#jmin

Mina did not pull away all at once. That would have been easier to name. Instead, she stayed.

She stayed through the first full reblock after Namjoon’s boot was confirmed, standing beside the monitor station with her tablet in one hand and a pen tucked behind her ear. She stayed while production argued over stool placement, while the camera director tried to preserve the shape of formations that no longer existed, while Hoseok rebuilt the transitions around an empty space and made it look, somehow, like a choice instead of an injury.

Namjoon sat where they had placed the stool for testing, one booted foot extended carefully in front of him. He looked composed enough that anyone unfamiliar with him might have mistaken it for ease. Mina did not.

Every time someone suggested having him stand for “just that section,” she looked up from her notes, “No.”

Eventually, they stopped suggesting it. Jin looked quietly pleased by that. Yoongi said nothing, but at one point he passed behind her and set a fresh bottle of water beside her tablet without looking at her. Hoseok caught the movement and smiled faintly. Jungkook saw it too, then looked at Mina like he wanted to say something but decided, wisely, not to.

Jimin noticed all of it. He noticed when she answered a manager with steady professionalism, then pressed her thumb hard into the base of her palm under the table afterward. He noticed when her shoulders stayed set too long. He noticed when she checked Namjoon’s boot strap twice, not because it needed checking twice, but because doing something with her hands kept her from thinking too much.

When rehearsal finally ended, Jimin waited near the doorway. Not blocking her. Never that. Just waiting.

“Tea later?” he asked quietly. The words were soft enough to belong only to them.

For half a second, Mina wanted to say yes.

She wanted the warmth of her apartment, the kettle clicking off, Jimin leaning against her counter like he belonged there, his mouth curved because he had made her smile despite herself. She wanted his hand at her waist and the impossible relief of being known without being handled.

Then a manager walked past the open door with a folder of promo schedules tucked beneath one arm.

Mina looked down at her tablet., “I can’t tonight,” she said. “I need to finish the reblock notes.”

Jimin’s expression did not change immediately. That made it worse.

“Okay,” he said.

“I’ll text you.” She meant it when she said it. That was the cruel part. But by the time she finished the reblock notes, answered two medical emails, updated Namjoon’s restrictions, sent a revised recovery plan to production, and stood in her own kitchen with her hands aching around a mug of tea she did not remember making, it was almost midnight.

Jimin had texted once.

Jimin:

Home?

Mina stared at it for a long time. Then she typed:

Mina:

Yes. Sorry. Long day.

His reply came quickly.

Jimin:

Don’t apologize. Sleep.

She held the phone for another minute. Then she put it facedown on the counter and did not answer.

—

The next day, she stayed for dinner.  That was what she told herself. She stayed.

The members ordered food after rehearsal because no one had the energy to go anywhere and Jin announced that if anyone suggested another nutrition-optimized meal box, he would begin committing crimes. Namjoon sat with his boot propped on a chair while Hoseok and Yoongi argued over whether the modified opening looked intentional yet. Taehyung listened from the floor with his arms folded over his knees. Jungkook ate like someone had personally challenged him to defeat the food before it cooled.

Jimin sat on the sofa. There was space beside him. Mina saw it. So did everyone else. She set her food down beside Jin instead. It was not obvious. That was what she told herself.

Jin was safe. Sitting beside him made sense. He had been helping with Namjoon’s modified schedule all day. They could talk about medication timing and boot logistics and whether they needed a second chair near the side stage for the live show.

It was practical. It was explainable. Jimin looked at the empty space beside him for only a moment before looking away.

Taehyung noticed. His gaze moved from Jimin to Mina, slow and quiet, but he did not say anything. He only reached for another container of food and handed it to her when she realized she had forgotten to take one.

“Eat,” he said.

Mina accepted it. “I was going to.”

“No, you were organizing chopsticks.”

Jin glanced down at the neat row of chopsticks Mina had apparently been arranging beside the food bags. Then he looked at her. She ignored him.

Across the room, Jungkook laughed at something Hoseok said, and Taehyung added something so dry and unexpected that even Yoongi’s mouth twitched.

Mina smiled. She knew she smiled. She also knew she did not laugh.

Jimin knew too. She felt the moment he noticed, even though she did not look at him.

She stayed twenty-seven minutes. Long enough to eat half her food. Long enough to discuss Namjoon’s boot. Long enough to smile at Taehyung twice, tell Jungkook not to sit on his ankle like that, and let Jin push a sealed container of leftovers into her hands with the authority of someone who had already decided she was taking it home.

Then she stood. Jungkook looked up. “Already?”

“I have an early call with medical.”

It was true. That made it harder for anyone to argue.

Jimin stood too, “I’ll walk you down.”

Mina’s fingers tightened around the container. Only Jin saw. Or maybe everyone saw and was kind enough to pretend they had not.

“You don’t have to,” she said.

Jimin’s face softened, but the softness hurt too much in front of people, “I know.”

The familiar answer almost broke her. She looked toward the door instead. “I’m taking a company car. It’s fine.”

For a moment, neither of them moved. 

Then Jimin nodded once and sat back down, “Text me when you’re home,” he said.

Mina hated herself a little for the relief, “I will.”

She left before the room could become warm enough to keep her.

—----------------------------

By the third day, everyone had too much to do. That helped.

Interviews were being added between rehearsal blocks. Behind-the-scenes filming schedules appeared in shared calendars without enough warning. Publicity wanted talking points. Production wanted reblock confirmations. Management wanted options for how much of Namjoon’s boot should be visible on camera.

Mina wanted six hours of sleep and a world where bodies were allowed to be bodies without becoming problems for branding teams—She got neither.

She saw Jimin in fragments. Across the rehearsal room. In the hallway. Beside the water station. Near the monitors while Hoseok walked through a modified transition.

Once, Jimin passed behind her and stopped just close enough that she could feel the warmth of him before he remembered the meeting, the cameras, the staff moving in and out. He stepped back. Mina closed the note she had been writing and opened it again. Neither of them said anything.

Later, he texted:

Jimin:

Can I come over tonight?

Mina read the message while standing outside the recovery room, one hand pressed to the back of her neck. She wanted to say yes so badly it almost annoyed her.

Then Namjoon called her name from inside the room, asking whether he could remove the boot while seated for a filmed interview segment if he kept his foot elevated off-camera. Jin answered before she could, loudly and incorrectly enough that she had to go in and fix it. By the time she looked back at her phone, twenty minutes had passed.

Mina:

I’m sorry. Too much tonight.

Jimin:

Okay.

Mina stared at the single word. Then another message appeared.

Jimin:

Don’t work too late.

She almost smiled. Then she almost cried. So she locked the phone and went back to work.

—————-—

On the fourth day, she checked Jimin’s hip. It was routine. That was what made it dangerous.

He lay on the treatment table while Mina moved through the assessment with practiced hands, her tablet open beside her. The recovery room door remained half-open. Staff passed in the hallway. Somewhere nearby, Jungkook was singing under his breath while Hoseok told him to save his voice and Jungkook replied that he was barely singing, which was a lie obvious enough that even Yoongi told him to stop.

Mina focused on Jimin’s hip—Range. Resistance. Load response. Tenderness. He was looser than he had been weeks ago. Stronger too. The rehab had worked. He had been careful. Mostly.

“Any pain?” she asked.

“Normal.”

She looked up.

Jimin smiled faintly. “That is an answer.”

“It is a vague answer.”

“It feels like overuse.”

“Where?”

He gestured with two fingers near the side of his hip. “Same place as usual. Not sharp.”

Mina watched his face. He looked tired. They all looked tired.

She felt the low ache in her own hands, the dull pull in her hips from too many hours standing, the fatigue that had started to settle beneath her skin in a way she did not want to name yet.

“Pain scale?”

“Three.”

She held his gaze, “Honest three?”

His mouth curved a little. “Four.”

That sounded familiar enough to make something in her chest tighten. But he had said four. He had corrected himself. He was telling her. So she nodded and wrote it down.

“Modified load for the next block,” she said. “No extra run-throughs.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

It should have made her smile. Instead, she stepped back and reached for the tablet.

Jimin sat up slowly, watching her. “Mina.”

She did not look up. “Yes?”

The half-open door stood between them and anything honest. Jimin seemed to remember that too.

His voice lowered. “Are we okay?”

Her pen stopped. There were so many answers to that question--Yes, because she cared about him. No, because caring had become another pressure point. Yes, because he had stayed. No, because now that he had stayed, she knew exactly how much there was to lose.

Mina looked at the chart, “We’re in the middle of a workday,” she said.

The moment she said it, she hated it. Jimin went quiet. Not angry. Hurt. Carefully held.

“Right,” he said.

Mina closed her eyes for half a second. When she opened them, he was already standing, smoothing his shirt down, face calm enough to pass for professional...That was what she had asked for. It hurt anyway.

——————-—

That evening, she stayed again. Thirty minutes this time.

The members had gathered in one of the smaller lounges after another long reblock session, too tired to go home immediately and too wired to be alone. Namjoon sat with his boot propped on a low table while Jin complained that the stool they had chosen for the live show looked like it belonged in a waiting room. Hoseok argued that if Jin hated it that much, he should personally source a better stool before morning. Jin said he would. Yoongi told him not to threaten people with interior design. Jungkook nearly choked on his drink laughing.

Taehyung looked at Mina when she smiled. She felt it. This time, she forced the laugh out. It sounded almost real. That was worse.

Jimin sat across from her, not beside her. His hands were folded loosely around a water bottle. He did not try to catch her eye too often. He had learned quickly. Too quickly. Mina hated that too.

She stayed long enough that no one could accuse her of leaving immediately. Then she checked the time on her phone and stood, “I should go.”

Jungkook looked up first. Again, “You just got here.”

“Thirty minutes ago.”

“That’s not long.”

“It is when you have a seven a.m. call.”

Jin’s eyes narrowed slightly. “You have an eight a.m. call.”

Mina looked at him. Jin looked back, unimpressed by her betrayal.

“Seven-thirty,” she corrected.

Yoongi glanced at her from the armchair. “That was a bad save.”

Hoseok’s expression softened, but he said nothing. Taehyung looked down at his cup. Namjoon watched from behind his glasses, thoughtful and too perceptive.

Jimin only nodded, “Get home safe,” he said.

Mina’s chest hurt, “You too,” she answered, which made no sense because he was not leaving. No one corrected her. She left with Jin’s gaze on her back and Jungkook’s silence following her into the hall.

—————

By the end of the week, Mina had become very good at staying almost close. Almost close was safe. Almost close meant she could stand beside Jimin during rehab and ask about his hip without remembering the warmth of his mouth in Yoongi’s studio.

Almost close meant she could sit with the members after rehearsal but choose the armchair instead of the sofa where Jimin had saved her space. Almost close meant she could answer Jimin’s texts with care but not invitation. Almost close meant she could smile when he walked into a room and look away before the smile became anything someone could name. Almost close meant no one could say she had disappeared. Even though she had.

The members noticed in parts: Jin noticed because she always chose the chair nearest the exit. Yoongi noticed because she stopped forgetting her tablet in places where someone would have to bring it to her. Hoseok noticed because the rooms did not relax around her the way they had started to.

Taehyung noticed because she still smiled at his quiet comments, but the smile never settled. Namjoon noticed because she kept asking about his boot and never answered properly when he asked how she was sleeping. Jimin noticed because he noticed everything about her.

And Jungkook noticed because she stopped staying for the good part—The good part came after the food was finished, after the work conversation thinned, after Jin stopped performing outrage and Yoongi stopped pretending he was above participating, after Hoseok’s laughter softened, after Namjoon’s shoulders dropped, after Taehyung’s voice went low and warm, after Jimin stopped trying to look at her only when it was safe.

That was when Mina used to stay. Now she left just before.

—————-

On Friday night, she made it seventeen minutes. Jungkook followed her into the hallway, “Noona.”

Mina stopped with her hand already on the strap of her bag. She turned carefully. “What?”

He stood a few feet behind her, hands tucked into the pocket of his hoodie, expression too open to be easy, “You forgot your charger.”

Mina looked down. He held it out. She had not forgotten it. It was not hers. They both knew that. Still, she took it.

“Thanks.”

Jungkook did not move. The hallway was quieter than the lounge behind them. Through the door, she could hear Jin saying something loudly enough to make Hoseok laugh. The sound pulled at her harder than she expected.

Jungkook looked toward the lounge, then back at her, “You know you can still come over, right?”

Mina’s fingers tightened around the charger. “I’m here.”

“No.” His voice stayed gentle. “I mean really come over.”

She looked away. “I’ve been busy.”

“I know.”

“Then why are you asking?”

“You’re busy,” Jungkook said gently. “But you’re also avoiding him.”

The words landed without force. That made them harder to deflect.

Mina looked back at him. “I’m not avoiding Jimin.”

Jungkook only looked at her. No challenge. No judgment. Just the kind of silence that made lying feel childish.

Mina sighed. “It’s complicated.”

“I know.”

“You don’t.”

“No,” he agreed. “Not all of it.”

That should have ended the conversation. It did not.

Jungkook stepped closer, not enough to crowd her. “But you’re still my friend.”

Mina’s throat tightened so quickly she almost looked away again. He said it simply. No performance. No dramatic rescue. No attempt to fix whatever had happened between her and Jimin. Just a fact.

“You don’t have to come because of him,” Jungkook said. “Come because of us.”

Mina looked down at the charger in her hand. It was white. Her charger was black. She almost laughed. It caught somewhere painful instead.

“I’m tired,” she said.

“I know.”

“I’m not very fun right now.”

“That has never stopped Yoongi-hyung.”

From inside the room, Yoongi called, “I heard that.”

Jungkook did not even flinch. Despite herself, Mina smiled. A real one this time. Small, but real. Jungkook saw it and looked quietly pleased, though he was kind enough not to celebrate.

“Tomorrow,” he said. “My place. Not a big thing. Just us. Food, maybe games, maybe Jin-hyung complaining about the food even if he brings half of it.”

“I have work.”

“After work.”

“I might not stay long.”

“That’s okay.”

She looked at him. He meant it. That made the invitation more dangerous than pressure would have been. Mina looked back toward the lounge.

Jimin was not visible from the hallway, but she knew where he sat. She knew the shape of his silence by now. She knew she had been hurting him slowly, carefully, in ways gentle enough to deny and sharp enough to count.

Jungkook followed her gaze, “You don’t have to fix anything tomorrow,” he said.

Mina swallowed.

“Just come.”

For a moment, she had no answer. Then she nodded once, “All right.”

Jungkook’s smile came fast and bright before he softened it, as if he knew too much happiness might scare her off, “Good.”

Mina held out the charger. “This is not mine.”

“I know.”

“Terrible plan.”

“It worked.”

She gave him a look. He grinned, then took it back. Behind them, the lounge door opened. Jimin stood there. He stopped when he saw them. Mina’s body went still before she could stop it.

Jimin’s eyes moved from her face to Jungkook’s hand holding the charger, then back to her. He understood enough. Maybe not all of it. Enough.

Jungkook turned, utterly casual. “She’s coming tomorrow.”

Jimin’s expression changed. Only a little. Hope was quiet on him. Mina hated that she knew how to recognize it.

“Good,” Jimin said. His voice was soft. Not possessive. Not relieved in a way that made her responsible for it—Just good.

Mina nodded, because speaking felt like too much. Then she shifted her bag higher on her shoulder, “I should go.”

This time, neither of them stopped her. But when she walked away, the hallway no longer felt like an exit. It felt like she had agreed, despite herself, to come back.

—————————

Mina meant to stay for an hour. That was the agreement she made with herself before she even knocked on Jungkook’s door. One hour. Enough to prove she had come. Enough to make Jungkook’s invitation count. Enough to show the members she was not avoiding all of them, only the parts of herself that had become too easy to expose around Jimin. One hour was safe.

Then Jungkook opened the door in sweats and a black hoodie, smiled like he had been waiting by the entryway, and said, “You came.”

Mina lifted the bag in her hand. “You invited me.”

“I know.” His smile widened. “It worked.”

She looked at him. “That was not subtle.”

“I’m not subtle.”

“No.”

“Come in.” 

The apartment was already warm with noise. Not loud, exactly. Not the polished chaos of work or the sharp stress of rehearsal. This was looser. Food containers on the coffee table. Drinks lined up near the kitchen island. Namjoon on the sofa with his boot propped on a cushion and a blanket thrown messily over one knee. Jin sitting beside him, inspecting the takeout like he had been hired as quality control. Hoseok near the floor with Jungkook’s dog tucked happily against his leg. Taehyung in the armchair, barefoot, quietly scrolling through his phone until Mina entered.

Yoongi sat near the end of the sofa, one elbow propped on the armrest, watching everything with the stillness of someone pretending not to care that everyone had gathered in the first place.

And Jimin was there. He stood near the kitchen island with a bottle of water in one hand, mid-conversation with Hoseok. When he saw Mina, the sentence died quietly on his mouth. He did not move toward her. He did not make it obvious. He only looked at her, and the warmth in his eyes was so immediate that Mina had to remind herself there were reasons she had been careful all week—Reasons that still existed. Professional boundaries. Shared spaces. Avoidable speculation. The warnings had not disappeared just because Jungkook’s apartment was safe. That was what made the safety dangerous.

“Hi,” Jimin said softly.

“Hi.”

It was almost nothing. It still landed.

Jin looked between them once and then, mercifully, said, “What did you bring?”

Mina held up the bag. “Dessert.”

Jungkook gasped like she had arrived with treasure.

Jin reached for it. “Finally, someone with manners.”

“I always bring something.”

“Yes,” Jin said. “This is why you can stay.”

“I was invited before the dessert.”

“Technically.”

Jungkook took the bag from Jin before he could claim full ownership and ushered Mina farther inside. “Sit. Food’s still warm.”

Mina chose the armchair near Taehyung. It was not beside Jimin. It was not beside the exit either. A compromise. Taehyung glanced at her as she sat, then smiled faintly. Not questioning. Not pushing. Only making room in a way that did not require her to explain the distance she kept measuring.

“Good chair,” he said.

“Is it?”

“Best one.”

“Then why weren’t you sitting in it?”

“I was saving it.”

“For me?”

“For someone who would appreciate it.”

Mina looked at him. Taehyung’s expression remained perfectly calm. Across the room, Yoongi made a sound that might have been amusement. Mina felt herself smile despite the tightness under her ribs. 

One hour, she told herself again. She could do one hour.

At first, it was easy. Easier than she expected. Jungkook’s apartment did not have cameras in the hallway. No managers passing by with folders. No staff watching how long Jimin’s gaze stayed on her face. No one turning ordinary warmth into something that needed to be managed before it became a headline.

Namjoon complained that the boot ruined his ability to sit comfortably. Jin told him it was good for his humility. Hoseok immediately argued that Namjoon had enough humility and needed better cushions. Yoongi said nothing, stood, and returned with another pillow from somewhere down the hall.

Namjoon looked at him. “Thank you.”

Yoongi shrugged. “You were blocking the view with suffering.”

“That means he cares,” Hoseok said.

“I didn’t ask for translation.”

Mina laughed. Only once. Small. But real. Jungkook looked up from opening containers and saw it. His face softened in a way that made Mina look down too quickly.

The first hour passed. Then another half hour. Mina noticed the time and told herself she would leave after the next round of food was cleared.

Then Jungkook put on a game, and Jin immediately started arguing about rules he had absolutely misunderstood. Hoseok laughed so hard he tipped sideways into Namjoon’s good leg. Taehyung, somehow, won the first round without appearing to understand the objective. Yoongi accused him of psychological warfare. Jungkook insisted on a rematch. Mina stayed.

The ache in her hands started as a background thing. Manageable. Familiar. She flexed her fingers once under the blanket Taehyung had passed to her without comment. The joints felt thick and stubborn, like they belonged to someone else. Her hips had been quietly complaining since the afternoon, and her lower back had settled into that deep, flu-like heaviness that made her feel as though illness had been poured into her bones without fever to prove it.

She could handle it. She handled things all the time. Jimin looked at her from across the room. Not constantly. Not enough to make her feel watched. But enough that she knew he was tracking the edges of her.

Mina deliberately reached for her water glass with her left hand, because her right fingers were worse. The glass felt heavier than it should have. Her stomach turned. Not dramatically. No sudden wave. Just a slow, unpleasant roll of nausea that made the room feel too warm and her skin too cold at the same time. She took a sip anyway.

Jin was watching her now. Of course he was. Mina set the glass down carefully. Too carefully. Jin’s eyes narrowed. Mina looked away.

A little later, Jimin’s phone rang. He glanced at the screen and his expression shifted. Work. Not urgent enough to panic, but irritating enough to matter.

Hoseok leaned over to look. “Production?”

“Camera reset notes,” Jimin said.

Namjoon sighed. “About the seated transition?”

“Probably.”

Jimin looked at Mina first. That almost hurt. She gave him the smallest nod, because she could not bear the idea of being another reason he hesitated. He stepped into Jungkook’s small side room to take the call, leaving the door half-open. Close enough. Not in the room. Mina told herself that did not matter.

The game continued around her. It should have been easier with Jimin gone. Instead, the pain seemed to realize there was space to become louder.

Her hands stiffened further around the blanket. Her knees ached even though she was sitting. Her hips burned low and deep, and a sharp pulse ran briefly through her wrist when she shifted to reach for her water again.

She missed the first question Jungkook asked her.

“Noona?”

Mina blinked. “Sorry?”

Jungkook tilted his head. “I asked if you wanted another one.”

He was holding up a drink. Not alcohol. Something sparkling and flavored, probably because he remembered without making a big thing of it.

Her throat tightened, “No, thank you. I’m all right.”

The lie came smoothly. Too smoothly. Yoongi looked at her. Not openly. Enough.

Mina shifted to stand. It was meant to look casual. She could go to the bathroom, splash cold water on her face, check her medication, breathe through the nausea privately. She could come back composed enough to say goodnight without making the room change around her. Simple.

She pushed the blanket off her lap and reached for the water glass on the table. Her fingers did not close properly.

For one horrible second, she knew exactly what was about to happen and could not make her hand obey fast enough to stop it.

The glass slipped. It hit the edge of the table, tipped, and shattered against the floor. The sound cracked through Jungkook’s apartment. Conversation stopped at once. Water spread across the hardwood in a thin, shining line. Broken glass scattered near her feet, bright beneath the warm light.

Mina stood too quickly. The room tilted.

Her stomach rolled hard enough that she swallowed against it, one hand reaching blindly for the armchair, the wall, anything solid. The fatigue hit all at once then, thick and sickening, like the flu without the fever. Her skin felt too hot and too cold at the same time. Her hands pulsed. Her hips burned. Her back locked so sharply she could not hide the breath it stole from her.

“Mina—” Jungkook was already moving. Her socked foot shifted forward. Toward the glass.

“Don’t move.” Jin’s voice cut through the room. Not loud. Not panicked—Absolute.

Mina froze. A sting opened along the side of her foot anyway, small and sharp beneath the larger, uglier pain already taking up too much of her body. She barely registered it.

Jungkook stopped halfway to her, face gone pale.

Jin stood slowly, eyes not on the broken glass but on Mina’s face.

“Mina,” he said. “Look at me.”

“I’m fine.” Her voice did not sound like hers. That was the first real problem.

Jin’s expression changed, “No,” he said. “You’re not.”

Hoseok rose from the floor, hands open at his sides. Taehyung stood near the armchair, quiet and alert. Namjoon shifted forward on the sofa, forgetting the boot propped in front of him until the movement pulled pain across his face. Yoongi stepped toward the hallway, gaze flicking once toward the half-open room where Jimin had gone to take the production call.

Mina tried to breathe through her nose—Bad idea. The nausea sharpened, “I just stood up too fast,” she said.

“No,” Jin said again, softer but firmer. “Not tonight.”

Jungkook looked between Jin and Mina, fear starting to take shape on his face. “What do I do?”

“Shoes,” Jin said without looking away from Mina. “And a towel.”

Jungkook moved immediately. Mina hated the way everyone obeyed. Hated the way the room had rearranged itself around her. Hated that she had come here to prove she could still be normal, still be easy, still be present without dragging all of this into the middle of Jungkook’s living room.

“I’m sorry,” she said.

Jungkook stopped dead near the kitchen.

His head turned. “Why are you sorry?”

Because there was glass on his floor. Because she had stayed too long. Because he had invited her as a friend and she had turned herself into something everyone had to handle. Because she had let herself laugh earlier. Because maybe happiness always came with a bill….She did not say any of that.

Her knees softened. Jin saw. He stepped around the glass with careful precision and reached her before anyone else could move. He did not grab her. He only stood close enough that if she dropped, she would not go far.

“Mina,” he said. “What do you need?”

She shook her head once. The room tipped harder, “I’m fine.”

“No.” His voice lowered. “What do you need?”

Her hand tightened on the armchair until pain sparked through her knuckles. Jin waited. Not pushing. Not letting her hide either, “What do you need?” he asked again.

The answer came out before pride could stop it, “Jimin.”

The room changed. Not loudly. No one gasped. No one demanded an explanation. But every piece of attention turned toward the half-open door down the hall.

Jungkook was already moving, “I’ll get him.”

Yoongi stepped aside as Jungkook passed. A moment later, Jungkook’s voice came low and urgent from the hallway, “Hyung.”

The call stopped. Then Jimin appeared. The phone was still in his hand. One look at the room and the color left his face…The shattered glass. Jungkook tense near the hallway. Hoseok standing beside the sofa, worry written plainly across his face. Taehyung silent by the armchair. Namjoon sitting forward, boot forgotten. Jin close enough to catch Mina.

And Mina…Braced against the chair with one shaking hand, face too pale, eyes unfocused like she was struggling to keep the room in one piece.

Jimin crossed to her. Not slowly. Not with that careful distance he had been giving her all week. He moved like he already knew what everyone else was still trying to understand.

Jungkook dropped to clear the larger pieces of glass with the towel, making a narrow path with quick, shaking hands, “Here,” he said.

Jimin stepped through it and stopped in front of Mina, “Mina-ya.”

Her eyes found his. Barely. The relief that crossed her face was small and devastating. He held out his hand. Just that. One choice. Mina took it.

The moment their fingers locked, her breath broke. Her shoulders loosened by a fraction, but the rest of her body seemed to give up at the same time. Her knees dipped. Her grip tightened painfully around his hand.

Jimin caught her before anyone else could move. His free arm went around her waist, firm and immediate, pulling her against him before she could sway toward the glass. Mina made a small, broken sound and pressed her forehead to his chest like she no longer had the strength to pretend she could hold herself upright.

Jimin’s face tightened. Not because of her weight. Because he felt it--The pain moved through him in pieces. Her hands first, hot and stiff and sharp beneath the skin. Then the deep ache in her hips. The heavy pull through her back. The awful, sick fatigue that made every breath feel like something her body had to argue for.

His arm tightened around her, “I’ve got you,” he said, low against her hair.

Mina’s fingers curled into his shirt. “I’m sorry.”

“No.”

The word came out rougher than he intended.

She tried to lift her head. “The glass—”

“I don’t care about the glass.”

“It’s Jungkook’s floor.”

Jungkook’s voice shook from behind them. “Noona, I don’t care about the floor.”

Mina’s eyes closed. The room blurred again, black spots flickering at the edges of her vision. Her stomach turned. Jimin felt the change in her balance before she could say anything.

“You’re dizzy.”

“I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not.”

Jin stepped closer, eyes on Mina’s face. “She needs to sit.”

Jimin looked down at her. She was still trying to keep one foot planted carefully, still trying to calculate how to move without stepping into the glass, still trying to make the whole thing smaller for everyone else.

He was done letting her calculate, “I’m picking you up,” he said.

Her eyes opened. “Jimin—”

“You can argue when you’re not about to faint.”

Then he did it. One arm secured around her back, the other beneath her knees, careful of her hips but not hesitant. Mina’s breath caught as he lifted her, her hands clutching instinctively at his shoulders. For one second, the movement made pain flare sharper through her body, and Jimin felt the echo of it hit him too. His jaw flexed.

He kept walking. Jungkook cleared the last of the path fast, pushing the towel and glass farther aside. Hoseok moved the coffee table without being asked. Taehyung pulled the blanket from the armchair. Namjoon looked like he hated the boot more than ever because it kept him from standing.

Jimin carried Mina to the sofa and sat with her instead of setting her down alone. He settled first, then lowered her sideways across his lap and against his chest, keeping one arm firm around her waist while the other held her hand. Mina’s head dropped to his shoulder, her breathing uneven, her face turned partly into his shirt.

No one spoke for a moment. Because this was not just comfort. The change was visible. Mina’s breathing did not become easy, but it steadied. Her hand stopped shaking as violently in his. Her body, still tense with pain, stopped fighting so hard to stay upright.

Jimin’s face changed too. A flash of pain crossed it before he buried it.

Yoongi saw. Hoseok saw. Jungkook definitely saw.

Then Jungkook’s gaze dropped, “Hyung,” he said, voice tight.

Jimin looked down. A thin line of red had soaked through the side and bottom of Mina’s sock. For one second, everyone froze again.

Mina tried to lift her head. “It’s fine.”

Jin’s expression flattened. “You are bleeding.”

“It’s not bad.”

“That is not the standard.”

Jungkook looked horrified. “Noona, I’m sorry. I didn’t clear it fast enough—”

“Jungkook,” Jin said, firm without being sharp. “First-aid kit.”

Jungkook moved immediately.

Hoseok was already closer, crouching near the edge of the sofa with both hands visible. “Mina, can I?”

Mina’s eyes were half-closed, her face still pressed near Jimin’s collarbone. She nodded once. Jimin’s arm tightened around her waist as Hoseok carefully lifted her foot just enough to press a clean towel beneath it. He did not fuss. He did not panic. He only held steady pressure through the fabric, his face drawn with worry he was trying very hard to keep quiet.

“We should move her to the bathroom,” Jungkook said quickly from the hall. “Guest room has one attached. Towels are clean. I have a first-aid kit.”

“In a minute,” Jimin said. His voice was low. Not harsh. Final. Mina was still trembling against him, the shaking running through her body in small, uncontrollable waves. Her fingers were locked around his hand like letting go might send her under again.

Jimin lowered his mouth near her hair. Jimin lowered his mouth near her hair. “Breathe first.”

“I’m trying.”

“I know.”

Her body shook harder for one breath, not from cold, not exactly, but from the effort of staying present while pain pulled at every edge of her. Her fingers tightened in his shirt, then loosened like she was trying to make herself let go.

Jimin felt it immediately, “Mina-ya.”

She shook her head faintly against his chest. “Everyone’s looking.”

“No one is judging you.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I do.”

Her breath hitched, too shallow, too fast. Jimin’s arm tightened around her waist. “Baby,” he said, quiet enough that it felt meant only for her, even if the room heard it. “Look at me.”

Mina went still. Not because the pain stopped. Because he had never called her that before. Slowly, she lifted her head just enough to meet his eyes.

Jimin’s face was close, pale with the pain he was taking from her and still entirely focused on keeping her with him, “That’s it,” he murmured. “Just breathe with me.”

Her grip tightened around his hand. One breath. Then another. The shaking did not stop, but it eased enough for Hoseok to notice from where he held the towel to her foot. His eyes flicked to Jimin’s face.

Jimin did not look away from Mina. She felt Jimin take another piece of it and tried to pull her hand away. He did not let her.

“Don’t,” he said quietly.

“I’m giving it to you.”

“I know.” The words landed in the room like the glass breaking all over again.

Jungkook stopped in the hallway with the first-aid kit in his hands. “What does that mean?”

Mina’s throat closed. She could not answer. Jimin’s arm stayed firm around her waist, his thumb moving once over the back of her hand.

Jin answered because Mina could not, “She has rheumatoid arthritis.”

The room went still. Jin’s voice stayed calm. “She’s flaring. Hands, hips, back. Systemic fatigue too, probably. That can feel like being sick even when she isn’t.”

Hoseok’s face tightened, but his hands stayed steady on the towel. Taehyung lowered himself slowly onto the edge of the coffee table, eyes on Mina with a softness that did not demand anything from her. Namjoon looked down at his own boot, then back at her, the understanding arriving too quickly.

Jungkook looked hurt first. Then worried. Then guilty, which Mina could not bear.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

Jungkook shook his head immediately. “No.”

“You invited me here.”

“Because you’re my friend.” The words hit harder than she had room for.

Mina turned her face more fully into Jimin’s chest. Humiliation burned hotter than the pain now.

Jimin lowered his mouth to her hair. “Stay with me.”

“They know.”

“I know.”

“I didn’t want—”

“I know.”

His arm tightened around her, enough to keep her there when shame told her to run from a body that could not even stand.

Jungkook stepped closer, first-aid kit still in his hands. His voice was quieter when he asked, “You can feel it?”

No one answered immediately. That was answer enough.

Hoseok’s gaze moved to Jimin’s face. “Since when?”

Mina’s fingers tightened in his shirt. “Don’t.” Not because she did not want them to know. Because the room had already become too large.

Yoongi spoke before Jimin could, “It’s a soulmate bond.”

The words landed cleanly. No drama. No softness around them. Just the name. Mina went still against Jimin’s chest.

Soulmates were not myth. Rare, yes. Rare enough that most people would never see a true bond close up. But everyone knew they existed. Everyone knew enough stories to recognize the shape of one when it finally stopped hiding behind other names.

Mina and Jimin had known enough to avoid the word—Pain thing. Relief. Something strange. Something happening when he touched her…Anything but soulmate. Because soulmate meant fate. Permanence. Consequences. A bond neither of them had been ready to claim while everything else around them was already threatening to take too much.

Yoongi looked at them, quiet and unflinching, “You both knew enough to be scared of the word.”

Mina’s breath caught. Jimin’s hand covered hers more fully. Not because Yoongi was wrong. Because he was not.

“I didn’t want this to be how they found out,” Mina whispered.

Jimin’s mouth brushed her temple. “I know.”

Jin crouched in front of them, eyes level with Mina’s. “Medication?”

“In my bag,” she managed. “Small blue pouch.”

Jungkook moved before anyone else could. He set the first-aid kit on the table and found her bag near the entryway, searching carefully until he pulled out the pouch and brought it back with both hands, as if it were something fragile.

Jin opened it and checked the contents with the ease of someone who had done this before. Hoseok kept the towel against Mina’s foot. Taehyung brought over a plastic bottle of water and set it within reach.

Namjoon stayed seated, jaw tight with helplessness, but his voice was calm when he said, “Tell us what to do.”

Mina closed her eyes. That almost broke her. Not panic. Not pity—A question. A way to help.

Jimin’s hand tightened around hers. For once, Mina did not have the strength to make herself smaller. The glass was broken. Her foot was bleeding. The secret was out. The word soulmate was still sitting in the room like something no one could take back. But Jimin did not let go. And no one left.

Jin stayed in front of her with the medication pouch in his hand. Jungkook hovered near the table, pale but focused. Hoseok held pressure against her foot with careful hands. Taehyung sat nearby with water. Namjoon watched with steady, quiet concern. Yoongi stood near the hallway, silent and protective in the way he always was when things mattered. They knew now. Not everything. But enough.

Mina turned her face into Jimin’s chest, “I didn’t want them to see,” she whispered.

Jimin held her closer, “They’re still here.”

That was the part she could not argue with. The flare still hurt. Her body still felt heavy and wrong and too visible. The shame had not vanished just because no one was angry with her. But no one looked away. No one left.

And when Mina’s fingers tightened around Jimin’s hand, he held on like letting go had never been an option.

————————

For a while, no one moved too quickly. That seemed to become the room’s silent agreement.

Hoseok kept the towel pressed carefully against Mina’s foot, his hands steady even though his face had gone tight with worry. Jin crouched in front of her with the small blue medication pouch open on the coffee table, checking the labels with practiced familiarity. Jungkook stood nearby with the first-aid kit clutched in both hands, looking like he wanted to help and did not trust himself to choose the right way. Taehyung sat close enough to pass the water bottle when needed but far enough not to crowd her. Namjoon stayed on the sofa, one booted foot stretched out, his jaw tense with the frustration of being unable to move.

Yoongi remained near the hallway. Quiet. Watching. Guarding the room without making it obvious.

Mina’s face stayed turned into Jimin’s chest. Her breathing had steadied, but not enough. Every few breaths still caught somewhere painful, her body shivering in small waves she could not fully control. Jimin held her through each one, one arm locked around her waist, the other hand wrapped around hers.

He looked pale now. Not dramatically. Not enough that anyone who did not know him would immediately understand. But Hoseok noticed. So did Jin.

Jimin felt pieces of the flare move through him and said nothing. Hands first. Hips. Back. A sick heaviness that did not belong to any one place. It thinned in him slowly, already beginning to fade around the edges, but Mina still trembled against his chest like the original pain had nowhere else to go.

He lowered his mouth to her hair, “Better?” he asked quietly.

Mina gave the smallest shake of her head. Honest, at least.

Jimin’s arm tightened by a fraction. “Less dizzy?”

She waited too long to answer.

Jin looked up immediately, “Mina.”

Her fingers flexed weakly in Jimin’s shirt. “A little.”

“That means yes or that means you don’t want to say no?” Jin asked.

Despite everything, the corner of Jimin’s mouth moved faintly.

Mina’s did not, “The second one,” she admitted.

Jungkook inhaled sharply.

Jin’s expression stayed calm. “All right.”

“It’s not that bad.”

“Mina,” Jin said.

She closed her mouth.

Jimin looked down at her. “Do you still see spots?”

Her silence answered before she did, “A few,” she whispered.

Hoseok’s gaze lifted from her foot to Jimin’s face. “We should clean the cut soon.”

“I know,” Jimin said. He did not move yet.

Mina was still too unsteady. He could feel it in the way her body had not committed fully to relaxing, even against him. She was braced for embarrassment. For pain. For the next moment someone would tell her what needed to happen and she would try to make it easier for them. He was not letting her make herself easier right now.

Jungkook stepped forward carefully. “Guest room,” he said, voice quieter than before. “The bathroom is attached. Towels are clean. I can put the first-aid kit in there.”

Jin nodded. “Good.”

Jungkook looked relieved to have something useful to do and immediately headed down the short hall.

Taehyung stood. “I’ll get another towel.”

“Plastic bag too,” Jin added. “For the glass.”

Taehyung nodded and moved toward the kitchen.

Namjoon leaned forward slightly. “What do you need from me?”

Jin glanced at the boot. “To stay sitting.”

Namjoon looked deeply displeased by that.

Yoongi said, “He’s right.”

“I know he’s right,” Namjoon said.

“Then do it quieter.”

Under different circumstances, Mina might have smiled. Tonight, she only breathed against Jimin’s shirt and tried not to be a person everyone had to organize around.

Jimin felt the thought in the way she went tense again, “Stop,” he said softly.

Mina’s eyes opened against his chest. “I didn’t say anything.”

“You were about to apologize.”

Her throat moved. He was right.

Jin closed the medication pouch. “Can she take this now?”

Mina blinked slowly, forcing herself to focus. “Yes. With water.”

Taehyung returned with a fresh towel and held out the bottle. Jimin helped Mina sit up just enough to drink, keeping one arm firm behind her back. Her hand shook when she tried to take the bottle herself. Jimin did not let go of it.

For once, she did not argue. That alone told the room more than any explanation could have. She took the medication, swallowed carefully, then leaned back into Jimin before her strength could pretend it was enough.

Jin watched her for another moment. “We need to move you.”

Mina’s eyes opened fully this time. “I can walk—.”

“No,” Jimin said. The answer came immediately. Not loud. Not negotiable.

Mina’s face flushed. Not with fever. With humiliation. Jimin felt it before he saw it. The way her fingers tightened. The way she started to pull inward, smaller and smaller, as if she could make herself disappear from the center of the room by sheer will.

His voice softened, but the decision did not, “I’m carrying you.”

Her eyes lifted to his. “Jimin.”

“You asked for me.” The words stopped her. Not because they were harsh. Because they were true. He held her gaze. “So let me.”

The room seemed to quiet around that. Mina looked away first, but she did not argue again. Jimin took that as permission.

“Hobi-hyung,” he said.

Hoseok understood at once. “I’ve got the towel until you lift.”

Jin shifted closer. “Careful of her foot.”

“I know.”

“And her hips.”

Jimin’s jaw tightened. “I know.” Not irritated. Not offended. Only because he did. He knew exactly where she hurt now, and knowing did not make the act easier. It only made him more determined not to let her apologize for needing it.

Hoseok kept the towel secure as Jimin adjusted his hold. Mina’s arm slid weakly around his shoulders, her face pressing briefly against his neck when the movement pulled pain through her body. Jimin felt the echo of it strike through his own hip and lower back.

He breathed through it. Then he stood with her in his arms. Mina made a small sound against him, not quite pain, not quite embarrassment.

His arms tightened, “I’ve got you.”

Her fingers gripped the back of his shirt, “I know,” she whispered. That was the first thing she had said all night that sounded like trust instead of surrender.

Jungkook reappeared at the hallway entrance, eyes wide when he saw Jimin carrying her. “Room’s ready.” His voice almost broke on the last word.

Mina turned her head slightly. “Jungkook—”

“Noona.” He shook his head fast. “Don’t apologize.”

She went quiet. Jungkook stepped aside, clearing the path even though there was nothing left in the way.

Jin stood and picked up the first-aid kit. “I’ll check the cut first.”

Jimin nodded. Hoseok rose too, still holding the blood-marked towel now folded carefully in one hand. Taehyung moved the blanket off the sofa and draped it over Mina’s legs before Jimin could carry her farther. Namjoon watched with his hands curled against his knees, expression tight and helpless.

Yoongi’s gaze met Jimin’s briefly. No words. Only a quiet, steady look that said he understood exactly why Jimin was not letting anyone else take her. Then Jimin carried Mina down the hall.

The living room remained behind them, too quiet after all the noise. Broken glass wrapped in a towel on the floor. Water half-cleaned from the hardwood. Mina’s medication pouch open on the table. The word soulmate still hanging where Yoongi had left it.

Mina kept her face tucked near Jimin’s shoulder, “I’m heavy,” she whispered.

Jimin looked down at her. Even now. Even like this, “Mina.”

“What?”

“You’re like five foot four.”

Her breath caught. Then, to his surprise, something almost like a laugh left her. Small. Exhausted. Real.

Jimin held her closer and carried her into Jungkook’s guest room. The bathroom light was already on, warm and bright through the open door. Behind them, Jin followed with the first-aid kit. The door stayed open for now. Just enough for help. Just enough for privacy to begin.

—————————————

The door to the guest room stayed half-open behind Jimin and Mina. Not enough for the living room to see inside. Enough for everyone to know she was not alone.

For a few seconds, no one spoke. The apartment looked wrong in the quiet aftermath. Food still sat open on the coffee table. A game controller had been left upside down near the sofa. Namjoon’s boot rested on a cushion beside him. Water glistened across the floor near the armchair, and broken glass sat gathered inside the towel Jungkook had used to clear a path.

The whole room seemed to be waiting for someone to decide what happened next— Jin did.

“Jungkook-ah,” he said, voice steady. “Trash bag. Then check the floor again with a flashlight.” 

Jungkook moved immediately.

“Hoseok, another towel for the water.” 

Hoseok nodded and went to the kitchen.

“Taehyung, put the food away before someone steps around it and makes this worse.”

Taehyung stood without a word.

“Yoongi,” Jin said.

Yoongi was already near the hallway. “I’ll stay here.”

Jin nodded.

Namjoon shifted forward on the sofa. “And me?”

Jin looked at his boot. “You stay sitting.”

Namjoon’s mouth tightened.

“I know,” Jin said before he could argue. “You hate it. Sit anyway.”

Under different circumstances, someone might have laughed. No one did. 

For a while, the room became practical.Jungkook tied the towel of glass carefully inside a trash bag, then crouched with his phone flashlight angled low across the hardwood. He moved slowly, checking under the edge of the armchair, beneath the coffee table, around the sofa legs. Hoseok dried the water in careful passes, his face controlled but his jaw tense. Taehyung closed containers and cleared space without asking where anything belonged. Yoongi stayed near the hall, listening without making it look like listening.

Jin stood in the middle of the room and watched them all do something with their hands because doing something was better than standing inside what they had just learned. From the guest room, Jimin’s voice came low. Too low to make out. Mina did not answer loudly enough for anyone to hear. Jungkook’s hand paused under the coffee table. Then he kept checking the floor.

After a minute, Jin went to the guest room doorway. He looked in briefly, said something quiet, then returned with Mina’s blue medication pouch in one hand and the first-aid kit in the other. Every face turned toward him.

Jin answered before anyone asked. “The cut is small. It bled because it’s her foot. No stitches.”

The room exhaled in pieces.

“And the flare?” Namjoon asked.

Jin’s expression changed. Not dramatically. Enough. “Bad,” he said. “She took the medication. Jimin’s with her. She needs quiet.”

Jungkook stood with the flashlight still in his hand. “What else?”

“For now? Nothing.” Jin set the medication pouch on the coffee table, then seemed to think better of leaving it exposed and picked it back up. “She needs time.”

Hoseok looked toward the hallway. “She’s had this for years?”

“Yes.” The answer was simple. That made it worse.

Jin sat on the edge of the coffee table, the first-aid kit resting beside him. “Pain started when she was eighteen or nineteen. She was still dancing seriously then, so she treated it like something she should be able to push through.”

Jungkook went still. He was not the only one. All seven of them knew what it meant to be young and trained into endurance. Pain became background noise. Exhaustion became routine. There were years where stopping felt more impossible than hurting because stopping meant admitting the body had reached a place willpower could not drag it past.

Jungkook’s jaw tightened. “At that age, none of us would have stopped for soreness.”

“No,” Hoseok said quietly.

“And she was ballet-trained, right?” Jungkook continued, eyes fixed on the floor now. “She’s disciplined. Strong. Even now.” His mouth pressed into a hard line. “So if it made her stop, it wasn’t ordinary pain.”

Jin looked at him for a moment, then nodded. “No. It wasn’t.”

Taehyung lowered himself into the armchair Mina had been sitting in earlier, the folded blanket in his lap. “What happened after that?”

“At twenty, she injured her ankle,” Jin said. “That made it easier to explain for a while. An injury was simpler. Cleaner. People understood that.”

Namjoon looked down at his boot.

“Diagnosed at twenty-one,” Jin continued. “Rheumatoid arthritis. She said ballet at that level? Out of the question. After that, she changed paths. Rehab, Recovery, Injury prevention. She joined PTD as junior staff at twenty-three, twenty-four, maybe?”

Jungkook looked up. “She was on PTD?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t remember her.”

“She didn’t want you to,” Jin said. That landed quietly.

Yoongi looked toward the hallway. “Junior staff usually survive by not being noticed.”

Jin’s mouth tightened. “She was very good at it.”

“How did you find out?” Hoseok asked.

Jin turned the medication pouch once in his hand, “Supply room,” he said. “Cold venue. Long day. Her ankle was wrapped. Her hands were bad, and she couldn’t open a bottle.”

Taehyung’s expression shifted. Jungkook looked at the tied trash bag by the kitchen.

“She told you?” Namjoon asked.

“No.” Jin’s voice stayed even. “She was too tired to lie properly.”

Yoongi let out a short breath through his nose. Not amusement. Recognition.

“That sounds like her,” Hoseok said.

“Yes,” Jin said. “It does.”

For a moment, no one spoke. They could all see it now. Mina leaving early. Mina choosing chairs near exits. Mina smiling instead of laughing. Mina answering every question about her own body with something vague enough to sound like truth. Mina seeing everyone else’s pain with brutal accuracy and hiding her own with the same discipline.

Namjoon leaned back carefully, his gaze fixed on the hallway. “She has been managing our injuries while managing that.”

Jin nodded. “Yes.”

Jungkook folded his arms, shoulders tight. “And we let her say she was fine.”

Jin looked at him. “Because she is very good at saying it.”

“That doesn’t make it better.”

“No,” Jin agreed. “It doesn’t.”

Hoseok rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. “Why didn’t she tell us?”

Jin’s answer came quietly. “Because she doesn’t want to be seen as weak.”

The room went still. Not because any of them believed that. Because they understood, suddenly, that Mina did.

Jungkook looked toward the hallway, jaw tight. “Weak?” The word came out like it offended him.

Jin’s expression softened, but only slightly. “That is what she’s afraid people will see.”

Namjoon looked down at his boot, then back toward the guest room. “She’s been working through this while keeping all of us standing.”

Hoseok’s mouth tightened. “That isn’t weak.”

“No,” Yoongi said from near the hall. “It isn’t.” His voice was quiet enough that everyone looked at him. For a moment, Yoongi did not say anything else. His gaze stayed on the half-open guest room door, his jaw set in a way that made the room wait.  Then he said, “But I understand hiding it.”

Jin’s expression changed. So did Hoseok’s.

Yoongi did not look at either of them. “When pain becomes part of the job, you start treating it like information no one else needs. You tell yourself you are protecting the work. The members. The schedule. You say you can handle it because you have handled it before.”

The room stayed silent. No one needed him to name the accident. Or the shoulder. Or the years he had carried both like they were only his to suffer through—They all knew.

Yoongi’s mouth tightened. “After a while, hiding it starts to feel responsible.”

Jungkook looked down. Namjoon’s hand closed slowly over the blanket near his boot.

“It isn’t,” Yoongi said. “But it feels that way when stopping means other people have to rearrange themselves around your body.”

That hit harder than anything else had. Because it was not only Mina. It had been Yoongi too. It had been all of them, in different ways, at different times.

Jin exhaled quietly. “She still thinks being in pain makes her a problem.”

Yoongi looked back toward the guest room, “Then we don’t treat her like one.”

“We don’t,” Jungkook said immediately.

“No,” Namjoon said, calm but firm. “We don’t. But other people might.”

The room shifted toward him. Namjoon’s voice stayed even. “She works in a field where being trusted matters. If people decide her body makes her unreliable, it affects her job. If management decides her relationship with Jimin makes her distracted, it affects her job.” His gaze moved briefly toward the hallway, “If both become known at once, they will not see Mina first. They will see liability.”

Jungkook’s jaw tightened. “She’s not.”

“I know,” Namjoon said. “But we need to be prepared for people who do not care about the difference.”

Yoongi’s mouth flattened. “They will call it risk.”

“And they will expect her to carry the consequences,” Jin said.

That was the room’s next silence. Less shocked now. More focused. Hoseok looked toward the guest room. “And the bond?”

No one answered immediately. The word had already been said—Soulmate. It still sat in the room, quiet and irreversible.

Yoongi finally spoke. “What you saw is what it is.”

Jungkook’s brow tightened. “Pain-sharing?”

“Looks like it.”

“Does it hurt him?”

Yoongi’s eyes stayed on the hall. “You saw his face.”

Jungkook looked away.

Jin added, “From what Mina told me, it doesn’t stay with him the way it stays with her. It fades. But yes, he feels it.”

Hoseok closed his eyes for a second.

Taehyung’s voice was soft. “Did they know it was soulmate?”

Jin glanced at Yoongi. Yoongi answered. “They knew enough to avoid saying the word.”

That made sense to all of them in different ways. A strange connection could be ignored for a while. A pain thing could be explained around. A soulmate bond had consequences. Especially for Jimin. Especially for Mina. Especially now.

Namjoon’s expression settled into the serious calm he used when feeling had to make room for strategy. “Management cannot hear about this from anyone else.”

Jin stood. “For tonight, no one says anything outside this room.”

No one argued.

“Not staff. Not managers. Not stylists. Not anyone,” Jin continued. “If someone asks, Mina cut her foot on broken glass. That is true. Anything else is hers and Jimin’s.”

Yoongi nodded. “Good.”

Jungkook picked up the flashlight again. “I’ll check the floor one more time.”

“You already checked,” Hoseok said.

“I’m checking again.”

This time, no one stopped him. He crouched near the armchair and angled the light across the floor. His movements were calmer now, but no less careful. He checked every place Mina might step if she came back into the room. Every corner near the sofa. Every space between the table legs.

Taehyung carried the folded blanket to the guest room door and set it quietly outside. Hoseok placed a fresh bottle of water beside it. Namjoon stayed seated, but his eyes followed every movement, taking in the shape of what they could do from where they were. Yoongi remained by the hallway.

Jin looked around the room once, making sure the glass was gone, the floor was dry, the food was cleared, and no one was standing there with fear on their face that Mina would have to carry when she came back.

“Listen,” Jin said. Everyone looked at him. “When she comes out, do not stare. Do not apologize at her. Do not ask ten questions because you feel guilty.” His voice was firm. “She already thinks she ruined tonight.”

Jungkook’s face tightened.

“She didn’t,” Jin said.

“No,” Jungkook agreed. “She didn’t.”

“Then act like it.”

That was direct enough for all of them. From the guest room, they heard Jimin’s voice again. Low. Steady. Then Mina’s, quieter, but there. Jungkook turned the flashlight off. The apartment settled. Not back to normal. There was no going back to not knowing. But the floor was clean. The water was gone. The glass was bagged. The guest room door was half-open. Jimin was with her.

And in the living room, six men quietly adjusted to the fact that protecting Mina now meant something different than it had an hour ago.

—————————-

Jimin carried Mina into the guest room and went straight for the bathroom. Jungkook had left the light on. Clean towels were stacked on the counter. A plastic cup sat beside the sink. The first-aid kit was open but untouched, as if Jungkook had gotten everything ready and then backed away before he could overcrowd the room. The detail made Mina’s throat tighten.

She turned her face into Jimin’s shoulder before he could see. He felt it anyway.

“Don’t start,” he said quietly.

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You were thinking it.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I know enough.”

She would have argued if she had the energy. She did not. Jimin lowered her onto the closed toilet lid, one arm still around her waist until he was sure she would not sway. The moment his hands eased away, the bathroom seemed to tilt a little. Mina reached for the sink without thinking. 

Jimin caught her hand before she had to, “I’m here.”

“I know.”

“Then lean.” The order was gentle, but it was still an order. Mina looked at him. His face was too pale. His hair had fallen into his eyes. There was pain at the edge of his mouth that did not belong entirely to him, but his focus stayed on her like nothing else existed.

She leaned. Just a little. Enough that her shoulder rested against his chest when he crouched beside her. Enough that his arm came around her back again, secure and warm.

Jin appeared in the doorway with the medication pouch in one hand and the first-aid kit in the other. He paused when he saw them. Not because he was surprised. Because he understood what he was interrupting.

“I need to look at the foot,” he said.

Mina nodded, unable to make herself speak. Jimin shifted lower, still keeping one arm behind her. Jin knelt in front of her and carefully peeled the blood-marked sock away from her foot. Mina hissed before she could stop herself. Jimin’s hand closed over hers. “I know,” he murmured.

The cut was not large. That should have made her feel better. It did not. It looked too red against her skin, too visible, too much like proof that she had failed to keep even one small thing contained.

Jin examined it with practical calm. “Shallow.”

Mina exhaled.

“But it needs cleaning.”

“I know.”

“And you are not standing in a shower on that foot until you stop looking like a ghost.”

“I don’t look like a ghost.”

Jin looked up at Jimin.

Jimin said, “You do.”

Mina glared at him weakly.

His mouth softened. It was unfair that he could look that fond while she was sitting on Jungkook’s toilet lid with one bleeding foot, a flare tearing through her body, and the word soulmate newly loose in the apartment.

Jin cleaned the cut quickly. Not carelessly. But he did not drag it out. Mina kept her jaw tight through the antiseptic sting. Jimin felt the flare of pain through their joined hands and shifted closer, his thumb moving over her knuckles in a slow, steady rhythm.

When Jin wrapped the bandage around her foot, he glanced once at Jimin’s face. Then at their hands. He said nothing about it.

“There,” Jin said finally. “It should be fine. Keep it clean. No pressure on it tonight if you can help it.”

Mina gave a tired laugh under her breath. “I wasn’t planning to go for a run.”

“No sarcasm until you stop shaking.”

“That seems unfair.”

“It is.”

Jin packed the used gauze into a small trash bag, then stood. For a moment, he looked like he wanted to say more. Instead, he looked at Jimin. “She needs warmth. Water. Rest. And she should not be alone in here if she tries to stand.”

“I know.”

“I’m saying it anyway.”

Jimin nodded. “I know.”

Jin’s gaze moved to Mina. His expression softened in the smallest way. “You didn’t ruin anything.”

The words hit too directly. Mina looked down at her bandaged foot. Jin did not make her answer. He only set the medication pouch on the counter and stepped back toward the door. “I’ll be outside.”

The door closed halfway behind him. Not fully. Just enough. For a few seconds, Mina and Jimin stayed still in the warm bathroom light.

Then Mina whispered, “Everyone knows.”

Jimin remained crouched in front of her, one hand still holding hers. “Yes.”

“About the RA.”

“Yes.”

“About the bond.”

His thumb paused once. Then continued, “Yes.”

Her eyes burned, “I didn’t want them to see me like that.”

“I know.”

“I dropped a glass.”

“You dropped a glass because your hands weren’t working.”

“That doesn’t make it better.”

“No,” he said. “But it makes it not your fault.”

She looked away. The bathroom mirror caught both of them at the edge: Jimin kneeling in front of her, Mina pale and exhausted, her dark hair loosened around her face, one foot bandaged, one hand locked in his like she still did not trust herself to stay upright without him. She hated how fragile she looked. 

Jimin saw her seeing it, “Mina-ya.”

“Don’t.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You were going to.”

“I was.”

She closed her eyes. His hand rose to her knee, careful above the flare point. “You asked for me.”

The sentence made her open her eyes again. He looked up at her from where he knelt, expression steady. “You needed someone,” he said. “And you said my name.”

Her mouth trembled once, “I panicked.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No.” His voice firmed. “You chose me.”

Mina shook her head, the motion small and tired. but she didn't fight his words this time, “That isn’t fair to you.”

“I’m not interested in fair right now.”

“You should be.”

“I’m interested in you not bleeding on Jungkook’s bathroom floor.”

A broken laugh escaped before she could stop it. Jimin’s face softened at the sound, but he did not let the moment turn away from what he meant.

“And after that,” he said, quieter, “I’m interested in you understanding that I’m not going anywhere because tonight scared you.”

The laugh disappeared, “Jimin.”

“No.” He stood slowly, still holding her hand, then leaned down until his face was closer to hers. “You do this thing where the second someone sees too much, you try to take yourself away before they can decide they want less.”

She went still. He had found the center of it too cleanly, “That’s not—”

“It is.” Her throat closed. Jimin’s hand came to her cheek, warm and sure, “I’m not giving you up that easily,” he said.

Mina’s breath caught. His thumb brushed once beneath her eye, catching a tear before it fell properly.

“You chose me,” he said. “On the couch. In front of everyone. In the middle of all that pain, you chose me.”

“I needed you.”

“I know.” His voice softened. “That’s what I mean.”

She looked at him helplessly.

“I can’t be healthy for you,” she whispered.

“I didn’t ask you to be.”

“You felt it tonight.”

“Yes.”

“And you saw what it does to me.”

“Yes.”

“And you still think you can just stay?”

Jimin looked at her for a long moment. Then he said, “Yes.” The answer was too simple. Too impossible.

Her eyes filled again, “I don’t know how to let you.”

“Then don’t do all of it tonight.”

She let out a shaky breath. Jimin’s hand slid to the back of her neck, grounding, warm.

“Baby,” he said quietly. The word landed differently in the small bathroom than it had on the couch. There, it had slipped out of fear. Here, he chose it. Mina’s eyes lifted to his.

Jimin looked briefly embarrassed by his own courage, but he did not take it back, “Let me help with this part,” he said. “Just this part.”

She swallowed, “What part?”

“Getting you clean. Getting you warm. Getting you into bed.” His thumb moved once at the back of her neck. “No arguments about deserving it. No apologies for needing it.”

Her instinct was to refuse. It rose automatically. Proud. Tired. Useless. Then another wave of fatigue moved through her, heavy and nauseating enough that she had to close her eyes again. Jimin felt her sway. His arm went around her immediately.

“Okay,” she whispered. The word was barely there. He heard it anyway.

“Okay.”

He helped her stand just enough to move from the toilet lid to the edge of the tub, keeping most of her weight against him. The bandaged foot stayed lifted, careful and awkward. Mina hated the awkwardness most of all.

Jimin did not comment. He turned on the tap and waited for the water to warm. Not too hot. Warm enough to loosen the cold ache in her hands without making her lightheaded. He tested it with his wrist, then took a clean washcloth from the stack Jungkook had left.

“I can do that,” Mina said.

Jimin looked at her. She looked back. After a second, she sighed, “Fine.”

His mouth curved faintly, but he did not tease her. He wet the cloth, wrung it out, and handed it to her first. That helped. She wiped her face slowly, then her neck, the back of one hand, then the other. Her fingers fumbled once when she tried to wring the cloth again. Jimin took it from her before frustration could become shame. No words. He rinsed it and pressed it gently around her hands, warming each stiff finger with more patience than Mina knew how to survive.

The relief was small. It still mattered. Her shoulders lowered. Jimin noticed, “Better?”

“A little.”

“Good.”

He cleaned the dried blood near her ankle with careful strokes, keeping the bandage dry. Then he helped her out of the ruined sock, setting it aside without a word. Mina watched him move around her with quiet competence: towel, water, cloth, medication pouch, clean socks Jungkook must have found from somewhere and left on the counter without comment. The care was not grand. That made it harder to defend against. When Jimin straightened, Mina was watching him.

“What?” he asked.

She shook her head. He waited. She hated that he knew waiting worked, “I’m embarrassed,” she admitted.

His face softened. “I know.”

“Everyone saw.”

“Yes.”

“They saw me need you.”

Jimin’s expression changed. Something deeper than softness, “Good.”

Mina blinked, “Good?”

“Yes.”

“That’s your answer?”

His gaze held hers. “They should know I’m who you need.”

Her breath caught. It was not possessive. That would have been easier to reject. It was steadier than that. A claim, maybe, but not ownership. More like responsibility accepted in full view of everyone who mattered.

“They might think—”

“They can think,” Jimin said.

“Management—”

“Is not in this bathroom.”

The answer stopped her. He stepped closer, careful of her foot, and cupped her face with both hands.

“Right now, it is me and you,” he said. “Not management. Not cameras. Not what people might say. Me and you.”

Mina’s eyes burned again, “I’m tired.”

“I know.”

“I don’t want to be tired anymore....” The confession came out smaller than she meant it to.

Jimin’s face tightened with a grief he did not put on her. He leaned forward and pressed his forehead lightly to hers, “For tonight,” he said, “you don’t have to fight it.”

She closed her eyes. His hands stayed at her face, thumbs resting gently near her jaw.

“Let me stay,” he murmured.

Mina breathed in unsteadily, “You already are.”

“I mean after this. In the room. When you sleep.”

She opened her eyes. The old reflex rose again. Refuse. Make it easier. Tell him to go back to the others. Tell him she could manage. Tell him he had already done enough.

Jimin saw it before she spoke, “No,” he said softly.

Her mouth closed. 

“No more sending me away because you’re scared I’ll regret staying.”

The words hit hard. Mina looked down.

Jimin tipped her chin back up with one finger, “I’m not giving you up because pain is part of this,” he said. “I know it is. I felt it. I’m still here.”

Her face crumpled before she could stop it. Not fully. Just enough that the tears finally spilled. Jimin pulled her into him carefully, one arm around her back, one hand cradling her head. Mina’s forehead pressed to his chest again, and this time there was no glass, no room full of members watching, no need to hold herself upright for anyone. Just him.

“I’m scared,” she whispered.

“I know.”

“I don’t know what happens now.”

“Neither do I.” That honesty helped more than a promise would have. Jimin kissed the top of her head, “But tonight, I’m staying.”

Mina’s fingers curled weakly into his shirt. She did not say yes. She did not have to. For the first time all night, she stopped trying to move away. And Jimin held her like that was answer enough.

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well! everyone knows now!! :) eek!

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xoxo, bumble