The dorm was quiet when I slipped back in after practice. Everyone else had already showered, their doors closed, lights dimmed. I dropped my bag by my bed and sat down, towel still hanging around my neck, scrolling aimlessly through my phone.
Notifications blinked—fan edits, trending hashtags, articles about our schedule. I liked seeing the support, but sometimes the weight of it pressed down harder than the comfort it gave.
That's when my phone buzzed with a different name: one of my old Busan friends.
"Hyung, are you alive?" the text read.
I laughed quietly, thumbs flying over the screen. Barely. Practice is killing me.
We exchanged quick messages, their teasing tone reminding me of high school days. Days when I wasn't Jimin from BTS, but just Jimin, the boy chasing a dream. I missed that simplicity.
After a few more texts, I set the phone aside and leaned back against the wall. My mind didn't stay on Busan, though. It drifted—like it always seemed to lately—to the two people who had been at the center of subtle shifts in the group.
Taehyung and Jungkook.
I wasn't blind. None of us were. The way their eyes found each other even in a crowded room. The way Jungkook's mood lifted whenever Taehyung entered. The way Taehyung seemed more grounded, calmer, when Jungkook was near.
We had already accepted it, at least within the group. But outside? That was another story. The world wasn't gentle with love, especially love that didn't fit its narrow boxes.
I sighed, rubbing my face with both hands. I wasn't worried about them being together. What worried me was how fragile happiness could be under constant eyes. I knew the kind of headlines that could erupt overnight.
The thought twisted something in my chest. I wanted to protect them, the way an older brother should. But I also knew I couldn't always shield them.
Restless, I got up and went to the kitchen. The fridge hummed as I opened it, pulling out a bottle of water. When I turned, I nearly jumped.
"Hyung, you scared me," Jungkook said, half-smiling as he walked in. His hair was damp, and he wore one of those oversized shirts that swallowed him whole.
"Could say the same," I replied, chuckling. "What are you doing up?"
"Couldn't sleep." He grabbed a banana from the counter, peeling it slowly. "Mind racing too much."
I studied him quietly. He didn't say it, but I had a good idea what was on his mind.
"You've been… different lately," I said carefully.
He paused mid-bite. "Different how?"
I shrugged, sipping from my bottle. "More thoughtful. More distracted. But also… happier."
Jungkook's ears turned red, and he ducked his head. "Is that a bad thing?"
"No," I said softly. "It's not a bad thing at all."
Silence stretched between us, not heavy, just reflective. Then I added, "You know we've got your back, right? All of us."
His eyes lifted to mine, searching. I held his gaze, letting him see the truth in it. For a second, his shoulders eased, and he gave a small nod.
"Thanks, hyung," he whispered.
We didn't need to say more. He finished his banana, I finished my water, and we parted with quiet goodnights.
Back in my room, lying in the dark, I thought about how fragile everything felt sometimes—our careers, our friendships, our happiness. But I also thought about resilience, about how love, once rooted, didn't break easily.
And as sleep finally pulled me under, I prayed silently that their love would be strong enough to weather everything.