
Late nights. Shared playlists. Conversations that stretched longer than they were supposed to.
Sometimes you'd find him waiting for you without saying a word, just nodding his head toward your usual spot.
"Late again, y/n."
"You're early."
"Barely."
"You've been here ten minutes."
"Five."
"Ten."
"...Five."
You bumped your shoulder into his, smiling.
Sometimes he'd show up with new lyrics scribbled in a notebook, pretending like it wasn't a big deal when he let you read them.
It was never a big deal.
But it meant everything.
"You're the only one who gets it," he muttered once, not looking at you as you handed his notebook back.
You blinked. "Gets what?"
"This," he said vaguely, gesturing between himself, the music, everything he never quite explained. "All of it."
Your chest tightened.
"Well," you said lightly, "good thing you have me then."
He glanced at you, something softer settling in his expression.
"Yeah," he murmured. "Good thing I do."
—
But things started changing.
Slowly at first.
So slowly you almost didn't notice.
He'd cancel plans more often.
Show up late.
Leave early.
"Yoongi, you said you'd be here an hour ago."
"I got busy."
"You always get busy now."
He sighed. "I said I'm here, didn't I?"
More phone calls—quiet ones he'd step away to take.
More nights where he seemed distracted.
"Are you okay?" you asked one evening, watching him stare down at his phone.
"Yeah."
"You don't look okay."
"I'm fine."
"You always say that when you're not fine."
He dragged a hand over his face. "It's just... stuff."
"What kind of stuff?"
"Just stuff," he repeated.
A wall.
"...You know you can tell me things, right?"
"I know, y/n."
But he didn't.
—
The night before he left felt different.
At the time, you couldn't explain why.
Now you know.
He was quieter than usual. Not distant—just... there. Like he was trying to memorize something.
Or someone.
"Play something," you said, nudging his shoulder.
He didn't move.
Instead, he looked at you.
Really looked at you.
It made your stomach twist. "What?"
"...Nothing."
"That didn't sound like nothing."
He hesitated.
Then—
"If I left... would you be okay?"
You blinked. "What kind of question is that?"
"Just answer it."
You laughed softly, trying to brush it off. "I mean... I'd miss you. Obviously."
His expression flickered.
"But you wouldn't just leave without telling me," you added with a small smile. "So I don't really have to worry about that."
Silence.
You frowned slightly. "Yoongi?"
"...Right," he said quietly.
"You're stuck with me, remember?"
A faint smile appeared.
But it didn't reach his eyes.
"Yeah," he murmured. "I know."
—
The next day, he's gone.
No message.
No call.
Nothing.
At first, you think it's temporary.
"Maybe he's just busy," you mumble to yourself, staring at your phone.
You text him anyway.
No response.
A day passes.
Then two.
Then a week.
"Come on, Yoongi..." you whisper, calling again, only to hear the empty tone of a disconnected number.
Your chest tightens.
Then the rumors start.
"He went to Seoul."
"I heard he's training to be an idol."
"He left fast."
Left.
The word echoes in your head.
And suddenly—
Everything makes sense.
The distance.
The late nights.
The question he asked you.
"If I left...would you be okay?"
Your grip tightens around your phone.
He knew.
He knew he was leaving.
And he still didn't tell you.
"...Seriously?" your voice breaks slightly, disbelief and hurt mixing together. "You couldn't even say goodbye?"
The silence feels suffocating. You sit there for a long time, staring at nothing, your thoughts spinning.
