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Chapter Text

The smell of instant noodles clung to the walls like wallpaper, mixing with the faint scent of sweat, damp laundry, and something suspiciously expired in the fridge. 

Their dorm was too small for seven boys, but somehow they still had enough room for chaos. Kim Seokjin sat on the edge of the couch. Well, technically a pile of unfolded blankets, silently chewing rice that was slightly undercooked and completely cold. Across the room, Taehyung was draped over Jungkook’s back like a decorative scarf while Jimin filmed them for a video no one would ever watch. 

“Can you two just stay still? For one second?” Jimin grumbled, repositioning for the fifteenth time.

“I am holding still,” Taehyung shot back, muffled as his face smushed into Jungkook’s shoulder.

Jungkook, looking more like a confused bunny than a trainee, blinked at the camera and silently waited for whichever hyung gave the clearest direction

The rapline had gone off to the studio to work on their upcoming debut tracks, leaving Jin behind as the eldest to babysit the chaos. Not that he minded. Well, he did a little but it was hard to complain when his own presence in the group still felt accidental.

Life had fallen into a dull, exhausting rhythm: dancing until their bodies ached, running vocal drills until their voices cracked, and returning here to this cramped, shoebox that they called a home, where dinner usually meant tearing open another pack of ramen. Seokjin couldn’t even remember the last time the group had a proper meal together, one without instant-anything.

Group?

It still felt strange to call them that. They were just starting to settle into the idea of being seven. Seven strangers, shoved together under the glowing promise of debut. Some of the others had trained for years. Seokjin, meanwhile, had been a college student minding his business until someone scouted him on the street.

No dance background. No vocal training. Just a good face, apparently, and a willingness to try.

He’d been too shy at first to talk much. Too busy playing catch-up with extra lessons, always one step behind. He barely had time to eat, let alone make friends. The only one he’d managed to bond with was Changwon, a childhood schoolmate he was fortunate to encounter at the trainee dorm and one of the few people who treated him like he belonged. Then Changwon got cut. Just like that. And Seokjin was back to square one.

Right up until the day he was told he had been chosen for the final lineup, Seokjin genuinely believed he wouldn’t make it. It wasn’t false modesty. Just a quiet sense of reality. Everyone else seemed so far ahead of him, so certain. The trainees around him moved like they belonged in this world, confident and capable. Some had years of experience under their belts, having trained as singers, rappers, or dancers long before joining the company. Their skills were battle-tested.

Early on in training, there were whispers floating through the halls, rumors that BTS would debut as just five members. Then maybe six. Nothing was certain, but one thing was clear. Everyone knew who the frontrunners were. The “OG lineup,” people called them. Rap Monster, the lyrical genius, Smiling Hoba, the dancing machine. And Gloss, the mysterious producer who was an underground legend. They were the backbone. The untouchables. No one questioned their spots.

Then Jungkook joined. Barely a teenager, but gifted in a way that made it impossible not to notice. He rose to the top of the vocal class within weeks. It didn’t help that rumors circulated almost immediately about how he’d received offers from seven agencies, including a major label, but chose this one, a lesser label. Naturally, it made other trainees feel both impressed and threatened.

Next was Taehyung. A chaotic, charming boy who strolled in with his deep voice and boxy smile, the only one who passed the Daegu auditions. He felt like a wildcard no one saw coming but immediately couldn’t imagine the group without him.

And then, in what felt like the final stretch of a long, exhausting race, when everyone thought the final spot would be a fight among the remaining hopefuls, Jimin descended like a meteor. The trainees barely had six months left when he showed up, but it didn’t matter. He quickly dominated the classes and bulldozed through every ranking and every ounce of doubt in the room. The staff couldn’t look away. And neither could the other trainees.

By then, the six of them had started orbiting each other, talent recognizing talent even before anything was official. They practiced together, laughed together, struggled together. Everyone just sort of knew these were the ones. And they all kind of stepped back.

So when the final list was announced and Seokjin’s name was included, awkward late-starting Seokjin who still struggled to keep up in dance class and the other lessons, it felt… surreal. Like he’d stumbled into the wrong door and somehow ended up in the middle of destiny.

Now he was here. Staring at a half-eaten container of rice, listening to Idols-in-progress who seemed much more comfortable with each other than he ever felt. If someone had told him this would be his group; the kids hanging off each other, filming nonsense videos while surrounded by laundry and leftover noodles, he might have tried harder to push past the nerves and reach out sooner.

But it was too late for that now.

Or maybe not too late. Just… a little behind.

Taehyung let out a dramatic sigh, flopping harder against Jungkook like his bones had turned to jelly. “Jiminie, you’re terrible at this,” he declared.

Jimin didn’t glance up from his phone. “If you stopped squirming every two seconds, maybe it wouldn’t look like we’re filming during an earthquake.”

Taehyung shot upright, eyes wide with mock offense. “Excuse me?! I was being still! You’re the one with hands like a trembling chick!”

“That’s called stabilizing,” Jimin snapped. “But you wouldn’t know because you think ‘cinematography’ sounds like a type of dinosaur.”

“Well it kinda does,” Jungkook quipped softly, his big doe eyes blinking innocently.

Jimin became distracted by his eyes, and in a flash, Taehyung launched himself off Jungkook’s back, snatched the phone from Jimin’s hands with a sharp reflex.

“Yah!” Jimin lunged, but Taehyung was already halfway across the room.

Taehyung dived into the pile of blankets beside Seokjin, landing with a muffled “oof” and sandwiching himself against Seokjin’s side without warning. 

“Hyung, look!” he grinned, shoving the phone mere centimeters from Seokjin’s face. “Jungkook looks like a haunted doll and I have six chins! Jimin’s camera skills are a war crime.”

Seokjin stiffened, his spoon hovering in midair.

Taehyung had just called him “hyung.” And for some reason, that alone made his chest tighten. He wasn’t used to being recognized like that casually. A feeling settled deep inside him, something unfamiliar and a little overwhelming.

Taehyung was also way too close.

His hair brushed Seokjin’s cheek. His arm pressed snugly against Seokjin’s side, his thigh warm and solid where it leaned into his leg. He smelled like fabric softener and something vaguely sweet. Probably the strawberry milk he was always stealing from the fridge.

Seokjin’s brain briefly blanked out.

He cleared his throat, trying to scoot an imperceptible inch away without causing alarm. 

“I mean…” Seokjin glanced at the screen. The footage was chaotic. Blurry, shaking, and for some reason framed with someone’s foot in the corner. “It’s not… ideal,” he said delicately, trying not to hurt anyone’s feelings.

Taehyung smirked triumphantly and twisted around to face Jimin, still holding the phone up like a trophy. “See? Even Seokjin hyung agrees.”

There it is again.

Jimin rolled his eyes, arms folded. “Don’t drag him into your tantrum just because you’re mad I caught your ugly angles.”

“You only caught my ugly angles,” Taehyung retorted. “And don’t act like you’re some director just because you’re older by, what, two months?”

“It’s two months and 18 days!” 

“Same thing,” Taehyung said cheerfully, flopping back against Seokjin like a cat marking territory. “And also, you’re bad at videos.”

“I will end you,” Jimin said, moving forward like he actually meant it.

Seokjin quickly lifted a hand, playing mediator despite Taehyung now half-leaning across his lap like it was no big deal. “Okay, okay, enough. Jimin, your video skills are… unique.”

“Seokjin-ssi!” Jimin looked betrayed.

“What are you guys even filming for?” Seokjin asked curiously, eyebrows raised as he glanced between the bickering trio.

Taehyung perked up. “It’s for our Twitter page,” he said proudly. “Jimin wanted us to post some ‘maknae moments’ to increase our followers. Right now we have, like what, 57? And most of them are staff or our families. Some are probably bots.”

“Taehyung,” Jimin warned under his breath.

“But then Jimin got this brilliant idea,” Taehyung continued, cheerfully ignoring Jimin’s death stare. “To film us being all cute and natural. Except, turns out, being natural on command is really hard.”

“Oh,” Seokjin said, nodding slowly like something had just clicked. Without warning, he reached for the phone on Taehyung’s lap and flipped the camera on.

He turned the lens toward Jimin, who was standing in the middle of the room. His arms were crossed and he was glaring at Taehyung until he realized the camera was pointed at him. Immediately, his posture stiffened and his face turned red.

Seokjin studied the frame through the screen. The dorm’s light was usually awful, but somehow, just then, a soft ray of sun filtered through the small crack in the curtain. It hit Jimin perfectly, highlighting the dyed golden-brown strands of his hair, the delicate shape of his lips, the warm blush creeping up from his neck to his cheeks. His eyes, wide with flustered confusion, glowed amber under the light.

And without realizing, Seokjin had started to speak, more to himself than anyone else.

“You know, most people think it’s about the pose. The way someone tilts their chin or sets their jaw. But it’s not. It’s the in-between moments. The second before someone smiles. The pause before they speak. That’s when they’re the most real.”

Jimin blinked, still too surprised to interrupt.

“You don’t need a studio or fancy lights,” Seokjin went on. “Sometimes it’s just about seeing what’s already there. Catching the truth of someone before they realize they’re being watched.”

He clicked the shutter.

The photo appeared on-screen; Jimin standing in the patch of sunlight, startled and flushed, beautiful without trying.

Taehyung leaned over and let out a low whistle. “Wow hyung! This is art. How did you know all this?”

Seokjin startled slightly, suddenly aware of what he’d said, of the attention now shifting his way. He cleared his throat and lowered the phone, cheeks tinting pink.

“I, uh… I studied Theater and Filming at Konkuk University,” he said, scratching the back of his neck.

Jungkook’s eyes lit up with admiration. “That’s so cool.”

“So you’re an actor?! No wonder you’re so handsome.” Taehyung gasped, practically vibrating. 

“Oh, no, no,” Seokjin quickly refuted, waving his hand and blushing furiously at the compliment. “I only studied it! I’ve never actually, you know… acted. Professionally.”

“Well, this is stunning,” Taehyung declared, grabbing the phone and flipping it around to show Jungkook and Jimin. “We can upload Jimin’s photo with a cute caption like, ‘Hyung looks adorable when he’s angry.’ That’s got to get some attention.”

The picture was so mesmerizing that Jimin couldn’t even bring himself to protest. His lips twitched like he wanted to argue, but all he managed was a quiet, “It’s… not bad.”

“It’s perfect,” Jungkook agreed, nodding with all the seriousness of a cute bunny.

As Taehyung focused on uploading the photo, Seokjin stood up quietly and slipped into the kitchen. He’d already caught the time on the phone screen. It was past 5 pm. The rapline would be back soon.

Might as well start boiling water for some ramen.

And maybe, if he focused hard enough on noodles and seasoning packets, he could keep those creeping thoughts at bay. The ones whispering that he was getting too close to something warm, something bright, something that might burn if he let himself reach for it.

Chapter Text

Seokjin picked up the pot of reheated ramen, and added the usual store-bought toppings; some boiled eggs, a sprinkle of green onions, and a single slice of processed cheese. He adjusted the garnish with chopsticks like a chef plating for a cooking show, even though their kitchen was the size of a closet and their ingredients could barely fill a corner store shelf. Still, he tried to make it look as appetizing as possible. Presentation mattered. Especially when you had almost nothing to work with.

Ever since moving into the dorm with the other boys, Seokjin had become painfully aware of how terrible their diets were. The younger ones often skipped meals altogether, trading food for more hours in the practice room, convinced they could survive on adrenaline and stubbornness. The older ones weren’t much better. They didn’t skip food. However they just made deeply questionable choices.

He still hadn’t recovered from The Chicken Smoothie Incident.

He shuddered slightly at the memory. Yoongi, bleary-eyed and sleep-deprived, standing in the kitchen in the dead of night. Two boiled chicken breasts. A banana. Some yogurt. A blender. Seokjin had walked in just in time to witness the moment Yoongi added a handful of frozen berries with the determination of a man committing a crime he fully intended to deny. The sound it made haunts him to this day.

After that, Seokjin decided someone had to intervene. And if no one else was going to take the job, it might as well be him. It was a small thing really, but it grounded him. Gave him a way to contribute, quietly, in the background. A way to feel like he wasn’t just taking up space. Like he wasn’t a burden the others had to carry. 

The microwave pinged behind him, distracting him from his thoughts. Seokjin grabbed the steamed dumplings and transferred them to a plastic tray, arranging them like a little sampler platter. He slid on his pink fluffy slippers, then balanced the tray(carrying the ramen pot too) in his hands and carefully headed back toward the common room.

The space wasn’t large. Just a few feet between the couch and the wall, with a low table pushed to the center and the blankets still crumpled in the corners from earlier. But it had become their converted dining room for the evening supper.

Jimin and Jungkook sat on one side of the table, and on the other side were Hoseok and Taehyung. As Seokjin approached with the tray, Jimin stood up without a word and took it from his hands, setting it down gently before sliding back into his spot. It was a small gesture, but enough to let Seokjin settle in at the end of the table without awkwardness.

“Where are the others?” Seokjin glanced around, finally realizing the absence of the two members.

Hoseok leaned forward slightly, chopsticks poised over his bowl. “Namjoon’s stuck in some meeting with management. Something about concept discussions, album stuff. He didn’t say much. Just grabbed his notebook and disappeared.”

Seokjin nodded slowly. “And Yoongi?”

At this, Hoseok paused, as if trying to recall something that hadn’t quite made sense. “He left in a hurry. Didn’t say where he was going. Just muttered something about needing fresh air and then sprinted out the studio.”

Taehyung chimed in with his mouth full, “He also took one of the good umbrellas.”

“Wait, the green one?” Jimin frowned.

“Yup! The green one,” Taehyung confirmed. “Hyung better not lose it.”

“Oh then I have to warm up the frozen kimchi for them,” Seokjin sighed. Everyone grabbed a noodle bowl and started serving themselves directly from the pot. The steam curling into the air and their chopsticks clicking in anticipation.

“Thanks for the food,” Jimin murmured as always, head bowed slightly before slurping his first bite.

“So delicious,” Taehyung groaned with his mouth full, his eyes fluttering shut like he was being spiritually transported.

Jungkook didn’t say a word. But the way his eyebrows pinched together in a frown, was proof he felt the same way as Taehyung.

For a few minutes, the table fell into a kind of silence, filled with the rhythm of chopsticks clicking against bowls and soft slurps echoing in the small room.

Hoseok cracked open a can of soda, the sharp hiss briefly breaking the lull. He unlocked his phone with one hand, casually scrolling as he drank. Then he suddenly choked.

“Pffft—what the—!”

He set the soda down, coughing into his sleeve as the others startled.

“What did you do to our account today?!” Hoseok demanded, staring at his screen like it had personally offended him.

Everyone blinked. Jimin’s chopsticks paused mid-lift. Even Taehyung, who was in the middle of slurping a particularly long noodle, paused. Then he swallowed.

“We uploaded a photo of Jimin,” he said slowly, now sounding unsure. “Why? What happened? Did something go wrong?”

Hoseok didn’t answer at first. His mouth opened, then closed again, trying to find the words. Seokjin became concerned, and a flicker of panic started to settle in him. 

Then, with a slow grin spreading across his face, Hoseok turned the screen to face the others.

“We’re going viral,” he announced. 

They all leaned in, heads bumping together like curious puppies. On the screen, the post Taehyung had uploaded earlier was blowing up. Over 10,000 likes, more than a 1000 comments, and the number kept rising with every second.

“Wait, seriously?” Jimin asked, his voice small, stunned.

Taehyung gasped. “I told you that photo was gold!”

Seokjin blinked, genuinely caught off guard. His hand still rested on the ladle, hovering absentmindedly over the pot. He hadn’t expected… well, any of this.

Jungkook leaned in, reading the comments with wide eyes. “Someone called Jimin ‘the next generation’s visual fairy.’”

Taehyung whooped, throwing an arm around Jimin’s shoulders and shaking him. “Visual god! Look at you, Jiminie! We’re about to be famous.”

“I didn’t even pose properly,” Jimin mumbled, cheeks turning pink.

“So many comments are asking us our debut date,” Hoseok added in cheerful tone, as he turned back his screen and continued scrolling.

Seokjin relaxed once again, the ball of nerves already untangling themselves. A quiet smile tugged at the corners of his lips. 

“It’s all thanks to hyung!” Taehyung announced proudly.

“Hyung?” Hoseok questioned, looking confused.

“Yes. Seokjin hyung! Did you know he’s an actor, Hobi-hyung? That’s why he’s so handsome and knows so much about photography. He took one photo of Jimin. Just one. And look at the response. People love it! He’s really amazing.”

“Oh really?!”

Seokjin’s face flushed instantly, color rising all the way to the tips of his ears. “It’s not a big deal,” he mumbled, eyes dropping to the table. “Jimin already looked beautiful. I just… pressed the button.”

“Come on now. No need to humble yourself, Seokjin-ssi,” Hoseok said offhandedly, eyes still fixed on his phone. It was the kind of comment that slipped out without much thought. But for Seokjin, it landed with surprising weight. Something about it settled in his chest, unfamiliar and warm, like the quiet recognition of being seen.

“This is crazy!” Hoseok went on, brows climbing higher with every scroll. “We used to get, what? 20, maybe 50 likes on a good day. Now we’ve crossed 5000 followers, and it’s still going up.”

Taehyung leaned in, eyes gleaming. “Read the comments. Read the nice ones.”

“Okay, okay.” Hoseok flicked through the feed, skimming. “‘Who is this? He’s too pretty, it’s unfair.’ ‘Tell me their debut date so I can start stanning immediately.’ ‘I don’t know who he is, but I’d let him ruin my life.’” He raised his brows. “Okay, that one might be a little much.”

Jungkook snorted into his soda, nearly choking. And Jimin turned pink again.

It was rare to see Hoseok like this. Giddy, a little breathless, like he was trying not to get too excited but couldn’t help himself. Normally, he was the one who held everything together. Structured. Calm. Focused. But right now, even he was allowing himself this small win.

And honestly, they all needed it.

The past few weeks had been uncertain. Their debut date was still unconfirmed, and the album wasn’t ready. Some of their recordings had been scrapped altogether. Most of their days blurred into one another. Practice, more practice, cold convenience store dinners, and the silent hope that something would work out.

Their small, unknown, and under-resourced label offered little in terms of promotion. Other groups had marketing teams, TV appearances, industry buzz. They had none of that. When morale was low and hopes were thinner than their budget, Namjoon had suggested starting their own social media accounts. “Even if just one new person sees us each day,” he said, “that’s still worth something.”

At the time, it felt like grasping at straws. But now… now there was a spark. Somehow, this one photo had pushed them onto the trending page. Something they never imagined reaching during their debut, let alone their pre-debut.

Seokjin didn’t say much after that. He just listened, smiled where it felt right, and let their voices fill the space around him. There was still so much to worry about. But for now, he let himself feel the same hope Hoseok seemed to be full off.

                  ———————————-

Seokjin woke to the sound of something crashing in the kitchen. He was a light sleeper, always had been. So even the smallest noise was enough to pull him out of rest. Someone was definitely out there. He reached under his pillow for his phone, blinking against the brightness as he checked the time.

2:06 am.

With a soft sigh, he sat up and looked around their cramped bedroom. The younger members were still fast asleep, undisturbed by the noise, lost in dreams. Two beds were empty. Which meant it was either Namjoon or Yoongi.

He slipped on his pink slippers and padded quietly toward the kitchen. The light was already on, casting a warm glow across the small space. Namjoon stood by the microwave, watching the plate turn with quiet focus. He turned around as Seokjin entered, as if he’d sensed him coming all along.

“Seokjin-shi,” Namjoon said, a little sheepish, his voice laced with guilt. He must’ve known his late-night noise had woken someone up.

“Did you just get back?”

“Yeah,” Namjoon replied with a tired smile. “It’s been a long day. Or night, I guess.” He glanced at the microwave. “Just warming up some of the kimchi you made.”

Seokjin looked at Namjoon. He had dark circles under his eyes, his face drawn with exhaustion. He looked like someone carrying more than just a long day. Like the weight of something much heavier had settled on his shoulders. Seokjin wanted to ask, to help ease whatever was pressing down on him, but the words wouldn’t come. Instead, he moved quietly to the fridge, opened it, and took out a bottle of water, sipping slowly to fill the silence and distract himself.

The microwave beeped, loud and final. Namjoon opened the door and pulled out the plate, the smell of warm kimchi filling the small kitchen. He stood there for a moment, paused, just staring at the food like he’d lost his appetite.

Seokjin took a breath, the kind that trembled a little on the way out. He wasn’t sure how to say it, but he couldn’t walk away either.

“Namjoon-shi… is everything okay?”

Namjoon didn’t respond at first. His fingers tightened slightly around the plate, and for a second, Seokjin thought he wouldn’t answer. But then, almost like he was afraid of hearing the words himself, Namjoon replied, “I don’t know.”

He finally looked up.

“I keep wondering if I made the wrong choice,” he admitted. “Trying to be a rapper in an idol group. Putting myself out there like this. What if I can’t live up to what they expect from me? What if I disappoint everyone? The company… the fans… even worse all of you.”

Seokjin didn’t say anything right away. He stepped closer, his hand wrapping around the bottle of water from the fridge. Then he turned back to Namjoon and said quietly, “You’re not the only one who’s scared, you know.”

Namjoon blinked.

“I’m terrified too,” Seokjin went on, his voice steady despite the lump in his throat. “Of not being good enough. Of holding everyone back. Of being the one weak link in a chain that’s already straining. But if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that fear doesn’t mean you’re doing something wrong. It means you care.”

He paused, letting the silence settle between them.

“You’re not alone in this. We’re all figuring it out as we go. But we’ll get there. Together.”

Namjoon looked down again, his shoulders sinking a little, but in relief. The tension in his frame eased, just enough for him to breathe.

“Oh… by the way,” Seokjin said, voice lighter this time. “Did you see the photo we posted earlier? The one of Jimin?”

Namjoon glanced up mid-bite, eyebrows raised. “Yeah, Hobi texted me. It blew up, didn’t it?”

Seokjin nodded, the corner of his mouth twitching with a trace of pride. “Over ten thousand likes. Thousands of comments. People are already asking when we’re debuting. It’s kind of surreal.”

Namjoon smiled, small but genuine. “That’s really good… especially for them. Jimin, Jungkook, Taehyung. I think they needed something like that. To feel seen. You did a good thing.”

Seokjin shrugged, but the warmth in Namjoon’s words stayed with him. He didn’t really know how to take the compliment, but hearing it from Namjoon, the leader of their group, meant more than he could explain.

“Oh,” Namjoon added, as if remembering something. “Speaking of… the company wants to see you tomorrow. Something about a meeting. I think it’s just you.”

Seokjin blinked. “Me?”

Namjoon nodded. “Yeah. Don’t worry, they didn’t say it was bad or anything. I think they just want to talk. Maybe it’s about the photo, who knows.”

Seokjin didn’t reply right away. His mind buzzed with possibilities, none of which he could quite pin down.

Once he saw that Namjoon looked a little better and had started eating, he turned to head back to bed. But just as he reached the doorway, Namjoon called out, “Seokjin-shi.”

He paused and turned.

“Can I call you hyung?” Namjoon asked, a little flustered, eyes dropping to the floor.

Seokjin blinked, caught off guard. “I—yeah. I don’t mind.”

Namjoon smiled then, dimples showing, something softer settling in his eyes. “Thank you, hyung. I needed this.”

Seokjin gave a small nod and walked away.

Back in bed, staring up at the ceiling, he smiled softly, wondering what magic he has casted to have two members call him their big brother already. Maybe, just maybe, being part of this group was the start of something good after all.

Chapter Text

Seokjin glanced up at the walls, the paint barely clinging on after what looked like a half-hearted job done more than a decade ago. Faded and chipped in the corners, it gave the impression that the room had been forgotten in time. In one corner, the air conditioner was leaking steadily, a plastic bucket placed beneath it to catch the drips. The room was unreasonably cold thanks to the AC unit, which seemed to be stuck on 16 degrees Celsius, likely installed secondhand and long past its prime.

His gaze shifted to the heavy wooden desk in front of him, which took up most of the cramped office. It was the kind of furniture that seemed built to last forever, even if the rest of the room around it was slowly falling apart. Sitting across from it, Seokjin found there was barely any space for his legs. He shifted awkwardly, knees brushing against the underside of the desk, and couldn’t help but feel a little sorry for whoever had to sit here regularly.

Before he’d taken his seat, the front desk secretary had handed him a cup of coffee. It was instant, slightly stale and a bit too bitter. But it was hot. Still, he accepted it with a polite smile. It was the thought that counted… and also he hadn’t eaten breakfast.

He wrapped his hands around the mug for warmth and tried not to overthink. 

Since waking up that morning, Seokjin had been dreading this meeting. Namjoon had told him last night about the label wanting to see him. But the lack of details left too much room for overthinking.

His mind had already gone through the worst-case scenario: Maybe I’m getting cut.

But after a long internal spiral, he’d tried to settle on a more reasonable thought: Maybe they just want me to improve. Maybe it’s feedback.

“There’s no way I’m being cut now”, he told himself firmly. Our debut is close. The team’s been finalized. I already signed the contract.

He exhaled slowly and shook his head. Stop thinking! Just hear what they have to say.

Still, as the minutes stretched on in the cold, quiet office, the nervous energy stayed with him, like the slow drip of the AC behind him.

Seokjin was just about to take a cautious sip of the hot coffee when the office door creaked open. Startled, he inhaled too quickly and nearly choked. He coughed quietly into his sleeve, blinking back the sting in his eyes and silently mourning what little dignity he had left. Not the smoothest start.

Two men walked in. One of them was Bang Si-hyuk, the CEO himself. The other was a stranger in smart business-casual clothes, holding a clipboard and wearing the kind of expression that said he had a very full schedule and very little sleep.

He tried not to squirm, but the cold of the room suddenly felt sharper.

Finally, Bang Si-hyuk broke the silence.

“Good morning, Kim Seokjin. Nice to finally meet you. I don’t think we’ve spoken one-on-one before.”

Seokjin nodded quickly, his voice stiff. “No, sir. We haven’t.”

Bang Si-hyuk gestured to the man beside him. “This is Mr. Kim Sejin. He’s just been appointed as the manager for your team’s debut. Namjoon has already met him a few times, but I believe this is the first for you.”

Mr. Sejin gave a small nod in greeting. Seokjin bowed politely in return, still unsure whether this was the kind of meeting where people got quietly fired.

Bang Si-hyuk continued, “Now, since we’re all here, this meeting is a bit important, and your manager is sitting in because it concerns your upcoming activities. Hope that’s alright.”

“Yes, sir,” Seokjin replied politely.

Bang Si-hyuk raised a brow. “You can relax a little. Just call me Bang PD-nim. No need to sound like you’re being scolded.”

Seokjin blinked. “Yes si—Bang PD-nim,” he corrected, cheeks warming slightly.

There was a short pause, then Bang PD nodded, satisfied. “Good.”

He leaned back slightly, his tone turning more direct. “So. We’ve been keeping an eye on the group’s visibility. And frankly, it’s been quiet. Yesterday’s Twitter post, the one that went viral, caught us off guard. But it also gave us an idea.”

“The picture?”

“Yes. That picture,” Bang PD added. “People liked it. It got retweeted. It made someone say ‘who is that idol?’ That’s buzz. And we need buzz.”

Seokjin nodded slowly, still not quite sure where this was going.

“We’ve been discussing how to build on that momentum,” Bang PD continued. “The reality is, buzz matters. Recognition matters. And you, Seokjin, have certain strengths we think we can use to help the group. You’ve got strong visuals, you’re tall, and you’ve had some acting experience, right? So here’s what we’re thinking. We want to try getting you into a few small roles. Web dramas, student extras, background cameos, nothing too intense. Just enough to get your face out there and build some recognition before the group debuts.”

Seokjin blinked. “You want me to… act?”

“Yes!” 

Seokjin sat there, processing the words, unsure how to respond. His throat felt tight.

It wasn’t the offer itself that shook him. It was what it represented. A spotlight. One that would shine only on him.

He’d spent months feeling like the odd one out. Struggling to keep up with dance practices, doubting whether he belonged alongside people as talented and driven as the others. But he’d finally started to find his place. The team was starting to feel like his team too. They accepted him, laughed with him, trained with him. And now, he was being asked to step apart. Even if it was for the group, it felt like stepping ahead.

He didn’t want that.

“There are other members,” he said finally, voice quiet. “Who are better at this. They’re all better suited for something like this.”

Bang PD didn’t interrupt, so Seokjin kept going.

“I’m still learning. I’m just starting to feel like I belong. I don’t want to do something that… separates me from them. I’m afraid it’ll feel like I’m skipping ahead when I haven’t earned it.”

The room became quiet after the admission, saved for the whirring sound from the old air conditioner in the corner. Seokjin became more nervous in his seat as the silence stretched on, wondering if he’s said something wrong.

“That’s fair,” Bang PD said eventually. “But this isn’t about stealing the spotlight. It’s about using what we have, smartly. Still, if you’re not comfortable, we’re not going to force it.”

Relief settled over Seokjin, though it came with a bit of guilt too. He bowed politely. “Thank you for considering me, Bang PD-nim.”

Seokjin stood up, legs a little stiff from being bent under the desk for so long. As he made his way to the door, he felt the weight of the moment settle over him. The coffee in his hands had long gone cold. He left it behind on the table.

———————

When Seokjin stepped into the dance studio, it was completely empty. The fluorescent lights shined harshly overhead, reflecting off the scuffed wooden floors. It made sense that no one was here yet since he’d left the dorm at the crack of dawn for his meeting with Bang PD, and hadn’t even managed to grab breakfast. Now, with each passing minute, the hunger was starting to gnaw at him more than the nerves.

He walked toward the back of the room where the old wooden bench stood, paint chipped at the edges and one leg slightly uneven. Dropping his bag beside it, he sat down to change into his dancing sneakers, taking a moment to exhale.

The quiet was a gift. The others would be arriving later, but for now, the studio was his. And he planned to make the most of it.

There was one move that had been haunting him lately. A sharp turning step that required precision and balance, flowing immediately into the next part of the choreography. He kept stumbling through it during practice, and Son Sungdeuk, their choreographer, had been blunt: “Fix it. Fast. There’s a big chance it is probably going into the debut routine.”

Seokjin pulled out his phone and connected it to the loudspeaker, scrolling through his playlist until he found a track he could rehearse to. As the intro played, he placed the phone carefully on the bench, then walked toward the center of the room.

He caught his reflection in the mirror and paused.

His hair was slightly tousled from the early morning rush, and the shadows under his eyes were more dramatic than he’d expected. A telltale sign of another sleepless night spent overthinking. His expression was set, determined but tired. He looked like someone trying very hard to keep up.

Still, he nodded to his reflection with quiet encouragement. “You can do this, Kim Seokjin,” he told himself.

The beat dropped. He moved with the rhythm, his arms in sync, feet hitting the steps in time. Then came the turning sequence. He spun sharply, left foot pivoting, his core tight. But then he lost his balance on the landing. His right foot slipped slightly, forcing him to stumble awkwardly before catching himself.

He tried again. And again.

Each time, the same thing. A slight wobble. A break in the flow. Not as bad as when he started, but not clean either.

By the sixth or seventh attempt, he was breathing hard. Sweat dampened his shirt and dripped down his temples. His calves burned, the soreness settling in like a warning. Still, he didn’t stop. The move had to look natural. And right now, it was anything but.

He planted his feet again, staring into the mirror. “Okay,” he muttered under his breath, brushing his bangs back with a damp hand. “Again.”

By the twentieth attempt, Seokjin collapsed against the mirror, his breath fogging up the space. He knew the others would be arriving soon, and it wouldn’t be fair if they couldn’t use the space because of the mess he left behind.

So, pushing past the ache in his legs, he grabbed some old newspapers from the corner and started wiping down the mirror. His arms were tired, and sweat was still dripping down his neck, but at least the smudges were fading. About ten minutes later, the mirror looked decent enough, and he tossed the papers aside just as the studio door opened.

“Whoa, you’ve been practicing?” Hoseok was the first to step in, eyes sharp despite the early hour. He gave him a once-over, his eyes briefly narrowing like he could see more than Seokjin wanted to show.

“Really, hyung?! Is that why you snuck out of the dorm this morning?” Taehyung called out as he followed right behind, flanked by Jimin and a barely-awake Jungkook, who looked like he’d been rushed straight out of bed and hadn’t caught up to reality yet.

Seokjin offered them a small smile, quickly dusting his palms on his sweatpants.

A moment later, Namjoon and Yoongi walked in, deep in conversation about something music-related. Seokjin glanced up at Yoongi, suddenly realizing this was the first time he’d seen him since the day before. He hadn’t even noticed Yoongi’s bed was empty when he left in the morning. Had he not come back to the dorm at all?

That’s risky, Seokjin thought. What if the company found out? But he shook the thought away. Yoongi was probably just holed up in the recording room again.

Before he could fully recover from his thoughts, Taehyung suddenly stepped closer. His breath fanning over Seokjin’s lips due to the height difference, and he could see every speck of light in the younger boy’s brown eyes.

“Anybody home, hyung?” Taehyung asked cheekily with a smirk on his lips, clearly enjoying himself.

Startled, Seokjin jerked back with a quiet gasp, lips parted in shock. Taehyung burst into laughter, doubling over as if he’d just pulled off the best prank in the world.

“Ow!” Jimin smacked the back of Taehyung’s head. “Quit messing around. Let’s get ready for practice.”

Taehyung winced dramatically, still laughing as he rubbed his head.

“Alright, guys,” Hoseok called out, clapping his hands to get everyone’s attention. “Today’s agenda includes the paired choreography. I’ll stay outside and observe while you all pair up. Yoongi-hyung with Seokjin-ssi, Namjoon with Taehyung, and Jimin with Jungkook.”

He paused for a beat, then added, “For the first run-through, I’ll pair up with Jimin and show you how it’s supposed to look since we’ve been working on it all week.”

Hoseok grabbed his phone and connected it to the speaker system. The music kicked in, and he and Jimin moved easily through the solo part of the routine. Their movements were smooth and sharp, clearly practiced, but it was when they reached the paired section that the energy shifted.

At the right beat, they grabbed each other’s hands and pulled in, one sidestepping while the other turned, keeping the tension between them like an invisible thread. It was synchronized. Like they were one unit instead of two people.

When the music stopped, the others clapped lightly, impressed.

“Okay, your turn,” Hoseok said, stepping aside as he restarted the track.

The rest of the members moved into position. Seokjin turned toward Yoongi, who gave a small nod and held out his hand. They started dancing to the music, moving through the familiar steps, but the moment Seokjin took Yoongi’s hand to begin the paired move, he felt the smaller boy’s grip tighten awkwardly.

Then Yoongi winced.

Yoongi quickly composed himself, tightening his grip on Seokjin’s hands before spinning smoothly, prompting Seokjin to sidestep in time. It all happened in a flash, so quick it could’ve been a figment of his imagination. But Seokjin was sure of what he saw. Yoongi was hiding something. An injury, maybe.

Concern bubbled up, and Seokjin almost asked if he was okay. But then he hesitated.

Yoongi was the member he’d spoken to the least, despite sharing a bunk bed. It wasn’t out of dislike, far from it. But Yoongi had this sharpness about him. He was blunt, serious, and didn’t seem the type to appreciate someone poking around where they didn’t belong. If Yoongi hadn’t told the team anything, it probably meant he didn’t want to.

So Seokjin kept quiet.

Practice wrapped up not long after, and the members slowly drifted off to their individual schedules. Hoseok lingered behind in the studio, tidying up and checking something on his phone.

Seokjin glanced toward him and considered it a good moment to ask for some extra help with his moves, maybe even get some advice. With a deep breath, he walked over.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 4

Jin spent longer than expected trying to internalize all the tips Hoseok had given him. And they were good tips, very practical and specific. He could already feel a difference, finding his rhythm more easily after each turn. Now, all that was left was smoothing out the transition, making the step look less awkward and more natural, like it belonged to him.

He stepped out of the studio’s single bathroom stall, the one that had grown mold at the bottom. Normally, he preferred showering back at the dorm, but time had gotten away from him. Again. The evening chill was already creeping through the broken window latch, the one that had never been fixed.

Jungkook swore the studio was haunted.

According to him, a ghost lived there. A friendly one that slips out during the day and returns at night. Fixing the window, apparently, would lock it out of its home. It was bullshit, obviously, but no one had the heart to argue. Not when Jungkook said it with those wide, starry eyes that made even silly things feel sacred.

“Shit it’s 8:12pm,” Jin swore under his breath as he glanced at his phone screen. He hadn’t meant to stay that long. Dinner time had come and gone, and he could only imagine the younger ones scrambling to throw something together, or worse, gone without dinner. The thought weighed heavily on him, an unfamiliar mixture of guilt, and responsibility twisting in his chest.

He stepped out of the studio, located on the third floor of the building. The dance and recording spaces were clustered up here, while the second floor held the only two producer studios the label owned and the offices. Their shared dorm was tucked down on the first floor.

As he descended the stairs, just before reaching the first floor landing, he heard the faint creak of their dorm door opening. 

From the sound of the footsteps alone, Jin could tell it was Yoongi. For some reason, curiosity, instinct, or just plain nosiness, he stayed perfectly still and peeked around the edge of the hallway.

Sure enough, Yoongi emerged in a black hoodie and well-worn sneakers, hands tucked into his pockets. “Guys, I’m off to the studio. Be back late,” he called out casually, stepping into the hallway before gently shutting the dorm door behind him.

Jin didn’t move. He watched closely as Yoongi scanned the hallway with just a little too much caution, like someone checking for spies. Then, he quietly slipped down the staircase to the ground floor.

“That’s… definitely not the direction of the studio,” Jin murmured, narrowing his eyes.

Jin waited a few seconds, holding his breath until the hallway felt still again. When the coast was clear, he stepped toward the dorm door. But as his hand touched the doorknob, he froze.

Should he follow Yoongi? What if he was just being paranoid? What if this crossed a line?

But what if it didn’t?

What if something was wrong?

His grip tightened on the handle. Jin stared at the door, torn between protecting Yoongi’s privacy and protecting Yoongi.

And then he let out a shaky breath, dropped his hand, and turned.

His feet moved before his thoughts caught up. He took the stairs two at a time, chasing a shadow he was no longer sure he had any right to follow.

————————

Jin trailed Yoongi from a distance, careful not to draw attention. The streets were dimly lit and mostly quiet now, the shops closing one by one, their flickering signs casting light on the sidewalk. Yoongi walked with his hood up, shoulders hunched like the night itself weighed him down.

They moved across a few bus stops and alley turns until Yoongi finally slowed near a small, nondescript delivery kiosk tucked between a fried chicken joint and a laundromat. The paint on the metal shutter was peeling, and a crooked sign buzzed faintly overhead. Jin ducked behind a nearby vending machine, breath caught in his throat.

He watched as Yoongi unlocked a rusted gate and stepped inside. The kiosk was barely bigger than a closet, but inside was a scooter, a stack of delivery bags, and a few spare helmets. Yoongi tossed his backpack to the floor and reached for a red work jacket hanging on a hook.

That’s when Jin saw it.

Yoongi’s entire body stiffened as he tried to pull the sleeve over his shoulder. His left hand moved stiffly, trying to guide his right arm through the jacket, but it didn’t cooperate. The fabric caught awkwardly on his elbow, and Yoongi hissed through gritted teeth.

Then he faltered.

Clutching his shoulder, Yoongi leaned forward, bracing himself against the scooter’s handlebars. He stayed there, head bowed, breathing shallowly, trying to ride out the pain like it was a wave. The cold streetlight above cast a hollow glow on him. Small. Worn-out. Alone.

Yoongi grimaced, then clenched his eyes shut. For a moment, he just stood there, chest rising and falling in short, shallow breaths. Then, with a sharp inhale, he forced his injured shoulder through the sleeve of the jacket. The motion was jerky, his body flinching like it had betrayed him. When he finally opened his eyes again, Jin could already see they had reddened.

Even through the pain, Yoongi held onto what little pride he had, shoulders squared and jaw tight, determined not to show just how much it hurt. Watching him made something warm and unshakeable burn inside Jin’s chest. And before he knew it, Yoongi has rode the scooter out of the garage and into the street, off to somewhere to begin his delivery service

Jin slowly stood up from behind the vending machine. It’s obvious Yoongi is really hurt, as he expected. And it looked bad from how he reacted when his hand got caught in the jacket.

Jin stayed there for a moment longer, watching the now-empty sidewalk. He wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do. Where to start. How to fix it. How to help a teammate who didn’t want to be seen hurting in the first place.

He turned to head back, footsteps dragging. His reflection caught faintly in a darkened shop window: tired eyes, knit brows, lips pressed thin. Then he looked up at the sign above the store he’d paused in front of.

Maybe this wasn’t something he could fix. But maybe he could still show up. In his own way.

He took a breath and stepped inside.

——————-

Yoongi checked the time on his phone. It was almost 10pm. Time to log out and call it a night. Normally, he could push until 2 am without much thought. But last night’s near death experience still lingered in his bones. He was lucky to have walked away with just a fractured shoulder. He should’ve stopped when the rain started pouring down harder, but the Cheongdam-dong delivery had promised a big tip. And right now, Yoongi needed every extra won he could get.

He’d been saving up quietly, hoping to surprise the younger members with a day off at an amusement park. Most of them had grown up outside Seoul, and ever since they moved in, the city still felt like a spectacle to them. Things had felt heavy in the dorm lately, too much uncertainty. Maybe a break could lift the mood a little.

He vaguely remembered Namjoon mentioning something about a viral post earlier this morning, but Yoongi had been too sleep deprived to focus on the conversation.

Just then, his phone chimed again. Another order.

He was about to reject it until he saw the total. His eyebrows shot up. Whoever placed this order was either feeding an entire family or really hated cooking. The tip alone might bring him close to 100,000 won.

His fear and anxiety faded just a little.

“Alright,” he muttered, tightening his grip on the handlebars. “One last run.”

And with that, he turned the scooter around and took off into the night.

——————-

Jin sat on the old metal bench at the edge of the playground near their dorm with the Namdaemun Pharmacy package.

His fingers curled tightly around the plastic, knuckles pale. Inside: bandages, shoulder wraps, and a bottle of tonic the pharmacist had insisted worked wonders for fractures. His heart thudded loudly in his chest, every beat mocking him for thinking this was a good idea.

What the hell am I even doing?

Yoongi didn’t want help. Especially not from him. And definitely not like this.

He was about to toss the bag in the trash when the low hum of a scooter sliced through the night air. 

Jin looked up just as the familiar bike pulled up near the playground. The rider killed the engine and stepped off, a stack of delivery bags cradled in his arms.

Then he froze.

“Ji—Jin?” Yoongi’s voice cracked, startled.

“What the hell—”

He stepped closer. His gaze dropped to the bag in Jin’s hands, and his face darkened.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“I—” Jin stood slowly. “I just wanted to—”

“Help?” Yoongi snapped. “You wanted to help?”

Jin winced at the bite in his tone. “I saw you struggling. Your shoulder—”

“Oh, great. So now everyone knows I’m broken.” Yoongi barked a bitter laugh. “Did you tell the others too? Going for some kind of martyr award?”

“No,” Jin said quietly. “I didn’t tell anyone. I just… I was worried.”

Yoongi threw the delivery bags onto the bench beside him. “You were worried?” He scoffed, shaking his head. “You don’t get to be worried about me. That’s not your job.”

“It’s not about jobs,” Jin said, voice still calm. “You’re my teammate. That makes it my business when you’re hurting.”

Yoongi glared at him. “Don’t talk like you understand. You don’t. You’ve never had to scrape your way through this industry. You were cast off the street. Pretty face, lucky shot. You got invited in. The rest of us? We clawed our way here.”

Jin flinched but didn’t look away.

“I know I was lucky,” he said softly. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t care. Or that I haven’t struggled.”

Yoongi laughed again, hollow. “You don’t get it. If they find out I’m injured, I’m replaceable. Simple as that. Another rapper, another trainee with the same voice and fewer problems. I’ve worked too hard to let this shoulder be the reason I get thrown away.”

Jin took a cautious step forward, his voice still gentle. “No one’s throwing you away.”

“You don’t know that!” Yoongi snapped, his voice cracking. “You have no idea what it’s like to wonder every day if you’re going to be shut down. I’ve come too close to debut. I’m not risking my dream. Not for a shoulder. Not for you showing up with your stupid pity bag.”

Jin’s heart stung, but he didn’t react. He simply held out the pharmacy bag. “It’s not pity,” he said, steady. “It’s care. Take it or don’t. But stop pretending you’re alone in this.”

Yoongi’s jaw clenched. His breath came shallow and uneven, his arms shaking just slightly under the weight of the day, the pressure, the fear. 

Jin opened his mouth, but Yoongi’s expression shattered whatever words he had left. His jaw trembled, breath hitching, and then the tears came. Hot, bitter, and angry.

“I’m not losing this,” Yoongi choked. “Not after everything. Not when I’ve bled for it.”

Jin’s chest clenched.

“I didn’t mean to make you feel weak,” he whispered, voice trembling. “I just didn’t want you to suffer alone.”

“I don’t want your help,” he whispered, but his voice had lost its venom.

“I know,” Jin said gently. “But I’m offering it anyway.”

And that broke something. Yoongi’s shoulders sagged, the mask slipping just for a moment. His eyes shimmered not with anger now, but with exhaustion. Hurt.

He sat down heavily on the bench, face turned away.

Jin sat beside him without a word, placing the pharmacy bag on the bench between them. The silence stretched, filled with the sound of night and two boys breathing in pain they didn’t know how to name.