#kookmintae

Three weeks after the exhibition, Y/N's photographs remained on display at Harbor Gallery—now with small red "SOLD" stickers beside two of them. The validation was sweet, but the real triumph was the small studio space above Yoongi's music shop that she'd secured with her first sales. 

Today, she stood in the center of the empty room, watching dust particles dance in the light streaming through the large windows. The hardwood floors needed refinishing and the walls desperately needed paint, but the natural light was perfect. This was hers—the first real space that belonged entirely to her vision.

"So? What's the verdict?" Yoongi leaned against the doorframe, his characteristic calm a contrast to her barely contained excitement.

"It's perfect," Y/N said, turning a slow circle. "The northern exposure is exactly what I need."

Yoongi nodded, satisfied. "Figured you'd appreciate that. Taehyung said you always talked about ideal studio lighting back in school."

Y/N blinked, surprised. "He remembered that?"

"Tae remembers everything. He just doesn't always show it." Yoongi handed her the keys. "Rent's due first of the month. I'll send someone to fix that leak in the corner before you move your equipment in."

As Yoongi headed back downstairs, Y/N's phone buzzed with a text from Taehyung: Studio hunting successful?

She smiled, typing back: Perfect light. Perfect space. When are you free to see it?

The response came quickly: Tonight? Finishing at the studio late. 9PM?

Y/N hesitated. Such a late meeting felt different—more intimate somehow. Sure. I'll bring celebratory drinks.

---

By 8:45 that evening, Y/N had swept the floors, wiped down the windows, and set up a makeshift seating area with cushions borrowed from Jimin's apartment. A bottle of wine and two glasses sat on a wooden crate that would eventually become part of a storage system. She'd changed outfits twice before settling on simple jeans and a soft blue sweater—casual but flattering.

She was fussing with the arrangement of cushions when she heard footsteps on the stairs.

"Y/N?" Taehyung's voice called.

"Come in!" She straightened up, suddenly nervous.

Taehyung appeared in the doorway, holding a small potted plant with delicate white flowers. "Studio-warming gift," he explained, setting it on the windowsill. "Snake plant. Impossible to kill, even for people who forget to water things when they're in creative mode."

The thoughtfulness of the gesture caught her off guard. "You know me too well."

"I used to." He looked around the space, then back at her. "I'm hoping to again."

Something in his direct gaze made her stomach flip. Y/N turned to open the wine, giving herself a moment to compose her thoughts. "How was the studio session?"

"Productive. Finally got the bridge right on that piece I played for you." He wandered around the room, running his hand along the wall. "This space has good energy. You can feel its potential."

Y/N handed him a glass of wine. "That's exactly what I thought. It needs work, but..."

"It's like a blank canvas," he finished. "Ready for your imprint."

They clinked glasses and sipped in comfortable silence. Taehyung moved to the windows, looking out at the town's twinkling lights below.

"I missed this view," he said quietly. "In Seoul, everything was so high up and distant. Here, you can see real life happening."

Y/N joined him at the window. "You could have stayed there, though. Made a career in the city."

He turned to her, his expression unreadable in the dim light. "Some things were worth coming back for."

The air between them seemed to thicken. Y/N was acutely aware of how close they were standing, how easy it would be to lean forward just slightly.

Taehyung's phone buzzed, breaking the moment. He glanced at it and sighed. "Producer wants revisions by morning."

"You should go," she said, disappointed but understanding.

"I should," he agreed, not moving. Instead, he reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, his fingers lingering against her cheek. "But I don't want to."

Her heart hammered against her ribs. "Tae..."

The sound of his name seemed to decide something for him. He leaned in slowly, giving her every chance to pull away, before pressing his lips to hers in a gentle kiss that quickly deepened as Y/N responded. His hands cupped her face, and hers found their way to his waist, pulling him closer.

When they finally separated, both slightly breathless, Taehyung rested his forehead against hers. "I've been wanting to do that since you came back," he admitted.

"Me too," she whispered.

His phone buzzed again, insistent. Taehyung closed his eyes in frustration before reluctantly pulling away. "I really do have to go. Deadline."

Y/N nodded, still dizzy from the kiss. "I understand."

He gathered his jacket, pausing at the door. "Dinner tomorrow? My place? No work interruptions this time."

"I'd like that," she said, smiling.

After he left, Y/N sat by the window for a long time, touching her lips and watching the town below, her mind replaying the kiss while her heart raced with possibilities.

---

"You're distracted today," Jimin observed the next morning as they shared breakfast at the café. "Something happen with the studio?"

Y/N stirred her coffee, debating how much to share. "Taehyung came by to see it last night."

"Ah." Jimin's expression remained carefully neutral. "And?"

"And... we kissed." The words came out in a rush.

Jimin's spoon paused halfway to his mouth, then continued as if nothing had happened. "I see." He took a deliberate bite of oatmeal. "Are you... happy about that?"

The question was so fundamentally Jimin—concerned with her feelings before anything else—that Y/N felt a surge of affection for him. "I think so. I mean, yes. It's what I wanted."

Jimin nodded slowly. "Then I'm happy for you." His smile didn't quite reach his eyes.

"Jimin..." Y/N started, unsure what she wanted to say.

"It's okay," he interrupted gently. "Really. You and Tae... there's always been something there. Everyone knows that."

An uncomfortable silence fell between them. Y/N searched for words to bridge the gap she could feel forming. "You're still my best friend. That doesn't change."

"Of course not." Jimin looked up with a more genuine smile this time. "Nothing changes that." He glanced at his watch. "I should get to work. Big event planning meeting."

As he stood to leave, Y/N caught his hand. "Are we okay?"

Jimin squeezed her fingers reassuringly. "Always. Just... be careful with your heart, Y/N. Taehyung lives in the moment. It's what makes him brilliant, but..."

"But also what makes him Taehyung," she finished quietly.

Jimin nodded. "Exactly." He released her hand. "Call if you need anything. Anytime."

Y/N watched him walk away, feeling a complex tangle of emotions—happiness about Taehyung warring with concern about shifting dynamics with Jimin. For the first time, she wondered if returning home had been simpler in theory than practice.

---

The following weeks unfolded in a whirlwind of activity. Y/N's days were filled with setting up her studio space, meeting with potential clients, and developing a new photography series inspired by her homecoming. Her evenings increasingly belonged to Taehyung—cooking dinner at his apartment, listening to his latest compositions, losing track of time in conversations that flowed effortlessly until the early hours.

Being with Taehyung was intoxicating—his passion for creation matched her own, his perspective challenged her thinking, and their physical chemistry was undeniable. Yet there remained something ephemeral about their connection, as if she was trying to capture smoke between her fingers.

Some nights he would disappear into his creative process, unreachable by text or call, only to emerge days later with brilliant work and no acknowledgment of his absence. Y/N found herself making excuses for these disappearances—that's just how artists work, she told herself. That's the price of loving someone with a mind like his.

Loving. The word had slipped into her thoughts before she could examine it properly.

Meanwhile, her friendship with Jimin had acquired a careful quality—both of them navigating new boundaries. He remained constant in his support, helping her hang shelves in the studio, connecting her with his extensive network of contacts, always answering her calls no matter the hour. But something had shifted—a guardedness in his smile, a careful distance he maintained even in their closest moments.

When the invitation came for the regional photography competition, it was Jimin who brought her the information, neatly printed and paperclipped to relevant submission deadlines.

"You should enter," he said, setting the papers on her desk as she edited client photos. "The exposure would be good for building your local portfolio."

Y/N scrolled through the details. "The theme is 'Perspective Shifts.' That's... actually perfect for the series I'm working on."

"I thought so too." Jimin leaned against her desk, careful not to disturb her organized chaos. "The judging panel includes some important regional names. Plus, the winner gets featured in East Coast Arts Monthly."

Y/N looked up at him, touched by his continued investment in her career. "Have you told Taehyung about this?"

A shadow crossed Jimin's face. "I haven't seen him this week. He's been in Seoul, hasn't he?"

Y/N tried to mask her surprise. "Seoul? He told me he was on a studio lockdown for a deadline."

An awkward silence fell between them. Jimin shifted uncomfortably. "Maybe I got it wrong. Yoongi mentioned something about a meeting with producers, I assumed..."

"No, it's fine," Y/N said quickly, embarrassment heating her cheeks. "We don't check in daily or anything."

Jimin studied her for a moment before speaking again. "Y/N—"

"I should get these competition entries started," she interrupted, not ready for whatever he was about to say. "Thank you for bringing this. Really."

Understanding flashed in Jimin's eyes. "Of course." He pushed off from the desk. "I'll let you work. Dinner tomorrow? The new Thai place opened."

Y/N smiled gratefully. "That sounds perfect."

After he left, she stared at the competition details without really seeing them, unsettled by the realization that Taehyung hadn't been entirely truthful about his whereabouts. It wasn't that they'd made explicit commitments to each other, but the casual omission felt significant.

Her phone chimed with a text from Taehyung: Back tomorrow. Miss you. Your place or mine?

She hesitated before responding: Mine. 7PM.

---

When Taehyung arrived the next evening, he carried takeout from her favorite restaurant and a small bag that turned out to contain a vintage camera lens he'd found at a Seoul flea market. The thoughtful gesture momentarily pushed aside her questions.

"This is incredible," she said, examining the lens. "How did you know I've been looking for this model?"

He smiled, pleased with himself. "You mentioned it that night we looked through your photography books. Said it created a particular quality of soft focus you couldn't replicate digitally."

The fact that he remembered such a specific detail from a casual conversation made her resolve waver. As they ate dinner, Taehyung enthusiastically described the producers he'd met with and the potential collaboration that could elevate his music to national recognition.

"So you were in Seoul," Y/N said finally, keeping her tone neutral.

Taehyung paused mid-sentence. "Yes. Didn't I tell you?"

"You said you were in studio lockdown."

"I was—their studio in Seoul." He frowned slightly. "Is something wrong?"

Y/N set down her fork. "Why not just say you were going to Seoul?"

Taehyung's expression shifted from confusion to understanding. "I didn't think it mattered. The point was I'd be unavailable, working intensely." He reached across the table for her hand. "I wasn't trying to hide anything, Y/N."

She wanted to believe him. It would be so easy to let it go, to accept his explanation and move forward. But something nagged at her—a sense that this small miscommunication represented something larger.

"I worry sometimes," she admitted, "that we're not fully present in each other's lives. That we're still operating as these independent entities who occasionally intersect, rather than..."

"Rather than what?" Taehyung asked softly.

Y/N met his gaze. "Rather than partners."

Taehyung was quiet for a long moment. "I've never been good at the conventional relationship things," he finally said. "Checking in, reporting my whereabouts. My mind doesn't work that way."

"I'm not asking for conventional," Y/N countered. "Just... consideration. Inclusion in your decisions when they affect us."

"Are we an 'us'?" His question wasn't challenging but genuinely curious.

The question hung between them, forcing Y/N to confront what she actually wanted. "I'd like to be," she said finally. "But only if you want that too."

Taehyung's eyes softened. He stood, pulling her up from her chair and into his arms. "I want you in my life, Y/N. However that looks." He kissed her forehead. "I'm not good at this, but I'll try. For you, I'll try."

She rested her head against his chest, listening to his heartbeat and trying to quiet the small voice that wondered if trying would be enough.

---

The photography competition submission deadline approached rapidly. Y/N threw herself into preparing her entry—a series titled "Return," exploring the familiar-turned-strange quality of viewing childhood places through adult eyes. The work was her most personal yet, revealing vulnerabilities she usually kept hidden behind technical precision.

The night before the submission deadline, her phone rang near midnight. Taehyung's name flashed on the screen.

"Are you still working?" he asked without preamble when she answered.

"Just finishing the artist statement," Y/N said, rubbing her tired eyes.

"I'm outside your studio. Let me in?"

Surprised, Y/N went to the window and saw Taehyung standing on the sidewalk below, phone to his ear. She buzzed him in, and minutes later he appeared with coffee and a small bag from the bakery that had closed hours ago.

"How did you get these?" she asked, accepting the still-warm pastry gratefully.

"Namjoon's cousin owns the place. Called in a favor." Taehyung settled on the floor beside her desk, looking over the prints laid out for her final selection. "These are extraordinary, Y/N."

She sank down next to him, suddenly aware of how exhausted she was. "You think so? I've been staring at them so long I can't tell anymore."

"I know so." He pointed to a particular image—a playground shot through raindrops on a window, creating a dreamlike distortion. "This one especially. It captures something... nostalgic but uncomfortable. Like childhood memories that don't quite match reality."

Y/N leaned against him, touched by his understanding of what she'd been trying to convey. "That's exactly what I was going for."

Taehyung wrapped an arm around her shoulders. "You're going to win, you know."

"There will be hundreds of entries from professionals with years more experience."

"Doesn't matter. Your perspective is unique." He kissed the top of her head. "Now, what can I do to help you finish?"

For the next two hours, Taehyung helped her organize the final submission—reading drafts of her artist statement, giving thoughtful feedback, handling the tedious technical requirements of the digital upload. When everything was finally submitted at 2:30 AM, Y/N felt a weight lift from her shoulders.

"Thank you," she said, curling into him on the small studio couch. "I didn't expect you to show up tonight."

"You mentioned yesterday that the deadline was stressing you out," he replied simply. "I wanted to help."

In that moment, all her doubts seemed ridiculous. This was Taehyung—inconsistent in small ways perhaps, but present when it truly mattered. She fell asleep against his chest, more content than she'd been in weeks.

---

The competition results wouldn't be announced for another month, but life didn't pause in the meantime. Y/N's client list grew as word spread about her work, and she found herself busy with everything from engagement shoots to commercial product photography for local businesses.

Taehyung received the news he'd been hoping for—the Seoul producers wanted to sign him for a project that could launch his music nationally. The opportunity would require extended time in Seoul, starting with a three-week trip to negotiate terms and begin initial recording.

"Come with me," he suggested as they discussed the logistics in her studio one evening. "You could photograph the city. Make connections there."

The invitation was tempting—three uninterrupted weeks with Taehyung, exploring a new city together. But Y/N had just established her studio, had commitments to local clients.

"I can't right now," she said regretfully. "But maybe I could visit for a weekend? Once you're settled?"

Taehyung nodded, trying to hide his disappointment. "Of course. That makes sense."

The night before his departure, they stayed up until dawn, talking about everything and nothing, making plans for video calls and his return visit. When Y/N drove him to the train station, their goodbye kiss held the bittersweet quality of a milestone—their first real separation since reconnecting.

"Three weeks," Taehyung said, forehead pressed against hers. "It'll fly by."

Y/N nodded, not trusting herself to speak. As she watched his train pull away, a complicated mix of emotions settled in her chest—pride in his success, sadness at his absence, and a tiny, unwelcome thread of relief at having some space to think clearly about their whirlwind reconnection.

---

The first week of Taehyung's absence passed in a productive blur. Y/N channeled her emotional energy into work, extending her studio hours and taking on additional clients. Their nightly video calls maintained their connection, though the time difference and Taehyung's busy schedule sometimes reduced these to brief check-ins rather than the deep conversations she craved.

On Friday evening, exhausted from a day of shooting, Y/N was closing her studio when she noticed water seeping under the door. Following the trail, she discovered a burst pipe in the small bathroom, water rapidly pooling on the hardwood floors perilously close to her equipment.

Panic rising, she called Yoongi, who didn't answer, then the building's emergency number, which went to voicemail. Without thinking, she called Jimin.

"I'll be there in ten minutes," he said immediately upon hearing the situation. "Try to move your equipment to higher ground. I'll bring supplies."

True to his word, Jimin arrived quickly, armed with towels, a shop vacuum, and basic plumbing tools. Together they worked to contain the damage—Jimin shutting off the water main while Y/N moved her valuable equipment to safety.

An hour later, the emergency had been mitigated. The pipe was temporarily patched, the water cleaned up, and fans positioned to dry the floors. Y/N collapsed onto her couch, adrenaline giving way to exhaustion.

"Thank you," she said fervently. "I would have been lost without you."

Jimin shrugged, wiping his hands on a towel. "That's what friends are for."

"Friends don't usually know basic plumbing repair," Y/N pointed out.

"YouTube tutorial from when my apartment flooded last year," he admitted with a grin. "Never thought I'd actually use that knowledge."

Y/N laughed, then noticed a cut on his hand. "You're hurt."

"It's nothing," Jimin dismissed, but allowed her to examine it.

"Let me clean this at least," she insisted, retrieving her first aid kit.

As she tended to his cut, a comfortable silence fell between them—the easy companionship they'd always shared, untainted by the recent complications. Y/N realized how much she'd missed this uncomplicated connection.

"Have you heard from Taehyung?" Jimin asked, breaking the silence.

"Brief calls. He's really busy with the producers." Y/N secured a bandage around his hand. "It's a big opportunity."

Jimin nodded. "He's always been meant for bigger stages."

Something in his tone made Y/N look up. "What do you mean?"

Jimin seemed to choose his words carefully. "Taehyung's talent deserves recognition. But his life has always been about pursuing the next opportunity, the next creative high." He met her eyes. "I've just worried what that means for people who want consistency from him."

Y/N felt a defensive response rise in her throat, then subside as she recognized the truth in Jimin's words. "He's trying," she said quietly.

"I know he is." Jimin's expression was gentle. "And I know you love him. I just..." He hesitated. "I want you to be loved the way you deserve."

The weight of unspoken feelings hung in the air between them. Y/N suddenly found it difficult to breathe.

"Jimin—"

"Don't," he interrupted softly. "I shouldn't have said anything. It's not my place."

But something had shifted in the room—a door opened that couldn't be closed again. Y/N found herself moving closer to him, drawn by the certainty of his presence, the steadiness he'd always represented in her life.

"It is your place," she whispered. "You've always had a place in my life, Jimin."

His eyes searched hers, vulnerable and hopeful in a way that made her heart ache. Slowly, giving her every opportunity to pull away, Jimin leaned forward until his lips met hers in a kiss so tender it brought tears to her eyes.

Unlike the passionate whirlwind of her kisses with Taehyung, this was gentle, unhurried—a conversation rather than a declaration. Y/N found herself responding, her hand coming up to cup his cheek.

When they finally separated, Jimin pressed his forehead against hers, eyes closed. "I've wanted to do that for so long," he admitted, voice barely audible.

Reality crashed back, bringing with it a wave of guilt. Y/N pulled away slightly. "Jimin, I'm with Taehyung."

Pain flashed across his features before he nodded. "I know. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have—"

"No," Y/N interrupted. "I'm the one who should be sorry. This isn't fair to you. Or to him."

Jimin stood, creating space between them. "You should call him," he said quietly. "Talk to him."

The practical suggestion, so characteristic of Jimin—putting her needs first even when it hurt him—made Y/N's chest tighten with conflicted emotion.

"I need to figure out what I want," she said honestly.

"I think you already know," Jimin replied with a sad smile. "You've always known." He gathered his tools. "I'll check on the pipe tomorrow. Make sure it's holding."

After he left, Y/N sat in her quiet studio, mind reeling. Her phone showed a missed call from Taehyung and a text: Can't talk tonight. Big breakthrough with the producers. Call tomorrow? Miss you.

She stared at the message, feeling further from certainty than ever before.

---

The regional photography competition judging day arrived amid this emotional turbulence. Y/N had almost forgotten about it until Jimin texted that morning: Good luck today. Your work deserves recognition.

No mention of the kiss, no pressure—just support, as always. Y/N hadn't seen him since that night, both of them creating distance to think. She hadn't told Taehyung about the kiss either, unsure how to navigate the confession over video calls and text messages.

The competition was held at the central library's exhibition hall. Y/N arrived early, nervously checking her appearance before entering the crowded space. Photographs from all entrants lined the walls, grouped by theme interpretation. She found her series displayed prominently in a well-lit corner, which she took as a positive sign.

As she examined the other entries, Y/N was struck by the quality of the competition—powerful images telling compelling stories. Her confidence wavered slightly as she realized how many talented photographers had entered.

"Intimidating, isn't it?" said a familiar voice behind her.

Y/N turned to find Jungkook, the photographer from the Harbor Gallery, examining a dramatic landscape series.

"The talent level is higher than I expected," she admitted.

Jungkook nodded. "Regional competitions often are. The truly ambitious ones skipped straight to national contests, leaving space for thoughtful work rather than technical showboating."

Y/N studied him curiously. She'd seen his byline on the gallery article—a thoughtful piece that had given her work more consideration than she'd expected—but hadn't crossed paths with him since.

"Do you enter these competitions?" she asked.

"Sometimes." He gestured to a striking series of industrial landscapes on the adjacent wall. "When I have something worth saying."

Before Y/N could respond, an announcement called for all entrants to gather for the judges' introduction. She excused herself, joining the nervous crowd of photographers.

The head judge, a renowned photojournalist named Park Seojoon, spoke briefly about the competition's purpose before introducing the judging panel. Y/N's attention sharpened when he mentioned the final judge—a last-minute addition to the panel.

"And finally, we're grateful to have Jeon Jungkook joining us, representing East Coast Arts Monthly and bringing his unique perspective on visual narrative."

Y/N turned in surprise to see Jungkook taking his place at the judges' table. He caught her eye briefly, his expression professional and unreadable.

The judging process would take several hours, with results announced that afternoon. Photographers were encouraged to stay and network, or return later for the announcement.

Y/N decided to remain, using the opportunity to study the competing work and connect with other local artists. Throughout the day, she occasionally noticed Jungkook with the other judges, moving methodically through the exhibition, engaged in serious discussion about various pieces. His demeanor was focused and analytical—clearly taking the responsibility seriously.

By late afternoon, the judges had made their decisions. Park Seojoon took the microphone again, thanking everyone for their patience.

"Photography is subjective," he began. "What moves one person may leave another cold. What we look for is work that challenges perspective, that makes the viewer see differently."

He announced the honorable mentions first, then third place, then second. Y/N's name hadn't been called, and she felt a complicated mix of disappointment and relief. At least she could leave without the awkwardness of accepting an award from a panel that included someone she barely knew.

"And our first place winner," Park Seojoon continued, "for a series that eloquently captures the dissonance between memory and reality, the winner of the Perspective Shift Photography Competition is Y/N, for the series 'Return.'"

The room erupted in applause. Y/N stood frozen in shock before making her way to the front. Park Seojoon handed her an elegant crystal award and an envelope containing details about her feature in East Coast Arts Monthly.

"The judges were particularly moved by your ability to create images that feel simultaneously familiar and unsettling," he explained. "Your work invites viewers to reconsider their relationship with nostalgia."

As Y/N shook hands with each judge, Jungkook's grip was firm and professional. "Congratulations," he said simply, no hint of their earlier conversation in his formal tone.

After the ceremony, as photographers and attendees mingled over refreshments, Y/N found herself approached by various gallery owners and potential clients. The win had immediately raised her profile in the regional arts community.

She was speaking with an arts council representative when her phone vibrated with a call from Taehyung. With a pang of guilt, she realized she hadn't told him about the competition today.

"Excuse me," she said to the representative. "I need to take this."

Finding a quiet corner, she answered, "Taehyung, hi."

"Y/N!" His voice was excited. "I've got incredible news. The producers want to extend the project. They're offering a six-month contract with potential for a permanent position afterward."

"Six months?" Y/N echoed, struggling to process the implications.

"It's what I've been working toward for years," Taehyung continued. "National distribution, creative control, resources to bring my music to life properly."

"That's... amazing, Tae. Congratulations." The words felt hollow in her mouth.

"There's more," he said, either not noticing or ignoring her hesitation. "They have connections with major photography publications here. I mentioned your work, and they're interested. This could be huge for both of us."

The offer hung between them—unspoken but clear. Come to Seoul. Choose this path. Choose me.

"I won a photography competition today," Y/N said abruptly. "Regional one. My work's going to be featured in East Coast Arts Monthly."

"What? Y/N, that's incredible!" Taehyung's genuine enthusiasm made her chest tight. "Why didn't you tell me it was today?"

"You've been busy," she said simply. "And I wasn't sure I'd win."

"But you did," Taehyung said proudly. "I knew you would. We should celebrate when I'm back next week."

"About that..." Y/N took a deep breath. "I think we need to talk, Tae. About us. About the future."

A pause, then his voice, more subdued: "Because of the Seoul opportunity?"

"Because of a lot of things."

Another silence stretched between them. "I understand," Taehyung finally said. "We'll talk when I'm back. Properly."

After they disconnected, Y/N stood motionless, staring at her phone. The competition win, which should have been a moment of pure triumph, now felt complicated by the looming conversation with Taehyung and her unresolved feelings for Jimin.

As she prepared to leave, she noticed Jungkook gathering his belongings at the judges' table.

"Congratulations again," he said as she approached. "Your series was the clear winner."

"Thank you," Y/N replied. "I was surprised to see you on the judging panel."

"Last-minute replacement." He shrugged. "Someone from the magazine had to be here, and I know the local scene."

Y/N nodded, suddenly curious. "Can I ask—what made my series stand out to you, specifically?"

Jungkook considered the question seriously. "Most photographers trying to capture nostalgia focus on making things look better than they were—golden light, soft focus, idealized compositions." He met her gaze directly. "You did the opposite. You showed the discomfort of return—how nothing quite fits anymore, how memory distorts, how growth changes perspective."

The insight struck Y/N deeply. He had articulated something she'd felt but hadn't fully formulated herself.

"Thank you," she said again, with more meaning. "That's... perceptive."

Jungkook gave a small nod. "Someone from the magazine will be in touch about the feature." He hesitated, then added, "If you have questions about the national photography scene, feel free to reach out. I work with publications beyond the regional level."

With that, he excused himself, leaving Y/N with his business card and the strange feeling that the day had shifted something fundamental in her path forward.

Later that evening, alone in her apartment with her award on the coffee table, Y/N's phone lit up with a text from Jimin: Heard about your win from Hoseok. So proud of you. Always knew your vision was special.