Top Posts Tagged with #bumble masterlist

The Things We Carry | PJM pt 1

SUMMARY: Performance specialist, Mina Seo has made a career out of taking care of everyone else. As BTS throws themselves into comeback preparations, she spends her days managing injuries, recovery plans, and the impossible task of keeping seven overworked artists healthy. What nobody realizes is that she’s becoming increasingly skilled at hiding her own struggles. When an unexpected connection with Jimin begins offering relief neither of them fully understands, it slowly becomes part of their routine. Late-night conversations, shared silences, and a comfort that grows easier to rely on with every passing week. But while Jimin is getting better, Mina isn’t. And sooner or later, someone is going to notice.

WARNINGS: chronic illness, overwork injuries, some medical scenes, slight cursing, eventual smut scene—This story contains a realistic depiction of chronic illness, including rheumatoid arthritis, pain flares, fatigue, hospitalization, and the emotional impact of long-term health conditions.

Masterlist

———————————

Mina Seo had spent most of her adult life learning how to recognize pain before people admitted it existed.

At thirty, she could read exhaustion in posture, injury in hesitation, and pride in the exact second someone lied through their teeth and said they were fine. Ballet had taught her bodies told the truth. Physiotherapy taught her people usually didn’t. Touring taught her idols were the worst of both.

Which was why returning to BTS for the Arirang comeback cycle felt less like stepping into a job and more like walking back into a room full of old injuries waiting to happen.

Officially, she had been hired to oversee performance recovery and injury prevention during preparations for the comeback and world tour. Unofficially—she suspected management had looked at seven men returning from military service and decided someone needed to stop them from accidentally destroying themselves before opening night.

The rehearsal complex in Seoul smelled exactly the same as it had four years ago. Coffee. Dust from old stage flooring. Hairspray. Overworked air conditioning.

And somehow—even before Mina fully stepped through the practice room doors, her body remembered the rhythm of BTS before her brain caught up to it. Music echoed faintly from somewhere deeper in the building while staff moved quickly through the hallways carrying garment racks, equipment cases, and enough coffee to medically concern several countries. Preparations had officially begun. The album was written but only half the songs had been recorded. The choreography wasn’t finalized. The tour existed mostly in planned documents and ambitious promises.

Mina adjusted the strap of her duffel bag higher onto her shoulder before pulling her rolling case behind her down the corridor. The overnight flight from London still sat unpleasantly in her joints despite the compression braces hidden beneath her loose black joggers. Long flights always did that.

Her right knee protested sharply when she turned the corner too quickly. Mina ignored it automatically. Old habit.

A production assistant nearly collided with her two seconds later before stopping abruptly, “Oh my god—Mina?”

Mina blinked once before recognizing him.

Junseo, Lighting crew, Permission to Dance Tour. He looked older now. Everyone did.

“Still alive unfortunately,” she answered dryly.

His startled laugh echoed through the hallway immediately, “You came back!”

“That does appear to be what the contract implies.”

“You sound exactly the same.”

“That’s devastating news.”

Junseo grinned before quickly taking the suitcase handle from her hand without asking. “Everyone’s been talking about you coming back all week.”

“Im not sure if that’s supposed to be comforting…?”

“It should.”

Mina sighed softly through her nose as he started leading her farther into the rehearsal wing.

The building looked busier than she remembered from PTD preparations. Bigger too. Or maybe the pressure surrounding Arirang simply made everything feel tighter somehow. Post-military comeback. Global press. First world tour together again.

The expectations surrounding Arirang already felt enormous and half the project didn’t technically exist yet. Some songs needed to be finalized. Some songs needed to still be recorded. Some songs needed to be written. Music videos still needed filming. Netflix cameras would be arriving soon. Half the choreography existed only as rough workshop versions. And somehow the entire industry already expected history.

A familiar voice suddenly echoed loudly down the corridor.

“If you tear another pair of rehearsal pants before the first week, management is billing you personally.”—Jin.

Mina barely had time to process the sound before he appeared around the hallway corner holding an iced coffee and arguing with Jungkook, who looked deeply unbothered by whatever crime he’d apparently committed.

“I told you it was choreography-related,” Jungkook defended.

“You were standing still.”

“I move passionately.”

“You move like expensive problems.”

Then Jungkook noticed her. His entire face lit up instantly, “Mina noona!”

Before she could react properly, he crossed the hallway in three long strides and wrapped both arms around her carefully enough that she almost laughed…Almost.

“You’re squeezing my spine,” she informed him.

“You disappeared for like four years.”

“You enlisted for most of them.”

“That’s not the point.”

“It’s an important distinction.” She let out a small laugh.

Jungkook grinned against the top of her head before finally letting go.

And suddenly Jin was there too, “Mina.”

His voice softened slightly beneath the dramatics in a way that caught her off guard for half a second. Then: “You abandoned me with these children.”

“There are seven of you.”

“And somehow I suffered most.”

“That seems statistically unlikely.”

Jin looked genuinely emotional for approximately one second before immediately pointing toward her face accusingly, “You still dont look British.”

Mina stared at him, “…What does that even mean?”

Before Jin could answer, another voice drifted lazily from farther down the hallway.

“It means you look like you should be in a K-drama, not Bridgerton.” —Taehyung.

Mina turned just in time to see him leaning against the studio doorway in an oversized hoodie and black beanie, expression completely serious despite the amusement sitting quietly in his eyes. Or maybe not serious…With Taehyung it was honestly difficult to tell sometimes.

“You disappeared to Paris for fashion week twice and suddenly you think you understand British people?” Mina asked.

“I understand vibes.”

“That’s somehow worse.”

Taehyung pushed off the doorway and walked toward them slowly, hands shoved into his hoodie pockets. He looked different too. Softer around the hair now that it had grown out slightly again. Broader through the shoulders after enlistment. Calm in a way she didn’t remember from before.

But the moment he reached her, his expression shifted almost imperceptibly. Warmer.

“You’re really back,” he said quietly.

The teasing disappeared from his voice completely for that one sentence.

Mina felt something unexpectedly fond tug in her chest, “Contractually, yes.”

“That’s a very unromantic answer.”

“You asked the wrong person.”

“Hm.” Taehyung tilted his head slightly like he was evaluating that statement seriously. “Still sounds like you though.”

Then, without warning, he reached out and flicked the sleeve covering her taped hand lightly, “You look tired, are you injured already?”

“Jet lag isn’t an injury.”

“You say that every tour.”

“I’ve been on one tour withh you..”

“A long tour,” Jin muttered.

Taehyung nodded thoughtfully, “You always look like you’re judging the weather.”

Jungkook burst out laughing.

“That is unbelievably specific,” Mina said.

“And accurate,” another voice added calmly—Namjoon.

Mina turned automatically toward the end of the corridor where he approached carrying a tablet and what looked like three separate production schedules tucked beneath one arm. Leader mode already fully activated. Some things apparently never changed.

Namjoon stopped in front of her and smiled properly then—warm, relieved, genuine.

And suddenly PTD came rushing back unexpectedly hard—Late-night rehearsals. Arena runs. Recovery rooms. Pre-show chaos. Watching seven exhausted men hold themselves together through one of the strangest periods of their careers while she stumbled through apprentice physio work pretending she knew what she was doing.

Back then she’d mostly hovered at the edges: wrapping dancers’ ankles, resetting ice stations, shadowing senior therapists, trying not to embarrass herself professionally.

Back then the members hadn’t even realized she was Korean at first. Which honestly had been fair. Between: the London accent, blue eyes inherited from her British mother, her Korean father gave her the dark hair and facial features, and the fact that she’d spent most of PTD speaking careful professional English around senior staff—everyone had just collectively assumed she was another foreign apprentice physio. To be fair, she was still only half Korean and she had only spent a few summers in Korea with her father growing up so their judgement seemed reasonable until she answered one of Yoongi’s questions in Korean halfway through rehearsals one day.

The silence afterward had apparently become legendary.

Jungkook nearly dropped a water bottle.

Taehyung had stared at her for a solid ten seconds before asking, completely serious, “Wait…you ARE Korean?”

“Korean-British,” Mina had corrected cautiously.

“You hid that for like three weeks,” Jin accused immediately.

“I didn’t realize it was classified information.”

Namjoon had looked genuinely fascinated. “We were all so confused by you.”

“Thank you?” Mina had answered dryly.

Even now she could still remember Hobi looking personally betrayed for the rest of the rehearsal day because apparently he’d spent two weeks carefully simplifying his Korean around her for no reason.

Now there was no hesitation anymore. Well—less hesitation. Mina still didn’t think her Korean was particularly good despite everyone insisting otherwise. She’d spent most of her life in London with her mom, and the years she remembered clearly were all in English. Korea mostly belonged to childhood memories with her dad now—small fragments more than anything else. Fast conversations still lost her sometimes, especially once multiple people started talking over each other, and when she got tired her accent thickened enough that British phrases slipped out unintentionally.

During PTD, she’d once called Jungkook “cheeky” after he stole someone else’s protein drink from the recovery fridge.

The entire room had paused.

“Is cheeky good or bad?” Jungkook had asked immediately.

Mina had opened her mouth. Paused. Then closed it again because honestly the answer depended entirely on tone.

Namjoon translated eventually while laughing under his breath, and Taehyung spent the next week calling everyone “cheeky” regardless of context.

Even now, certain words still came to her in English first. Especially when annoyed. Or tired. Or in pain…But unlike PTD, she no longer felt delayed inside conversations. Back then she’d translated every sentence carefully in her head before speaking. Now she just…spoke. Another thing that had changed while nobody was looking.

Now Namjoon looked at her like someone essential had finally arrived.

“We missed you,” he said simply.

The honesty in his tone hit harder than she expected.

Mina cleared her throat lightly before defaulting toward humor automatically.

“Emotionally or because your stretching habits are catastrophic?”

“Yes.”

That startled a laugh out of her before she could stop it.

And from farther down the hallway— someone looked up immediately at the sound.

Jimin stood near the entrance of one of the larger rehearsal studios with Hobi beside him, both still dressed in workout clothes from what looked like an earlier dance session.

For a second neither of them moved.

Then Hobi’s entire face lit up. “MINA.”—Oh no.

Mina barely had time to brace herself before Hoseok crossed the hallway at terrifying speed and pulled her into a hug dramatic enough to threaten structural damage.

“You came back,” he said like he still couldn’t quite believe it.

“You’re crushing several internal organs.”

“You survived.”

“Questionable.”

Hobi pulled back only long enough to look at her properly, “You cut your hair.”

“You noticed that immediately?”

“You think I don’t notice things?” He looked deeply offended. “I’m literally in charge of details.”

“That explains the eye twitch.”

“It’s from stress.”

“It’s from perfectionism.”

“Same thing.”

Mina laughed softly again while Hobi launched immediately into rapid-fire updates about rehearsal schedules, choreography workshops, production delays, filming Plans, and how nobody stretched properly when she wasn’t around.

The conversation blurred comfortably around her after that. Familiar voices. Familiar chaos of BTS settling back around her shoulders like muscle memory.

And through all of it— Jimin stayed quieter than everyone else. Not distant. Just watching.

Mina noticed him fully once Hobi finally paused long enough to inhale oxygen again.

He looked older than PTD. Not drastically. Not sadly. Just…different. Broader somehow. More settled. More tired around the eyes.

Military service had changed all of them in small ways, but on Jimin it looked subtler. Less visible externally. More like something had sharpened quietly beneath the surface.

He stepped closer finally.

“Hi,” he said softly. Simple. But somehow it felt different from everyone else’s greeting.

Mina adjusted the strap of her duffel bag slightly against her shoulder, “Hi.”

For half a second the hallway noise faded strangely around them.

Then Jimin’s gaze dropped automatically toward her right hand where faint kinesiology tape disappeared beneath the sleeve of her hoodie. Still noticing too much apparently.

“You’re wearing finger tape already,” he said. Not judgmental. Just observant.

Mina flexed her hand once instinctively before tucking it deeper into her sleeve, “Eight-hour flight.”

His expression shifted slightly at that. Concern maybe. Then hidden again just as quickly.

Hobi clapped loudly once beside them before the moment could settle into something stranger.

“Okay, enough emotional reunions. We have exactly six months before opening night and several people here are already physically concerning me.”

“Rude,” Jungkook said immediately.

“You did a backflip off rehearsal stairs yesterday.”

“It was one time.”

“Gravity doesn’t care.”

Namjoon sighed like this was already exhausting him spiritually.

Jin grabbed Mina’s suitcase again before she could protest.

“You’re coming to production briefing first. Then we’re forcing you to evaluate everyone’s terrible posture.”

“I’m not evaluating anything until I’ve had caffeine.”

“You still drink tea instead of coffee like a grandmother.”

“I’m English.”

“You’re Korean too.”

“And yet somehow still committed to tea.”

Jin looked genuinely disappointed in her choices.

The hallway erupted into overlapping conversation again after that while everyone started moving toward the larger rehearsal studios together. Mina walked beside them quietly for a moment, absorbing the noise and movement and familiar energy settling back into place around her.

Five years ago she’d entered this world as an apprentice trying desperately not to fail inside rooms filled with people far more experienced than her. This time, she was one of the people responsible for making sure non of them broke before opening night.

Now, staff nodded toward her automatically. Choreographers smiled in recognition as she passed. Managers already looked relieved she’d arrived. Somewhere along the way, this place had stopped feeling temporary.

The members looked happy to see her. The managers looked relieved. Which, Mina suspected, had significantly less to do with affection and significantly more to do with the fact that comeback preparations tended to break people.

Keeping BTS healthy enough to survive the next 6 months was, unfortunately, her responsibility.

Ahead of her, rehearsal music suddenly exploded through the main studio speakers loud enough to shake the hallway walls slightly.

Hobi immediately accelerated toward the sound like a man being personally summoned to battle. Jungkook followed while laughing. Jin complained loudly about his knees. Namjoon was already reading schedules again.

And Jimin slowed slightly beside her instead. Just enough to match her pace automatically when her knee stiffened briefly near the studio entrance. Mina noticed.

Unfortunately, she notices herself noticing.

——————-

One week into comeback prep, the recovery room had already stopped belonging entirely to Mina.

People wandered in for ice packs and stayed because it was quiet. Managers sat on treatment tables with coffees they absolutely shouldn’t have been surviving on while somebody from wardrobe inevitably slept in a corner beneath a pile of jackets by midnight.

The room, tucked behind the main rehearsal arena at HYBE, had slowly became chaotic. Familiar, but chaotic..

By 9:30 that morning, it already looked like a small war zone. Ice packs filled one counter beside rows of compression sleeves while treatment schedules covered the whiteboard near the entrance in Mina’s handwriting. Portable stim units sat charging beside resistance bands and unopened tape rolls. Half the overhead lights still remained off, leaving the room washed in soft gray morning light from the narrow windows near the ceiling…Quiet. For now.

Mina sat sideways on one of the treatment tables with one knee loosely pulled upward while wrapping kinesiology tape carefully around her wrist. The joint ached more than usual this morning. Not alarming. Just irritating.

Seoul’s weather had shifted overnight, damp cold settling into the city hard enough for her body to notice before she’d even opened her eyes.

She flexed her fingers experimentally once after finishing the tape. Manageable. Good enough.

A mug of tea sat beside her laptop already going lukewarm while rehearsal schedules glowed across the screen—Seven members. A rotating choreography team. Two assistant physios. Three (for now) music videos shoot days on the schedule. Two ‘Run BTS’ filming blocks. One Netflix camera crew already asking too many questions…Normal.

The recovery room door opened quietly behind her, “Mina?”

One of the assistant physios stepped inside carrying a tablet against his chest.

“Morning.”

He crossed toward the whiteboard automatically now, scanning the updated treatment rotations she’d finalized before sunrise.

“Do you want me handling their mobility assessments or conditioning reviews today?”

“MobiIity first,” Mina answered while reviewing the schedule beside him. “And switch with Hana after lunch because she’s better at conditioning reviews.”

“Got it.”

He hesitated briefly before adding, “Management also asked if Jungkook can add the extra harness rehearsals tonight.”

“No.”

The answer came instantly.

Yejun snorted softly like he’d expected it already, “He’s going to argue.”

“He always argues.”

“And if he says he feels fine?”

Mina capped the marker in her hand. “Then he’s lying.”

That pulled a laugh from him before he disappeared back into the hallway.

A few years ago interactions like that would’ve unsettled her. During PTD, she’d jsut been the apprentice, the shadow. Now managers asked for her recommendations before approving rehearsal schedule.

The recovery room door swung open again harder this time.

Hoseok entered already dressed for rehearsals despite it not even being eight in the morning, energy somehow fully operational while the rest of humanity still struggled toward consciousness.

“Mina.”

“That tone suggests problems.”

“Jungkook did extra runs after rehearsals again.”

“Of course he did.”

“And Jimin’s pretending the hip isn’t getting worse.”

“That one I already know.”

Hobi exhaled dramatically before leaning one shoulder against the doorway.

“I leave for one military enlistment and suddenly everyone’s bodies are thirty.”

“You are thirty.”

“Rude.”

Mina smiled faintly into her tea.

That was more accurate to the actual dynamic of preparing 7 performers for the most demanding schedule of their careers. The members cared obsessively about performance quality, but now—older, post-military, carrying years of injuries behind them—they also noticed the physical cost more.

Hobi especially. Perfectionism had simply evolved into protectiveness.

“You need to watch Yoongi during choreography today too,” Hobi continued. “He keeps rolling his shoulder afterward like it’s tightening up every time he moves.”

Mina frowned immediately.

“Why is this the first time I’m hearing that?”

“Because he told me not to tell you.”

“And you listened?”

“Its Min Yoongi.”

Before Mina could answer, the recovery room door opened again and Jungkook walked in carrying enough iced coffees for an entire production department.

“Morning.”

“It’s too early for your energy level,” Mina informed him.

“It’s nine-thirty.”

“That proves nothing.”

Jungkook grinned and handed Hobi a drink before stopping near Mina’s treatment table.

“You taped your wrist again.”

Mina looked down briefly, “It’s cold.”

“That’s not an explanation.”

“It’s the only one you’re getting.”

Jungkook looked unconvinced but let it go. Mostly because the room had started filling rapidly around them. Wardrobe staff appeared looking for blister tape after concept shoot fittings. Managers wanting options on filming schedule and safety. Choreographers argued about rehearsal loads while waiting for someone to tell them no. The preparations were already taking shape.

Mina moved through it automatically.

One of the assistant physios updated Jungkook’s recovery load from additional conditioning session while another waited beside the treatment counter for her approval on recovery metrics form the previous day. Routine…Like the entire tour had quietly reorganized itself around her judgment while she wasn’t paying attention.

“Did Mina clear this?”

“Ask Mina first.”

“She said no impact repetitions today.”

“Wait until Mina sees it.”

The recovery room door opened again while Mina adjusted compression tape around someone’s shoulder.

Jimin stepped inside carrying a black hoodie over one shoulder. Fresh from morning rehearsals already. And still limping slightly.

Mina noticed immediately. Unfortunately, so did he.

“You’re doing it again,” Jimin said.

“Doing what?”

“The observing thing.”

“You’re still guarding the hip.”

One of the managers nearby looked up automatically.

“You’re injured?”

“No,” Jimin answered too quickly.

Mina didn’t even glance up from the tape she was smoothing into place.

“He is.”

Betrayal crossed his face instantly, “That feels deeply unprofessional.”

“You walked into a medical room limping.”

“I was walking normally.”

Hobi pointed immediately from across the room.

“That’s exactly what I told him.”

Jimin sighed like everyone here personally exhausted him.

Mina finished securing the tape before finally straightening fully, “Sit.”

The word came automatically. Not harsh. Not hesitant either.

Jimin looked at her for one second before obeying without argument. That didn’t go unnoticed by anybody in the room.

One of the managers muttered quietly, “That’s terrifying actually.”

“Correct,” Jungkook agreed immediately.

Mina ignored both of them and stepped in front of Jimin instead, while slipping on a pair of nitrile gloves for examination.

Up close, the stiffness through the right side looked worse today. Too much rehearsal load too quickly after military conditioning adjustments probably. Idol choreography demanded sharper transitions and harder floor impact than most people thought; than most standard workouts ever did.

“Pain level.”

“Manageable.”

“That’s not a number.”

“A stylish seven?”

“That’s unfortunately still a seven.”

A smile tugged briefly at the corner of his mouth despite himself.

Mina crouched slightly to evaluate the movement pattern through the hip while maintaining professional distance in the crowded room around them.

“Show me the rotation.”

Jimin shifted experimentally through the joint. Lifting his leg in front of his body then trying to open his knee to the side once before stopping when it caught halfway.

“There,” Mina said immediately.

“You always sound delighted when you’re correct.”

“I’m never delighted about paperwork.”

That earned a quiet laugh from him.

Around them, the recovery room continued moving at full speed. People talking. Ice packs rotating. Schedules changing. Music echoing faintly from rehearsals deeper inside the arena.

But Jimin’s attention stayed entirely on Mina now. Focused. Like he was trying to understand how she saw things other people missed.

“You caught this before it really hurt properly,” he said quietly.

Mina adjusted the compression wrap around the joint carefully, “You didn’t do Dynamite full out earlier.”

“That was one time.”

“That was enough.”

He studied her for another second.

Then: “You notice everything, don’t you?”

The question landed strangely. Because yes. She did. Thats her job but that had always been the problem.

——————

The first indication that something was wrong arrived halfway through a production meeting. Mina wasn’t even looking at Jungkook. She was reviewing conditioning reports while one of the performance directors discussed filming schedules for an upcoming music video when a number on her tablet made her pause.

She frowned. Then looked again. The room continued talking around her while she scrolled through the previous week’s data—Recovery load. Conditioning volume. Training logs. A familiar sense of irritation began building behind her eyes.

Across the table, Namjoon noticed immediately, “What?”

Mina looked up, “Where’s Jungkook?”

The question prompted several people to glance around automatically.

“He left about twenty minutes ago,” Hobi answered.

“Why?”

“He said he was going to work out.”

Mina lowered the tablet slowly. The room went quiet. Not because anyone thought that sounded unusual. Quite the opposite. Everyone understood exactly why that expression had appeared on her face.

Namjoon sighed first, “Oh no.”

“What?” Taehyung asked.

“Mina found something.”

“I didn’t find something.”

The pause that followed suggested nobody believed her.

Mina turned the screen around, “His conditioning volume is already higher than what I scheduled for this week.”

Nobody looked particularly alarmed. Unfortunately, that was part of the problem. Jungkook exercising more than necessary had become so normal that most people barely registered it anymore.

“He likes training,” Taehyung offered.

“That’s not training.”

“What is it?”

“Jungkook deciding recovery is a personal insult.”

A laugh escaped Yoongi from the far end of the table.

Namjoon covered his face briefly, “You’re going after him, aren’t you?”

“I am absolutely going after him.”

“Good luck.”

Five minutes later, Mina found him exactly where she expected.

The gym sat one floor below the rehearsal studios and looked nearly empty except for a trainer organizing equipment near the far wall.

Jungkook, meanwhile, appeared to be conducting a one-man campaign against the concept of moderation.

He glanced up when she entered. His expression brightened immediately, “Noona.”

Mina stopped beside the rack and folded her arms, “What are you doing?”

The question was so obvious that Jungkook looked genuinely confused, “Working out?”

“That wasn’t rhetorical.”

The trainer across the room immediately became very interested in a stack of resistance bands.

Jungkook rested his forearms on the bar, “I finished rehearsal.”

“Correct.”

“I had free time.”

“Incorrect.”

That earned a grin.

Mina remained unimpressed.

“You’ve already completed every conditioning session on this week’s schedule.”

“I know.”

“You’ve added two extra gym sessions.”

His grin widened, “I know.”

“You slept five hours.”

“It was almost six.”

“That’s not helping.”

Jungkook laughed. The problem was that he genuinely seemed to believe this conversation was amusing.

Mina pulled up the training report on her tablet and held it out, “Your recovery markers are worse than they were last week.”

His smile faded slightly. Not because he disagreed. Because he knew she wouldn’t be saying it if she didn’t have evidence.

“You track all of that?”

“Jungkook.”

“Right. Stupid question.” He accepted that surprisingly easily.

Mina continued scrolling.

“Your resting heart rate is elevated, your sleep has been inconsistent for ten days, and you’ve lost weight since preparations started.”

“I can put the weight back on.”

“That’s not the point.”

“What is the point?”

“The point is that we’re six months away from opening night.”

That finally got his attention. The humour faded. The athlete remained.

Mina lowered the tablet, “You don’t need to survive this week, you need to survive 6 months, and then a tour after that.”

Then Jungkook looked away and rubbed the back of his neck.

“I just don’t want to fall behind.”

There it was. Not stubbornness. Not ego. Fear.

Mina had worked with enough performers to recognize the difference. The comeback meant everything to them.

The first album together after military service. The first tour.

The first chance to prove they could still do this at the level people expected.

She understood exactly why he was pushing. That didn’t make it smart.

“No one’s worried about you falling behind.”

Jungkook laughed softly.

“That’s because they’re not looking at what everyone else is doing.”

“I am.”

That made him pause.

Mina met his gaze evenly, “And I’m telling you to go eat lunch.”

A reluctant smile appeared, “That’s your professional recommendation?”

“That’s my final decision.”

He stared at her for another second before finally stepping away from the rack,“Fine.”

Mina narrowed her eyes, “I don’t trust how quickly you agreed.”

“You should be proud of my growth.”

“I’ll be proud when I stop catching you in the gym on rest days.”

Jungkook grabbed his towel, “That’s a very high standard.”

“It should be.”

As they headed back toward the rehearsal floor, Mina noticed the trainer trying—and failing—not to laugh.

Unfortunately, she suspected the rest of BTS would find the entire situation equally entertaining.

Which was deeply unfair considering she was the only person in the building attempting to stop Jungkook from exercising himself into the ground.

Three weeks into Prep work, Mina had developed a system for identifying which member was approaching physical collapse purely from the way they entered a room:

Namjoon got quieter.

Jungkook became restless, physically incapable of sitting still.

Taehyung grew dramatically affectionate whenever exhaustion hit critical levels.

Yoongi stopped speaking almost entirely.

And Jimin deflected…Smiles. Jokes. Easy answers delivered quickly enough that most people stopped looking deeper. Like if he acted normal convincingly enough, his body might eventually believe him too.

Which was exactly why Mina noticed the problem immediately when he walked into rehearsals that afternoon looking perfectly fine…Too fine.

One of the HYBE’s larger rehearsal studios vibrated faintly beneath bass-heavy playback while camera crews, choreographers and performance directors moved between formation markers taped across the floor..

Mina stood near the mirrored wall reviewing mobility notes on her tablet when Jimin rolled once through his right hip before settling immediately back onto the left side. Fast. Practiced. Trying not to get caught.

Unfortunately for him, Mina spent most of her life catching things exactly like that. On her own body and now on others

“You’re compensating again,” she said without looking up from the tablet,

Jimin glanced over from centre formation briefly, “For what?”

“The hip, and before you ask,no, that doesn’t mean you get a fourth run.”

He looked down at himself like this was genuinely new information. “Hm.”

“You’re avoiding the right side again.”

“I’m dancing.”

“You’re shifting out of the floor transitions early.”

“You noticed that from here?”

“You shortened the turn twice.”

“I recovered the timing.”

“You compensated.” She sighed out loud. “and your recovery numbers were worse this morning.”

Jimin frowned. “you track those too?”

“That’s literally my job.”

“That’s unsettling.”

“You slept four hours.”

A small smile appeared at the corner of his mouth then. Calm. Easy, “And yet I survived.”

Jungkook laughed immediately, while Taehyung looked delighted.

Mina remained unimpressed. Because even while speaking, he shifted subtly off the right side again before Hobi called everyone back into formation. Small. Like his body had already adapted around the pain before he consciously admitted it existed.

The music restarted loud enough to shake the arena floor. Bodies moved instantly back into synchronization beneath the lights while Mina stepped farther toward the edge of rehearsals to stay clear of formations. Arirang choreography demanded sharper moves than PTD ever had, with the added pressure of the comeback.

This choreography was lower, heavier, More impact through the joints. And Jimin kept forcing full performance quality every run like his body wasn’t warning him already.

Mina watched the next sequence carefully. Floor transition. Directional turn. Weight shift—There. Again.

The right side tightened every time choreography forced deeper flexion through the hip. Not horrible yet. But repetitive strain rarely announced itself at first. It accumulated slowly.

The music cut sharply.

“Again!” Hobi called from centre stage.

A collective groan rolled across the arena.

Taehyung dropped backward dramatically onto the floor. “I miss military schedules. At least the suffering had structure.”

“You complained the entire time,” Jungkook replied while grabbing a water bottle.

“Correct. Consistently.”

Namjoon laughed quietly into his sleeve while Yoongi sat cross-legged near the mirrored wall rolling tension through one shoulder.

Mina noticed that immediately too. Of course she did.

She crossed the rehearsal floor automatically while staff reset camera positioning near the stage entrance.

“You too?”

Yoongi glanced up slowly.

“Hm?”

“The shoulder.”

“Hoseok talks too much.”

“You keep resetting the joint any time you lift your arm above your head.”

“You notice too much.”

“That’s literally my profession.”

Yoongi sighed quietly through his nose while rotating the shoulder once experimentally. Tight. Not terrible. But heading there.

“You need recovery work tonight and you’re skipping tomorrow’s conditioning block.”

“I have studio sessions.”

“No you don’t.”

His eyes narrowed slightly, “You’ve become difficult.”

“You’re injured.”

“That’s a bit dramatic.”

“You’re one bad lift away from anti-inflammatory medication.”

“That’s more offensive.”

A laugh escaped Jin somewhere behind them while Jungkook nearly choked on his water.

The rehearsal floor buzzed with overlapping noise while staff reset staging cues for another run. Hobi discussed spacing adjustments near centre stage while Taehyung attempted to convince Namjoon that electrolytes counted as emotional support. Normal chaos.

Mina looked back down at her tablet briefly, updating treatment notes from the morning— Monitor Jimin hip progression. Review Tae’s conditioning load. Watch Yoongi shoulder mobility. Adjust recovery schedule after filming. Easy..At least on paper.

“Writing complaints about me?”

Mina looked up automatically.

Jimin stood beside her now holding a towel around his neck, rehearsal shirt dampened slightly beneath the arena lights.

“You’re still limping,” she answered.

“I walked here perfectly.”

“You adjusted twice.”

“I adapted.”

“You compensated.”

He smiled again. There it was. That automatic lightness he used whenever conversations drifted too close to discomfort.

Mina crossed her arms loosely.

“You know avoiding treatment doesn’t make injuries disappear.”

“I’m standing in the recovery area voluntarily right now. That deserves recognition.”

“You’re standing because rehearsals reset.”

“Still counts.”

“No it doesn’t.”

A laugh escaped Jungkook somewhere behind them.

“You’re losing this argument,” he informed Jimin immediately.

“I don’t see a scoring system.”

“You don’t see medical advice either.”

“Different category.”

Mina watched Jimin shift subtly off the right side again while speaking.. Protecting the hip. Too practiced. That concerned her more than the injury itself.

Because performers adapted around pain frighteningly fast once they decided something mattered more than recovery.And Jimin clearly still thought rehearsals mattered more.

“Did you do the mobility work? — and before you answer Jungkook already told me you skipped cooldown” Mina huffed.

Jimin took a sip of water before answering.

“I seriously considered it.”

“That’s not the same thing.”

“It’s what I had time for.”

“It was useless.”

That finally pulled a quieter laugh from him. Real this time. Not performative. Not deflecting. Just tired.

Then the choreographer clapped loudly from centre stage again, “Places!”

Everyone immediately started moving back toward formation.

Jimin stepped backward before pausing briefly beside her.

“I’m fine,” he said. Softly this time. Like he’d repeated the sentence often enough that it no longer required thought.

Mina studied him for one second longer than necessary. Then:

“You don’t have to always win against injuries.”

Something flickered briefly across his face at that. Gone almost immediately. Then the smile returned. Easy. Polished. Deflecting.

“Good thing I’m competitive.”

And then he walked back into formation before she could answer.

The music started again. Bodies moved. Lights shifted. Bass rattled faintly beneath the arena floor.

Mina watched the choreography reset automatically while something unsettled quietly in the center of her chest. Because she understood performers like Jimin.

People who learned early that discomfort became easier to survive if you turned it into something manageable. Something smaller. Something easy to laugh through.

But bodies never accepted denial as treatment. Eventually it caught up with them.

—————————————————-

Mina started having problems at eighteen. At first, it was easy to explain away.

Ballet dancers hurt constantly. Feet blistered. Hips clicked. Knees ached. Wrists stiffened from partnering and floorwork and overtraining and the general violence ballet quietly demanded from the body while still insisting on elegance.

Pain was normal. Especially in pre-professional programs where exhaustion got praised almost as often as talent did.

So when Mina started waking up with stiffness crawling through her hands in the mornings, nobody thought much of it. Not even her. Too many rehearsals. Too little sleep. Too much pressure. And Mina had spent most of her life being disciplined.

At seventeen, she’d been on track for the Royal Ballet. Not guaranteed because nothing in ballet ever was. But close enough that teachers started speaking carefully around her future like it had already begun taking shape. Company workshops. Private evaluations. Summer intensives where directors watched quietly from the back of rehearsal studios while students tried not to look nervous.

Mina remembered spending entire train rides home with her pointe shoes balanced across her lap imagining London stages she hadn’t earned yet. Then her body started changing underneath her before she understood why.

And suddenly every plan she’d built her life around became dependent on whether or not her joints cooperated that morning. Then came the fatigue. Not ordinary exhaustion. Not the kind fixed by sleeping for twelve hours after a performance weekend. This felt heavier. Like her body had quietly started resisting itself.

Some mornings she physically couldn’t close her hands properly around pointe shoes ribbons. Other days her knees locked halfway through warmups before loosening again like nothing happened. Unpredictable. Frustrating.

Easy to hide if you were disciplined enough. She pushed through performances. Finished training. Ignored the flare-ups. Ignored the fevers. Ignored the growing realization that her body no longer recovered the way everyone else’s seemed to.

Then, at twenty, she tore through her ankle during rehearsal because exhaustion had slowed her reaction time by half a second.

Career-ending sounded dramatic afterward because she should have been able to come back from that. Others had come back from worse. But ballet rarely survived injuries like that once you’d already started falling behind physically.

The diagnosis came almost a year later—Autoimmune. Chronic. No Cure Manageable, technically. The rheumatologist kept using the word manageable like it was comforting.

Mina mostly remembered staring at her own hands during the appointment wondering when exactly her body had stopped feeling trustworthy.

The career change happened slowly after that. First sports rehabilitation modules. Then physiotherapy courses. Then clinical placements with dancers, gymnasts, and professional athletes where she realized something unsettling: She understood injured dancers frighteningly well, not just injuries.

Everything surrounding them. The way dancers skipped meals when they were stressed. The way athletes hid exhaustion behind routine. The way performers negotiated with pain long before they admitted it existed.

Most clinicians focused on what hurt. Mina found herself paying attention to everything that happened before the injury.

Bodies negotiated before they failed completely. People compensated emotionally long before they admitted pain physically. Performers learned how to smile through damage so automatically most medical staff missed it entirely. Mina didn’t.

That was how she ended up shadowing during the Permission to Dance tour at twenty-three.

Technically she wasn’t supposed to handle much independently yet. In reality, half the touring staff were overworked and sleep deprived enough that Mina simply started helping wherever bodies started breaking down. Tape jobs. Recovery sessions. Mobility tracking. Conditioning reviews. Late-night treatment rooms. Whatever needed doing on any given day.

And all while quietly managing symptoms herself. Compression sleeves beneath hoodies. Painkillers hidden in tea bags. Smiling through flare days because everyone around her already depended on her too much.

By the end of PTD, the members trusted her more than some of the senior staff.

Jin knew more than the rest. Not because she’s outright told him. More because he stumbled into it.

Chicago, near the end of the Permission to Dance tour

The recovery room had finally emptied after a fourteen-hour rehearsal day, leaving Mina alone with treatment notes she still needed to finish, a cup of tea that had long since gone cold, and an ice pack balanced across her left knee.

The flare had been building for nearly a week.

Chicago’s cold weather hadn’t helped, nor had the endless rehearsal schedule or the fact that she had been sleeping far less than she admitted to anyone. The swelling had started as a dull ache she could ignore, then gradually developed into something more persistent. By that afternoon, she could feel the pressure in the joint every time she bent her knee.

It wasn’t severe enough to stop her working. That was the problem.

Pain that stopped you completely was easy. People saw it. They understood it.

Pain that allowed you to continue functioning demanded decisions.

How much could you hide? How long could you compensate? At what point did pushing through become foolish rather than admirable?

Questions Mina had never been particularly good at answering.

She shifted slightly in the chair and immediately regretted it. A sharp pulse of pain traveled through the joint, forcing her to close her eyes for a moment.

Just a minute, she told herself. She would finish the treatment notes, go back to the hotel, sleep for a few hours, and do it all again tomorrow.

The recovery room door opened behind her.

Instinct took over before thought did.

Mina sat up straighter and moved the ice pack aside. Too late.

Jin had already seen it.

He paused just inside the doorway, his attention moving briefly from the abandoned ice pack to her face before settling somewhere in between.

For a moment neither of them said anything.

Then he asked quietly, “How bad is it?”

Not what happened. Not are you okay…How bad is it.

The question caught her off guard because it assumed the injury already existed.

Because somehow he had skipped straight past the polite version of the conversation.

“Bad,” she answered.

Jin’s expression didn’t change.

Mina recognized immediately that he didn’t believe her.

He stepped farther into the room and retrieved the phone he had apparently forgotten earlier in the evening.

“You’ve been limping all week.”

The observation landed harder than she expected. Not because he was wrong. Because she genuinely hadn’t realized anyone had noticed. The dancers hadn’t said anything. The staff hadn’t said anything. Or perhaps they had noticed and simply chosen not to comment.

Either way, she’d assumed she was hiding it better than that.

“You spend all day watching how other people move,” Jin continued. “You didn’t think someone might notice when you started moving differently too?”

There was no accusation in his voice. If anything, he sounded mildly amused. Which somehow made the truth harder to avoid.

Mina looked down at the treatment notes scattered across the desk and felt a familiar wave of exhaustion settle over her.

Not physical exhaustion this time. The deeper kind. The kind that came from carrying something alone for too long.

“I have rheumatoid arthritis.”

The words sounded strangely small once they were spoken aloud.

For so long the diagnosis had existed only in doctors’ offices, medication schedules, and private moments she never shared with anyone else. Hearing it in this room felt unexpectedly vulnerable.

Jin didn’t react immediately.He pulled out the chair opposite hers and sat down, taking a moment to think before speaking.

“When were you diagnosed?”

“Twenty-one.”

His gaze drifted briefly toward her knee. Then back to her face.

“And you’ve been doing all of this while managing that?”

There was no judgment in the question. No disbelief. Just quiet curiosity.

Mina laughed softly.

“When you put it like that, it sounds a bit ridiculous.”

A faint smile appeared at the corner of Jin’s mouth.

“It sounds exhausting.”

For a moment Jin looked at her the same way she looked at everyone else. Like he was cataloguing all the things she wasn’t saying.

For reasons she couldn’t entirely explain, that answer nearly undid her. Not sympathy. Not pity. Just understanding. As though he understood that the hardest part wasn’t the pain itself. It was the constant effort of pretending the pain wasn’t there.

After that, they didn’t discuss the diagnosis very often. They didn’t need to.

Jin just simply noticed.

On days her knee stiffened after long rehearsals, a chair somehow appeared before meetings started. If schedules ran late, a cup of tea found its way onto her desk before she remembered she hadn’t taken a break.

Small things. Easy things to miss if you weren’t paying attention. Mina noticed them because noticing people was what she did for a living.

Which was probably why, years later, Jin remained the first person she looked for on difficult days.

————————————

A month into preperations, the flare settled in properly. Not dramatic enough to stop working. Just persistent and very annoying.

A deep ache through both wrists. Stiffness pulling through her knees every morning. Exhaustion sitting heavier beneath her skin no matter how much sleep she forced herself into getting. Manageable…Probably.

Mina stood near the recovery room counter rotating slowly through one wrist while reviewing schedules on her tablet. The movement hurt. The stiffness refused to release.

She had already stretched twice this morning. Already taken her medication. Already convinced herself it wasn’t going to be one of the bad days…Her wrists disagreed.

She reached automatically for the compression sleeves folded beside the sink before pulling them carefully over both wrists beneath the sleeves of her hoodie.

Hide first. Explain later. High-performance environments rewarded functionality. Nobody cared how difficult something was as long as you could do it.

The recovery room door opened quietly behind her.

Mina looked up automatically.

Jimin stood in the doorway wearing grey sweats and a black hoodie, damp hair curling slightly at the ends like he’d showered recently and stopped caring halfway through drying it.

“You’re limping worse,” she said immediately.

Jimin glanced down at himself briefly before walking farther into the room.

“That’s unfortunate news.”

“The hip tightened overnight?”

“Hm.” Which meant yes.

Mina returned her attention to the treatment schedules glowing across the tablet screen while he moved toward the coffee machine near the counter.

The recovery room stayed comfortably quiet around them. Low equipment hum. Early-morning stillness. Rain tapping faintly somewhere above the arena corridors.

“You still drink tea every morning?” Jimin asked eventually.

Mina glanced up once.

“You say that like it’s surprising.”

“You’re in Korea now.”

“And yet I remain British unfortunately.”

That earned a soft laugh from him before he reached automatically for the kettle instead of the coffee machine.

The movement caught her slightly off guard. Not because it was dramatic. Because it implied he’d noticed. Somewhere between writing session, choreography rehearsal, costume fittings and recording sessions, Jimin had apparently learned how she took her tea.

Mina flexed her fingers carefully beneath the counter while waiting for the stiffness to ease.—It didn’t. Annoying.

“You okay?”

The question came casually enough she almost answered automatically…Almost.

Jimin leaned lightly against the counter now, watching her with the same quiet attention she usually caught him directing toward choreography. Too observant.

Mina pulled the sleeves of her hoodie farther over her wrists instinctively.

“Fine.”

His expression shifted slightly at the answer. Like he knew the word because he used it constantly himself.

“You’re bad at that too,” he said quietly.

Mina looked up, “At what.”

“Making people believe you.”

That pulled a small laugh out of her before she could stop it.

“I work with performers,” she muttered. “None of you know how to answer honestly.”

Something softer flickered briefly across Jimin’s expression at that. Understanding maybe.

Yes. Here’s the same moment rewritten with the pain splitting both ways, but in the smoother style you liked, with less dialogue and more of Mina experiencing the impossibility before either of them can name it.

He handed her the tea carefully, waiting until her fingers had closed around the mug before he let go. Their hands brushed during the exchange, no more than the briefest pass of skin against skin, the kind of accidental contact that should have meant nothing at all. Mina had reached for cups from staff, taken clipboards from managers, guided dancers through stretches, corrected shoulders and hips and knees for years without thinking much about the intimacy of touch. Bodies were part of her work. Contact was practical. Ordinary.

This was not ordinary. The sensation moved through her before she understood what had happened, a sudden shifting beneath her skin that made her grip tighten around the mug. The ache in her wrists, the deep persistent pressure she had been ignoring since morning, loosened so quickly that for one suspended moment she forgot how to breathe around it. It did not vanish completely, but the weight of it changed, as though someone had reached inside her and lifted half of it away.

Relief should have felt simple. Instead, it frightened her. Because in the same breath that her wrists eased, something else settled into place. A low, unfamiliar ache drew itself through her hip, deep enough to make her aware of the joint in a way she had no reason to be. It was not the scattered stiffness of her own condition, not the hot, grinding protest she knew too well from her hands or knees after a difficult day. This pain had a different shape. A different history. It felt used, overworked, threaded through with repetition and strain. It felt lived in. It did not feel like hers.

Mina stood perfectly still with the mug caught between both hands while the kitchen carried on around them. The kettle clicked softly as it cooled. Rain moved against the windows in a steady hush. Somewhere down the corridor, a laugh rose and faded again, ordinary life continuing only a few rooms away as if the world had not just shifted beneath her feet.

Across form her, Jimin went still. He had not stepped back or made a sound, but the change in him was immediate enough that she saw it. The ease had gone out of his posture. His attention dropped to her hands, then returned to her face with a kind of startled focus that made her stomach tighten. He looked pale around the mouth, not in the way people did when they were embarrassed or surprised, but in the way they did when their own body had suddenly become unfamiliar to them.

Mina knew then that he had felt something too. Not because he said it. Because there was no other explanation for the way he was looking at her.

Her wrists still held the echo of relief. Her hip carried an ache that did not belong there. Jimin’s eyes remained fixed on hers, and in the silence between them was the impossible awareness that something had passed through both of them at once, rearranging pain as if it were something that could be divided and handed over.

Mina flexed her fingers carefully around the mug. Jimin’s gaze followed the movement. The ache in her wrists was lighter than it had been a moment ago. The ache in her hip remained, foreign and intimate and terrifying in its specificity.

She did not know what to call it. She only knew that Jimin had gone still for the same reason she had. Whatever had just happened, it had not happened to her alone.

——————————-

Yall im still baby army (toddler? Army). I apologize if my timeline (pre military) is ever off. Please tell me and I’ll fix it. :)

But anyway, let me know what you think! Sorry, it’s taken so long to get this out! I have a sick toddler and my husband is deployed. TT

Like, comment, reblog,share please!!

Xoxo, bumble

Taglist: @bbl32 @bb3armira @bjoriis @lumora-the-white @itsluvie @traumaanatomy @joonmonjagi @thedelulusafespace @blue-and-grey-swan @dayquilforthewin @jajabro @ineed-myspace @airwolf92 @alittlelostalittlefound @gemini5991 @jhens-world @sugalarity @bebesnyia7 @lcvesugaa

Trending Tags

Last Seen Tags

#bumble masterlist

Trending Tags

Last Seen Tags

#bumble masterlist