The silence of the dorm was louder than any stage I had ever stood on.
No fans chanting. No cameras clicking. No managers barking orders. Just me, sitting on the edge of my bed, staring at the floor like it held all the answers I didn't have.
The meeting still replayed in my head. Every word, every sigh, every disapproving glance. It wasn't new—we had been through countless conversations about image and responsibility—but this time, it was different. This time, it was me. Us.
A knock pulled me out of my thoughts.
I didn't answer. I didn't need to. The door opened quietly, and Jungkook slipped inside, his usual energy muted, his eyes searching for me.
"You've been in here for hours," he said softly.
I tried to smile, but it came out brittle. "I didn't feel like talking."
He didn't push. He never did. Instead, he crossed the room and sat beside me. Our shoulders touched, the warmth of his presence seeping into my skin like medicine I didn't know I needed.
For a while, neither of us spoke. The only sound was the faint hum of the city outside the window. I felt the weight in my chest loosen, little by little, just because he was there.
Finally, he broke the silence.
"Do you regret it?"
The question caught me off guard. I turned to him, confused.
"Regret what?"
He looked straight at me, his gaze unwavering. "Us. Being… this close. Letting people see more than we meant to."
My breath hitched.
Regret? The word tasted bitter, foreign. How could I regret the one thing that had kept me steady, the one person who made the endless rehearsals, the sleepless nights, the suffocating expectations worth it?
"No," I said firmly, shaking my head. "I don't regret it. Not for a second. Do you?"
He held my stare for a long moment, then smiled—small, tired, but real. "Never."
The air between us shifted, heavy but tender. I felt something inside me unravel, like a knot I'd been tightening for too long.
"They make it sound like we're a mistake," I whispered. "Like caring for each other is dangerous. But when I'm with you… it doesn't feel wrong. It feels like the only thing that makes sense."
Jungkook's hand found mine, his grip strong and steady. "Then that's what we hold on to. Not their rules. Not the headlines. Just us."
I wanted to believe him. I wanted to drown in the certainty of his voice, but fear still lingered at the edges of my mind.
"What if it gets worse?" I asked. "What if they don't stop? What if the fans turn against us?"
He leaned closer, pressing his forehead to mine. His voice dropped to a whisper. "Then we face it together. Like we always do."
Something inside me cracked open, and before I realized it, tears slipped down my cheeks. Not loud, not messy—just silent streams I couldn't hold back anymore.
Jungkook didn't say anything. He didn't need to. He wrapped his arms around me, pulling me into his chest, holding me tight like he was anchoring me to the world.
For the first time all day, I let myself fall apart. And for the first time all day, I felt safe doing it.
When I finally calmed, Jungkook brushed a strand of hair from my face. "Promise me one thing," he said.
"What?" I asked, my voice rough.
"Don't shut me out. Not when it's hard. Especially not then."
I nodded, swallowing the lump in my throat. "I promise."
And in that moment, it didn't matter what the world thought, or what the company demanded. All that mattered was that I wasn't alone.