Yoongi slipped into the dressing room like he hadn't been gone at all. Black hoodie, cap low, earbuds in—but Namjoon noticed first.
The earbuds weren't even playing music.
He was just wearing them.
"Hyung," Jin greeted, looking up from his snack pouch. "You look like you slept for three days, fought some demons, then adopted one."
Yoongi smirked faintly and dropped his bag by the chair. "Pretty close."
Namjoon raised a brow. "You alright?"
Yoongi nodded, tugging off his cap. "Yeah."
"Rhea?" Hoseok asked casually, flopping onto the nearby couch. "Is she okay now?"
At the name, a subtle stillness passed through Yoongi's face—not pain, but something deeper. Something held. Cared for. He looked down at his hands for a moment before nodding again.
"She's… better," he said softly. "Saw someone. Got help."
The hyungs stilled. Hoseok sat up straighter, Namjoon leaned forward, and Jin actually paused his chewing.
"You took her?" Namjoon asked gently.
"She said yes," Yoongi murmured. "I stayed with her until she didn't need me to."
That sentence alone carried more than he let on. And they knew.
Jin leaned back, exhaling. "So you disappeared for three days to become a soft domestic boyfriend. Who are you and what have you done with Min Yoongi?"
Yoongi rolled his eyes, but the corners of his mouth curved upward.
"She needed me."
"No, hyung," Hoseok said seriously. "She needs you. Present tense."
Yoongi looked down again. Something in him tightened at those words—like he was holding a thread with both hands and afraid to let it fray.
"She's safe now. She's in my apartment."
"Did you put in the motion sensors?" Jin asked, suddenly practical.
"Reprogrammed the door code, too," Yoongi replied.
"Atta boy," Jin nodded. "I approve."
"She's… different, isn't she?" Namjoon said, his voice more thoughtful now. "Not just some girl. She matters."
Yoongi's silence was confirmation enough.
The air turned a little heavier—but not unkind. It wasn't judgment. It was understanding.
"She makes me feel like I can be still," Yoongi said after a long pause. "Not quiet. Not working. Just… still."
That hit all three of them in the chest at once.
Jin was the first to recover. "Well. When you propose, let me know. I want to start writing my toast early."
Yoongi threw a tissue at him.
They laughed. Not because it was funny—but because it was warm. And because it was Yoongi. And he was here. And he was okay.
As the taping began, Yoongi moved like someone who had returned from somewhere far off—not just physically, but emotionally. His words were fewer, but fuller. His eyes lingered in thought more often, but his smile came a little easier now.
Namjoon watched from across the stage, a proud sort of fondness behind his dimples.
"She really changed him," Hoseok whispered beside him.
"No," Namjoon whispered back. "She gave him space to be who he's always been."
Yoongi was seated on a stool, the stage lights low as the staff adjusted the set for the final shot. He glanced down at his phone—just once—when it buzzed lightly against his thigh.
[Rhea 💬]: is it okay if I move some furniture? like the shelf by the window? 😅 i feel bad asking
A beat passed. Then another buzz.
[Rhea 💬]: if you're busy just ignore this pls
Yoongi's lips twitched into a soft smile. Without hesitation, he typed back:
[Yoongi 💬]: do whatever you want. make it feel like home. you don't need to ask 😊
He pocketed the phone again, head tilting faintly upward, expression unreadable but… gentler.
From a few feet away, Hoseok had been watching with narrowed eyes, leaning forward like a detective.
"You just smiled at your phone," Hoseok whispered to Namjoon like it was evidence.
Jin overheard and gasped dramatically. "Is Min Yoongi smiling at text messages now? Did we jump timelines?"
"Must've," Namjoon muttered, arms crossed, amused. "I haven't seen him smile like that since… ever."
Yoongi looked up at them, unimpressed. "You guys are annoying."
"You're glowing," Jin teased.
"I'm literally wearing concealer."
"Nope. It's emotional," Hoseok chimed. "It's the 'my girl just asked if she could move the shelf' kind of love. That's real."
Yoongi didn't reply. He just leaned forward and rested his arms on his knees. But he wasn't hiding the smile anymore.
"You've changed," Namjoon said quietly, a bit more serious this time. "Not in a bad way. Just… you're softer now. More grounded."
Yoongi stared at the floor for a moment, processing. Then he exhaled.
"She makes it easy," he murmured. "Even with everything she's been through, she still… cares. Still asks if it's okay to move a shelf. Still worries if I'm eating."
The hyungs exchanged a look. It wasn't pity. It wasn't even surprise. It was pride. And maybe a little awe.
"Remind me to bring flowers next time we see her," Jin said, nodding like it was a serious strategy. "Girl deserves a medal."
"She deserves peace," Yoongi corrected quietly.
And in that single sentence, every layer of him—the producer, the performer, the friend, the boyfriend—aligned.
He wasn't trying to fix her.
He was simply making space for her to be.
Later that night
The sky had gone navy, city lights humming in the distance. Yoongi unlocked the door quietly, not wanting to wake her if she was asleep. He set his keys down by the bowl near the entryway—her idea—and toed off his shoes with a tired sigh.
The apartment smelled faintly of lavender and something warm—maybe the candle she lit earlier. Maybe her. The shelf had been moved. A soft throw blanket draped differently on the couch. A small stack of books now sat near the window.
He noticed it all in seconds.
Then he saw her.
Rhea had fallen asleep curled on the couch, her legs tucked under her, a soft pillow hugged to her chest. The television still played low—a muted drama she must've forgotten to pause. One hand dangled loosely over the edge, fingers twitching with dream-static.
Yoongi smiled.
He crouched gently beside her and whispered her name, brushing a loose strand from her forehead.
"Rhea."
She didn't stir.
Careful not to wake her, Yoongi slid one arm under her knees and the other behind her back, lifting her with practiced ease. She stirred slightly, her head pressing into his shoulder, but didn't wake until he reached the bedroom and bent to lay her down.
That's when her hand gently gripped the hem of his sleeve.
"Yoongi…" Her voice was thick with sleep. Fragile.
He paused.
"Stay," she whispered. "Please."
He sat at the edge of the bed first, unsure. "Are you sure?"
She cracked one eye open, her gaze soft and warm despite the haze. Then she patted the empty space beside her, a tiny smile forming on her lips. "Yes."
That was all it took.
Yoongi didn't hesitate. He laid beside her, one arm slipping around her waist instinctively as if his body had already memorized where she belonged. Her head found his chest without effort, her fingers tucking beneath his shirt like an anchor.
They fit.
And sleep came to them in a heartbeat—no tension, no haunting memories—only the comfort of skin against skin, hearts beating in steady rhythm.
In that small, quiet room, they were safe.
Each other's safe place.
***
Morning light spilled through the curtains, soft and gold.
Yoongi stirred first. The world was quiet, save for the gentle hum of the heater and the rustling of Rhea's steady breath against his chest.
She hadn't moved much through the night—still curled into him, one leg hooked over his, her hand resting above his heart like it belonged there.
He didn't move.
Didn't want to.
For a man who used to cherish silence and solitude, Yoongi realized there was something far more profound in this kind of stillness—shared with someone who made space for all of him.
Then, her lashes fluttered.
A drowsy blink. A small breath through her nose.
"Morning," she whispered, voice raspy.
He looked down. "Hey."
They just stared at each other for a moment. No rush. No alarm. Just… the peaceful acknowledgment of waking up next to someone they chose.
Rhea reached up slowly, brushing his cheek with the back of her hand. "You stayed."
"You asked me to," he said, as if it were the simplest, most obvious thing.
Then, without a word, she leaned up—softly, deliberately—and kissed him.
It wasn't fiery. It wasn't rushed. It wasn't the kind of kiss that demanded anything.
It was her. Saying thank you. Saying she was here. Saying she was whole enough to give him something back.
Yoongi closed his eyes and kissed her in return—his hand cradling her jaw like she was made of something softer than glass, like she'd already endured all the breaking the world had to offer.
When they pulled back, her forehead pressed against his.
"I think I'm okay now," she whispered.
"Good," he said. "Because I'm not going anywhere."
Later that day, back at the studio…
"Where's Min Suga?" Jin's voice echoed through the set's hallway. "Our tough guy lyricist hasn't grumbled all morning."
Namjoon sipped his coffee with a sly grin. "He walked in humming. Humming, hyung."
"Oh no," Hoseok joined in, hand over heart. "Is that… a domestic man I see?"
They all turned to look as Yoongi entered the dressing room, his hoodie slightly askew, his usual dark circles replaced by a softness none of them could quite describe.
"Don't say a word," Yoongi muttered, grabbing a script.
Jin leaned forward with mock seriousness. "Just blink twice if you're in love."
Yoongi didn't blink. He smirked.
"I knew it!" Hoseok laughed, clapping Namjoon on the back.
"Is she okay?" Namjoon asked more gently, cutting through the teasing.
Yoongi paused—then nodded once. "Yeah. She's okay now."
Namjoon smiled. "Then so are you."
Yoongi looked down at his script, lips tugging into a quiet smile he didn't bother hiding anymore.