Today was especially busy—so much so that I felt like I'd been split in two. My limbs ached, my apron clung to me, and my brain had melted somewhere between the espresso machine and the register.
When I glanced over at my boss, Nora, she caught my eye from the kitchen and lifted a flour-dusted thumbs-up before turning back to her pot. That was her way of saying, "You got this," without needing to say a word.
By 8 PM, the cafe had finally begun to settle down. The soft hum of jazz played through the speakers as the scent of cinnamon and roasted coffee beans lingered in the air like a warm blanket.
One customer, though, had stayed the entire day.
He didn't cause trouble, didn't even speak—just sat in the corner by the window. A cap shadowed his face, but I could feel his eyes on me, flickering like a candle in a draft. We locked eyes once early in the day. I offered him a polite smile. He didn't return it.
That subtle chill stayed with me all shift long.
I tried to shake it off. Probably just a harmless loner. Cafes attract those.
But when I finally took a quick break behind the counter—hidden by the pastry fridge—I noticed movement.
A figure hovered just above me.
It was him.
"Can I get one cookie to go?" he asked, voice low but too casual.
"Sure." I stood and busied myself with the cookie, placing it in a box and ringing it up quickly.
He watched me far too closely.
"Do you live around here?" he asked.
"No," I answered plainly.
"Huh. I swear I've seen that cute face around. You look like someone who drinks. Want to grab one with me after your shift?"
I blinked.
"No, thank you."
"Aw, just one. What harm can it do?" He leaned a little closer, invading the invisible bubble between us.
I glanced behind him.
"There's a line forming, sir. Please step aside if you're done."
He chuckled and winked. "I'll wait for you outside then."
I said nothing as he left. Just focused on my breathing.
By closing time, Nora insisted I go home and rest.
"I'll lock up," I told her. "Just call me when you're upstairs so I know you're safe."
A few minutes later, she rang.
"Hey, I think someone's waiting for you out front," she said teasingly.
"Don't joke," I replied, peeking at the security cam. My heart sank. It was him.
"Oh… Do you need help?" Her voice shifted from light to wary.
"I'm okay," I said, trying to steady my voice. "I can handle it."
Still, I felt the tension coil tighter around my spine as I stepped outside.
He was still there, lurking near the lamppost. I didn't make eye contact. I just kept walking toward my bike. The air was cool, the pavement damp. I tried to focus on putting my helmet on and leaving quickly.
But his footsteps approached—too close.
"You couldn't possibly see me when I'm this close, right?" he said, voice suddenly too close to my ear. "About that drink—"
"I said no." I tried to stay calm, but my fingers trembled slightly as I adjusted my helmet.
"Come on, babe. Don't be like that." His hand wrapped around my wrist—light, but firm.
I froze.
And then, like the universe heard my heart pounding, a quiet voice cut through the alleyway.
"The lady said no."
We both turned.
There, half-hidden in the shadows by the cafe's side wall, stood a man in black.
It took a second for my eyes to adjust, but I recognized him.
Yoongi.
Relief bloomed, followed by confusion.
"What are you doing here?" I asked, startled.
He didn't answer me. Just stepped closer, hands in his coat pockets, gaze fixed on the man who still held my wrist.
"Let go," he said—calm but steady.
The man scoffed, but I used the distraction to yank my arm back and—before I could think twice—landed a shaky punch to the guy's jaw.
He dropped like a sack of flour.
I cradled my fist and hissed through my teeth. "Ow. That felt cooler in my head."
Yoongi stared at the unconscious man, then slowly looked back at me, blinking.
Before either of us could speak, another voice called out from a parked car.
"Rhea?! Are you okay?!"
It was Seokjin, rushing toward us with his car keys in hand.
"Relax," I said. "He's not dead."
"Why does he look dead?" Jin said, backing up a step when the guy groaned faintly.
Yoongi stepped beside me, quiet but purposeful. "Come on. Your hand's red."
"I'm fine."
"You're not."
"I can still ride—"
"You can't drive with your hand like that," he murmured, not quite meeting my eyes. "Just… come with us."
Before I could argue, he gently took the helmet off my head, and opened the car's backseat door.
Jin glanced between us, unsure, but then gave me a quiet nod. "Just come. Let's not make a scene."
Yoongi climbed in beside me, careful not to touch my hand again unless necessary.
The car was silent for the most part.
Jin drove us somewhere unfamiliar, pulling up in front of a quiet, modern house. Warm yellow light spilled from the windows.
Yoongi stepped out first and opened the door for me, still avoiding eye contact.
"Just ice," he said quietly, gesturing me inside.
I followed, hesitant. His hand hovered near my back as if to guide, but didn't touch.
The house was minimalist but cozy. A faint scent of lemongrass drifted from somewhere deeper in.
"Slippers," he said, offering me a pair from the rack.
"I have socks," I replied without thinking.
He glanced at me and gave a tired smile. "They're clean."
I took them.
He led me into the kitchen, opened the freezer, and wrapped ice in a towel. Then, gently, he pressed it to my swollen hand. His fingers moved carefully, eyes focused on the task.
I watched him work, noticing the way his brows furrowed with worry.
"You didn't have to come," I whispered.
He looked up at that, eyes finally meeting mine. "I know."
Right then, a door creaked from down the hall.
Another voice chirped out cheerfully. "Hyung? What did I miss?"
A man—younger, bright-eyed—stepped into the kitchen, immediately noticing our proximity.
His gaze dropped to our hands. "Ooooh."
"It's not what you think," I said quickly.
He burst out laughing.
And then another figure appeared behind him.
My eyes widened. His did, too.
"You again?" we said in unison.
I blinked.
He blinked.
The guy standing in front of me was the same one from earlier this week—the one who I nearly ran into back at the company when I made a delivery. Hoodie, bunny teeth, and an apologetic smile that made it hard to stay annoyed.
Now he was standing in Yoongi's hallway, wearing a loose black tee and sweatpants, his long hair tied back casually, looking like he'd just woken from a nap.
"Oh! You're the noona from the company," he said, grinning. "Wait… what's going on?"
"She punched a guy," Yoongi said without looking up, still holding the ice gently to my hand.
The younger guy's eyebrows shot up. "Damn. Respect."
"I didn't mean to knock him out," I muttered, cheeks heating.
"She has a mean right hook," Jin added, emerging from the hallway with two mugs of tea. "And poor decision-making skills."
Yoongi gave him a sideways glare. Jin just shrugged. "I said what I said."
The younger guy stepped closer, hands in his pockets, eyes scanning my face with boyish curiosity. "I'm Jungkook, by the way. Are you okay?"
I nodded, unsure what else to say.
Yoongi finally pulled the ice away, inspecting my knuckles. "It's swelling, but not fractured. You'll be sore tomorrow."
His voice was low and careful, like he didn't want to spook me.
I watched the way he moved—precise but gentle. Nothing like earlier, when his presence had come out of nowhere like a shadow peeling from the wall.
"You didn't answer me," I said quietly. "What were you doing there tonight?"
He didn't speak right away.
Jungkook and Jin exchanged a look. Then Jin clapped his hands. "Okay! Jungkook, help me find that herbal patch for her hand."
"There's a patch?" Jungkook blinked.
"Don't question me. Just come."
They disappeared down the hallway, giving us space.
Yoongi sat down beside me on the low couch, his shoulder just inches from mine. I could feel the warmth of him, steady and quiet, like a safe flame.
"I went to return your charger," he finally said.
My brows furrowed. "At closing time?"
He gave a faint nod. "Didn't plan to go in. Just wanted to leave it with Nora. But then I saw that guy waiting."
I was silent for a beat, letting that settle.
"You watched me all day," I said, tilting my head. "At the cafe."
He didn't deny it.
"I wasn't watching you," he said. "I was… checking."
"On what?"
"If you seemed happy," he murmured.
I stared at him.
Yoongi leaned back slightly, like the weight of that admission made him nervous.
I didn't know how to respond. It wasn't creepy—at least not the way he said it. It felt more like someone knocking on the glass of a fishbowl, making sure the water was still warm.
I looked down at my bruised hand.
"Thanks," I whispered. "For helping me."
He nodded once. Then added, "You shouldn't have to say no more than once."
Something in his tone made my chest squeeze.
Just then, Jin and Jungkook returned with a ridiculous green patch and a small packet of what looked like tiger balm. Jungkook flopped onto the armrest beside me, a playful glint in his eye.
"Yoongi-hyung never brings girls here," he whispered dramatically.
Jin elbowed him. "Don't scare her off."
Yoongi sighed. "She's not—"
"I'm not," I echoed, before realizing how fast that came out.
An awkward beat passed.
Jin cleared his throat. "Well, we've got a guest room. You can stay here tonight if you're too tired to ride back."
My instincts screamed no. I never slept over at strangers' places. But something in Yoongi's eyes—quiet concern, not expectation—made me pause.
"Just for tonight," he added softly. "Safe exit's here if you want it."
And somehow… I believed him.
***
The dorm was unusually calm that night, dimly lit with warm-toned lamps, soft music playing from Jin's phone as the smell of takeout filled the space. It was one of those rare nights when schedules aligned and no one had to be anywhere. Jin had finally convinced everyone to let him order enough food for a small army.
Rhea sat on the far end of the couch, tucked between a plush cushion and Yoongi's quiet presence. Jungkook was sprawled on the floor nearby, building something out of playing cards, and Jimin had taken the liberty of making her a cup of warm barley tea.
"Careful," he said gently, handing it over with both hands. "It's hot."
Rhea smiled, taking it carefully. "Thanks, Jimin."
Yoongi watched her from the corner of his eye, noting how her voice was steadier around Jimin than it had been a few weeks ago. Maybe it was because Jimin always smiled with his eyes. Always warm, never forceful. She lit up, just slightly, when he entered a room.
"You're more talkative when he's around," Yoongi said, teasing but low enough for only her to hear.
Rhea blushed. "He's just… easy to talk to."
Yoongi smirked. "You say that like I'm difficult."
"You're Yoongi," she replied, as if that explained everything.
Jin clapped his hands. "Alright, food's here! Plates are in the cupboard, could someone—?"
"I'll get them," Rhea said, already moving toward the kitchen.
She opened the cabinet door and reached up. The plates were stacked higher than she expected, heavier too. She tugged one down, but two others came with it. One slipped from her hand.
CRASH.
The sound shattered the quiet like a gunshot.
The plate broke into jagged white pieces across the tile. Rhea froze. Her heart slammed into her throat.
And then, before she could stop herself—
She flinched back.
Both hands flew up, palms out. Her body folded slightly inward, like muscle memory. Her breath caught.
"P-please don't hit me," she muttered, so soft it might've been a breath—except Yoongi heard it.
He was already moving.
He stepped close but slow, crouching beside her like he would for a startled cat.
"Hey," he said calmly, his voice a low, grounding hum. "No one's going to hit you."
Rhea's hands trembled in the air. Her eyes were glassy, still caught in a moment she hadn't meant to revisit.
Yoongi reached out, not to grab—but to gently lower her hands.
"It's just a plate," he said again, quieter now. "That's all it is."
Jimin stood frozen behind the counter, tea forgotten in his hand. Jin stopped midway through opening a sauce packet. Jungkook sat up straight, the tower of cards collapsing beside him unnoticed.
None of them said a word.
But they all looked at each other.
And they knew.
Knew enough, anyway.
Knew that this little woman, who laughed softly and barely took up space, had once lived somewhere that turned broken china into fear.
Rhea slowly lowered her arms. She looked at Yoongi—truly looked at him—and saw nothing but calm. Not pity. Not fear. Just understanding.
"I'm sorry," she whispered.
"You don't have to be," Yoongi said.
He picked up the broken pieces, careful and unhurried.
Jimin moved first after that, crossing the room to gently hand her a new plate from a lower shelf.
"It's okay," he said, voice like silk. "Happens all the time when Tae's around. Trust me, he's banned from this cabinet."
A breath of laughter bubbled from Rhea—small but real.
And in that moment, something shifted.
They didn't ask questions. They didn't pry.
But a quiet vow settled in the room—unspoken, unanimous.
She was safe here.