#junghoseokff

MORNING

“WHAT’S UP, MY BEAUTIFUL WORLD?!”

Wake-Up Time (8:00 AM)

wakes up as if he’s already won a gold medal

alarm blaring “Chicken Noodle Soup” on repeat

flips over with a grin so bright it could power Seoul’s skyline

stretching his arms like a sunflower greeting the sun

first words (before he even opens his eyes):

“Baby, did you sleep as well as me? ’Cause I dreamed of us dancing.”

you’re still snoozing?

he sneaks over to plant a cheeky butterfly kiss on your forehead

dashes to the bathroom humming

Sun Salutation & Stretch (8:05 AM)

pads into the living room for a quick yoga flow

= downward dog → warrior II

and his signature “Hobi Hop” shimmy

you might find him mid-pose

= eyes closed, head bobbing to some unreleased BTS demo playing on low volume

if you join, he high-fives you at the end

crowning you “Yoga Royalty” of the day

Coffee & Breakfast (8:30 AM)

coffee ritual involves a French press

+ frothy oat milk, exactly three pumps of caramel syrup

brings you a matching mug with a smiley face he doodled on a Post-it

“Fuel for the best part of my day.”

breakfast is bright and colorful

he’ll whip up avocado toast topped with scrambled eggs sprinkled in rainbow pepper

blends a strawberry-banana smoothie you can sip together

if you ask for something fancier, he’ll attempt pancakes

dancing around the stove while flipping

expect one or two to land on the floor

he shrugs it off

“Artistic presentation, right?”

DAYTIME

“I GOT DANCE PRACTICE AT 10, BUT I’D TRADE IT FOR A DATE WITH YOU.”

Dance Studio Hours (10:00 AM – 2:00 PM)

his studio is a glass box filled with mirrors, scattered water bottles, and a sonic-boom-level speaker

always blasting the latest hip-hop tracks

texts you mid-choreo

“Lunch break. I need carbs and cuddles. Preferably in that order.”

twirls out of a turn when you arrive

breathless but beaming

drapes his sweat towel around your neck

“Because you deserve a keepsake of my hard work.”

shows you a new choreography

= fast-paced and crisp

has a surprise “love-you” heart shape at the end

he winks

“For you, princess.”

Lunch & Laughter (12:00 PM)

insists on ordering from that rooftop café you both love

= the one with ocean-view bento boxes

teases as you unpack

“Did you pack a fortune cookie? I need answers to life’s mysteries.”

he’s a chatterbox

“Remember that time ARMY mistook me for a ghost?!”

you burst into giggles mid-bite

devours his meal

leaves room to feed you a bite as “quality-control”

stamps you with a peanut-butter kiss on the cheek before you go

“Go conquer your day. I’ll conquer these steps.”

Studio Drop-Ins (3:00 PM)

you come back later?

he’s producing a new solo remix

his workspace is a rainbow of snack wrappers

= Mango Yakult, Chupa Chups, half-eaten chocolate croissant...

you lean against the doorframe?

he spins you around

“Hmmm... rate my beat.”

presses play

it starts with his latest signature whistle

you hum along

he taps his fingers

nods dramatically

shouts

“PERFECT! You heard that first here!”

pulls you into a hug so tight your ribs squeak

“Teamwork makes the Hobi work.”

Afternoon Break (4:00 PM)

drags you for coffee (iced caramel latte, extra whipped cream)

sidewalk café

turns into your personal hype man

will do a mini freestyle rap about how cute you look today

composes a quick “hugbo” (hug + boogie) to your surprise

a street musician plays nearby?

he shimmies over

grabs your hand, and pulls you into a spontaneous two-step

“You’re my dance partner for life, right?”

EVENINGS

“DIVE INTO THE HOBI ZONE: LOUD, BOLD, AND UNFILTERED”

Home-Cooked Dinner (7:00 PM)

his cook mode is serious but fun

he’ll try a new recipe every few days

= from kimchi pizza to rainbow sushi rolls

sometimes it’s “Hobi’s Healthy Bibimbap”

= multicolored veggies, bulgogi marinated to perfection, fried egg that’s just a tad runny

lets you sprinkle the gochujang

“Moderate heat? Or should I call the fire department?”

he grabs your hand while you taste

“Your opinion is the Michelin star of my heart.” (unsure tho, cause I feel like Jin would say that as well )

Game Night & Goofiness (8:00 PM)

challenges you to Mario Kart (after dinner)

it's with a twist

= every lap you win, he does an impromptu victory dance

laughs so loud his voice echoes through the living room when he finally wins by 0.1 seconds

“I am the racing king of the Hobi Republic!”

posts a boomerang of your intense face as you concentrate

captioning it “Love competitor 🎮💜”

Chill Time (9:30 PM)

collapses on the couch

head in your lap

you scroll through Weverse together

he reads fan comments aloud in exaggerated accents (like yk how he mocks ARMY sometimes)

a clip of him dancing goes viral?

he smirks

“That’s my move... memes are just free promotion.”

he reaches for your hand

eyes heavy

“Promise me you’ll always… always keep dancing with me, even when I’m old.”

you lay a gentle kiss on his forehead?

he mumbles

“You’re my forever playlist.”

NIGHTTIME

“TIME TO GLOW UP AND POWER DOWN”

Skincare & Self-Care (10:30 PM)

his 12-step skincare routine rivals a spa day

uses a cleansing oil, foaming wash, vitamin C serum

+ sheet mask with Hope World (you gifted him)

insists you follow along

“Mask up... matching Hobi and [y/n] edition.”

you tease him about having more bottles than the bathroom can hold

he flicks a swatch of moisturizer at you

“Better hue than your face, aren’t I?”

ends with lip balm

“Kiss me goodnight. I need to test the flavor.”

Bedtime (11:30 PM)

hogs both blankets

snuggled up like a warm, buzzy battery

loops your arm through his

pulls you close, half-asleep before lights go out

“You’re the best thing I’ve ever choreographed.”

you catch his gentle smile as he drifts off

he's humming a soft melody you taught him on your first date

mumbles in his sleep

“I love you… more than all my sneakers combined.”

LOVE LANGUAGE

“IF I HAD TO SAY IT, I’D WRITE A SONG INSTEAD.”

Words of Affirmation

can’t resist a good compliment

he hides sticky notes around your apartment

“Your smile slays my hip-hop heart” “You’re brighter than my highlighter.”

you’re stressed?

he texts

“You’ve got this. And if you don’t, I’ll rap you through it.”

drunk confessions (rare but magical)

“My life’s beat drops harder because you exist.”

Acts of Service

knows your coffee order by heart

before you’re even up, he’s at the café window

“One love potion for my muse.”

your laptop’s on the fritz?

he’s already opened a ticket with his gaming PC tech friend

“Priority: Keep my queen online.”

surprises you with embroidered hoodies

“Hobi + [your initials]” for chilly mornings

Physical Touch

build-in hugs

wraps you in a “J-Hope bear hug” whenever you enter a room

“I need my oxygen supply”

tease you a little

random dance lifts in the living room

spinning you like partners in a dream

public exceptions at fansigns

will slip his pinky into yours under the table

“This is for us, my secret handshake.”

Gifts

curates playlists

= “Late Night Vibes by Hobi”

leaves them on random USB drives with “PLAY ME” scrawled in neon

limited-edition sneakers appear on your doorstep with a note

“Train with me, dance date when you break them in.”

a single sunflower left on your pillow

“I saw this and smiled, then thought of you.”

Quality Time

takes you on “Hobi tours” around the city

first stop, your favorite ice cream stand

second stop, a hidden mural perfect for boomerangs

final stop, a rooftop serenade

on lazy Sundays, you’re side by side

he’s editing new tracks while you read

quiet is electric

“Play blindfolded taste-test.”

midnight jamming sessions

you hum a tune?

he builds a beat on the spot

you both laugh at how ridiculous it sounds

SECRETLY SOFT MOMENTS

“CAN’T BELIEVE YOU CAUGHT MY SOGGY SIDE.”

Fallen Asleep in the Middle of a Dance

he conks out on the studio floor after 12 hours of choreography

your concern turns to amusement when he snores to the bassline

you drape a light blanket over him?

he jolts awake

he’s mortified

“I’m so… so sorry, did I snore?!”

you plant a quick kiss on his temple

“Sleep well, best boy.”

he melts

“You’re my safety net.”

Post-Show Adrenaline Crash

he’s buzzing with energy (after solo stage?)

hands shaking, voice trembling from exhilaration

when you meet backstage, he picks you up like a child

spins you around

“Did you see me? Did you hear me? That was for you!”

drops to the bed face-first

you find him half-asleep

clutching your backstage lanyard with your photo on it

you stroke his hair?

he wakes, eyes glossy

“I’m… I’m lucky you stayed.”

EMBARRASSINGLY EARNEST DANCE

“WARNING: CUTENESS OVERLOAD.”

insists he’s “the world’s worst dancer” when out clubbing

the second “That That” drops, he breaks out a 360 spin and moonwalk combo that floors you

breaks into a slow-motion tango while stirring soup in the kitchen

“Cooking requires rhythm, babe.”

you record him

he begs you to delete it

later finds it as your screensaver

slow-dances with you post_Gramym in the hallway of the hotel

humming off-key

“We’re celebrating… my shiny trophy and my shiny love.”

“I NOTICED…” MOMENTS

“DETAILS ARE MY LOVE LETTERS.”

you mention craving mango smoothies at 2 AM

next morning, he shows up with a cooler bag full of them

“Sold out everywhere. Finally found a vendor who’s allergic to me.”

rainy day, he notices you shiver waiting at a bus stop

he sprints past you on his morning jog

tears off his hoodie

drapes it around you

“Free of charge, sunshine heater.”

you talk about your grandmother’s favorite poem?

two days later, he leaves a printed copy on your desk

“Page 3, didn’t want to spoil the ending.”

UNEXPECTED PUBLIC DISPLAY

“PDA? ONLY IF YOU BRING THE SUNSHINE!”

your arm brushes his on stage

he doesn’t let go

squeezes gently

whispers

“You’re my constant.”

ARMY goes wild dissecting the clip

“Why is J-Hope holding…?”

he laughs

“Protective mode: ON.”

stops mid-shop to scoop you into a spin at he mall

dips you

everyone stares

he grins

“Sorry, I’m allergic to standing still.”

he’s posed with other idols during award session

he tilts your chin up with one finger when cameras flash

so your faces are side-by-side

“We’re winning together.”

HOW HE LOVES

Playful Teasing

elbows you whenever you’re “too serious”

lets you smack him back with a pillow

“Game on, J-Hope style.”

Grand Gestures

you mention wanting to learn drums?

he secretly arranges a private lesson

“Free beats for my heartbeat.”

Raw Vulnerability

late at night

after you both are half-asleep

squeezes your hand

“I’m scared… of not being enough. But you make me feel infinite.”

(BONUS) HIGHLIGHT REEL — “THINGS HE SAYS”

Warnings: Mentions of past self-harm, grief, trauma, healing themes, emotional vulnerability

Rating: G

Genre: BTS AU, Parent, Slice of Life, Fluff, Healing

Word Count: ~700

Chapter 3: Neon Sunsets and Puffer Jacket Promises

The car ride was a riot of colour and noise. Lumi had commandeered the aux cord the second they’d buckled in, and now Harry Styles’ Watermelon Sugar blasted through the speakers, the bass thumping like a second heartbeat. They sang along at full volume, knees bouncing, fingers drumming the window in a chaotic rhythm only they understood.

“Tastes like strawberries on a summer evenin’…!” they belted, kicking their mismatched Vans against the dashboard. The sun streaked through the window, turning their orange-streaked hair into liquid gold.

J-Hope gripped the steering wheel, half-laughing, half-wincing. “You’re gonna dent my car, Lumi-ya.”

“You’ll thank me when we’re vibing in my dopamine room!” they shouted back, spinning a gummy bear bracelet around their wrist. Their green eyeliner had smudged into a rebellious haze, making their freckles pop like constellations.

He glanced at them—really looked—and felt that familiar ache in his chest. Four years ago, Lumi had sat in this same seat, silent and hollow-eyed, sleeves pulled over fresh cuts. Back then, they’d flinched at loud noises, at bright colours, at their reflection. Now they were a supernova, burning too fast, too bright, and he’d let the universe collapse before he dimmed that light again.

---

The mall loomed ahead, its glass façade glittering like a promise. Lumi lunged for the door handle before he’d even parked.

“Seatbelt. Now.” J-Hope caught the back of their rainbow sweater vest, yanking them gently into their seat. “You’re not a feral cat, ya?”

“Debatable!” they chirped, but slumped back, vibrating. “Disco balls, Appa. Disco. Balls.”

“Disco balls,” he repeated, killing the engine. The sudden silence felt sacred. Lumi’s breath hitched, their eyes wide and wild, fingers twisting a frog ring like a prayer bead.

He reached over, stilling their hand. “Breathe. It’s not a race.”

They nodded, cheeks flushed, but their knee kept jiggling. “I just… need it to be perfect. Like my brain’s finally outside, you know?”

He knew. After the accident, they’d refused to sleep in any room that looked “too much like a hospital.” Beige walls, white sheets—it had taken months to convince them they were safe. Now they wanted to explode safely, and he’d hand them the matches.

“Perfect’s boring,” he said, flicking their nose. “Let’s get weird.”

---

The mall swallowed them whole. Lumi darted ahead, their star-patched jeans flashing like a disco ball in motion. J-Hope trailed behind, mentally tallying their Pinterest list: checkerboard rug, neon signs, skateboard shelves… Wait.

“Lumi-ya!” he called, jogging to catch up. “The flower ceiling lamp—!”

They froze mid-skip, shoulders slumping. “Oh. Right.” Their voice cracked, just barely. “It… sold out online. But it’s fine! We’ll improvise! Maybe… origami cranes? Or glow-in-the-dark stickers—!”

They were ramping up again, words tripping over themselves. J-Hope pulled them into a side hug, ignoring the stares of passing teens. “We’ll find something better. Swear.”

“Better than a flower lamp?” They scoffed, but leaned into him, their dopamine jewellery clinking softly. “Doubt.”

He steered them toward the home decor section, where a neon ~v i b e s~ sign flickered ominously. “You once turned my old socks into a ‘statement art installation.’ I believe in you.”

Lumi snorted, ducking under his arm. “It was avant-garde and you know it.”

---

Later the mall’s sliding doors hissed shut behind them, but Lumi lingered, their eyes glued to a mannequin in the Calvin Klein store window. The puffer jacket was thick, and sleek—normal, by their standards—but something about the way it hung, boxy and defiant, made their fingers twitch. They could style this. Add patches, safety pins, maybe bleach the sleeves…

J-Hope followed their gaze, already pulling out his wallet. “Size?”

“Appa, no—” Lumi grabbed his arm, cheeks flushing. “We already spent so much. The neon signs, the rug, the—the disco ball planter—”

“And the disco ball planter is a necessity,” he said flatly, steering them inside. The sales associate lit up, but J-Hope waved them off. “We’ll just… look.”

Lumi didn’t argue again. They stood statue-still as he zipped them into the jacket, their reflection in the mirror a clash of contradictions—glossy puffer fabric swallowing their rainbow sweater vest, frog rings peeking out from the cuffs.

“Perfect,” J-Hope declared.

“It’s expensive,” they whispered.

He turned them to face him, hands on their shoulders. “You’re worth every won. Always.”

They didn’t cry. Not here. But their throat bobbed, eyes glazing over like they were rewinding every time they’d apologized for existing after their mom’s death. For the scars, the silence, the way they’d whispered “I’m sorry” like a mantra.

“Okay,” they croaked. “Okay.”

---

Back at the car, Lumi helped load the bags in silence. Disco balls clinked, neon signs rattled, and the skateboard shelves jutted awkwardly from the trunk. When J-Hope shut the hatchback, they finally broke.

“I’m exhausting,” they blurted, tears spilling. “I talk too much, I spend too much, I—I painted the wall and you just—”

He pulled them into a hug, their face smushed against the puffer jacket. “You’re alive,” he murmured into their hair, still flecked with orange paint. “You’re here. That’s all I need.”

They clung to him, trembling, until the mall’s parking lot lights flickered on.

---

The drive home was quiet. Lumi curled into the passenger seat, the new jacket swallowing them whole, and stared at the neon signs glowing in the backseat. SUN, CLOUD, BE HAPPY, Outside, Seoul blurred into streaks of gold and shadow.

By the time they hit the highway, Lumi was asleep—head lolling, frog ring catching the streetlights. J-Hope kept glancing over, memorizing the peace on their face. No jittering legs, no frantic Pinterest scrolling. Just soft breaths and smudged green eyeliner.

Four years ago, he thought, they’d hidden in hospital corners, slicing skin to feel something. Now they’d turned their room into a kaleidoscope, stolen his clothes, and danced like the world owed them joy.

His phone buzzed—a text from Jin.

Did they burn down Dongdaemun?

He snapped a pic of Lumi’s knocked-out form, neon signs glowing like guardians in the back.

Worse. They discovered capitalism.

When they pulled into the driveway, Lumi stirred, blinking groggily. “Did we… get the curtains?”

“Green ones. To match the rug.”

“And the… skateboard shelves?”

“Looking dangerously cool.”

They yawned, hugging the jacket tighter. “S’good.”

He reached over, squeezing their hand. “Ready to turn your room into a dopamine bomb?”

They smiled, small but sure. “Yeah.”

Inside, the house waited—once completely beige walls ready to bleed colour, blank ceilings begging for neon suns. J-Hope carried Lumi’s bags upstairs, step by step, heartbeat by heartbeat.

Their mother would’ve loved this.