ao3:@viasatellite // I write and doodle and fangirl and bleed dust. [sakura/sasuke. dominique/noe. taichi/chihaya. ryoma/sakuno. anime. literature. art.]
The first time he called you stupid, you were seven years old, sitting on the curb with a scraped knee and tears streaming down your face.
“You’re stupid, you know that?” Sukuna had said, standing over you with his arms crossed. But even then, his hands weren’t as harsh as his words. He had knelt down, slapping a neon Band-Aid over the cut with clumsy fingers. “Stop crying. It’s just blood.”
“Shut up,” you had sniffled, wiping your nose on your sleeve. “You dared me to jump off the swing.”
“Yeah, I didn’t think you’d actually do it.”
That was the baseline. The constant. Sukuna was the boy who pushed you into the dirt and then pulled you back up, dusting you off while complaining about it the entire time.
By the time you hit fourteen, things started shifting. It wasn’t some grand, cinematic epiphany. It was a Tuesday. You were sitting on his bedroom floor, doing algebra homework while he played some first-person shooter on his console. You looked up to ask him a question, and the words just died in your throat.
He had grown over the summer. His shoulders were broader, his jawline sharper, and his voice had dropped an octave that made something in your stomach flip. He caught you staring, pausing the game and turning his head.
“What?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Nothing,” you muttered, quickly looking back down at your textbook. Your face felt hot.
“You’re staring at me like I’ve got two heads. Do I have shit on my face?”
“No, you’re just ugly,” you shot back, a defense mechanism you’d perfected over the years.
Sukuna scoffed, throwing a crumpled-up piece of paper ate your head. “Fuck off. You’re just mad you’re still built like a twig.”
You rolled your eyes, but your heart was hammering against your ribs. That was the year the crush settled in, quiet and persistent. By fifteen, it was a dull ache. By sixteen, it was a living, breathing thing that sat between you on the couch, rode in the passenger seat of his beat-up Honda, and lingered in the spaces between your fingers when your hands brushed.
What you didn’t know was that somewhere between sixteen and eighteen, Sukuna was having a crisis of his own.
He looked at you one night while you were laughing at a stupid joke he made, the streetlights catching the curve of your smile, and it hit him so hard he couldn’t breathe. He was neck-deep in love with you. But Sukuna’s world was chaotic, angry, and unpredictable. You were the only thing that made sense. You were the only constant. If he crossed that line and they crashed and burned—which, knowing him, they would—he would lose you. And he couldn’t survive that.
So, he built a wall. A transparent one, but a wall nonetheless.
When you were nineteen, you tried to break it down.
It was raining, and you were both sitting in his car outside your apartment building. The engine was off, the windows fogging up from your breath. The tension in the small space was suffocating.
“Are you going to go out with him?” Sukuna asked, his voice tight. He was staring straight ahead at the dashboard, his jaw clenched so hard you thought his teeth might crack. He was talking about a guy from your psych class who had asked yo out.
“I don’t know,” you said softly, turning your head to look at his profile. “Do you want me to?”
“I don't know, why the hell are you asking me.”
You shifted in your seat, turning your body toward him. You were so tired of the games. So tired of the almosts. “Give me a reason to say no, Sukuna. Just one.”
He finally looked at you, and the sheer desperation in his eyes made your breath hitch. He looked like he wanted to devour you, to pull you across the console and never let you go. His hand twitched on the steering wheel.
“We could be more, you know,” you whispered, reaching out to touch his wrist.
He flinched, pulling his arm back just an inch, but it felt like a mile. “Don’t.”
“Sukuna—”
“I said don’t,” he snapped, his voice rough. He ran a hand through his hair, looking away. “Don’t ruin this. You’re my best friend. You’re the only good thing I’ve got. Don’t fuck it up by making it complicated.”
The rejection felt like a physical blow. You swallowed hard, nodding slowly as you pulled your hand back to your lap. “Right. Okay. I won’t ruin it.”
You got out of the car that night with a fractured heart, and the wall between you turned to concrete.
College was a masterclass in tiptoeing.
You both fell into a larger circle of friends, which made it easier to hide the tension.
It was a Friday night at Gojo’s off-campus apartment. The music was vibrating through the floorboards, the air thick with the smell of cheap beer and weed. You were sitting on the kitchen counter, swinging your legs, watching the chaos unfold in the living room.
“You look like you’d rather be anywhere else,” a soft voice said.
You looked over to see Choso leaning against the fridge, holding out a red Solo cup filled with water.
“Is it that obvious?” you asked, taking the cup with a grateful smile.
“Only to people paying attention,” he replied, taking a sip of his own drink. His eyes held yours for a second longer than necessary, warm and steady.
Across the room, you felt the weight of a stare. You didn’t even have to look to know it was Sukuna. He was sitting on the arm of the sofa, a beer dangling losely from his fingers, his eyes narrowed as he watched you and Choso.
“Are you two ever gonna just fuck and get it over with?” Gojo yelled over the music, slinging an arm around Sukuna’s shoulders and pointing at you.
The entire room seemed to quiet down for a split second. Utahime smacked the back of Gojo’s head. “Satoru, shut the fuck up.”
“What? I’m just saying what we’re all thinking!” Gojo whined, rubbing his head.
“Fuck off,” Sukuna snarled, shoving Gojo’s arm off him. He didn’t look at you. He just stood up and walked out onto the balcony, slamming the sliding glass door behind him.
You forced a laugh, looking down at your water. “He’s just drunk. Ignore him.”
Choso didn’t laugh. He just watched you carefully. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah,” you lied, your chest aching. “I’m good.”
That was how it went for years. Always okay with how things were, but never enough. Sukuna was always there—he helped you move apartments, he threatened guys who looked at you wrong, he remembered your coffee order down to the exact amount of sugar. But he never crossed the line. He kept you safely in the ‘best friend’ box, terrified that if he took you out, he’d break you.
And you let him. Because having a piece of him was better than having nothing at all.
_______
It was a few weeks before graduation. The reality of the real world was looming over all of you, making everyone a little more reckless, a little more desperate to hold onto the present. You were all gathered in Shoko’s living room, sitting in a messy circle on the floor, surrounded by empty bottles of tequila.
“Alright, Never Have I Ever,” Geto announced, leaning back against the couch. “Never have I ever… failed a class and lied to my parents about it.”
Gojo, Shoko, and Utahime drank.
The game went on, the questions getting progressively more invasive as the alcohol hit. You were sitting cross-legged, your knee almost brushing Sukuna’s. He was quiet tonight, his eyes heavy and dark as he watched the group. Choso was sitting on your other side, his presence a comforting weight.
“My turn,” Shoko said, swirling the amber liquid in her glass. She looked around the circle, “Never have I ever… been in love with someone in this room.”
The room went silent.
Gojo smirked and took a sip. Geto rolled his eyes but drank. Utahime glared at Gojo and took a shot.
You stared at your cup. Your heart was pounding so hard you could hear it in your ears. You could've lied, but you didn't. You were twenty-two years old. You were graduating. You were so goddamn tired of hiding, so you made one selfish thing. One desperate move that you onow would open a pandora box within this corcle.
You raised your cup to your lips and took a long drink.
Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Sukuna freeze. His hand, which had been resting on his knee, gripped the fabric of his jeans so hard his knuckles turned white. He didn’t drink.
“No,” Nanami said, adjusting his glasses. “That’s not the game. Leave it.”
“Don't be a party pooper,” Satoru suddenly said, a hint of mischievousness strengthen by the alcohol evident in his voice. He turned his head to look at you, his eyes burning into yours. “Who?”
The room felt like it had been sucked into a vacuum. Sukuna shifted beside you, his knees tensing, but he didn’t say a word.
“Satoru, drop it,” Geto warned softly.
“What! I'm just asking?” Satoru repeated, ignoring everyone else. You met his gaze, the tequila making you brave, or maybe just stupid. “You want to know?”
“Yeah. I do.”
You didn't need to mention his name, you looked beside you; towards Sukuna, and he was looking intensely at you, your voice remarkably steady despite the way your hands were shaking. “You. Since we were fourteen.”
Someone—probably Utahime—sucked in a sharp breath.
Sukuna stared at you, the words hitting him like a physical blow. His expression shattered, the indifference slipping to reveal absolute panic. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out.
“But it doesn’t matter,” you continued, forcing a bitter smile. You set your cup down on the floor and stood up. “Because you’d rather be safe than be with me. I’m gonna go get some air.”
You walked out of the apartment, the heavy silence following you down the hallway. You made it to the alleyway behind the building before the tears started falling. You leaned against the brick wall, pulling your jacket tighter around yourself against the chill of the night.
The heavy metal door creaked open a minute later. You didn’t have to look to know who it was.
“Did you mean it?” Sukuna asked. His voice was stripped of all its usual arrogance.
You wiped your cheeks roughly. “Why would I lie about that? I tried once when we were in freshman, remember?”
He stepped closer, stopping just a few feet away. He looked wrecked. “Since we were fourteen?”
“Yes, Sukuna. Are you really that blind?”
“I’m not blind,” he snapped, running both hands over his face. “I’m just… fuck. You don’t get it.”
“Then explain it to me!” you yelled, pushing off the wall. “Explain why you look at me like you want me, why you act like I’m yours, but the second I try to make it real, you push me away!”
“Because I ruin everything!” he yelled back, his chest heaving. “Look at me! I’m a fucking mess. I’m angry, I’m selfish, and I destroy everything I touch. You are the only beautiful thing in my life. If we try this, and we crash and burn… I lose you. I can’t lose you. I would rather have you as my friend forever than have you as mine for a year and lose you for the rest of my life.”
The confession hung in the air, heavy and devastating.
You looked at him, really looked at him. At the fear in his eyes, the desperate way he was holding himself together. He loved you. He loved you so much it terrified him.
But it wasn’t enough.
“Sukuna,” you whispered, your voice breaking. “By not trying… you’re losing me anyway. I can’t keep waiting for you to be brave enough to love me out loud.”
He flinched, taking a step back as if you had struck him. “What are you saying?”
“I’m saying I’m done waiting. I'm asking you now, please... just please let's try and make it work.” He stared at you long, voice dying in his throat. He wasn't used to feeling anything other than anger, of all the times he felt happiness.. it was all during the times he shared with you.
He wasn't sure if he can risk losing you, the first time he felt like the world favored him was today, when he heard that you wantes to be with him.. but what can a broken man do when he was raised to believe that all the things he own will be destroyed one day?
When Sukuna didn't speak, you walked past him, your shoulder brushing his. He didn’t reach out to stop you. He just stood there in the dark, letting you go to save the friendship.
_____
Four years later.
The music swells, a soft acoustic melody that fills the garden. The sun is shining, catching the delicate lace of your white dress as you stand at the beginning of the aisle.
You take a deep breath, clutching the bouquet of white roses in your hands. Your father pats your arm, smiling proudly.
“Ready?” he asks.
“Ready,” you whisper.
You start walking. The faces of your friends and family blur together, a sea of smiles and happy tears. Gojo is dabbing his eyes dramatically with a handkerchief, Geto is laughing at him, Shoko is smiling softly, and Utahime looks like she’s trying not to cry.
And then, at the end of the aisle, is Choso.
He looks incredibly handsome in his tailored suit, his dark hair pulled back neatly. But it’s his eyes that ground you. They are so full of love, so steady, so absolutely certain. Choso never hesitated.
From the moment you took his hand that night after the party when you went inside, after Sukuna stayed quiet, after Sukuna stayed a coward; Choso on the otherhand made it clear that he wanted you. All of you. He wasn’t afraid of ruining anything, because he was determined to build something unbreakable.
You smile, your heart swelling with a quiet, peaceful kind of love.
You walked, eyes catching the movement in the front row, on the bride’s side.
Sukuna.
He’s wearing a suit, which is a miracle in itself. His hair is pushed back, and he looks older, sharper. He is your Man of Honor, a title he accepted with a tight smile and a nod when you asked him six months ago.
You meet his eyes as you pass by his row.
He is smiling at you, a soft, genuine smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. His eyes are screaming. They are filled with a grief so profound, an agony so deep, it almost makes you stumble.
In that split second, an entire lifetime passes between you. The scraped knees, the late-night drives, the shared looks across crowded rooms, the unspoken words that suffocated you both.
He didn’t ruin the friendship.
He kept his promise. He stayed your best friend, your constant, the guy who helped you pick out the catering menu for your wedding and threatened the florist when they got the order wrong.
He didn’t ruin the friendship.
As you break eye contact and look back at Choso, stepping up to the altar and taking your soon-to-be husband’s hands, Sukuna realizes the devastating truth.
He didn’t ruin the friendship.
But he never won either.
He watches you smile at Choso, the way your eyes crinkle at the corners, the way you look so incredibly safe and loved. He swallows hard, the lump in his throat feeling like shattered glass. He wishes he could say he never lost you. He wishes he could say that keeping you as a friend was enough.
Choso’s thumb gently strokes the back of your hand as the officiant speaks; Sukuna lowers his head, staring at the grass beneath his polished shoes.
He kept you in his life. But he lost you all the same. Atleast he didn't ruin the friendship... right?
an: the way i yearn for bestfriend sukuna fic where he doesn't end up w reader; i've had the song ruin the friendship stuck in my mind for the past 2 weeks and I had to write this down.. i should've just killed him off here, but i can't. ⚰️🫵🏻
Summary: You were only supposed to help him—cook, clean, and leave. Nothing more. But in a house too quiet and a man too broken, your presence became something he couldn’t ignore… even if he tried. While he slowly begins to see you, you’re already learning how to step away. Because some feelings grow in silence— and some distances are created before they’re too late.
Status: Three-shot | Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3
Pairing: Idol!Yoongi x Reader
Word Count: 9.4k~ | Full: 25.2k~
Genre: Idol!AU, Angst, Fluff, Smut
Rated: MDNI, 18+ 🔞
Tags: ARMY, Strangers to Lovers, Yoongi is a Jerk, Slice of Life, Slow Burn
Posting Date: May 26, 2026
SCC: Ko-fi ☕️ · Taglist 📝
That change… finally became visible. Not something big, not something that instantly turned everything warm—but clear enough for you to notice without having to look for it.
Min Yoongi started to… smile. Not often. Not wide. But enough. And every time it appeared, you couldn’t deny one thing—it was sweet. Too contrasting with all the coldness he had shown all this time.
And that was exactly what made you more uneasy. Because a change like that… is never simple.
That morning, as usual, you stood in the kitchen. Cutting ingredients, adjusting the heat, tasting the food with full focus like you always did.
But today… you weren’t alone. Yoongi sat in the living room. Not just passing by. Not just showing up briefly. He was really sitting there. Quiet. Watching.
You could feel his gaze even without looking directly. You held on for a few minutes. Trying to focus. Trying to ignore it. But eventually, you gave in.
“What are you doing there?”
You glanced over slightly, brows furrowed.
“Usually you come down when the food is ready.”
Yoongi didn’t answer right away. He leaned back casually, his eyes still on you. “Just felt like it.”
That answer was light. Too light.
You let out a soft sigh. “It’s distracting.”
Not harsh. But honestly. He instead… smiled a little. “Then don’t look.”
You went quiet for a moment. Then retur to your cooking. But now… you were aware. Every movement you made was being watched. And that… made you uncomfortable. Not because you were scared. But because you knew—if this continued, the boundaries you kept… could slowly disappear.
In the following days, the pattern kept repeating. You came. Cooked. And Yoongi… was already there. Sometimes sitting. Sometimes standing near the kitchen. Sometimes pretending to be busy with his phone, but clearly his eyes kept drifting back to you.
And you—remained the same. Professional. Neutral. Keeping your distance. Even though inside… you were starting to feel something you couldn’t ignore.
Meanwhile, outside the house—Yoongi’s life started moving again. BTS was preparing for a comeback. Practice schedules became packed. Studio, meetings, choreography rehearsals, recordings—everything filled his days again.
And there… that change also started to show.
“Hyung, why are you smiling to yourself?”
Taehyung’s voice came with a small laugh. Yoongi immediately looked away.
“I’m not.”
“Liar,” Jimin added, stepping closer. “You’ve been different lately.”
“Different how?” Yoongi stayed flat.
“More… alive?” Jimin shrugged.
Yoongi didn’t answer. But his hand had already picked up his phone. Checking the time. Once. Twice. Repeatedly.
“Hyung, do you have somewhere to be?” Namjoon asked from afar.
“No.”
“Then why do you keep checking the time?”
“Just because.”
But it wasn’t just because. Not at all. Because even when they finished practice and someone suggested—
“Let’s eat, we haven’t eaten since noon.”
Yoongi immediately answered without thinking. “I’m going home.”
“Hey, eat first,” Jimin said.
“No, I’ll eat at home.”
“You’ve been eating at home a lot lately,” Taehyung narrowed his eyes. “You’re usually the laziest.”
Yoongi just grabbed his jacket. “Someone cooks.”
The sentence slipped out just like that. And instantly made a few heads turn.
“Who?” Jimin asked, curious.
Yoongi paused for a moment. Then—“Someone.” Short. Cut off. Leaving no room to continue. And that only made them more suspicious.
Meanwhile, at home—you didn’t know any of that. You only knew one thing—minutes before he usually came back, everything was already prepared. And somehow—lately, the timing was always perfect. As if he was really paying attention.
The door opened. Yoongi walked in. His gaze immediately went to the kitchen. To you. And there was one small second—where his expression… changed. Lighter. Calmer.
“You’re done?”
“Yes.”
You still answered briefly. Not lingering. He sat. Ate. Without comments. Without criticism. And you stood there, like always—but now, you could feel something different. Not just from him. But from yourself too.
Because even though you kept telling yourself—this is just work. It shouldn’t be more. The truth was—the more days passed, the harder it became to pretend that everything… was still that simple.
. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.
Those days went by… too quietly. But not a comfortable kind of quiet. More like a quiet that held something unfinished.
In Min Yoongi’s mind, your words kept looping—
We need to keep our distance. You don’t belong in my world.
He tried to ignore it. Really tried.
Went back to practice schedules, to the studio, to the routines that used to be his escape. But strangely, now even in the middle of all that… his thoughts kept returning home. To the kitchen. To you. To the little things he never used to think mattered. And the more he tried to hold back—the clearer it felt.
He couldn’t.
Not because he was stubborn. But because that feeling… was already there. And it didn’t leave. So he stopped fighting it. Not in a big way. Not with something that forced things immediately. But… slowly. Carefully. Like someone who didn’t want to ruin something he hadn’t even had yet.
At home, that change started to be felt. You were still the same. Still keeping your distance. Still speaking only when necessary. Still standing on the line you drew yourself.
But Yoongi—started getting closer. Not directly. Not obviously.
That day, you were cooking as usual when you felt someone standing near you. Closer than usual. You didn’t turn right away.
“What are you doing?”
“You can see it yourself,” you replied.
Your tone stayed flat. He didn’t leave. Just stood there. Watching. Seconds. Minutes.
“Are you tired?”
That question… was simple. But different. You paused for a moment. Slightly surprised.
“I’m fine.”
He nodded slightly. Didn’t push. Didn’t continue. But also… didn’t leave.
Another day, you almost dropped a bowl because your hand was a little slippery. Before you could react—his hand caught it first. Reflex. Fast. Close.
The distance between you… was too narrow for those few seconds. You immediately pulled your hand away.
“Yeah, thank you.”
Short. Stepping back again. Like always. But Yoongi didn’t say anything. Just watched. And realized—every time he moved closer, you always stepped back. And that… didn’t stop him. It made him more careful. Slower. More… consistent.
Another night, when you finished cleaning the kitchen and were about to leave—
“Have you eaten?”
You stopped. Turned. “Yes.”
“Liar.”
You frowned slightly.
“I saw you haven’t eaten.”
You went quiet for a moment. Not expecting him to notice that much. “I’ll eat at home.”
He didn’t answer immediately. Then—“Just take some here.”
You looked at him. “I’m paid to cook, not to eat.”
“Just take it.”
His tone wasn’t forcing. But didn’t leave room to refuse. You hesitated. A few seconds. Then finally… took a little. Not because you wanted to.
But because you… were tired of rejecting small things like this. And that—was a small mistake that started opening something bigger.
In the following days, things like that kept happening. Small. Almost invisible. But consistent.
He didn’t force conversations anymore. Didn’t look for big reasons. He just… was there. Near you. In a way you couldn’t reject without seeming excessive. And without realizing it—you started to… not always step back. Not always. Sometimes you stay. Sometimes you didn’t move away immediately. Sometimes you let the conversation last a little longer. And that was enough. To slowly change everything.
One afternoon, you were sitting for a bit after finishing cooking. Tang-ie was sleeping on your lap, the house quiet as usual. Yoongi sat across from you. Not speaking. Just watching.
“Why do you keep looking at me?” you finally asked.
He didn’t answer right away. A few seconds. Then—“Am I not allowed?”
You sighed softly. “You’re weird.”
He smiled a little. And again—that same smile. The one that made your chest… uneasy. Not because you didn’t like it. But because you knew—if you started liking it. And that was what you had been avoiding from the beginning.
“You said we should keep our distance,” he said softly.
You stiffened slightly. “Yes.”
“But you’re still here.”
That sentence… didn’t sound like an accusation. More like… a confession. You didn’t answer right away. Because you knew—he was right.
If you really wanted to keep your distance—you would have left from the start. But you didn’t. And that… was something you didn’t want to admit.
“You too,” you replied quietly.
He smiled faintly. And this time… no one responded. Just a different kind of silence. Closer. More honest. And for the first time—you felt something you had been holding back… starting to waver. Not because you were weak. But because he—was no longer pushing you. No longer hurting you. He just… stayed there. Slowly. Consistently. And somehow—that was much harder to fight.
. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.
The weekend came, and for the first time in the past few weeks… the house in UN Village felt truly empty.
There were no small footsteps in the kitchen. No warm aroma of food that was usually there even before he truly realized he was hungry. No you.
Yoongi stood for quite a while in the living room, staring at the neat kitchen—too neat. Nothing was wrong, but that was exactly what felt strange. He opened the fridge. The ingredients were still there. But nothing felt… “ready.”
He closed it again. Let out a sigh. And for the first time, he truly realized—not just the food he had been waiting for every day.
That night, he sat on the sofa, phone in hand. The screen was open on a chat. Your name. He stared at it for quite a while. Typing. Deleting. Typing again.
Then finally—
Yoongi:
What did you use…
for what you cooked yesterday?
Sent. A few seconds. No reply. He frowned slightly.
A few minutes later—his phone vibrated.
You:
Which one?
Your reply… short.
Like always.
But enough to make the corner of his lips lift slightly.
Yoongi:
The soup.
You:
Oh. Just standard.
He stared at the screen.
“Just standard” to you… but not to him.
He typed again.
Yoongi:
How do you make it?
You paused for a few seconds when reading that.
Honestly—it was strange. Not because of the question. But because of… who was asking. Min Yoongi. And he… texted you.
You let out a small sigh before replying.
You:
You want to cook?
Yoongi:
Maybe...
The answer was short.
But you could imagine him sitting alone in that house, trying to… fill something empty.
And somehow—that made your chest feel a little warm. That night, your chat wasn’t long. But enough. Enough to make you realize—he was really… looking for you.
Saturday passed. And without you realizing, there was one person who was busier than usual—not in the studio. Not in practice. But on Instagram.
Yoongi opened your profile. Scrolling. Slowly. Not in a rush. Looking at simple photos—coffee, books, corners of a table, small things he had never thought about before. Then—your story appeared. You were sitting in a café, a cup of coffee in front of you, a book open. Simple. Calm. And somehow—he watched it until the end. Not once. Several times. As if that… was enough to make his Saturday feel a little better.
Sunday came. And he automatically opened Instagram again. Looking for the small circle at the top of the screen. Your name. Not there. He waited. A few hours. Still nothing. His brows began to furrow. Strange. This shouldn’t be a problem. But—it felt like… something was missing.
Finally, he opened the chat again. Without much thought—
Yoongi:
Where are you?
Sent.
You, who were at home, reading a book as usual, saw that notification and… stopped. You stared at the screen for a few seconds. It still felt strange. Him. Who used to not even really acknowledge your existence—now… asking where you were.
You typed slowly.
You:
At home
A few seconds.
The reply came quickly.
Yoongi:
Not going anywhere?
You smiled faintly.
You:
No
Yoongi:
Why didn’t you update?
You paused. Then let out a small sigh.
You:
Why are you paying that much attention?
Silence on the screen for a few seconds. As if he just realized… he was too obvious. Then—
Yoongi:
It’s nothing
Short. But you knew—that wasn’t “nothing.” You stared at the screen a little longer. And for the first time—you felt something… different. A feeling you had been trying to suppress from the beginning.
You were also starting to get used to his presence. To that routine. To the fact that every day… he was there. And now—two days without it—it actually felt different. Slightly. Subtle. But real. You took a slow breath. Typed again.
You:
Have you eaten?
This time, you were the one asking. Yoongi looked at that message. And for a few seconds—he just stared. Then the corner of his lips lifted slightly.
Yoongi:
Not yet
You closed your eyes briefly. As if trying to hold something back. But in the end—you still replied.
You:
Don’t eat late.
Simple. Nothing more. Nothing less. But enough to make something inside him… feel warm again.
And in two different places—you both sat quietly with your phones. Trying to convince yourselves—that this was still within limits. Still safe. Still… just normal. When slowly—you both were starting to realize. Nothing was truly “normal” anymore.
Monday came faster than usual. Or maybe… it just felt different.
In the big house in UN Village, Min Yoongi was already awake earlier. There was no clear reason—no important schedule that morning. But he was already standing in the kitchen, opening the fridge, then closing it again.
Empty. Not because there was no food. But because you weren’t there yet. He glanced at the clock. Still too early.
He clicked his tongue softly, then sat on the sofa… but not really sitting calmly. His hand opened his phone several times, then locked it again. His foot moved slightly, restless without realizing it.
“Strange,” he muttered softly.
Even he realized it himself. He was waiting. And that wasn’t something usual for him. When the sound of the door finally came—he immediately turned.
You walked in as usual, taking off your shoes, unaware that someone had been watching you since the very first second.
“Morning.”
You greeted briefly. Yoongi stood up from the sofa, too quickly to look casual.
“Yeah… morning.”
You paused for a moment. Looked over. Something was different. His expression… lighter. And somehow—that made your heart feel a little uneasy too.
“You’re already here?” you asked.
“Yeah.”
“That’s rare.”
He shrugged. “Just woke up.”
An answer that… didn’t really explain anything.
You nodded slightly, then went straight to the kitchen like usual. But that day… you could feel something. That gaze. Again. And this time… clearer.
You tried to focus. Cutting ingredients. Adjusting the heat. But a few times you unconsciously grabbed the wrong spoon, or paused too long in one spot.
“What’s wrong with you?”
His voice suddenly close. You turned. He was already standing not far from you. Closer than usual.
“Nothing.”
“You grabbed the wrong salt.”
You immediately looked at your hand. True.
You clicked your tongue softly. “Yeah.”
He smiled a little. And that—made you even more unfocused.
“Don’t look,” you said softly.
He raised a brow. “Why?”
“It’s distracting.”
He chuckled softly. And that sound—rare. Warm.
“Now I want to look even more.”
You held your breath for a moment. Then returned to your cooking, trying to ignore the feeling that was starting to… become unstable.
That day passed quickly. And without realizing—the sky turned dark. Rain fell. At first softly. Then heavier.
The sound of water hitting the window was loud enough to make the house feel smaller… closer.
You stood near the door, looking outside. “It’s raining.”
“Yeah,” Yoongi replied from behind.
You sighed softly. “I’ll wait until it stops.”
A few minutes. It didn’t stop. It got heavier. You looked at the clock. It was already quite late.
“I’ll just go home,” you said finally, taking your bag.
Before you could open the door—Yoongi’s voice stopped you.
“Don’t.”
You turned.
“The rain’s too heavy.”
“I can—”
“I’ll drive you.”
Immediate. No pause.
You went quiet.
“No need,” you said quickly. “I can order—”
“No.”
His tone was firm. Not harsh. But clearly… not leaving room to refuse.
“I’ll drive you.”
You hesitated. A lot. But seeing the rain outside… and seeing his expression—you didn’t have many reasons left. Finally, you nodded slightly. “Okay…”
A few minutes later, you were already sitting in his car. And somehow—that felt far more nerve-wracking than it should have been.
The car interior was warm. Quiet. Only the sound of rain and the engine running softly. Yoongi drove with one hand, focused on the road. And you—you couldn’t help but notice.
The way his hand held the steering wheel. The way his jaw tightened slightly when concentrating. The way he occasionally glanced at the rearview mirror. Simple. But… handsome. Too handsome. Even though he was just wearing casual clothes. Your heartbeat became more irregular. You quickly turned your gaze to the window. The rain outside looked blurred. As if trying to calm yourself.
A few minutes passed. Silent. Until finally—
“Sorry.”
His voice was soft. You turned. He was still focused on the road. But his voice… serious. “For everything I’ve done.”
You didn’t answer immediately.
“The way I talked to you,” he continued. “The way I treated you.”
His hand tightened slightly on the wheel. “I know it wasn’t right.”
Silence. Only the sound of rain.
“I’m not asking you to answer now,” he continued softly. “I’m also not asking you to believe me right away.”
You looked at him. Quiet.
“But I’ll fix it,” he said. “Slowly.”
He took a breath. Still not looking at you.
“I’ll make you see it yourself… that I’m serious.”
That sentence—wasn’t big. Not dramatic. But precisely because of that—it felt more real. You looked down slightly. Your heart was still beating fast. Not because you were scared. Not just because you were awkward. But because… you were starting to believe him. A little. And that was the most dangerous part. Because you knew—if you started believing… you might not be able to keep your distance like before.
The car stopped in front of your house. The rain was still falling. You didn’t get out immediately. Just sat for a moment. Looking ahead. Then softly—
“Okay.”
That was all. A simple answer. But enough to make Yoongi finally turn to you. And in between the sound of rain—something had finally changed. Slowly. Surely. And this time—neither of you was really trying to hold it back anymore.
. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.
That night should have ended… in the parking area in front of your house. It should have been after you got out of the car, after you said that soft “okay,” everything returned to normal. But it didn’t.
Because a few minutes after you got to your room—your phone vibrated. Min Yoongi’s name appeared on the screen. You stared at it for a few seconds. It still felt strange. Still unfamiliar. Then you opened it.
Yoongi:
Are you in your room?
You immediately smiled a little. Simple. But… warm.
You:
Yes
The reply came quickly.
Yoongi:
Okay.
That was it. You thought it ended there. But a few seconds later—
Yoongi:
Is it still raining?
You let out a small sigh. Strange. Not important. Especially since you were in the same city. Why ask about the same weather? But you still replied.
You:
Yes
Yoongi:
Don’t go out again.
You paused. Staring at the screen. Why were you listening to him?
You:
Okay
And since that night—your chats… didn’t stop. Never anything important. Sometimes completely random.
Yoongi:
If yesterday’s soup is reheated, does it still taste good?
You:
Depends how you reheat it.
Yoongi:
If I do it wrong, will it taste bad?
You:
Yes.
Yoongi:
…
You even laughed softly by yourself in your room.
Or—
Yoongi:
You almost dropped the spoon earlier, right?
You:
You pay a lot of attention.
Yoongi:
Just normal.
“Just normal,” he said. Even though you knew—it wasn’t normal. The following days changed without you realizing.
Every time you got home—
“Have you arrived?”
Every night—
“Don’t stay up late.”
Every morning—
“Are you awake?”
Small things. But consistent. And more dangerously—you always replied. Without realizing. Without being forced. The walls you built so high—slowly… cracked. Not because he broke them. But because you yourself… started opening them.
The next Monday, you stood in front of his house door in UN Village. Your heart—wasn’t normal. Even though this wasn’t your first time coming. But now… it felt different.
You opened the door. Walked in. And as if it was already routine—he was there. Sitting casually in the living room. Turning when you entered. And—smiling.
“You’re late.”
You immediately stopped in place.
“I’m… like usual.”
“No,” he said casually. “Today you’re two minutes later.”
You frowned. “You counted?”
He shrugged. “Just felt like it.”
You immediately walked to the kitchen, pretending not to care. Even though—your cheeks were already getting warm.
That day, as usual, you cooked. And as usual—he was near you. But this time… closer.
You stood in front of the upper cabinet, trying to reach a glass that was a bit too high. Before you could grab it—his hand was already above you. Taking the glass. His body close. Too close. Your breath hitched.
He handed the glass to you. “Here.”
You took it quickly. “Thank you.”
Then immediately stepped back one step. Reflex.
Yoongi saw that. And… smiled slightly. “What’s wrong with you?”
“What?”
“Like you’re avoiding me.”
You immediately busied yourself at the sink. “No.”
“You clearly are.”
“No.”
He stepped a little closer again. “Are you scared?”
You immediately turned quickly. “I’m not scared.”
“Then?”
You went quiet. No safe answer.
He leaned slightly, bringing his face closer—not too close, but enough to make your heart completely lose control. “Nervous?”
His voice was soft. Almost like a whisper. And that—was dangerous. You immediately stepped back again. “Ugh… you’re annoying.”
He chuckled softly. And again— that sound made everything more unstable. “You said you’re not scared.”
“I’m not.”
“But you stepped back.”
You glared at him—or at least tried to look annoyed. When in reality—you just… didn’t know what to do.
“Are you going to help or annoy me?” you asked.
He shrugged. “Help by annoying.”
You held back a smile. Hard. Too hard.
Days like that kept repeating. Small things. Close. Warm. And without realizing—you started waiting for it.
Waiting for him to be in the living room. Waiting for his texts. Waiting for the little things you used to avoid. And that—that was what scared you the most. Because you knew—you were no longer fully in the same place as before. And he—never stopped getting closer. Slowly. Consistently. As if he truly intended… to not let you drift away anymore.
. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.
The following days felt… too light for something you were initially afraid of. The changes in Min Yoongi were no longer something small you had to search for. Now… they were clear. And that was exactly what made you even more uneasy. Because he was no longer just “there.” He was truly… getting closer.
That day, you were standing in the kitchen, trying to reach something from the top shelf. Your fingertips almost touched it—but not quite. You lifted yourself slightly on your toes. Still not enough. And before you tried again—two hands suddenly appeared on either side of you. Holding the edge of the counter. Trapping you between his body.
You froze instantly. Your breath caught. Yoongi stood right behind you. Close. Too close.
“What are you doing?”
His voice was low. So close to your ear. Then you turned your body around.
“I… I’m getting that,” you answered, your voice softer than you realized.
His hand moved past your head, grabbing the item you meant. But he… didn’t step back right away. Still there. Still close. Your heart—was already a mess. You could feel his breath. Warm. Slow.
And somehow… everything felt like it stopped. You swallowed slowly. Then—without realizing—you closed your eyes. For a split second. You thought… he would—
And suddenly—a soft laugh was heard. Close. Warm. “What are you doing closing your eyes?”
You immediately opened them. Your face heated up instantly.
“I—I didn’t—”
Before you could finish—he leaned a little closer—and… He gently patted your head.
You completely froze.
Yoongi stepped back slightly, still with a faint smile on his face. “Cute.”
You couldn’t respond right away. Your heart felt… too loud. Too fast.
“Ugh… what are you even doing,” you muttered softly, trying to sound annoyed but clearly failing.
He chuckled again. And this time… didn’t try to get closer again. As if he knew—that was enough. No need for more. No need to rush. And that—was what made everything feel more real.
Since that day, you couldn’t act normal anymore. Every time he was close—you got nervous. Every time he spoke—you became too aware of his tone. Every time he looked at you—you had to pretend you didn’t notice. Even though you did. Everything.
And Yoongi—clearly knew. But he didn’t push. Didn’t force. He just… stayed there. In the same way. Slow. Consistent.
That night, when you finished working and were getting ready to go home—you grabbed your bag as usual. “I’m heading home.”
“I’ll take you.”
Direct. No pause.
You let out a small sigh. “No need, it’s not raining.”
He was already standing, taking his car keys. “I’ll take you.”
“Aren’t you tired?”
“No.”
His tone was casual. But clear. Not something you could refuse. You finally gave in. “Okay…”
In the car, the atmosphere felt… different than before. Not awkward. But not entirely relaxed either. More like—you both knew something had changed. And neither of you wanted to say it first.
Yoongi drove like usual. Focused. Calm. And you—once again couldn’t help but notice.
His hands on the steering wheel. The side profile of his face. The way he occasionally glanced at the road with sharp but calm eyes. And without realizing—you smiled a little.
“What?”
You snapped out of it. “Nothing.”
He glanced briefly. “You smiled.”
“I didn’t.”
He smirked slightly. “Liar.”
You turned toward the window. Trying to hide it. Even though—it clearly didn’t work.
A few minutes later, the car stopped in front of your house. You unbuckled your seatbelt.
“Thank you.”
You were about to get out—but his voice stopped you. “You’re coming tomorrow, right?”
You paused. Turned. The question was simple. But the way he asked—it wasn’t.
“Yeah,” you answered softly.
He nodded slightly. Didn’t say anything else. But his gaze—was enough. And as you got out of the car, walking toward your house—you could feel one thing becoming clearer every day—you were no longer just trying to hold on. You were starting to… fall. Slowly. Without realizing it. And this time—no one was really trying to stop it anymore.
. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.
That morning, you still came. Like usual. Even though… it didn’t fully feel usual. Your steps were slightly slower as you entered his house. You still took off your shoes, still went straight to the kitchen, still tried to do everything as if nothing had changed.
Even though your body felt heavy. Your head slightly dizzy. And you knew… you weren’t really fit. But you still came. Because this was your job. And you didn’t want to look weak.
Tang-ie greeted you as usual, but this time you only managed to pet him briefly before opening the fridge. Cold. Too cold.
You stood in front of the fridge a little longer than usual, trying to focus on the ingredients—but your vision was slightly blurry.
“What’s wrong with you?”
Min Yoongi’s voice came from behind. You immediately closed the fridge.
“Nothing’s wrong.”
You tried to sound normal. But you didn’t turn around. And that was already suspicious enough.
Yoongi stepped closer. “You look pale.”
“You’re exaggerating.”
“You look pale,” he repeated, softer.
You took a breath. “Just lack of sleep.”
You started taking ingredients, trying to ignore him. But your hands trembled slightly as you held the knife. And before you could start—Yoongi immediately took it from your hand.
You were startled.
“Sit.”
You shook your head immediately. “No, I can—”
“Sit.”
His tone was firm. Not loud. But… not something you could argue with.
“I’m paid to cook,” you tried again.
He looked at you. For a while.
“And I said sit.”
Silence. A few seconds. You exhaled softly. And for the first time—you didn’t resist. You walked to the sofa. Sat down. Still feeling uneasy. Still feeling guilty.
Meanwhile in the kitchen—Yoongi stood. Alone. Looking at the ingredients you usually handled so easily.
He stayed still for a moment. Then… started. His movements weren’t as smooth as yours. Not as fast. But enough. He remembered. The way you cut. The way you cooked. The small things that all this time… he had been paying attention to.
Meanwhile, you on the sofa—at first still tried to sit upright. Waiting. Holding on. But your body… wasn’t that strong. Your head felt heavy. Your eyes slowly closed. And without realizing—you fell asleep.
Yoongi finished cooking. Not perfect. But decent.
He wiped his hands, then walked to the living room. And stopped. You were asleep on the sofa. Your position slightly tilted, your hands folded at your side, your face looking… tired. Paler than usual.
He stood there. For a few seconds. Watching. No intention to wake you up. No heart to do it.
He walked closer. Slowly. Sat beside you. Still silent. Just watching. And somehow—his chest felt… strange. Not tight. Not light either. More like… something he couldn’t explain.
A few seconds later—without you realizing—your body moved slightly. A reflex. Searching for comfort. And slowly… you leaned against him. Your head fell onto his shoulder. Warm. Close.
Yoongi froze instantly. For a moment. But he didn’t move. Didn’t pull away. Didn’t stop it either. He just… stayed still. Letting it happen. Slowly, he adjusted his position slightly. Shifting his shoulder so you’d be more comfortable. His hand moved hesitantly—then stopped. Not touching you. But close enough. As if ready… if you needed it.
Tang-ie climbed onto the sofa, sitting near your feet, looking for a moment… then staying still too. The room was quiet. Calm. And for the first time—there was no distance you forced. No boundaries you held. There was only you… asleep on his shoulder. And him—who didn’t want you to wake up too soon.
Yoongi stared straight ahead. But his mind… was full. About you. About everything that had changed. About how without realizing—you had already become a part of this place. And maybe—part of him too.
. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.
You slowly woke up. The living room lights were already dim, leaving only a soft, warm glow. For a few seconds, you stayed still… trying to remember where you were. Then you realized—earlier, your head had been resting against something warm. And now… you had shifted slightly.
You turned your head. Beside you, Min Yoongi was asleep. His position slightly tilted, one arm folded at his side, his face looking… much calmer than usual. No cold expression, no distance. Just… peaceful.
You stayed quiet for a few seconds. Strange. All of this felt… too different from when you first met. You glanced at the table. The food. It's already cold. And somehow… your chest felt warm. He cooked. For you.
You took a slow breath, then moved a little closer. “Yoongi…”
Your voice was soft. No response. You hesitated for a moment, then lightly touched his arm.
“Yoongi… wake up.”
He let out a small groan, his brows slightly furrowed, then slowly opened his eyes. For a few seconds… he looked confused. Then—his focus landed on you.
“You’re awake…” his voice was still hoarse.
You nodded slightly. “Yeah. Sorry… I fell asleep.”
He immediately sat up, almost reflexively. “How are you? Still dizzy?”
The question came quickly. Too quickly. You were a little surprised.
“I’m better now.”
He looked at you for a moment, making sure. Then nodded. “Good.”
You glanced at the table. “The food… is already cold.”
He looked too, then immediately stood up.
“I’ll heat it.”
You were about to stand as well, but he stopped you right away. “Just sit.”
His tone wasn’t harsh. But… clear. You finally stayed still. Sitting. Watching him in the kitchen. His movements still weren’t as smooth as yours. But now… there was something different. He was serious. Focused. As if it mattered. And somehow—that made your chest feel… strange.
A few minutes later, the food was warm again. You both sat at the table. Facing each other. And for the first time—eating together like this felt… very different. No comments. No criticism. No rigid distance. Just—warm. Quiet. But comfortable.
You took a bite. And without realizing—smiled. He noticed immediately.
“What?”
You shook your head slightly. “Nothing.”
But—it tasted good. Not perfect like your cooking. But… enough. And more than that—there was effort in it.
After finishing, you stood up slowly. “I’m going home.”
He immediately stood too. “Who’s at home with you?”
You paused slightly. “No one.”
His brows furrowed instantly. “No one?”
“Yeah.”
He stayed quiet for a moment. Clearly didn’t like that answer. Especially seeing your condition today.
“You… should just stay over.”
You turned quickly. “What?”
He hesitated a little now. But continued. “Just stay here. You’re sick.”
You were completely blank for a few seconds. Then… you almost laughed. “That’s absurd.” Direct. No filter.
Yoongi went silent. And for the first time… he seemed aware. “Yeah…”
He rubbed the back of his neck slowly. “It’s… kind of unreasonable.”
You held back a smile. The situation was awkward. But also… funny. In the end—he still grabbed his car keys. “I’ll take you home.”
And you didn’t refuse. In the car, the atmosphere wasn’t as tense as before.
Lighter. Closer.
When you arrived at your house—you got out. “Thank you.”
“Yeah.”
He was still sitting there, looking at you. “Go rest right away.”
“Yeah.”
You went inside. Closed the door. And a few seconds later—your phone vibrated.
Yoongi:
Are you in your room?
You smiled.
You:
Yeah.
A few minutes—
Yoongi:
Take your medicine.
You:
Okay.
Then again—
Yoongi:
If you feel dizzy again, tell me.
You even let out a small laugh. It was obvious. He was worried. And honestly… it was cute. But also warm.
You went to your room, took a quick shower, trying to freshen up. And without realizing—you left your phone for quite a while.
When you came out—the screen was full of notifications. Several messages. And one… video call. You froze instantly.
“…Seriously?”
Your phone vibrated again. Video call. From Min Yoongi. You hesitated. A lot. But finally—you answered. His face appeared right away on the screen. Hair slightly messy, still in casual clothes, his expression… clearly worried.
“Where were you?”
Straight to the point. No small talk. You almost laughed.
“I was showering.”
He paused for a moment. Then let out a breath. As if he could finally calm down.
“You didn’t reply.”
“You even video called?”
“I was worried something happened.”
Simple. Honest. And that… made your chest feel warm again.
You looked at the screen. Strange. Everything felt strange. But also… comfortable.
“I’m okay.”
He nodded slowly. Still looking at you. As if making sure himself. And you realized—the wall you built… was almost gone. Not because you gave up. But because he—never stopped trying.
“Yoongi…”
You called softly.
“Yeah?”
You hesitated for a moment.
“I’m still scared.”
Honest. He went quiet. Didn’t answer right away. Then—“I know.”
His voice was softer than usual.
“I’m not asking you to stop being scared immediately.”
Silence.
“But I’m serious,” he continued. “I’m not playing around.”
His gaze was steady. Not avoiding. “I’ll prove it.”
You looked at him. Quiet.
“And if you want… we can try slowly.”
He paused for a moment. Giving space. “Together.” That word… fell softly. But it was enough.
And for the first time—you didn’t pull away immediately. Didn’t shut yourself off. You just… stayed there. With feelings you could no longer hide.
. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.
You stayed still for quite a while after the call ended. Min Yoongi’s words kept echoing in your mind—slowly… together. It felt warm. But also scary.
You sat at the edge of your bed, taking slow breaths a few times. This wasn’t a small decision. This wasn’t just “trying things out.” You knew… once you took a step forward, you wouldn’t be able to pretend nothing happened anymore.
Your phone was still in your hand. You stared at the blank screen for a few seconds. Then finally—you typed.
You:
Yeah… let’s try.
You stared at the sentence before sending it. Your heart beating faster. Then—send.
Not even a few seconds later—a reply came. Not long.
Yoongi:
Wait.
“Wait—?”
What you didn’t know, he was already on his way when you hadn’t replied earlier. He was that worried. A few minutes later—the doorbell rang. You froze instantly. Your heart dropped. Slowly… you walked toward the door. Peeked. And there he was. Standing in front of your house, wearing a hoodie, a mask—but still—you knew it was him.
You panicked right away. Quickly opening the door, pulling him inside.
“Yoongi, are you crazy?!” you whispered quickly while closing the door. “What if someone sees?!”
He took off his mask slowly.
His gaze went straight to you. Serious.
“I can’t say this through chat.”
One sentence. And the atmosphere shifted instantly. Quiet. Tense. Too close.
You stood in front of him, still a little shocked, still trying to process—but your eyes couldn’t leave him.
“If you said you want to try…” he continued softly, “I don’t want it to be halfway.”
Your heart started racing again.
“I also don’t want you to think this is just… temporary,” he added.
There was no joking tone. No hesitation. Just… serious. You swallowed slowly.
The atmosphere in the living room became too tight, too full of something unspoken but already felt.
“If you trust me,” he said again, softer now, “I’ll also do my best.”
You looked at him. Quiet. And somehow—this time you didn’t step back. Not like before. Yoongi took one step closer. Slowly. Giving you time… to step back if you wanted. But you didn’t. And that was already your answer.
His hand lifted, hesitating for a moment… then touched your cheek carefully. Warm. Gentle. Your heartbeat went out of control.
“Can I?” he whispered.
His voice was low. Close. You didn’t answer. But you didn’t move away either. And that was enough. He leaned in. Slowly. And when his lips touched yours—everything felt… still. Soft. Warm. Not rushed. As if he was really making sure you were comfortable. And that—only made your heartbeat even more uncontrollable.
Your hand, without realizing, gripped his shirt slightly. Pulling him closer. And from there—everything changed. No longer just hesitation. No longer just “trying.” But something… both of you felt. Close. Real. And impossible to stop.
That night felt long. And too fast at the same time. You didn’t know exactly when you moved. When your steps led toward the bedroom.
When you stopped thinking. What you knew—was that night, you didn’t hold back anymore. Everything felt… warm. Close. And real. Without force. Without the hesitation that used to be so big.
Just two people—who finally stopped hiding from what they felt. Time passed without notice. And when everything settled—what remained was unsteady breathing… and a silence that felt comfortable. Not awkward. Not unfamiliar. Just… close.
Yoongi stayed there. Didn’t leave. As if he never intended to. And you… didn’t ask him to. That night, for the first time—you didn’t feel the need to keep your distance.
Morning came slowly. Light slipped through the curtains. You woke up gradually. Warm. That was the first thing you felt. Then you realized—there was an arm wrapped around you.
You froze for a moment. Then slowly… turn your head. Min Yoongi was still asleep. Close. Very close. His face calm, his breathing steady, and his arm… still holding you like last night.
Your heart started beating again. But this time—not from fear. More like… something warm spreading slowly in your chest. You stayed there. Not moving. Not pulling away. For the first time—you didn’t try to run. And maybe—that was the beginning of something truly new.
. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.
That morning came slowly, softly, with light slipping through the gaps in your bedroom curtains. You woke up first. And the first thing you saw—was Min Yoongi. Asleep beside you. Close. Too close for something you once thought was “impossible.”
You stayed still. Watching his face. His hair slightly messy, his breathing calm, his lips slightly parted—and for the first time, you saw him… without all the layers he usually showed the world. No coldness. No distance. Just… him.
And you really didn’t expect—him to be in your bed. Yours. Not in his luxurious villa. Not in a place full of distance. But here. Close. Real. Without realizing it, you smiled softly.
“Morning…” you whispered, even though you knew he wasn’t awake yet.
But he was. A little. His eyes still closed, but his hand moved, instinctively searching for you. Then—finding you. His arm wrapped lazily around your waist, pulling you slightly closer.
“I don’t want to wake up yet…”
His voice was hoarse. Heavy. Still half asleep.
You let out a small laugh. “You have to wake up.”
“Don’t want to.”
And before you could say anything else—his hand moved slowly, brushing against your thigh casually, like a reflex that was too comfortable.
You immediately tensed a little. “Yoongi…”
“Yeah…”
“Wasn’t last night enough?”
The words slipped out faster than you expected. He paused for a moment. Then—eyes still half closed—the corner of his lips lifted slightly.
“Not yet.”
His answer was casual. Too casual. And that instantly made your heart race again. Before you could move away—he had already pulled you closer. His kiss this time felt different. Still soft. But more certain. More… knowing. Not rushed, but clearly not hesitant. And you—who were still trying to hold back—immediately lost your rhythm again.
That morning moved slowly. Warm. Filled with small pauses, soft laughter, breaths colliding, and touches that were no longer awkward. Nothing rushed. Nothing forced. Just two people—who finally let themselves… be close.
After everything settled, the two of you stayed there for a while. Quiet. Calm. And this time… you didn’t feel the need to run from the feeling.
“Is it enough now?” you asked softly.
He chuckled lightly, still with his eyes closed. “More or less.”
You lightly hit his arm. “Hey.”
He smiled. And you realized—you liked seeing that. Getting out of bed felt… lighter than usual.
The two of you eventually went to the kitchen. Still with a slightly awkward but… warm atmosphere. You started preparing a simple breakfast, but Yoongi immediately took over part of it.
“You just sit.”
“I’m already better.”
“It’s fine.”
His tone was casual, but still… protective. You finally sat on the chair, watching him. And again—strange. Seeing him in your kitchen. Cooking. In your house. Like this.
“Where are you going later?” you asked.
“Practice.”
“Oh.”
He nodded. “All day at HYBE.”
You nodded slowly.
“So you don’t need to cook today.”
“So nice,” you mumbled.
He chuckled softly. Your breakfast was simple. But it felt… enough. After that, Yoongi got ready to leave. Before stepping out, he paused in front of you. Looking. As if making sure of something.
“Take care of yourself.”
You nodded. “Yeah.”
And before you realized—it, he kissed your forehead. Brief. Warm. Then he left.
That day, in the practice room—Yoongi tried to act normal. Like usual. Focused. Professional. But… his phone was never far.
During breaks—the screen lit up immediately. Your chats.
Yoongi:
What are you doing?
Have you eaten?
Are you at home?
Jimin glanced from the side. “Hyung… are you in love?”
Yoongi immediately looked up. “What are you talking about.”
“You check your phone every five minutes.”
From afar, Taehyung chimed in. “Seriously, you’re so different now.”
Yoongi didn’t answer. But the corner of his lips… lifted slightly. And that was already enough of an answer.
On the other side—you read his messages. One by one. And without realizing—you smiled. Because now—it wasn’t just him who changed. You did too. And this time—you both knew—this was no longer something that could be called “temporary.”
. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.
In the practice studio, Yoongi tried… to look normal. His movements were the same. Focused. Professional. Not talking much like usual. At a glance—nothing had changed. But if you looked longer… it was obvious something was different. He checked his phone more often. Smiled to himself more often. And most noticeably—he looked… impatient.
“So weird,” Jimin muttered while watching from afar.
“Why?” Taehyung asked.
“Hyung looks like he’s waiting for something.”
Taehyung narrowed his eyes. “Or… someone.”
Meanwhile, Yoongi pretended not to hear.
Even though… It was true.
Since morning, his messages to you hadn’t stopped.
And you—who initially only replied briefly—slowly got pulled in too.
You:
Aren’t you tired?
Practicing all day and still going out?
The reply came quickly.
Yoongi:
I want to.
One word. But enough to make you pause… then smile to yourself.
Practice felt longer than usual. Every break, Yoongi checked his phone. Every time it almost ended, he looked at the clock. And when finally—
“Alright, that’s a wrap for today.”
He stood up immediately. Fast.
“Wait, want to eat first?” Jimin asked.
Yoongi grabbed his jacket right away. “No. I’m tired. I want to go straight home.”
Taehyung smirked. “Tired… or in a hurry?”
Yoongi only glanced briefly. “Tired.”
But the way he left the room—was too fast for someone who was just “tired.”
Outside, he got into his car. And before the engine fully started—a message was already sent to you.
Yoongi:
I’m on the way.
You, who were almost asleep, immediately sat up from your lying position. Your heart—felt strange. Different from usual. The minutes felt longer than they should. Until finally—another notification.
Yoongi:
I’m outside.
You almost stood up immediately. Quickly grabbed your bag. Check yourself briefly—then go out. And when you opened the door—the car was there. Dim lights. Engine running. And him—waiting.
You got into the car. And before you could say anything—Yoongi immediately looked at you. “Finally.”
His tone… relieved.
You smiled softly. “You look like you’ve been waiting forever.”
“I have.”
Short. Honest. And that immediately made your cheeks warm.
The car started moving. Not to any particular place. No clear destination. Just… driving around. Because you both knew—going somewhere crowded was too risky.
So your world that night—was just that car. City lights. And roads that kept moving. The first few minutes were quiet. But not awkward. More like… enjoying it.
Until—suddenly Yoongi’s hand moved. Searching for yours. And holding it. You immediately turned. Your heart—shot up.
“You’re driving…”
“I can.”
Casual. As if it was nothing. Even though it wasn’t for you. His hand was warm. His grip not too tight. But enough to make you… constantly aware. You tried to focus outside the window. Failed. Because you were too aware—your hands were still connected.
“You’ve been quiet,” he said.
“So have you.”
“I’ve been looking at you.”
You immediately turned quickly. “Watch the road.”
He chuckled softly. “Yeah.”
But his grip… didn’t let go. The car kept moving. City lights passing one by one. And in the middle of it all—you both… felt like you had your own world.
“Are you tired?” you asked softly.
“Tired.”
“Then you still went out?”
He glanced briefly.
“Because of you.”
Direct. No hesitation. And that—was too honest. You immediately looked down slightly. Unable to hold back your smile. Unable to stop your racing heart either.
“I feel guilty,” you muttered.
“Don’t.”
He lifted your hand slightly. Still holding it.
“This… is better than resting.”
You didn’t reply. Because you knew—if you spoke now, your voice wouldn’t be steady.
A while later, the car stopped on the side of a quieter road. City lights are still visible. The atmosphere is calm. And for the first time—you were truly still. No distractions. No reason to look away. Just… the two of you.
Yoongi turned. Looking at you. Longer than usual. And you—didn’t look away right away. Your heartbeat sounded too loud in your own ears.
“Are you still scared?” he asked softly.
You paused for a moment. Then—“Still.” Honest.
He nodded slightly. “It’s okay.”
His hand is still holding yours. Warm. Steady. “I’m here.”
That sentence was simple. But enough. And inside that car—on that quiet night—you both smiled softly. With the same feeling—light. Nervous. And… blooming, like teenagers falling in love for the first time.
. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.
The car finally slowed down. The rounds that had felt too fast… had to stop eventually. The lights in front of your house were already visible, and somehow—this time, the atmosphere felt different. Heavier. Yoongi turned off the engine.
But neither of you got out right away. Your hands were still intertwined. Neither of you wanted to let go first. Silence. Just the sound of the engine fading and the distant city in the background.
“We’re here,” you said softly.
“Yeah.”
But neither of you moved. You turned slightly. So did he. And for a few seconds—you just looked at each other. As if both of you knew… you didn’t want this moment to end.
“Tomorrow…” Yoongi started.
You waited.
“…you’re not coming over, right?”
You smiled a little. “Yeah. It’s the weekend.”
He nodded slowly. His expression shifted slightly. Not obviously sad… but enough for you to feel it. Heavy. And somehow—you felt the same. Thinking about not seeing each other for two days… felt long.
“What if I come to your place?” he suddenly asked.
Direct. No hesitation. You immediately turned. “What?”
“We’ll just stay in. Not going anywhere.”
His tone was casual. But clearly… serious. Your heart immediately grew restless again.
“Yoongi…”
You hesitated. A lot. “That’s risky.”
“We’ll be careful.”
You shook your head slowly. “What if someone sees?”
He stayed quiet for a moment. You continued. “I’ll just come to your place instead.”
He looked at you. Slightly surprised. “Really?”
“Yeah.”
You took a slow breath.
“UN Village is safer, right? Security is tight, outsiders can’t just get in.”
He immediately nodded. Without thinking. “Okay.” Quick. Almost too quick.
You even laughed softly. “You didn’t even think about it first?”
“No need.”
His answer was casual. But clear. “I actually prefer you coming over.”
You looked down slightly. Unable to hide your smile. “You…”
He leaned a little closer. Still in his seat. But enough to make the distance feel smaller again.
“You’re coming tomorrow?”
“Yeah.”
“Promise?”
You looked at him. Then nodded softly. “Yeah.”
And that was enough. His smile appeared again. That one. The one that always made your heart race for no reason.
“I’ll be waiting.”
You slowly opened the car door. Got out. But before you could really walk away—his voice called.
“Y/N.”
You turned. He was still in the car. Looking at you. And without many words—he just smiled slightly. But this time—it was different. More… clear. More warm. More honest. And somehow—that was enough to make your chest feel full.
You smiled back. Then went inside. Meanwhile in the car—Min Yoongi leaned back in his seat for a moment. Looking ahead. And for the first time in a long while—he was truly… impatient for the next day.
. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.
The next day, you really came. Your heart still… refused to cooperate. Even though this was already a decision you both made. Even though you already knew this would happen. Still—your heart raced.
When you entered the villa in UN Village, the atmosphere immediately felt… different. Not like a workday. No “work” rhythm. No pressure. Just—Yoongi. Already waiting.
Min Yoongi stood in the living room, casual, wearing a light hoodie, his hair slightly messy—and when he saw you walk in, his expression immediately changed. More alive.
“You came.”
His tone was light, but clearly… happy.
You nodded slightly. “Yeah.”
You glanced toward the kitchen.
“The ingredients—”
“No need.”
He cut you off immediately. You turned.
“I already ordered food.”
You frowned. “Why?”
He walked a little closer. “I don’t want to waste time.”
That answer… was too honest. And it instantly made your cheeks warm.
“You usually take a long time in the kitchen,” he continued casually. “Today… I want you here.”
Your heart—immediately lost its rhythm. You tried to act normal.
“Ugh… you.”
He just smiled slightly. And without many words—you were both already sitting on the sofa. The TV was on. But honestly—neither of you was really watching.
Yoongi sat close. Too close. His hand slowly pulled you a little—and before you realized it—you were already leaning on his shoulder. Quiet. Comfortable.
His arm wrapped loosely around you. Occasionally brushing your arm softly. And you… didn’t refuse. Didn’t pull away. Just… stayed there. Enjoying it.
“This is better than going out,” you muttered softly.
“Yeah,” he replied immediately.
“You’re afraid of getting caught?”
You nodded slightly. “Very.”
He lowered his head a little, his voice softer. “Me too.”
You turned slightly. “You?”
He nodded. “But not because of me.”
You stayed quiet.
“Because of you.”
That sentence—instantly made your heart drop again.
Before you could respond—
Knock knock.
Both of you froze instantly. Reflex.
Yoongi immediately looked toward the door. So did you. Your heart shot up.
“Did you order something else?” you whispered, panicked.
He shook his head. “No.”
Knock knock.
Clearer. More real. You looked at each other. And in one second—panic.
Yoongi stood up immediately. “You… just sit normally.”
“Normally how?!”
He was already walking to the door. And when it opened—you both knew… this wasn’t a normal situation.
His mother. Standing at the door. Holding a small bag.
“I just stopped by for a bit—”
She paused. Looking inside. Looking at you. You immediately stood up. Your heart—completely chaotic.
“Auntie…”
You bowed slightly, nervous. She looked at you. Then at Yoongi. Then back at you.
“Oh… you’re here?”
Her tone wasn’t angry. But clearly… surprised. “Aren’t you usually here on weekdays?”
You opened your mouth. Not knowing what to say. “Yeah, I—”
You immediately looked down, holding yourself back from reacting. That was… absurd.
His mother looked at both of you. Silent for a few seconds. Then—nodded slowly.
“Oh… I see.”
Her tone was… odd. Like she didn’t fully believe it. But also didn’t want to push further.
“I just came to drop this,” she said, handing over a bag of bread. “I won’t stay long.”
“Yes, Auntie.”
You were still a bit nervous. Yoongi stood beside you, slightly too close… without realizing it. His mother noticed. Briefly. And a small smile appeared on her face. Not too obvious. But enough.
“Alright, I’ll go now.”
“Yes, Auntie.”
The door closed. And once it fully shut—you both went silent. For a few seconds. Then—you quickly turned to Yoongi.
“Extra work?”
He looked at you. Then—laughed softly.
You immediately covered your face for a moment. “Oh my God…”
“You were about to say what?”
“I didn’t know!”
The two of you finally… laughed. Softly. But relieved. Yoongi walked closer, pulling you gently into his warm embrace, then pressed a kiss to the top of your head.
Meanwhile outside—his mother walked away from the house. With a wide smile. Wider than before. She shook her head lightly.
“That kid…”
Her tone was warm.
Because it was obvious—her son had been lying. And just as obvious—he was in love. Especially—with you. And that—made her happier than anything.
← Part 1 | Part 3 →
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Author Notes: Wow! I have to release this part earlier than I expected because it turns out so many people enjoyed this story and somehow it reached 500 likes so quickly. I honestly thought I’d be posting Part 2 around the end of June. Maybe because quite a lot of people reblogged it, more people found it and pressed the like button faster.. I hope you like this part too. Don’t forget to leave a like, reblog, or comment on which part you liked the most.
“I want to write a fic about this but I don’t think anybody will be interested in it” ummm hello excuse me ma’am what do you mean you don’t think anybody will be interested in it??? YOU. YOU ARE INTERESTED IN IT???? write it because YOU are interested in it and YOU want to write about it. fanfic writing should always be first and foremost about YOUR enjoyment, not other people’s.
things I won’t let ai take away from human writers
em dash
“not x, not y, but z”
short sentence stacking as a stylistic choice
none of these belong to ai. these are all what human writers have been writing since day one, way before ai was invented. ai was trained to mimic how human writers write — so em dash, not x not y but z and short sentence stacking would never have been used by ai at all if ai hadn’t learned and mimicked them from human writers.
no, you are not “fighting against ai” by accusing every work that has em dash, not x not y but z or short sentence stacking in it as ai-generated, you are helping ai harm the writing community by engaging in witch hunt and scaring human writers away from creating/sharing their works for fear of being wrongly accused of using ai.
speculations, accusations and ai witch hunt harm the writing community as much as ai does, if not more.
This!!! Freaking THIS!!! As much as I hate AI, as an avid reader and writer, the constant accusations being flung around of works being AI generated almost bug me more!!
Like, the em dash, for example, is a suuuuper old form of punctuation! If it's good enough for Jane Austin, Robert Louis Stevenson, and Charles Dickens, it's good enough for me.
I unashamedly write with all of these and other "ai coded" writing styles. I always have. Hate to date myself, but I'm older than Chat GPT, therefore I've been writing this way since I started writing because I learned it from reading great works of literature.
AI platforms only generate things the way they do because it is learning, mimicking, AND stealing from authors that have been around longer than it has been.
So yeah, I hate AI. I will never use AI for any creative process ever. I will do everything I can to avoid AI even in a work environment until I just don't have any choice. But come on people, let's give writers a bit of a break and stop throwing around accusations of AI use left, right, and center.
Give some grace, and unless it's labeled with an AI tag, try to not accuse just because you see something that you've been conditioned to believe is "proof of AI". And if it is labeled as AI generated, just don't read it.
Thank you for coming to my rant sesh, the soapbox is now available for anyone else that would like a turn....
mutual pining simply never misses. the yearning. the stupidity. the desperation while also thinking themselves alone with it. the rattling relief at the revelation. the way it works in so many scenarios— friends to lovers? a banger every time. casual hook-ups/friends with benefits while they both want more? show-stopping, spectacular, incredible. enemies who are so deep in denial it just makes them madder at each other? utterly unmatched every single time. slow burn, fast burn, burning while already fucking. mutual pining really just is that girl like truly who does it like her
Summary: You were only supposed to help him—cook, clean, and leave. Nothing more. But in a house too quiet and a man too broken, your presence became something he couldn’t ignore… even if he tried. While he slowly begins to see you, you’re already learning how to step away. Because some feelings grow in silence— and some distances are created before they’re too late.
Status: Three-shot | Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3
Pairing: Idol!Yoongi x Reader
Word Count: 9.3k~
Genre: Idol!AU, Angst, Fluff, Smut
Rated: MDNI, 18+ 🔞
Tags: ARMY, Strangers to Lovers, Yoongi is a Jerk, Slice of Life, Slow Burn
Posting Date: May 6, 2026
SCC: Ko-fi ☕️ · Taglist 📝
The Seoul sky had been overcast since morning, as if it shared the weight pressing down on Min Yoongi’s mood—heavy even before he opened his eyes. His apartment was tidy, too tidy for someone who was falling apart inside. The curtains were half-closed, gray light slipping in uninvited, and he sat silently on the sofa with a hoodie covering part of his face, staring blankly at the floor as if searching for something he didn’t even know himself.
Since that incident, everything felt different. Not just the news, not just the way people looked at him, but the way he saw himself. Quietly, that was what hurt the most.
His mother couldn’t stand seeing him like that.
And that’s where you came in.
On the first day you arrived, you didn’t bring much. Just a simple bag, a folded apron, and a list of ingredients you had prepared from home. You didn’t knock too loudly, just enough to let him know you were there. A few seconds of silence passed, then the door opened.
Yoongi stood there, his face blank, his eyes tired.
“What is this now?” His voice was cold, no small talk.
“You can call me Y/N,” you replied calmly. “Your mother asked me to help out around the house.”
His brows immediately furrowed. “I don’t need a babysitter.”
“You’re not a baby either,” you answered without emotion, taking off your shoes and stepping inside as if it were the most normal thing in the world. “I’m being paid to work. So I’ll keep working.”
He let out a rough sigh, clearly annoyed. “My parents are really too much.”
“You can complain to them later,” you said shortly as you walked to the kitchen. “Right now I’m going to start cooking.”
The way you spoke wasn’t challenging, but it wasn’t submissive either. Neutral. Professional. That was exactly what made Yoongi even more uncomfortable.
The first day passed in a strange silence. You cooked without much noise, just the soft clinking of kitchen tools and the warm aroma of food slowly filling the room. You didn’t force him to eat, only placed the food on the table and said, “If you’re hungry, it’s there.”
He didn’t touch it until night.
On the second day, you came again. On time. As if nothing had happened yesterday. You started by cleaning the kitchen area, tidying a few small things that were slightly out of place—not because they were dirty, but because they were unattended. Yoongi watched from a distance, sitting on the same sofa, in almost the same position.
“You’re paid to clean too?” he finally said.
“Sometimes,” you replied. “If it’s needed.”
“It’s not needed here.”
“But I see things that can be tidied up,” you continued, neatly folding a kitchen cloth. “And I’m paid to help.”
He clicked his tongue softly. “Annoying.”
“You too,” you replied lightly.
There was a pause after that. Not an empty silence, but one filled with something unspoken.
The following days moved in the same pattern. You came on weekdays, worked without much talking, cooked simple warm meals that felt like home, and occasionally tidied small things that others might not even notice. You never asked about the incident. Never touched on the clearly sensitive topic. And that was exactly what made Yoongi even more restless.
One afternoon, as the rain poured heavily, you were still in the kitchen when suddenly the sound of breaking glass came from the living room.
You didn’t panic. You simply walked toward the sound and saw Yoongi standing there, his breathing heavy, shards of glass on the floor, and an expression that… finally showed something other than blankness.
Anger. But not at anyone else. At himself.
“Why…” his voice was low, hoarse. “Why could I be that stupid…”
You didn’t answer immediately. You just grabbed a broom and began cleaning the broken glass slowly, carefully.
“If you want to be angry, just be angry,” you said finally. “But don’t hurt yourself.”
He let out a short, bitter laugh. “Too late.”
You paused for a moment, then looked at him. “Not yet.”
He lifted his head, looking at you for the first time longer than usual. “You don’t know anything.”
“True,” you nodded. “And I don’t need to know everything to see that you’re falling apart.”
The sentence wasn’t harsh, but it was enough to silence him.
The rain still fell outside, its sound filling the room. For a few seconds, no one spoke. Just two people in the same space, both not okay, but in different ways.
“I’m just working here,” you continued softly. “Cooking, tidying up, making sure you eat. That’s all.”
“Why don’t you ask?” he suddenly asked.
“Do you want me to?”
He fell silent. And that was already enough of an answer.
You went back to cleaning the broken glass, then stood up, threw it away, and returned to the kitchen as if the conversation was over. But something had changed.
That day, for the first time, Yoongi ate before you left.
Not much. But enough. And somehow, it felt like the beginning of something bigger than just a job.
. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.
The house was too big for someone who chose silence.
The luxury villa in the UN Village area stood calm, neat, almost without sound. Every corner was perfect, clean, organized—as if there was no space for chaos. But you knew, it was exactly in places like that where chaos hid the deepest.
And Min Yoongi was proof of that.
You had worked for several well-known people before. Actors, CEOs, socialites—people whose lives always looked “perfect” from the outside. So when you first stepped into this house, you didn’t feel overly impressed. Nor awkward. Everything felt… familiar.
A fan? Of course. Who isn’t a fan of BTS? But you also knew your boundaries. Especially since your bias wasn’t him. Secretly, you had always paid more attention to Jeon Jungkook.
So when you stood in Yoongi’s kitchen, wearing an apron and chopping ingredients with a steady rhythm, you truly saw him as… just a normal human. A client. Someone who simply happened to need help.
Unfortunately, he didn’t see you as anything.
The following days grew heavier—not because your job was difficult, but because your presence felt like it was never acknowledged.
You still came every weekday. On time. Bringing fresh ingredients, cooking seriously, paying attention to details like temperature, taste, texture—every small thing that made food feel like “home.” You even started adjusting the menu based on what you saw him eat a little of the day before, hoping… maybe today he would eat more. But more often than not, that hope ended cold.
One afternoon, you finished cooking a warm soup and a few simple side dishes. You arranged them neatly on the dining table, making sure everything looked appetizing. The aroma filled the room, soft and comforting.
Yoongi walked past behind you. Without stopping. Without looking. A few minutes later, you heard the front door open. Then a notification from the phone on the table. Delivery.
You stood still in the kitchen, your hand still holding the wooden spoon. You said nothing. You showed nothing. You just… went back to stirring the soup that wouldn’t even be touched.
Sad? Of course. Tired? Yes. But you were paid. And you were professional. So you kept working.
Another day, you tried a slightly different recipe. Lighter, more suited for someone who might not have an appetite. You even noted the times he usually came out of his room, trying to match the timing so the food would always be at its best when he passed by.
The result was the same. Untouched. Sometimes not even glanced at. Yoongi stayed the same. Cold. Distant. As if you were just part of the furniture in that house—there, but unimportant.
If you spoke, he answered only as necessary. If it wasn’t important, he didn’t respond at all.
“Do you want to eat now or later?” you once asked.
“Up to you.”
And that was it. No thank you. No refusal. Not anything. Empty. The only being in that house who truly “acknowledged” your presence… wasn’t him. But his cat. Tang-ie.
The small cat initially only watched you from afar, sitting in the corner with sharp eyes, as if judging. You didn’t approach immediately. You knew animals like that needed time.
On the second day, he started getting closer.
On the third day, he sat near your feet while you cooked.
On the fourth day, he actually played with you.
You laughed softly when Tang-ie chased the end of your apron, or when he suddenly jumped onto the kitchen table (which you gently lowered him from right away). Even though you actually preferred dogs, you couldn’t deny that the cat was… cute. And warm. Unlike his owner.
One afternoon, Yoongi saw it. He stood at the doorway of the kitchen, watching Tang-ie roll on the floor near your feet, playing with your fingers without fear. Strange. Usually Tang-ie was selective with people. Not everyone could get close, let alone play like that.
“What are you doing with him?” he suddenly asked.
You glanced briefly. “Just playing.”
Tang-ie let out a small meow, as if confirming.
Yoongi frowned. “He’s usually not like that.”
“Maybe he’s in a good mood,” you replied lightly.
Or maybe… he’s just comfortable. But you didn’t say that. Yoongi stared for a few seconds longer, then left again. As usual. Without further comment. And you were alone again.
That night, like the nights before, the food you cooked grew cold on the table. You stood in front of the sink, washing dishes that weren’t really used. The water flowed softly, a small sound filling the silence.
In another room, you could hear the plastic sound of a delivery bag being opened. You paused for a moment. Just a moment. Then continued. Because you knew, if you paused too long, you might start feeling too much. And you didn’t have time for that.
On the fifth day, your body began to feel tired. Not from physical work—but from the feelings you kept suppressing. You still came, still cooked, still tidied parts of the house untouched by other staff because they were too “personal.” Yoongi’s workspace. His music room.
You never touched important things. Just small adjustments—slightly messy cables, papers about to fall, things that might not seem important but you still did them. Without being asked. Without being acknowledged.
One afternoon, you were sitting on the living room floor, playing with Tang-ie who seemed very active that day. You laughed softly as he tried to bite the edge of your sleeve.
Then footsteps. Yoongi. He walked past just like that. Without looking at you. Without looking at Tang-ie. Without looking at anything. As if you truly weren’t there. And for the first time since you started working in that house, you felt something beyond just tiredness. Empty. Like… all your efforts never really reached anyone.
You lowered your gaze, still stroking Tang-ie who had now calmed in your lap.
“At least you eat, okay,” you whispered softly.
Tang-ie let out a small meow. And in that huge house, with all its luxury and perfection, that was the only answer you got.
. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.
That day should have been the same as the previous days. You came in the morning, brought fresh ingredients, greeted softly even though you already knew there would be no reply, then went straight to the kitchen. A routine that had started to feel like autopilot—chopping, sautéing, tasting, arranging plating neatly, making sure everything was warm at the right time. But somehow, that day felt heavier.
Maybe because you were starting to realize… this wasn’t just an unappreciated job. It was like talking to a wall that didn’t even want to acknowledge your existence.
When you finished cooking, you didn’t immediately return to the kitchen as usual. You stood there. Waiting.
A few minutes later, Min Yoongi came down from upstairs. His steps were relaxed, his expression the same—flat, empty, as if the world around him never really entered.
This time, you didn’t move.
“Do you want to eat now?” you asked.
He glanced briefly. “Later.”
You took a slow breath.
“Yoongi.”
He stopped. Not out of interest. More like… irritation. “What now?”
There was a pause. Short. But enough to make your chest feel tighter.
“Can I ask something?”
He didn’t answer. But he didn’t leave either. You took that as permission.
“I cook every day,” you began, your voice still soft, still controlled. “You see me buy the ingredients, I cook here, in your kitchen. But… you almost never eat it.”
He stayed silent.
“Do you just not like my cooking,” you continued, still trying to stay neutral, “or… is there another reason?”
Silence. Then he laughed lightly. Short. Cold.
“A reason?” he repeated.
You waited. And you hoped—just a little—that the answer wouldn’t hurt. But that hope was too naive.
“I just don’t want to eat food from someone I don’t know,” he said casually. “Who knows, maybe you’ll poison me.”
The words fell just like that. Without weight. Without hesitation. And for a few seconds, you truly couldn’t respond. Not because you had no answer. But because you didn’t expect… he would go that far.
You swallowed slowly, trying to keep your expression the same as usual.
“I buy the ingredients myself,” you finally said. “You also see me cook here. Right in front of you. And you still think I’d poison you?”
Your tone was still gentle. Still patient. Even inside, something was starting to crack.
He shrugged. “People can pretend.”
You looked at him. For the first time, not as a client. But as someone who… truly hurt you.
“I work here because your mother asked,” you continued softly. “She’s the one paying me. She just wants you to eat properly.”
“That’s her problem,” he replied quickly. “Not mine.”
His words were sharp. Fast. As if he wanted to cut off any chance of this conversation going further.
But you were still standing there. Still trying.
“I’ve never crossed any boundaries,” you said. “I don’t ask about your personal life. I don’t bother you. I just do my job.”
He looked at you, sharper now. “Then just do it. Without talking too much.”
Something in your chest finally dropped. Not anger. Not even an explosive disappointment. More like… something quietly running out.
You nodded slightly. “Okay,” you replied.
Simple. Short. Just how he wanted.
Yoongi turned and left, leaving you alone in the dining room still filled with the aroma of food slowly cooling down.
You stood there for a few seconds longer. Then you moved. You took the bowls, covered the food one by one, and stored them neatly as usual. Your hands stayed steady. Your movements remained orderly. Nothing changed on the outside.
Except… this time you didn’t taste the leftover food like you usually did. You had no appetite.
In the kitchen, the water flowed again from the tap. You washed the utensils with the same rhythm, but your mind was far noisier than usual. You knew. You truly knew.
As someone who used to be a fan, you knew how the world treated him after that incident. You knew the comments, the stares, how one mistake could erase all the good things he had ever done.
You knew why he became like this. Suspicious. Closed off. Pushing everyone away. You knew. That’s why you endured. That’s why you stayed patient. That’s why you never snapped back, never showed that you were hurt. Because you understood. But understanding… didn’t mean it didn’t hurt.
That day, you went home a little later than usual. Not because there was extra work. But because you needed time to make sure… you could still come back tomorrow with the same face. The same attitude. Professional. Neutral. As if his words today… left nothing behind.
When in reality, since that day, every time you cooked in that large house in UN Village, there was one small thought that kept appearing without stopping—
If even after everything you’ve done, he still thinks you could poison him… maybe, in his eyes, you were never really seen at all.
. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.
The second week felt longer than it should have.
Not because your workload increased, but because of Min Yoongi’s attitude… didn’t change at all. If the first week still left room for hope—no matter how small—the second week felt like proof that everything you did… truly wouldn’t change anything.
The house in UN Village stayed the same—calm, spacious, beautiful. But the atmosphere felt even colder. And you… kept coming. As usual.
Every morning, you opened the door carefully, took off your shoes, and went straight to the kitchen without waiting for a greeting. You no longer expected to hear “you’re here?” or even a small nod. None of that had ever existed from the start.
All there was… was the sound of your own footsteps. And sometimes… the small sound of Tang-ie running to greet you.
“Morning,” you whispered softly as you crouched down, stroking his soft fur.
Tang-ie meowed softly, immediately rubbing against your hand as if you were the only warm thing in that house. You smiled faintly.
“Only you greet me, huh.”
That day you cooked something even lighter. You even started taking notes on your phone—what food was completely untouched, which one was slightly eaten, which might still have a chance.
Like a quiet experiment. Even though you knew… the result would most likely be the same.
And it was.
That afternoon, Yoongi came down, glanced briefly at the dining table—then walked straight to another room. A few minutes later, the delivery notification sounded again.
You didn’t stop anymore. You didn’t turn around anymore. You just… continued your work. As if it was nothing. Even though inside, it felt like being hit repeatedly in the same place.
Another day, you were sweeping the living room when Yoongi suddenly spoke. “You’re still here?”
His tone wasn’t asking. More like… questioning your presence.
You paused for a moment, then looked at him. “Yes.”
He looked at you for a few seconds, then gave a slight smile—not a warm one. More like… testing. “You’re quite persistent.”
The sentence sounded light. But it wasn’t.
You didn’t answer immediately. You just lowered your gaze back to the floor, continuing to sweep slowly.
“This is my job,” you finally said.
“Not many would last,” he continued, still standing in the same spot. “Aren’t you tired?”
You stopped again. This time, you took a slow breath before answering.
“I am,” you admitted. “But I keep working.”
There was a pause. And for a moment, you thought… maybe he would stop there. But no.
“Or are you hoping I’ll change?” his voice was slightly lower now. “Is that why you stay?”
You looked at him again. And this time… there was something in your eyes you couldn’t fully hide.
“I don’t have the right to hope that far,” you answered softly.
It was honest. Very honest. And maybe that was what made him fall silent for a moment. But only for a moment. He clicked his tongue softly, then left again. As usual. Leaving you with words that still hung in the air.
That night, you sat on the kitchen floor, your back against the cabinet, Tang-ie curled near your feet. You weren’t usually like this—sitting too long doing nothing. But that day… you needed to stop.
“Is he always like this?” you whispered softly.
Tang-ie only blinked slowly. You smiled faintly, but your eyes didn’t really follow.
“I know why he’s like this,” you continued, your voice almost like you were talking to yourself. “I saw everything.”
You didn’t need to say what. Everyone knew. How the media attacked him. How people’s comments turned sharp. How one mistake became a reason to erase everything he had ever achieved.
As a BTS fan, you saw all of that. You read it. You stayed silent. And you felt hurt… even though it wasn’t happening to you.
“That’s why I try to understand him,” you whispered again. “That’s why I never get angry.”
Tang-ie shifted slightly, moving closer. You stroked him gently.
“But understanding… doesn’t mean I’m not tired, right?”
Your voice grew smaller. Almost gone.
Upstairs, you could hear Yoongi’s footsteps. Heavy. Slow. Like someone who didn’t really want to move but also couldn’t stay still. He never greeted you. Never asked. Never tried. And what hurt more—he never stopped hurting you, even in small ways.
The next day, you came back again. As if nothing had happened. You cooked. You tidied. You played briefly with Tang-ie. And you still spoke in the same tone—calm, professional, never crossing boundaries.
Meanwhile, Yoongi… still saw you as a disturbance. As someone who shouldn’t exist in his life. As if… you were never really human in his eyes.
And somehow, you didn’t know how long you could keep going like this—being the only one trying to understand, in a place where you were never truly seen at all.
. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.
The news came without you knowing.
You continued your days as usual—coming in the morning, cooking, tidying the kitchen, occasionally sitting on the floor for a moment while playing with Tang-ie. Nothing changed in the way you worked, even though inside, you had long felt… empty.
Until one afternoon, the atmosphere in the house shifted. The sound of a phone call came from the study. Not too loud, but enough to make you realize—it wasn’t an ordinary conversation.
And your name was mentioned. You didn’t hear everything. But you knew. Min Yoongi’s mother had finally found out. That the food you cooked… was almost never touched.
That night, Yoongi came down with a different expression. Not better. Sharper. Colder.
“Did you tell my mother?” he asked directly, without introduction.
You frowned slightly. “No.”
He stared at you for a long time, as if trying to read whether you were lying.
“I never contacted her except for work matters,” you continued calmly. “I have no reason to tell her anything.”
He let out a rough breath, clearly holding something back. And you knew… he couldn’t direct it at the person he should. So as usual—you became the target.
The days after that changed. Not for the better. Just… different. Yoongi stopped ordering delivery. Not because he wanted to. Because he had to. And for the first time, he actually sat at the dining table when you served the food.
You stood not far away, as usual, not forcing, not waiting. Just making sure everything was ready. He took a spoonful. Tried it. Then stopped.
“Too salty.”
You nodded slightly. “I’ll fix it tomorrow.”
The next day—
“Not enough flavor.”
“Yes.”
The day after—
“Too soft.”
“Yes, I’ll pay more attention.”
There was always something wrong. Always. And you never argued. Not because you couldn’t. But because you chose… not to.
You knew this wasn’t about the food. This was about something bigger than that. About wounds he never processed. About anger that had nowhere to go. And you… just happened to be there. So you absorbed it all. Every day. Without protest. Without retaliation.
With only one same answer— “Yes.”
And maybe that was what made him keep doing it. Because you never fought back. Because you always stayed in your place. Because you didn’t leave.
The house in UN Village still looked perfect from the outside. An elite area, calm, filled with luxurious homes belonging to influential people. Here, everything looked like a life without problems.
But inside… nothing was truly okay.
One afternoon, you stepped out briefly to buy additional ingredients. The weather was quite bright, the streets in the complex were quiet, only a few cars passing occasionally.
You walked slowly, carrying several shopping bags. Until suddenly—
THUD.
A small bicycle hit you from the side.
Your body lost balance slightly, the shopping bags almost fell, and the child riding the bicycle wobbled too.
“Don’t you watch where you’re going?” a woman’s voice immediately sounded.
You turned. A neatly dressed woman stood not far from the child.
“I’m sorry, I—” you began.
“Do you even know what kind of area this is?” she cut in quickly. “Don’t just walk carelessly carrying that many things.”
You stayed silent. You were the one who got hit. But you were the one being scolded. The child wasn’t even scolded.
“You work here, right?” she continued, her tone demeaning. “Then be careful. Don’t cause trouble.”
You lowered your head slightly. “Yes, sorry.” Even though it wasn’t your fault.
But you were too tired to drag it out.
You continued walking. With heavier steps. With your chest feeling… tight. When you arrived home, you went straight to the kitchen. As usual. As if nothing had happened.
You washed the ingredients, chopped, cooked—all with the same movements. Neat. Organized. Professional.
But that day, your mind couldn’t fully focus. Those words still echoed. That tone. The way she looked at you. As if… you were beneath. As if… you had no value. You took a few deep breaths, trying to calm yourself.
“You can do this,” you whispered softly. “Just normal.”
Tang-ie came, sitting near your feet. You stroked him gently.
“Just a bad day.”
But it wasn’t over. During dinner, Yoongi sat as usual. You served the food. He took a bite. Then put the spoon down.
“This time it’s bland.”
You stayed silent for a moment.
“Yes, maybe I—”
“You cook every day, but it never tastes right,” he cut in.
His tone wasn’t loud. But sharp enough. Sharp enough to… pierce. And somehow—that day you weren’t as strong as usual. Maybe because of what happened earlier. Maybe because you had held it in for too long. Maybe because everything… piled up.
“Can’t you even cook?” he continued.
That sentence—something that might have felt ordinary on another day—felt different that day. Too heavy. You lowered your head. Trying to answer as usual.
“Yes, I will—”
But your voice stopped. Your breath caught. And before you could hold it in—your tears fell. One. Then another. You immediately turned away, trying to hide it, but it was too late. The room was too quiet not to notice.
“I… I’m sorry,” you said softly, your voice trembling but still restrained from breaking. “Maybe I wasn’t focused today.”
Yoongi didn’t answer immediately. And you didn’t dare look at him.
“I’d like to leave early today,” you continued, still forcing your voice to stay steady. “I’ll fix it tomorrow.”
You bowed slightly. Formal. Like clients and workers. As it should be. Even though your heart… was no longer whole like when you first came.
You took off your apron, placed it neatly, and took your bag. Tang-ie meowed softly as you passed. You stopped for a moment, stroking his head.
“See you tomorrow,” you whispered.
Then you left. Leaving that big house—which for the first time, felt truly… too cold for you to return to.
. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.
The next day, you still came. As if nothing had happened.
Your face was calm, your steps steady, and your routine continued the same—opening the door, going straight to the kitchen, preparing ingredients, cooking with a rhythm you had memorized too well. As if yesterday’s tears were just… a small part that didn’t need to be carried into today. And maybe that was how you survived.
Tang-ie greeted you as usual, meowing softly near your feet. You gave a faint smile, stroking him briefly before starting to work.
“Today has to be better,” you whispered softly.
But the world doesn’t always give space for that. When you stepped out briefly to buy additional ingredients, you saw them again. The mother and child from yesterday. And this time… not alone.
Several other women stood nearby—well-dressed, the same aura, the same way of standing. You didn’t need to ask to know… they were from the same circle. Women in elite complexes like UN Village, used to living above, and seeing others… from below.
You tried to pass by as usual. Not looking. Not seeking trouble. But their voices… were too clear to ignore.
“That’s the one from yesterday, right?”
“Yes, the one working in that house…”
“Why is she always going in and out?”
Your steps slowed slightly.
“What does she even do?”
“Not a maid… but not family either…”
There was a small laugh. Then one sentence that made your steps truly stop, even if just for a fraction of a second—
“Could she be… a paid girl?”
The world felt… silent. Not because they stopped talking. But because your ears seemed to refuse to hear any further. You took a breath. Deep. Slow. Then you kept walking. Without turning. Without responding. Because this wasn’t just about you. This was about Min Yoongi too.
One small rumor could spread. And you knew… he had been hurt enough without something like this added.
So you stayed silent.
That day, you worked as usual. Cooking. Tidying. Keeping everything running. As if those words didn’t stick in your head. As if nothing had changed. But inside… you knew. You couldn’t keep going like this.
The next day, they were still there. The comments grew clearer. Bolder. Less filtered. And you… remained silent. Professional. Keeping your distance.
Until finally, you realized—staying silent wasn’t enough. Because if this continues… it wouldn’t just be you who would break. But also the person you had been trying to protect from the start.
That night, you gathered the courage to contact Yoongi’s mother. The conversation wasn’t long. But enough to make your heart feel heavier.
“I think… I have to quit,” you said softly.
On the other hand, the woman’s voice immediately changed.
“Why?”
You didn’t answer right away. Then you explained. About those women. About what they said. About how it could lead in the wrong direction. And how you… didn’t want Yoongi to be affected again.
A long silence.
Then— “I don’t agree.”
You went quiet.
“He needs you,” she continued. “Maybe he doesn’t show it, but I know. He eats now. That’s already a big change.”
You bit your lip softly.
“Yes, but because of me he ends up getting rumors like that…”
“I’ll handle that,” she cut in gently but firmly. “You don’t leave.”
You closed your eyes for a moment. On one side, you knew she was right. On the other hand… you were also human. And you were too tired.
“I’ll think about it,” you whispered finally.
But inside, you already knew the answer.
The next day, you came as usual. And as usual… Yoongi stayed the same. Cold. Distant. As if nothing had changed. Until finally, you gathered the courage to speak.
“I want to quit.”
The sentence was simple. But enough to make him stop in place.
He looked at you. For a long time.
“Why?” he asked shortly.
You lowered your head slightly.
“Personal reasons.”
He clicked his tongue softly.
“It’s only been two weeks.”
You stayed silent.
“Couldn’t handle it, huh?” he continued, his tone thin, almost mocking. “Weak.”
That word—something you might have ignored on another day—felt deeper that day. Sharper. And you still didn’t respond.
“Yes,” you answered softly.
Not because you agreed. But because you were too tired to explain.
He looked away, as if your decision didn’t matter.
“Fine,” he said.
Just like that. As if you had never meant anything. And that… was enough to make your chest feel empty again.
That day you still worked until the end. As usual. As if it was just a normal last working day. Without drama. Without emotion. Without anything.
But what you didn’t know—that night, Yoongi’s mother spoke to him. And for the first time, he heard something that… he had never seen himself. About the women in the complex. About what they said. About how you chose to stay silent. About how you endured everything… just so his name wouldn’t be dragged again.
A long silence after that. Yoongi didn’t respond immediately. Didn’t react right away. But something slowly… moved inside him. Something he had kept tightly shut. Something he had ignored.
About you.
About everything you did without ever being appreciated.
About how you stayed… even when you were hurt from all directions.
And for the first time since you came into that house—Min Yoongi felt… maybe all this time, he was the one who had never truly seen.
. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.
The change came slowly. Almost unnoticeable if you weren’t really paying attention.
That morning, you arrived as usual—calm, neat, without excessive expression. You took off your shoes, went straight to the kitchen, and started preparing the ingredients. Tang-ie greeted you, as always, meowing softly and brushing against your legs.
You gave a faint smile.
“Last day, huh,” you whispered softly.
You didn’t know whether you would really leave today or not. But you had prepared yourself… for it.
Upstairs, Min Yoongi stood for quite a while at the edge of the stairs. Watching. For the first time… not just seeing you as something bothersome. But truly… seeing.
The way you moved in the kitchen. The way your hands cut ingredients with a calm rhythm. The way you occasionally paused to taste, then adjusted the flavor without rushing. All of it… had always been there. He just never cared to notice.
“You came earlier today.”
His voice suddenly broke the silence. You paused for a moment. Then turned.
“Yes.” Your answer was short. Neutral. Not cold, but not warm either. And that… was different.
Usually, you would add something. A small sentence. A more lively tone. Now… there was nothing.
Yoongi walked down slowly. “What are you cooking?”
You returned to the cutting board. “As usual.”
The same kind of answer. Short. Clear. Leaving no room for further conversation.
He stood there for a few seconds. As if waiting. But you didn’t continue. Didn’t ask back. Didn’t try to start a conversation. And eventually… he was the one who left first.
Strange. Usually, you were the one trying. Now… you were pulling away.
That day, Yoongi actually sat down when you served the food. He ate. Slowly.
And as usual— “Not warm enough.”
You nodded slightly. “I’ll fix it.”
No defense. No explanation. Just that. And somehow… it felt different. Not because his words changed. But because your reaction did. No longer trying. No longer hoping. Just… doing.
The next day, Yoongi started appearing around you more often. Not to get angry. Not to criticize. But… as if searching for something.
“Do you always cook by yourself?” he asked one afternoon.
“Yes.”
“Aren’t you tired?”
“I’m used to it.”
Your answers remained short. Always enough. No more. He looked at you for a few seconds longer. And for the first time, he noticed small things that previously… never entered his mind.
Your face. Not strikingly beautiful. But… natural. Calm. Without trying to look attractive. Without heavy makeup. Without an attitude seeking attention. And that… made it harder for him to look away.
The way you tied your hair. The way you tucked stray strands without realizing. The way you focused on your work… as if the outside world didn’t matter.
He frowned slightly. Why was he only noticing all of this now?
“Are you… always like this?” he asked again.
You paused briefly.
“Like what?”
“Just… normal.”
You looked at him. And for the first time… there was a clear distance in your eyes.
“I am just normal,” you answered.
The sentence was simple. But enough to silence him. Because now… you truly sounded like someone who didn’t want more. Didn’t want closeness. Didn’t want involvement. And that was the opposite of what he had always thought about people around him.
Yoongi was used to people approaching him. People want something. People see his status as BTS—as access, as opportunity.
But you… weren’t like that. You never tried to get close. Never took advantage. Never even… seemed interested beyond your job.
And that—was exactly what made him start paying attention.
Meanwhile, you… kept your distance even more. Not because you hated him. Not because you were angry. But because you knew your boundaries. You knew the kind of world he lived in. You knew how easily people could misunderstand.
You knew how one small step could turn into a big rumor—especially in a place like UN Village, where people spoke faster than they understood.
And you didn’t want to be part of that. You didn’t want to become the reason for new problems in his life.
So you stepped back. Slowly. Surely. Still polite. Still professional. But clearly… keeping your distance.
And for the first time—Yoongi felt it.
That distance. That absence.
Not a big loss. Not something dramatic. But… enough to make him realize—that the person who had always been in that house, the one he always ignored, the one he always hurt, was slowly… no longer in the same place.
. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.
That day, you came with a decision you had fully made. Not one made out of momentary emotion, but because you had thought everything through—about your job, about your boundaries, about everything that had started to feel… too far from just being “professional.”
You finished cooking as usual. Calm. Neat. Without mistakes.
And when Min Yoongi sat at the dining table, you stood not far away as usual.
“I want to quit.”
This time, you didn’t wait for the “right” moment.
You said it immediately.
The spoon in Yoongi’s hand stopped. He didn’t look at you right away. Didn’t react immediately.
A few seconds passed, then— “You can’t.” His answer was quick. Too quick.
You frowned slightly. “I’m asking for permission, not your opinion,” you said softly, still polite.
He lifted his head. Looking at you. “You can’t quit.”
His tone wasn’t loud. But firm. And… strangely, it sounded like someone who didn’t want to lose something—even though he himself didn’t know what it was.
You took a slow breath. “What’s the reason?”
Silence. Yoongi opened his mouth, as if wanting to answer. Then closed it again. His gaze shifted briefly to the table, then back to you.
“…You just can’t.”
You stayed quiet. That answer… didn’t make sense. And you weren’t someone who would stay just because of “just because.”
“I need a reason,” you said softly.
He let out a rough breath, clearly frustrated—not at you, but at himself for not being able to explain.
“Just do your job,” he finally said. “Don’t ask too much.”
You looked at him for a few seconds. Then nodded slightly. “Okay.”
But this time… the distance was even clearer than before.
That day, Yoongi ate.
And for the first time—there was no comment.
No “too salty.” No “not enough flavor.” Not anything.
He just ate. Quietly.
And you noticed… even though you didn’t show it.
You knew. From the beginning… there was nothing wrong with your cooking.
And it seemed—he finally realized it too.
The following days changed. Not drastically. Not warmly. But… different. Yoongi started actually eating. Always. Without comments. Without criticism.
And that… felt more honest than all the words before.
Sometimes he still stood in the kitchen while you cooked. Not speaking. Just watching. And you stayed the same—calm, focused, not trying to get closer. Not giving more space than necessary.
Meanwhile, outside—Yoongi’s mother became even more confused. At first, she truly wanted you to stay. Because you didn’t just help—you cared. And that was rare.
Among her friends, your name was often mentioned.
“That girl is so kind,” she would say repeatedly.
Not because you were perfect. But because you were sincere. And that… showed.
When you said you wanted to quit, she had tried to hold you back. But after knowing your reasons—about the rumors, the pressure, everything you endured alone—her heart couldn’t bear it.
“Wouldn’t it be better… to just let her quit?” she said one night to Yoongi.
Her tone was soft. More like… worried.
“She’s endured enough.”
Yoongi stayed silent. Not answering immediately. His hands folded, his gaze empty ahead.
A few seconds passed. Then— “No.” The same answer. Short. But more certain than before.
His mother looked at him, slightly surprised. “Why?”
Silence. Yoongi looked away. “…She still works well.”
That wasn’t the reason. His mother knew. And for the first time, something began to become clear—something that had never been there before. Her son… was starting to change. Slowly. Very slowly. And maybe—he himself hadn’t realized it yet.
Meanwhile, in that big house in UN Village—you were still standing in the kitchen. Still cooking. Still keeping your distance. And Yoongi—for the first time—was starting to learn… what it felt like to not want someone to leave, but not knowing how to ask them to stay.
. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.
A few days later, the atmosphere in the house felt slightly different. Not because of you. Not because Yoongi changed drastically either. But because that day… his mother came.
You already knew beforehand, so in the morning you prepared everything more neatly than usual. Not to show off, not to appear better—just because you wanted to make sure… nothing was wrong.
The kitchen was clean. The table was arranged. Warm dishes with simple but elegant plating.
When the door opened and Min Yoongi’s mother stepped in, the atmosphere that was usually cold… shifted. More alive. Warmer.
“You must be Y/N, right?” she greeted you with a genuinely warm smile.
You bowed slightly. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Thank you for taking care of Yoongi all this time.”
You smiled faintly. “I’m just doing my job.”
“But you do it with heart,” she replied immediately.
The sentence was simple. But enough to make your chest… feel a little warm.
Yoongi stood not far from there, watching. Silent. As usual. But this time… not completely indifferent.
At lunchtime, you served the food as usual. This time… they ate together. His mother sat at the table, took a bite. Then her eyes lit up.
“This is delicious.”
You were slightly surprised, but still smiled politely. “Thank you.”
“Really, this tastes perfect. Where did you learn to cook?”
“Self-taught.”
“No wonder Yoongi eats at home now.”
That sentence made the atmosphere fall slightly quiet.
Yoongi, who was eating, simply… nodded faintly. No comments. No corrections. No criticism. Just quiet… and eating.
And somehow—that felt far more meaningful than all the comments he had ever made before.
His mother smiled seeing that. Clearly… she noticed. All those small changes.
The conversation continued lightly. About food, about your work, about simple things. Until eventually—the topic shifted.
“By the way,” his mother said casually, turning to you, “I have an acquaintance.”
You glanced slightly.
“A friend’s son. A director at a big company. He’s kind, well-established, handsome too,” she continued with a smile. “I think he’d suit you.”
You paused slightly. Not surprised. But… not completely ready either.
“Oh… thank you, ma’am,” you replied politely.
“You don’t mind if I introduce you?”
You thought for a moment. This was normal. Nothing wrong with it. And you had never seriously thought about things like that, but you weren’t closed off either.
“Yes, that’s fine.”
Yoongi, who had been eating calmly—stopped. His spoon froze mid-air. His gaze didn’t go directly to you. But clearly… he heard.
“Good,” his mother continued happily. “I’ll send your number later.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
The conversation continued. As if it was just a small thing. But not for Yoongi.
From that moment, the atmosphere at the dining table felt… slightly different. He didn’t speak. But he seemed… less calm than before.
And you noticed it. Even though you didn’t know why.
A few hours later, his mother left. The house returned… quiet. As usual.
You were tidying the kitchen when Yoongi suddenly appeared behind you.
“Give me your phone.”
You turned, slightly confused. “Why?”
“Just give it.”
His tone was flat. But there was something… unusual.
You hesitated for a moment.
“Eomma sent you the number, right?”
You didn’t answer immediately. And that… was already enough.
He stepped closer. “Give it.”
You finally handed your phone over. He immediately opened it, found the chat—didn’t take long. And before you could react—he deleted it.
You froze.
“Yoongi—”
“Don’t reply.”
You looked at him. “Why?”
He didn’t answer right away. His hand is still holding your phone, but his gaze now… elsewhere.
“No need.”
“That’s my business,” you said softly, but clearly.
He lifted his head, looking at you. And for the first time… there was something in his eyes that wasn’t cold. Not angry. More like… restless.
“You work here,” he finally said. “Just focus here.”
That sounded like a reason. But not a strong one.
You frowned slightly. “That has nothing to do with it.”
He stayed silent. Like before—unable to explain. And that… made you even more uneasy.
You took a slow breath.
“You don’t have the right to control that,” you continued, still calm even though your heart felt unsettled.
He looked away. His jaw tightened slightly.
“Do whatever you want,” he said finally.
But his tone… didn’t really mean that.
He handed your phone back. Then left. As usual. Leaving you with more questions than answers.
You stood in the kitchen, staring at your phone screen that was now empty. This should have been normal. You should have been angry. Or at least… annoyed.
But what you felt instead—confusion.
And a little… fear.
Because you knew—he wasn’t an ordinary person. He was part of BTS. His world… was different. And you didn’t want to be dragged into something you didn’t understand.
Meanwhile, in another room—Min Yoongi sat in silence. His hands were empty. But his mind wasn’t.
For the first time—your presence was no longer something he merely tolerated.
But something… he was starting to notice.
And maybe—something he was starting to fear losing, even before he truly understood what it was.
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That morning felt… too quiet.
You came as usual to the villa in UN Village, opened the door carefully, took off your shoes, then went straight to the kitchen. Tang-ie still greeted you, meowing softly and brushing against your legs like always. But something was different.
There were no footsteps from upstairs. No figure standing quietly on the stairs. Nothing. You kept cooking. Chopping, sautéing, adjusting the heat—everything moved like a routine already embedded in your body. But a few times, you glanced toward the stairs.
Empty.
After everything was ready, you waited. Usually, at least he would come down briefly. Today… nothing. You let out a quiet breath, then walked toward the stairs.
“Yoongi?”
No answer.
You knocked on his door. Gently at first. Then a bit louder. Still nothing.
Your brows started to furrow. “Yoongi, I’m outside.”
Silence.
You stood there for a few seconds. Then went back down. Maybe he’s sleeping, you thought. You tried not to panic. You continued tidying the house, organizing a few areas as usual. But the uneasy feeling… didn’t leave.
One hour. Two hours. Still no sound.
You went upstairs again. This time, your knock was firmer.
“Yoongi?”
Still no answer. Your heart began beating faster. “If you don’t answer, I’m coming in.”
No response.
Slowly, you opened the door. And the moment it opened—you knew something was wrong.
Min Yoongi lay on the bed, his face pale, his breathing heavy. The blanket was messy, and even from that distance you could see… he wasn’t okay.
You immediately approached. “Yoongi?”
No response. You touched his forehead—hot. Very hot.
“Oh God…”
You didn’t panic. You couldn’t panic.
You moved quickly—getting water, a small towel, making sure he was in a more comfortable position. You opened the window slightly, replaced the compress, and tried to wake him gently.
“Yoongi… can you hear me?”
He groaned softly. At least he was conscious.
“You have a fever,” you whispered, your voice automatically softer.
That day… completely changed. You were no longer just cooking. You were taking care of him. Watching over him. Making sure he drank, even if you had to insist. Replacing the compress multiple times. Sitting beside the bed, observing every small change.
Time passed without you realizing. Afternoon. Night. The room lights were dim, leaving only a warm glow that made the atmosphere calmer… but also quieter.
You sat on the chair beside the bed, your body starting to feel tired, but you couldn’t really leave.
“I should go home…” you whispered softly.
But you didn’t move. Because every time you tried to stand—you saw his face. Pale. Weak. And you couldn’t bring yourself to leave.
When you finally stood to get something—suddenly— Your hand was grabbed. You startled. Turned. Yoongi. His eyes were still closed. His breathing was heavy. As if… not fully conscious.
“Don’t…”
His voice was hoarse. Almost a whisper.
You froze.
“Don’t leave…”
His grip tightened around your wrist. You didn’t know what to do.
“Yoongi… I’m just—”
“Don’t leave me…”
This time clearer. Deeper. And somehow… it didn’t sound like someone with a fever. More like… someone truly afraid.
You stayed silent. A few seconds passed. Then slowly… you sat back down.
“Okay,” you whispered softly. “I’m here.”
His hand was still holding yours. And you… didn’t let go. That night, you didn’t go home. You stayed there, sitting beside his bed, occasionally replacing the compress, making sure he stayed stable. Tang-ie even climbed onto the bed, curling up near his feet, as if guarding too.
Time moved slowly. And without realizing—your head began to feel heavy. Your eyes slowly closed. And eventually… you fell asleep. Still sitting on that chair. Still beside him. Still with your hands almost touching.
A few hours later— Yoongi opened his eyes. Slowly. His vision was blurry at first, his head still heavy. But his body temperature had slightly dropped, his breathing more stable. He blinked a few times. Then—he saw you.
Sitting on the chair, your head tilted slightly to the side, asleep in a clearly uncomfortable position. Your face looked tired, but still calm.
And for a few seconds—he just… stared. Silent. Not moving. Not believing.
You… didn’t leave. Even though he knew—you could have. After everything he had done. After everything he had said. But you stayed. Taking care of him. Without being asked. Without obligation.
Something in his chest felt… tight. Not from sickness. But from a feeling he had buried too deeply for too long.
He slowly sat up. Still weak, but enough. And without making much noise, he stood… then walked toward you. Slowly. Carefully. As if afraid of waking you.
He stopped in front of you for a few seconds. Looking at your face more closely. Natural. Calm. Without defenses. And for the first time—he felt… guilty. Deeply.
Without thinking much, he bent slightly… and lifted you. You were light. Lighter than he expected. He carried you to the bed, laying you down carefully, making sure your head was comfortable on the pillow, and pulling the blanket over your body.
You shifted slightly, but didn’t wake. Yoongi stood there for a few seconds. Then slowly… sat on the other side of the bed. Watching you. For a long time. In silence.
Tang-ie moved slightly, getting closer to you, as usual. And Yoongi just… stayed quiet. His mind is full. Of everything he had done. Every word he had said. Every way he had treated you. And now—you were still here. Taking care of him. Without ever asking for anything.
He let out a quiet breath. His hand moved slightly, almost touching your hair… but stopped mid-air. Hesitant. Afraid. And eventually… he pulled his hand back. Lying down beside you. Still keeping a distance. But close enough to see you clearly.
The room was dim. The atmosphere is quiet. And for the first time since all that chaos— Min Yoongi closed his eyes… with a different feeling. Not anger. Not emptiness. But something… slowly becoming warm. Even though he didn’t yet know… what to call it.
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Morning came slowly, slipping through the curtains with a soft, warm light. You woke up gradually. At first… you didn’t immediately realize where you were. Until you felt something.
Warm. Close. And… heavy.
Your breath hitched slightly as you realized—someone’s arm was wrapped around your waist. Your body stiffened instantly. Slowly, you opened your eyes.
And there— You were in Min Yoongi’s bed.
Held.
From behind.
His face was very close to your shoulder, his breath warm, steady—not like last night. He was much better now.
Your heart immediately started beating faster. Too loud, you were afraid he could hear it. You didn’t move right away. You didn’t know what to do.
Slowly… you tried to breathe. Calm. You had to be calm. But that was exactly what was hard.
A few seconds felt like forever. And then—you realized. He was awake.
You didn’t see it, but you could feel it. The way his breathing changed slightly. The way he holds… didn’t loosen. Didn’t tighten either. Just… stayed. As if he was aware, but chose not to let go.
You closed your eyes again. Pretending to still be asleep. Trying to steady yourself. Trying to quiet all the feelings that suddenly crowded your chest.
And in that position— Silence.
Only the sound of your breathing. Close. Too close.
“…Sorry.”
His voice was soft. Hoarse. Still with his eyes closed.
You didn’t answer immediately. It took a few seconds before you could find your voice.
“It’s okay,” you whispered. And that was honest.
You weren’t angry. Not upset. Not blaming. But… that didn’t mean everything was fine. Silence again.
His arm was still there. Still holding you. And you knew—if you didn’t say something now, you would be pulled further than you should.
“We need to keep our distance.”
The words came out softly. But clear.
You felt his body stiffen slightly behind you. For the first time… his hold changed. Not letting go. But… resisting. As if he didn’t want to hear it.
“I know where this is going,” you continued, still with your eyes closed, because you weren’t sure you could say it if you had to look at him. “And I can’t.”
Silence. Heavier than before.
“I don’t fit into your world,” you whispered. “Your life… isn’t something I can bring into mine.”
Every word felt like… you were pulling it out of your own chest. Slowly. Painfully. But necessary.
“I don’t want to be part of something that… I won’t be able to handle it later.”
His arm slowly… weakened. But hadn’t fully let go. And at that moment—for the first time—Yoongi opened his eyes.
His gaze was blank for a few seconds. Then… it fell onto your back. Close. Too close. And somehow—your words hurt more than all the harsh comments he had ever heard. All this time—people always came to him. Got close. Reached. Expected. No one ever stepped back. No one ever chose… no.
And you— You did. Without hesitation. Without trying to stay longer. Without even… giving him a chance. His chest felt tight. Not from anger. Not just from ego. But because—for the first time—he realized. This feeling… was real. Not just getting used to your presence. Not just comfort. But more. And you— You had already drawn the line first.
“…Do you think I’m playing around?”
His voice was low. Still hoarse.
You slowly opened your eyes. Looking straight ahead.
It wasn’t a harsh rejection. But that—was what hurt the most. Because you weren’t rejecting him. You were rejecting the possibility. Rejecting a path he hadn’t even explained yet. And that… left him with no room to fight back.
His arm finally… let go. Slowly. Like something forced. He pulled back slightly. But didn’t fully move away. His gaze remained on you. Silent. Heavy.
For the first time— Min Yoongi felt something unfamiliar. Rejection. Not because he wasn’t enough. Not because he lacked anything. But because… you chose not to enter his world. And somehow— That hurt far deeper than an ordinary rejection.
Meanwhile, you— Slowly sat up from that position. Sitting at the edge of the bed. Taking a deep breath. Holding everything you felt inside. Because the truth was— This wasn’t easy for you either. Not at all. But you knew— If you didn’t stop now… You might not be able to stop later.
Part 2 →
Author Notes: I’ll release the next part at the end of June— or possibly sooner if it reaches 500 likes first
✨EARLY ACCESS✨ | You can read next part ahead of everyone else on my Ko-fi ☕️
Wow, I really didn’t expect so many people to like this story. At first, I was only planning to make it a oneshot, but it turns out a lot of people wanted a Part 2. Somehow, that even led to me writing 3 parts lol.
I was planning to release Part 2 at the end of June, but the likes have already passed 400! I originally said I’d post Part 2 when it reached 500 likes, so it looks like I might have to release it sooner than I expected.
Thank you so much to everyone who enjoyed this story! 🤍
