Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

The moment the black SUV pulled up to the curb, camera flashes exploded across the sidewalk like a storm of artificial lightning.

Jimin had barely reached for the door handle before reporters were already converging on the vehicle, microphones raised and cameras pointed directly at him. Voices overlapped from every direction the second he stepped out onto the pavement.

"Jimin! Jimin, over here!"

"How does it feel to bring home another first-place title?"

"Were you expecting such a strong score from the judges?"

"Can you tell us anything about your upcoming performances?"

The driver hurried around the front of the vehicle, attempting to create a path through the growing crowd, but Jimin was already smoothing a hand down the front of his dark coat as he straightened to his full height. The flashes intensified immediately, illuminating the street in rapid bursts of white light.

The transformation happened automatically.

His shoulders settled back. His chin lifted. The smile appeared with practiced ease, polished and effortless after years of interviews, press conferences, sponsorship events, and public appearances. Nobody watching would have guessed that his feet were throbbing inside his shoes, or that his lower back had been aching for most of the flight home. Three consecutive days of competition had left every muscle in his body exhausted. His calves still felt tight from repeated performances, and a deep fatigue lingered beneath his skin no amount of sleep ever seemed to touch.

None of that mattered out here. Reporters didn't want exhaustion. They didn't want sore muscles, injuries, or the reality of what it took to stand on a podium. They wanted Park Jimin. The champion, flawless dancer, and the face that appeared on magazine covers and promotional banners.

"I feel incredibly grateful," he answered smoothly, pausing just long enough for the nearest microphones to catch every word. His smile widened slightly as he glanced around the crowd. "There were so many talented performers this year, and I'm honored the judges enjoyed my performance."

Another question followed immediately, then another. Jimin answered each one with the same measured warmth, offering enough to remain polite without lingering long enough to invite a full interview. Eventually he dipped into a small bow and offered another practiced smile.

"Thank you for your support."

The flashes continued firing as he turned away, but he didn't look back.

Towering above him, the massive glass building stretched toward the darkening sky. Even after all these years, the sight still managed to impress him. The facility occupied nearly an entire city block, a sleek structure of steel, glass, and polished stone that housed some of the country's most successful athletes and performers. People didn't simply train here. Careers were built here. Olympic hopefuls spent years chasing medals within these walls. Professional boxers fought their way toward championship titles. Figure skaters, gymnasts, swimmers, speed skaters, dancers—every person who entered the building carried some version of the same dream.

Jimin pushed through the revolving doors, and the noise of the city disappeared instantly behind him. Warm air wrapped around him as the familiar scent of polished floors, coffee, athletic tape, disinfectant, and expensive perfume settled into his lungs. The tension in his shoulders eased by a fraction.

Home...Or at least the closest thing he had ever known to one.

Several staff members immediately looked up from their desks as he crossed the lobby. One brightened the second he recognized him.

"Jimin!"

Jimin lifted a hand in greeting, his smile never faltering as he continued walking. A receptionist congratulated him on the competition win. Another employee asked how the trip had gone. Someone farther down the desk called out that they'd watched the livestream and nearly spilled their coffee when the final scores were announced.

Jimin thanked each of them as he passed, His smile remained firmly in place.

The main lobby eventually opened into the central corridor, and his steps slowed the moment he saw the familiar display stretching along one side of the building.

The trophy wall.

An entire section of the facility dedicated to the achievements earned by athletes and performers signed under the company. Massive glass cases lined the corridor from floor to ceiling, displaying gold medals, championship belts, competition trophies, framed magazine covers, signed posters, and photographs frozen at the exact moments careers had changed forever.

One employee stood balanced on a ladder near the center of the display, carefully positioning a newly polished trophy onto an empty shelf. Jimin recognized it immediately. The contemporary championship trophy he'd won less than twenty-four hours earlier.

The employee glanced over his shoulder and immediately smiled. "Ah, perfect timing. I was just putting this one up."

Jimin came to a stop several feet away and watched quietly as the trophy slid into place beneath the display lights. A small plaque rested beneath it.

Park Jimin.

First Place.

The employee climbed down from the ladder and stepped back to admire his work before dusting off his hands. "That should do it."

Jimin offered a polite smile. "Thank you."

The employee beamed before returning to work farther down the corridor, leaving Jimin standing alone in front of the display.

His name appeared everywhere. From Competition photographs to Performance photographs and the large collection of trophies and medals all with his name engraved into them. Years of achievements arranged in neat rows behind spotless glass.

There were other athletes represented throughout the display. A figure skater who had medaled internationally occupied part of one section. A boxer with an undefeated professional record had his own collection of championship photographs. Several gymnasts, a swimmer, and a speed skater all appeared throughout the exhibit.

Jimin's section dominated nearly an entire wall, years of victories stretching across it in an almost unbroken timeline. Every trophy, medal, and framed photograph represented thousands of hours spent training, countless sacrifices made behind the scenes, and injuries carefully hidden beneath makeup, costumes, and practiced smiles before he ever stepped into the spotlight.

His stomach tightened, not with pride or even satisfaction, but with something much heavier.

As he stood there looking at the display, all he could think about was expectation. Those trophies weren't reminders of what he had already accomplished. They were reminders of what everyone expected him to keep accomplishing. Every victory had raised the bar a little higher, every first-place finish becoming another standard he would be expected to meet again. And somewhere in the back of his mind lingered the same quiet fear that never seemed to go away: the moment he stopped winning, people would notice. The moment he slipped, someone younger, stronger, or newer would be waiting to take his place.

And standing there beneath the glow of the display lights, surrounded by proof of everything he had given to reach this point, Jimin couldn't help feeling that the wall wasn't celebrating his success. It was reminding him exactly how much he still had left to lose.

He continued down the hallway, and with every step deeper into the facility, the sounds around him became more familiar. Music drifted from behind practice room doors, overlapping with the distant clang of weights from the athletic wing and the steady thud of a punching bag somewhere inside one of the boxing gyms. Conversations carried through open doorways as athletes, coaches, and trainers moved from one session to the next. Everything around him felt alive. Everyone was working, training, chasing something bigger than themselves.

Eventually he reached the private dance wing. He pressed his access card against the scanner, waited for the familiar beep, and stepped through the unlocked doors.

"There’s my star."

Jimin laughed before he could stop himself.

Hoseok stood near the center of the studio with his arms spread dramatically, looking as though he'd been waiting for the perfect opportunity to make an entrance. The studio itself was massive, with floor-to-ceiling mirrors stretching across one wall and polished hardwood floors gleaming beneath rows of overhead lights. A state-of-the-art speaker system occupied one corner, while notebooks, choreography binders, water bottles, and discarded jackets had already claimed nearly every available surface.

"My little dancing prodigy returns victorious once again," Hoseok announced as he crossed the room in three exaggerated strides and immediately wrapped Jimin in a hug.

Jimin groaned, though he was already smiling. "Hoseok."

"My little muse! You absolutely destroyed the competition, and might I say you looked beautiful doing so."

"You're ridiculous." Jimin said with a giggle.

"And you're avoiding compliments," Hoseok shot back as he finally released him and stepped away.

Jimin dropped his bag beside the mirrors and rubbed the back of his neck. "Let's not celebrate too soon."

Immediately Hoseok rolled his eyes. "Oh, here we go."

Jimin's smile softened as he glanced toward the far end of the studio. "We don't know what Director Kang is going to say yet."

The amusement on Hoseok's face dimmed slightly. It was only a brief flicker, but Jimin caught it anyway. He always did. Hoseok recovered almost immediately, waving a hand dismissively as though brushing the thought away.

"Whatever criticism she manages to invent this time," he said, "I thought you were incredible."

"You're biased."

"I'm your choreographer. Being biased is literally my job."

Jimin snorted.

"No, really," Hoseok continued, placing a hand over his heart. "Watching my beautiful choreography performed by my beautiful dancer nearly brought me to tears."

"You're impossible."

Shaking his head, Jimin crouched beside his bag and reached for his dance shoes. The moment he bent forward, a sharp pulse of pain shot through both feet, causing his smile to falter. The competition had ended less than twenty-four hours ago, and his body was still paying the price. The skin along several toes had rubbed raw beneath his shoes, one toenail had turned an ugly shade of black from repeated impact, and every muscle from his hips downward felt overworked and angry. His arches throbbed. His ankles felt stiff. Even sitting still seemed to aggravate something.

He carefully slipped off his sneakers, suppressing a wince when pressure shifted across the bruised areas.

Hoseok noticed immediately. His gaze dropped to Jimin's feet before lifting back to his face, concern flashing briefly across his expression. Jimin pretended not to see it, Hoseok pretended not to want to bring it up.

It was a routine both of them had perfected years ago. After all, practice started in twenty minutes, and according to Director Kang, pain was simply proof that you weren't working hard enough yet.

Ignoring the throbbing in his feet, Jimin grabbed the hem of his hoodie and pulled it over his head before tossing it onto a nearby chair. Underneath he wore one of his usual practice outfits: a loose charcoal t-shirt slipping off one shoulder and a pair of black dance pants fitted through the hips before widening through the legs, the lightweight fabric moving easily with him whenever he danced. Comfortable, Or at least as comfortable as anything could be when his entire body felt exhausted.

Hoseok watched him for another moment before clapping his hands together. "Floor."

Jimin immediately groaned. "I just got here."

"And you're already complaining?"

"I won a competition yesterday. I should be rewarded."

"You are." Hoseok pointed toward the practice mats. "You get to stretch."

Jimin sighed dramatically but lowered himself onto one of the mats anyway. The mirrors reflected the movement back at him, showing long limbs, sharp shoulders, and a body he'd spent years molding into something capable of extraordinary things. Looking at it now, all he could think was that it felt like it had been hit by a truck.

Hoseok crouched beside him and held out a hand. "Leg."

Without argument, Jimin lifted one. The stretch began immediately, His hamstring screamed. "Oh, I hate you." he spat, squeezing his eyes shut.

Hoseok grinned. "Funny. Hold that."

Jimin reached behind his thigh while Hoseok pressed gently against his calf, extending the stretch farther. The pull intensified through the entire back of his leg, sending a familiar ache from his hamstring all the way into his hip. It hurt, but dancers lived with pain. They expected it, Worked through it, and Accepted it.

Still sucked.

For several moments the only sounds in the studio were the hum of the ventilation system and the occasional creak of movement as Hoseok adjusted the stretch. Then Hoseok suddenly snorted.

Jimin turned his head toward him suspiciously. "What?"

A grin immediately spread across his face. "That asshole Choi had a lot to say about your performance after the competition."

Jimin rolled his eyes so hard it almost hurt. "Of course he did."

"I genuinely don't understand how somebody who didn't even make the podium still finds that much confidence."

"Hatred keeps him alive."

The laugh that burst out of Hoseok was loud enough to echo off the mirrors. "Honestly? Probably."

Jimin shook his head.

The rivalry wasn't anything new. Choi had spent years making passive-aggressive comments whenever interviews, competitions, or promotional events forced them into the same room. At first it had annoyed him. Now it barely registered.

"He'll find somebody else to complain about next week."

"True."

Hoseok carefully lowered his leg before motioning for him to switch sides.

Jimin rolled onto his back and repositioned himself on the mat. The second stretch hurt even worse than the first. His jaw tightened automatically as Hoseok guided his leg upward, extending it toward his shoulder while the stretch pulled through his hamstring, hip, and lower back all at once.

Hoseok noticed the tension immediately. But instead of commenting, he simply adjusted his grip and continued guiding the stretch while Jimin stared up at the ceiling, feeling every ounce of exhaustion accumulated over months of competitions, rehearsals, travel, and training settle heavily into his bones. Everything felt tight, Everything felt tired, And despite winning yesterday, he already knew he'd be expected to do it all again tomorrow.

"You know," Hoseok said casually as he adjusted Jimin's leg into another stretch, "I watched your performance again this morning."

Jimin closed his eyes and hummed in acknowledgment. "Mm."

"And then I watched it again," Hoseok continued. A grin was already creeping across his face. "And again."

A smile tugged at Jimin's mouth. "You sound obsessed."

"I am! I mean, I created it."

"Ah." Jimin cracked one eye open. "There it is."

"There he is," Hoseok replied immediately, pointing at himself. "The genius. The ego. The artist. The visionary. The—"

"Hoseok."

"Right. Sorry."

The laughter that followed settled comfortably between them, filling the studio with something warm and familiar. Moments like this were rare these days. Most of Jimin's relationships carried expectations, obligations, responsibilities, or pressure attached to them. Hoseok was one of the few people who could make him laugh without asking anything in return.

Eventually the amusement faded, and Jimin rolled his head toward him. "So?"

Hoseok raised an eyebrow. "So?"

"You watched it three hundred times."

"At least."

"What are your notes?"

The question lingered between them longer than expected.

Immediately, something shifted in Hoseok's expression. Not dramatically. Most people probably wouldn't have noticed it at all. But Jimin had spent years working beside him. He noticed the slight hesitation, the way Hoseok's eyes flicked away for a second before returning, and the tiny exhale that followed.

"What?" Jimin asked.

Hoseok looked toward the mirrors. "Nothing."

Jimin pushed himself up onto one elbow. "Hoseok."

The choreographer sighed. Leaning back on his hands, Hoseok tilted his head toward the ceiling before looking at him again. "Jimin, I don't really have any notes."

Jimin frowned immediately. "Hoseok."

"I'm serious."

"Hoseok."

"Your technique was flawless." The older man shrugged. "You hit every mark."

"Stop sugarcoating it."

"I'm not." For a moment Hoseok chewed thoughtfully on the inside of his cheek before letting out another sigh. "The problem is that I can't really answer this as your choreographer." The studio suddenly felt quieter.

Jimin's stomach tightened almost immediately. "As my friend?"

Hoseok met his eyes without hesitation. "When you got off that stage yesterday, you were shaking."

The words hit harder than Jimin expected. His gaze dropped to the floor, his shoulders drawing in ever so slightly.

"Hoseok..."

"No." Hoseok's voice stayed gentle, but there was enough quiet conviction behind it to stop Jimin from brushing it aside. "You asked me what I thought, so I'm answering honestly."

A familiar knot of frustration settled in Jimin's chest. It wasn't directed at Hoseok—not really. It was the conversation itself. The way people had started looking at him lately, watching him with worried eyes as though they thought he might fall apart at any moment. They didn't understand. This was what competing at this level demanded.

"I was just tired."

"You were barely standing."

"I'd just finished a competition."

"And you looked like you were about to pass out."

"Hoseok." The warning came a little sharper than he intended, carrying enough edge that it hung between them for a moment.

Hoseok exhaled quietly and lifted his hands in surrender. "Alright. I'm not trying to argue with you."

Silence settled over the studio. The ventilation system hummed softly overhead while faint music drifted through the walls from another rehearsal room. For several seconds neither of them spoke.

When Hoseok finally broke the silence, his voice had become noticeably gentler. "My correction isn't about your choreography." Jimin looked over "I think we should skip the competition in two months."

For a heartbeat, Jimin simply stared at him. Then a short, incredulous laugh escaped before he shook his head. "No."

"You need a break."

Jimin rubbed a hand over the back of his neck, already feeling the familiar anxiety creeping in. "Hoseok, I don't have time to take a break. Even a couple of weeks would throw everything off."

"It really wouldn't."

"It would for me." His words began coming faster as the thoughts he'd rehearsed countless times spilled out. "If I stop training, I lose conditioning. If I lose conditioning, my performances suffer. Nationals are right after that, and if I fall behind, everyone else catches up."

Hoseok listened without interrupting until Jimin finally ran out of breath.

"That's not how this works." Hoseok replied calmly, refusing to match Jimin's rising intensity. "That's how she taught you it works."

The shift was immediate. Jimin's expression hardened almost imperceptibly, his shoulders growing tense as his eyes flicked away. Hoseok saw it happen in real time and let out a quiet sigh.

"Come on."

Jimin folded his arms loosely across his chest, his voice quieter now. "She isn't wrong."

"Jimin."

"She's been my director since I was eighteen." The words came automatically, defensive and practiced, as though he'd repeated them so many times they no longer required thought, Maybe he had. "Look where she got me."

His gaze drifted toward the mirrors lining the studio walls. Toward the reflection of the trophy cases visible through the open doorway. Toward the career he'd spent years building.

"I'm one of the most respected dancers in the country."

Frustration flashed across Hoseok's face. "I know."

"i mean- hell, she's the reason i'm so good at ballet! before her I was just contemporary...So I have to listen to her."

"I don't doubt she's a brilliant director—"

The studio door opened. The sound cut through the conversation like a knife. Both men looked up immediately. And just like that, everything inside Jimin shifted.

His spine straightened, His shoulders rolled back. The frustration disappeared so quickly it was almost startling. In its place came something far more familiar. Anticipation mixed with Nervousness and Hope. The desperate need for approval that had followed him for years.

Director Kang stepped into the studio carrying a laptop case over one shoulder, her heels clicking sharply against the polished floor as she crossed the room. She didn't acknowledge Hoseok. Didn't glance toward the mirrors. Didn't look at the choreography notes scattered across nearby tables.

Her attention went directly to Jimin.

Jimin rose to his feet before he consciously decided to. His hands slipped neatly behind his back, shoulders squared, posture perfect. The movement was so automatic he barely noticed himself doing it.

Director Kang stopped several feet away and crossed her arms. Silence stretched between them, Then her gaze swept slowly over him. "Well." Her voice was flat. "Are you done basking in your glory from yesterday?"

The question caught him off guard. Jimin blinked. For a brief second he genuinely wasn't sure what answer she wanted. Was he supposed to say no? Was he supposed to apologize for feeling proud? His stomach tightened as he searched for the safest response.

Finally, he offered a small smile. "I'm feeling rather happy about it."

Director Kang stared at him for a moment. Then she walked straight past him without another word. The smile immediately began to fade. She reached one of the tables near the mirrors and set her laptop down. The machine snapped open, its screen casting a pale blue glow across her face as she powered it on.

"Good." The single word settled heavily in the room. For reasons Jimin couldn't explain, it didn't feel like praise. Her fingers moved across the keyboard for another moment before Director Kang finally looked up at them, her expression unreadable as she closed out whatever she had been reviewing.

 "Now get over it."

The words landed harder than they should have, sharp enough that Jimin felt his stomach tighten. Beside him, Hoseok immediately closed his eyes and dragged a hand down his face, his expression practically saying here we go before he even spoke. Jimin lowered his gaze, his fingers curling slightly against his palm as the familiar knot of anxiety settled in his chest. He already knew what came next.

Director Kang turned the laptop toward them, revealing several photographs spread across the screen. They were competition photos and still frames pulled from video footage, each moment frozen in perfect clarity. "Honestly, Jimin," she said, tapping one of the images with her fingernail, "I still don't know how you managed to win."

Heat crawled up the back of his neck as his eyes locked onto the photograph. He was suspended in the middle of a leap, his body stretched into a shape he had spent years perfecting, every muscle controlled and every movement intentional. For a brief second, he saw what everyone else had probably seen: a flawless performance, a dancer at the peak of his ability. Then Director Kang zoomed in, and suddenly all he could see was the flaw.

"Look," she said, pointing toward the screen. "Right here."

Jimin stepped closer, and Hoseok followed reluctantly, already looking like he knew exactly where this was going. Director Kang tapped the image again. "Your foot is sickled."

The mistake became obvious the moment she pointed it out. It was barely noticeable, just the slightest curve in his foot, but once it had been brought to his attention, he couldn't stop seeing it. The imperfection stood out against everything else, glaring and humiliating.

Director Kang clicked to the next image without giving him time to recover. "And here. You didn't fully extend."

Another photograph appeared, capturing him halfway through a turn. She moved on immediately, tapping the next one as she continued, "This landing was sloppy. You rushed this transition. Your arm line collapsed."

Her criticism came quickly, each correction delivered with the same cold precision she used when analyzing choreography. Jimin stood beside her without moving, his hands clasped behind his back as he listened, memorized, and absorbed every word. Hoseok stayed silent, but Jimin could feel his presence beside him, could sense the frustration building in the older man.

By the fifth photograph, Jimin wasn't seeing a first-place performance anymore. He wasn't seeing the applause, the trophy, or the judges' scores. He was seeing every mistake hidden beneath the praise, every flaw buried beneath the celebration. His eyes moved desperately over each image, searching for what Director Kang had found and wondering how he could have missed it himself.

"And worst of all," Director Kang said, her voice sharpening slightly as she clicked to another photograph, "I could tell how tired you got."

The image appeared, and Jimin's stomach dropped because he knew exactly what she was looking at. Not his technique. Not his form. His face. The exhaustion he hadn't been able to hide.

He swallowed, suddenly too aware of the warmth of the studio and the heaviness in his limbs.

Director Kang snapped the laptop shut, the sound echoing sharply through the room. "Why the judges would award someone who gets exhausted halfway through a performance first place is beyond me."

Shame immediately flooded through him, hot and heavy. "I'm sorry," Jimin said quietly, the apology leaving his mouth before he could stop it.

Hoseok's jaw tightened at the words, but Director Kang didn't acknowledge him. Instead, she stood and walked toward Jimin, stopping close enough that he could feel the intensity of her attention. His posture straightened instinctively as her eyes traveled over him, slowly assessing every part of him before returning to his face.

"And worst of all," she repeated, her voice quieter this time.

Her hand moved suddenly, and Jimin flinched before he could stop himself as her fingers pinched the outside of his thigh. It wasn't enough to leave a bruise, but it was enough to hurt, enough to make embarrassment burn through him as she gave the area a small, dissatisfied shake.

"You still haven't gotten rid of this excess fat we've been discussing."

His stomach twisted painfully, and he immediately looked down.

"What has your diet been looking like?" she asked.

Jimin answered without hesitation because he already knew the response she wanted. "Protein bar in the morning. Grilled chicken and broccoli at night. That's usually it."

Director Kang hummed quietly before releasing him, though the place where her fingers had been still burned. "Cut the chicken in half. Half the broccoli too. Keep the protein bar."

Jimin nodded quickly, and she stepped back to study him again. "We need to get rid of this," she said, gesturing vaguely toward his body. "No matter how beautiful your technique is, no matter how beautiful you are, no one wants to watch extra fat bouncing around on stage."

His throat tightened as his eyes drifted toward the mirrors. His reflection stared back at him: the body he had spent years building, the body people praised, the body that allowed him to do things most people couldn't even imagine. But under Director Kang's gaze, all he could see were the parts that weren't enough.

The places he hadn't fixed, The places that still needed improvement. Years of restrictions, years of carefully measured meals, years of trying to become exactly what she wanted, and somehow he still wasn't there.

His hands slowly curled at his sides. "I'll fix it."

Director Kang nodded once. "Good."

The approval was brief, but it still hit him immediately. That small acknowledgment was enough to make something in his chest loosen, even though he hated how much he wanted it.

She turned away and returned to the table, pulling a folder from her bag as if the conversation had already ended. "Your next competition is in two months."

Jimin immediately focused on her again. Training was easier. Competitions were easier. There were rules, expectations, and clear goals.

"It's in Busan," she continued as she opened the folder. He nodded slightly. His hometown. "You'll likely see many of the same competitors. Choi will be there."

Hoseok let out a dramatic groan from beside him, and Director Kang didn't even look up. "I know. We all hate Choi."

"Thank you," Hoseok muttered.

She ignored him and continued flipping through the pages. "But Busan is his hometown. You were born there too, but you left. You came to Seoul. Choi stayed." Director Kang set the folder down. "Which means the judges are going to root for their hometown hero."

Jimin bit the inside of his cheek as the pressure immediately began building again. He could already imagine the expectations. The comparisons. The possibility of losing.

"So training is going to become significantly more difficult," Director Kang said, her voice firm. "Because I refuse to watch you lose to someone who couldn't even make the podium yesterday."

"I understand," Jimin said immediately.

"I should hope so." Her attention shifted toward Hoseok. "Also, I'm contacting Min Yoongi."

Jimin blinked slightly. "Min Yoongi?"

Director Kang nodded. "He works with several departments in the company. If he can find something unique for us, I want it. New music, new atmosphere, and most importantly, something Choi doesn't have."

A laugh escaped Hoseok before he could stop it.

Director Kang pointed toward both of them. "Stretch."

Then she glanced toward the clock. "You have five minutes. After that, training starts." Her tone made it clear there was no room for discussion. She turned back toward her laptop almost immediately, already moving on to the next task, the next competition, the next thing Jimin needed to improve.

Jimin stayed where he was, staring at his reflection in the mirrors and trying not to focus on the spot on his thigh where her fingers had pinched.

The sensation lingered, And the worst part was that a small piece of him still wondered if she was right.

———————————————

Jungkook adjusted the strap of his gym bag higher onto his shoulder as he and Namjoon made their way down the sidewalk toward the training complex. The morning air was cool enough to be comfortable, carrying the faint smell of coffee from the shops opening along the street and the sounds of the city slowly waking up around them. Athletes in training clothes moved in the same direction, staff members hurried between buildings, and regular commuters passed by without paying much attention to the famous facility sitting only a few blocks away. A convenience store owner was pulling open his shutters, and across the street someone was trying to walk two tiny dogs that seemed determined to drag their owner in opposite directions.

It was all very normal, which was exactly why Jungkook felt comfortable making unreasonable requests. "You should buy me lunch today," he announced casually, glancing over at Namjoon with a small grin.

Namjoon didn't even look up from the iced coffee in his hand as he immediately replied, "No."

Jungkook's eyebrows lifted in disbelief, though the smile on his face only widened. "You don't even know my reasoning."

"I know exactly what your reasoning is," Namjoon said calmly, continuing to walk.

Jungkook scoffed dramatically and adjusted his grip on his gym bag. "Okay, then tell me."

Namjoon finally turned his head, giving him a knowing look. "You're going to tell me that because you're helping me spar today, I owe you food."

Jungkook immediately pointed at him like he'd just proven a point. "See? You do know my reasoning."

Namjoon rolled his eyes but couldn't hide the small smile forming at the corner of his mouth. "And my answer is still no."

"That's actually incredibly fucked," Jungkook said, pressing a hand against his chest as though personally offended.

Namjoon looked at him. "How?"

"Because instead of focusing on my own needs, my own goals, and my own development as an athlete, I'm generously donating my time to help you prepare for your fight."

The expression on Namjoon's face changed instantly, and he nearly choked on his coffee trying not to laugh. "Your own needs?" he repeated, staring at him. "Jungkook, you're off-season."

"So?" Jungkook asked, looking genuinely confused by the accusation.

"So you're not training for anything right now."

Shaking his head, Jungkook let out a dramatic sigh. "I could be at home playing games right now."

That finally made Namjoon laugh, the sound echoing lightly down the sidewalk as he shook his head. "You are unbelievable."

"I prefer generous," Jungkook corrected, looking pleased with himself.

"I prefer annoying."

Jungkook immediately clutched his chest, stumbling slightly in exaggerated offense. "That was hurtful."

Namjoon laughed again as they continued walking, already knowing there was no point trying to win an argument with Jungkook once he had decided he was being dramatic.

They continued walking, and the massive training complex slowly came into view at the end of the street. Even from several blocks away, the building dominated the surrounding area, all sleek glass walls and steel framing reflecting the morning sunlight. Giant banners hung across different sections of the exterior, each one featuring some of the company's most successful athletes, the kind of people whose names had become almost synonymous with their sports.

Jungkook's gaze drifted upward automatically as they approached, taking in the familiar images. One banner displayed a figure skater caught mid-spin, another showed an Olympic gymnast frozen in the middle of a routine, and stretched across an entire section of the building was a massive photograph of Park Jimin, his body suspended perfectly in the middle of a performance.

Jungkook barely registered it anymore.

The banner had been there for months, and at this point it was just another part of the building. Everyone knew who Park Jimin was. Even people who couldn't tell contemporary dance from ballet knew who Park Jimin was. His name was everywhere, attached to competitions, advertisements, interviews, and trophies.

Before Jungkook could make another attempt at securing free lunch from Namjoon, though, his attention shifted toward the crowd gathered outside the main entrance. Several camera crews stood clustered near the front steps, reporters holding microphones while photographers adjusted their equipment, and there were far more people than usual waiting around.

Jungkook slowed as they rounded the corner toward the front entrance, squinting at the crowd gathered outside the building. "What are all the dipshits doing out here?"

Namjoon followed his gaze and immediately understood what had caught his attention. "You didn't hear?"

"Hear what?"

"Ballerina boy won another competition yesterday." He adjusted the strap of his duffel higher on his shoulder before adding, "They're probably hoping to catch him coming in this morning."

Recognition settled over Jungkook's face. "Oh."

"Bigger win than usual, apparently."

'Ballerina boy' had become a nickname around the athletic center. Most people didn't mean anything malicious by it. It was simply easier than saying "the famous dancer everyone knows but nobody has actually talked to." Jungkook had never met him. As far as he knew, they had never even crossed paths. Still, everybody knew who Park Jimin was.

The prodigy.

The guy whose trophies practically had their own section of the building. One of the company's biggest stars, and one of its biggest sources of revenue.

The reporters noticed the boxers almost immediately. Several cameras shifted toward them, and one journalist brightened as soon as he spotted Namjoon.

"Kim Namjoon!" he called, jogging a few steps closer. "How's training going for next month's title fight? Do you feel ready for Lee Seungho? Have you made any changes to your preparation?"

Namjoon didn't even acknowledge the questions. He kept walking with the same calm, even stride, his attention fixed on the entrance as though the reporters weren't there at all.

Jungkook had always admired that about him. Unfortunately, he possessed absolutely none of that self-control.

Another reporter noticed him almost immediately. "Jeon Jungkook!" she called, lifting her microphone. "Can you tell us anything about training under Coach Hwang?"

Jungkook stopped. A few steps ahead, Namjoon sighed before he even turned around, He already knew. Jungkook smiled politely at the reporter. "Maybe," he said. "Depends."

She blinked. "...Depends on what?"

"How much are you offering?" For a moment she simply stared at him. Jungkook nodded as if they were discussing a perfectly reasonable business arrangement. "I mean, if I'm giving away Coach Hwang's training secrets, that feels like valuable information. I'd hate to undersell myself."

A few of the nearby reporters laughed, Even the woman holding the microphone was beginning to smile.

Jungkook continued, completely committed to the bit. "Tell you what. Buy me lunch today, and I'll think about sharing one secret. Maybe two if dessert's included."

Before the reporter could answer, the back of Jungkook's hoodie suddenly tightened. "Ah, shit." He stumbled backward as Namjoon grabbed a fistful of fabric and started steering him toward the entrance. "Hyung," Jungkook complained, looking over his shoulder, "I was in the middle of something."

Namjoon kept walking without slowing. "You don't negotiate with reporters."

"Why not? They asked me a question. I offered them a deal. That's just good business."

"It's blackmail with extra steps."

"Nah, Blackmail involves threats." Jungkook gestured back toward the reporters. "I was being perfectly pleasant. If anything, I was doing the company a favor. Positive media engagement, you know? People like athletes with personality."

Behind them, a few of the reporters laughed, and Jungkook immediately pointed over his shoulder without even looking.

"See? They love me."

"They're laughing at you." Namjoon let out a quiet sigh that sounded far too practiced. "I swear Coach Hwang sends me with you because he doesn't trust you to make it through the front door by yourself."

"That's ridiculous."

"Is it?"

Jungkook considered it for a moment. "...Maybe a little."

Namjoon shook his head, finally releasing the back of Jungkook's hoodie as they reached the entrance. "Come on."

Jungkook fell into step beside him with a grin that hadn't faded in the slightest. "So...you're buying me lunch then?"

"No."

"You know, everyone keeps saying you're like my older brother, but I have to say I'm feeling a severe lack of brotherly support right now."

"I'll support you by making sure you get inside before you embarrass the boxing department."

Jungkook laughed as they walked through the doors. "I think we're already past that."

The moment they stepped through the front doors, the noise of the reporters vanished behind them, replaced by the steady hum of activity inside the training complex. Cool air washed over Jungkook's skin as he followed Namjoon deeper into the massive building. Despite the early hour, the lobby was already bustling. Athletes moved between departments with equipment bags slung over their shoulders, coaches hurried down hallways with tablets tucked beneath their arms, and staff members pushed carts stacked with supplies toward various training wings. The entire facility always felt like its own miniature city—thousands of people, hundreds of careers, all operating beneath the same roof.

Jungkook loved it. More than anything, he loved that there was always someone around to talk to. His attention immediately snagged on a swimmer emerging from a nearby hallway, and before he had even fully processed who it was, a grin spread across his face.

"Oh, hey—Minho!"

The swimmer looked up and laughed when Jungkook pointed directly at him.

"Morning, Kook."

As Minho disappeared down another hallway, Jungkook turned back toward Namjoon and resumed walking, or at least attempted to. Every few steps he bounced onto the balls of his feet, unable to keep still for more than a few seconds at a time. His gym bag swung against his side as his attention bounced from one thing to the next. One moment he was watching a television mounted on the wall replaying competition highlights, and the next he was throwing exaggerated slow-motion punches at an imaginary opponent. He flicked out a jab, followed it with a hook, then dramatically ducked beneath an invisible counterattack.

Namjoon glanced over. "You know you're fighting air right now."

Jungkook straightened immediately. "Yeah, but I'm winning."

"Congratulations."

"Thank you. I've been training hard for this."

A staff member walked past, and Jungkook lifted a hand in greeting. The woman blinked in surprise before smiling and returning the wave. A few seconds later two gymnasts crossed the hallway in front of them. Jungkook nodded politely. One gymnast nodded back while the other looked mildly confused.

Eventually they reached the boxing department, and the atmosphere shifted almost immediately. The sharp scent of sweat, leather, and disinfectant lingered in the air, blending into a smell Jungkook had long since come to associate with comfort. Heavy bags hung from metal frames throughout the room, gloves were lined neatly along storage shelves, and several athletes were already deep into their morning training sessions. The steady rhythm of punches striking bags echoed through the space, creating a familiar soundtrack that instantly loosened something inside Jungkook's chest.

Near the far wall stood Coach Hwang. Even from across the room, he carried the kind of presence that naturally commanded attention. Years of coaching elite athletes had left their mark on him. Dark hair had begun to gray around his temples, but his posture remained perfectly straight, his arms crossed as he observed one of the younger lightweight boxers running on a treadmill. There was nothing particularly dramatic about the way he stood there, yet Jungkook had never met anyone who could make an entire room feel as if it should behave simply by existing within it.

"Shorter strides." Coach Hwang tapped the side rail of the treadmill as the young boxer continued running. "You're wasting energy. Tighten your form and stop reaching so far."

The athlete adjusted immediately, shortening his gait. Hwang watched for another few seconds before giving a single approving nod. Satisfied, his attention shifted across the room until he spotted Jungkook and Namjoon making their way toward the mats.

A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "Well," he called, his voice carrying easily over the sounds of training, "looks like Namjoon successfully managed to escort the troublemaker into the building today."

Jungkook laughed. "I made it here all by myself, thank you very much."

"That's not what it looked like with all those reporters outside." Coach Hwang pointed directly at Jungkook. "You harassing journalists again?"

"They started it!"

The coach stared at him for a long moment before shaking his head, clearly unconvinced. "I'm assuming you're helping Namjoon spar today."

Jungkook immediately slung an arm across Namjoon's shoulders. "Anything for my best friend."

Namjoon glanced sideways. "That's a very brave statement."

Coach Hwang laughed, and even the younger boxer on the treadmill cracked a smile.

Jungkook immediately pointed at him. "Hey, Sunwoo, don't encourage them."

Sunwoo grinned while continuing his run. "No promises."

Eventually Coach Hwang waved them toward the training area. "Go warm up. The usual routine." The easy amusement disappeared from his voice, replaced by the firm professionalism that had earned him the respect of every athlete in the department. "Stretch first. Breakfast is in the kitchen."

The moment food was mentioned, Jungkook visibly perked up.

Coach Hwang pointed directly at him. "And an actual breakfast this time. Not that sugary cereal bullshit. You're going to have a heart attack at 30."

Jungkook offered a lazy salute. "Yes, sir."

A few minutes later, Jungkook had already shed his hoodie and tossed it onto a nearby bench. Dressed in a sleeveless black training shirt and athletic shorts, he dropped onto one of the stretching mats beside Namjoon. The floor felt cool beneath his palms as he extended one leg, bent the other, and reached forward.

Almost immediately, he regretted it.

"Ow."

Namjoon didn't even glance up from his own stretches. "Sore from bottoming?." he asked with a cheeky grin.

Jungkook scoffed "Hyung, Im am nowhere near ashamed by being a switch. Being able to please men and women is a gift."

Namjoon rolled his eyes.

Before he could respond, movement near the department entrance caught Jungkook's attention. His face lit up instantly. "Oh!" He threw a hand into the air. "Yoongi hyung!"

Several athletes looked over at the shout.

Standing in the doorway was Min Yoongi.

Unlike most of the athletes moving through the facility, Yoongi wasn't attached to any single department. He worked with nearly every division in the company, helping create promotional content, athlete branding, competition music, and performance tracks. Dancers regularly appeared outside his office requesting edits to routines, gymnasts consulted him about music cuts for upcoming events, and fighters constantly relied on him to put together promotional material and walkout tracks. Although he spent most of his time around the combat sports departments, there were very few people in the building who didn't know who he was.

Yoongi paused when he heard Jungkook calling his name. His expression remained mostly neutral, but a small smile appeared anyway. the kind he only seemed to reserve for people he genuinely liked.

Jungkook immediately started waving both arms. Yoongi sighed as though inconvenienced by the attention, Then he walked over anyway.

Beside him, Namjoon's entire face softened. The change happened instantly. His shoulders relaxed. The tension from training eased from his posture. Even the lingering exhaustion around his eyes seemed less noticeable.

Jungkook saw it every single time, And every single time it annoyed him. Just a little.

Namjoon's smile widened. "Hi, sweetheart."

A small smile appeared on Yoongi's face. "Hi."

He settled onto the mat beside them, and Namjoon immediately leaned over to press a quick kiss against his cheek. The gesture was effortless and familiar, the sort of affection that came from years of repetition rather than conscious thought.

Namjoon draped an arm across Yoongi's shoulders. "What are you doing over here?"

Something bright flickered across Yoongi's expression. Excitement, Rare enough to be noticeable. "I finished it."

Namjoon immediately looked interested. “My walk-in music?"

Yoongi nodded. "The final version."

Jungkook sat upright so quickly he nearly pulled a muscle. "Oh." Then his eyes widened. "Oh!" He pointed at himself. "I should hear it first."

Namjoon looked horrified. "What? Why?"

"Because I'm an excellent judge."

Namjoon stared at him, and Jungkook stared right back. Yoongi let out a quiet laugh, and the sound immediately made Namjoon's smile return. Jungkook regretted looking in their direction at all.

"The final version is in my office," Yoongi said. "When you get a break, come listen to it." He glanced between them. "I'm actually excited about this one."

That alone was enough to get Namjoon's attention. Yoongi was rarely enthusiastic about anything. "I want to hear it."

"Obviously."

Jungkook pointed accusingly. "I called first."

Ignoring both of them entirely, Yoongi looked toward the kitchen area instead.

Namjoon followed his gaze immediately. "There's breakfast in there. You should grab some before everyone steals it." His voice softened again without him seeming to realize it. Yoongi hummed in acknowledgment. "And we'll come find you during break."

"Okay."

They exchanged another smile, Jungkook made an exaggerated gagging motion.

———————————

The boxing gym pulsed with familiar sounds. Gloves slammed into heavy bags hanging from chains overhead, the metallic links rattling with each impact. Shoes squeaked across canvas, coaches barked corrections from different corners of the room, and the steady rhythm of training filled every available space. It was loud, busy, and alive in a way Jungkook had always loved.

Inside one of the rings, he shifted lightly from foot to foot, his gloves raised loosely in front of his face as he bounced on the balls of his feet. Across from him, Namjoon stood in a much tighter stance. His guard was higher, his movements more economical, and his posture carried the sort of discipline that Coach Hwang had spent years drilling into him.

Both men wore headgear and sixteen-ounce sparring gloves, and their mouthguards made actual conversation nearly impossible.

Not that Jungkook had let that stop him.

A few minutes earlier he had somehow attempted to tell a joke through his mouthguard. Nobody in the gym had understood a single word of it. Coach Hwang had immediately told him to focus, and Jungkook had spent the next thirty seconds acting personally offended by the criticism.

Now, however, he was paying attention.

Mostly.

Namjoon made the first move, stepping forward behind a probing jab. Jungkook slipped outside the punch automatically, years of training taking over before conscious thought could catch up. The glove brushed harmlessly past his cheek, and before Namjoon could build off the attack, Jungkook flicked a quick jab toward the chest protector and immediately bounced backward again.

The punch carried almost no power behind it, Just enough contact to score, and Just enough to irritate. From ringside, Coach Hwang released a long sigh.

"Jungkook."

Even with a mouthguard in, Jungkook somehow managed to grin.

Across from him, Namjoon rolled his eyes.

The two continued circling, the canvas shifting beneath their feet as they moved around the ring. Bright overhead lights reflected against the ropes while the sounds of the surrounding gym faded into the background. Namjoon pressed forward again, this time throwing a jab, then another, before driving a right hand behind them.

Jungkook ducked beneath the punch and pivoted away smoothly.

For someone who spent most of his life acting completely unserious, there was something remarkable about the way he transformed when boxing entered the equation. The joking never entirely disappeared, but his instincts sharpened instantly. His reflexes had always been exceptional. Coach Hwang had recognized that the first time he'd watched fourteen-year-old Jungkook step into a gym and pull on a pair of gloves.

The rest had followed naturally.

"Don't admire your work." Coach Hwang's voice cut across the ring.

Namjoon immediately reset his guard as the coach pointed toward him.

"You landed. Good. Now keep working."

Jungkook bounced lightly in place, watching, waiting. Namjoon twitched his shoulders, A feint. Jungkook reacted immediately. The second he bit on it, Namjoon capitalized.

"Got you." The muffled words somehow managed to make it through the mouthguard just before Namjoon's glove clipped the side of Jungkook's head.

The punch wasn't hard, It didn't need to be. Jungkook immediately pointed at him in accusation. Several younger fighters sitting on nearby mats burst into laughter. Coach Hwang only groaned.

The sparring continued.

Jabs and counters, Movement and defense, Openings created and immediately closed.

Neither man was trying to hurt the other. That wasn't the purpose of the session. Namjoon was preparing for an upcoming fight, and Jungkook's job was to give him different looks, different rhythms, and different problems to solve. Sometimes he fought aggressively. Sometimes he stayed elusive. Sometimes he intentionally became as annoying as possible simply because frustrating opponents was a skill Namjoon needed to learn how to handle.

As the rounds continued, sweat began gathering along Jungkook's hairline before eventually running down the sides of his face. His shirt clung to his back, darkened from exertion. Across from him, Namjoon's breathing gradually grew heavier.

At ringside, Coach Hwang stood with his arms crossed tightly over his chest, studying every movement with an intensity that never seemed to fade. He noticed every mistake, every adjustment, every improvement.

Finally, he slapped the side of the ring.

"Break. Three minutes."

Both fighters immediately lowered their gloves. The second the words left Coach Hwang's mouth, Jungkook reached up and yanked his mouthguard free. The clear plastic came out with a wet pop. Then, rather than behaving like a normal person, he immediately spat it onto the canvas.

Without a shred of shame, he ducked through the ropes and hopped down from the ring. The moment his feet touched the floor, he grabbed one glove with his teeth and bit down on the leather. The glove squeaked before aggressively being pulled free. Jungkook immediately spit it onto a nearby bench before repeating the process with the other hand.

By the time Namjoon climbed out of the ring, Jungkook was already halfway out of his equipment and somehow looked like he had survived a small disaster. Coach Hwang stepped forward. Without needing to be asked, Namjoon held out his hands. Years of routine took over automatically. The older coach loosened the straps securing one glove, then the other. Within seconds both gloves slid free. A process they had repeated hundreds of times.

Meanwhile, Jungkook had somehow become tangled in one of his hand wraps.

Namjoon stared, Then he stared harder. Finally, he asked, "How?"

Jungkook looked down at the mess wrapped around his wrist before lifting his gaze back toward him. "I don't know."

"You literally wrapped them yourself."

Jungkook tugged experimentally on one end. The knot somehow tightened. "And yet here we are."

Coach Hwang pointed toward him immediately. "Leave the wraps alone." Jungkook froze mid-tug. The coach already knew exactly what he had been about to do. "I was going to."

"You were not."

Jungkook considered arguing for roughly half a second before breaking into a grin. "I wasn't."

"Go." Coach Hwang waved both fighters toward the benches and water station. "Take your break before I change my mind."

That was all the permission Jungkook needed.

"Oh, right. Yoongi." His entire face brightened as he pushed himself off the bench, and beside him Namjoon looked equally eager.

The two of them grabbed water bottles before heading out of the boxing department. As they stepped into the main corridor, the sounds of the gym gradually faded behind them. The rhythmic impacts of gloves against bags, the squeak of shoes against canvas, and Coach Hwang's occasional corrections gave way to a quieter atmosphere that felt completely different from the controlled chaos of the training floor.

The hallway connected several divisions of the company, and the shift was immediately noticeable.

Instead of sweat and training equipment, office doors lined both sides of the corridor. Department coordinators moved between meetings carrying folders and tablets. Marketing teams worked behind glass-walled offices. Video editors reviewed footage from recent competitions. Athlete managers hurried between departments while production staff carried equipment cases toward various studios.

Most people only thought about the athletes when they looked at the company. Very few thought about the hundreds of people working behind the scenes to build careers, organize events, negotiate sponsorships, produce promotional content, and keep everything functioning. Without them, none of the athletes would have nearly the same reach.

Jungkook and Namjoon jogged through the hallway, their footsteps echoing against the polished floors as they passed several offices before eventually stopping outside a familiar door.

Even before he knocked, a smile had already appeared on Namjoon's face. he lifted his hand and knocked twice.

A muffled voice answered from inside. "Come in."

The door swung open, revealing Yoongi who sitting behind his desk surrounded by controlled chaos.

Two large computer monitors occupied most of the workspace. Audio equipment covered one side of the desk while scattered notes, lyric sheets, editing schedules, and project folders occupied nearly every remaining surface. A collection of coffee cups sat nearby in quantities that would probably concern a doctor.

The office itself reflected Yoongi perfectly. Organized enough that he knew where everything was, Disorganized enough that nobody else could figure it out.

Looking up from his computer, Yoongi immediately spotted them. A small smile appeared on his face. "Hey."

Namjoon stepped inside first and rubbed his hands together dramatically. "All right, show us your masterpiece, babe."

Yoongi rolled his eyes, but the corner of his mouth twitched upward.

Meanwhile, Jungkook dropped into one of the chairs across from the desk and pointed accusingly at both of them. "I called hearing it first, by the way."

Without even looking away from Namjoon, Yoongi replied, "And we're ignoring that request."

Jungkook opened his mouth to continue arguing, but Yoongi had already decided the conversation was over. Turning back toward his computer, he placed a hand on the mouse and clicked through several folders.

A few moments later a file opened on one of the monitors. The office speakers hummed softly, Then the music began.

A deep bass line rolled through the room, followed by heavy percussion that immediately commanded attention. The sound felt powerful without becoming overwhelming, carrying the sort of confidence that perfectly matched an athlete making the long walk toward a ring.

Onscreen, the accompanying promotional video started playing.

Clips of Namjoon flashed across the monitor.

Training sessions.

Roadwork at sunrise.

Rounds on the heavy bag.

Pad work.

Sparring.

Slow-motion footage of punches landing.

Crowds cheering beneath bright arena lights.

The music swelled beneath every scene, tying everything together until the entire production felt larger than life. It wasn't simply a highlight reel anymore. It felt like the introduction to something important. Like something designed to convince thousands of people that they were about to witness greatness. Several minutes later the final image faded from the screen, Silence settled over the office.

Namjoon remained staring at the monitor for another second before slowly turning toward Yoongi. A huge smile spread across his face. "I love it."

The satisfaction that crossed Yoongi's expression was immediate. "I know."

Namjoon laughed and shook his head. "No, seriously." Leaning forward, he pointed toward the monitor. "That might be my favorite one you've ever made."

The pride that appeared on Yoongi's face was subtle, but impossible to miss. His shoulders relaxed slightly, His smile widened. "You see why I was excited about it?"

"I do."

Across the desk, Jungkook leaned forward dramatically. "I might be jealous." Yoongi looked over. "I might also be stealing that for my next fight."

"No."

Jungkook pointed at the monitor. "For my next walkout."

"No."

Jungkook slumped back in his chair with an exaggerated sigh. "You're crushing my dreams."

Leaning back in his own chair, Yoongi folded his arms across his chest. "By the end of the year you'll want something completely different anyway."

Jungkook considered that seriously for a moment, Then he nodded. "Actually, yeah. Probably something dramatic." Jungkook's eyes lit up. "Maybe with violins."

Across the room, Namjoon immediately groaned while Yoongi rubbed both hands over his face as though he suddenly had a headache. Jungkook, meanwhile, looked entirely too pleased with himself.

——————————————

By lunchtime, the boxing department had quieted considerably.

Most of the athletes had either scattered throughout the building to meet with trainers, media staff, or physical therapists, or they had settled into the department kitchen located beside the locker rooms and training area. The room wasn't particularly impressive, but it was comfortable in the way places became comfortable after years of daily use. A long wooden table occupied the center of the space, its surface marked with faint scratches and water rings from countless meals. Several smaller tables sat near the windows overlooking part of the city, allowing sunlight to spill across the floor throughout the afternoon. In the corner, a refrigerator covered in magnets, schedules, handwritten notes, and passive-aggressive reminders hummed quietly beside a row of microwaves and coffee machines.

The room felt lived in.

Not because it was especially nice, but because people genuinely spent time there.

Jungkook had already claimed his usual spot beside one of the windows. His lunch tray sat in front of him loaded with a generous serving of mashed potatoes, grilled chicken, green beans, and a bottle of water—the kind of balanced meal Coach Hwang approved of and, somewhat surprisingly, the kind Jungkook genuinely enjoyed eating.

His phone leaned against the water bottle while a video played across the screen. One earbud sat in his right ear while the other dangled forgotten against his chest. Completely absorbed, he shoveled a forkful of mashed potatoes into his mouth without ever taking his eyes off the video.

The video itself appeared to involve a man attempting to build a treehouse using materials purchased entirely from a convenience store. Jungkook was deeply invested.

The kitchen door opened. Without looking away from the screen, he barely lifted his eyes long enough to identify the newcomer.

Lee Jaewon, Twenty-two years old. Jungkook liked him well enough, but he was a mid-weight like Namjoon. so they weren't around each-other much. He was a decent fighter, won more than he lost. And somehow incapable of keeping track of a water bottle for longer than a week.

"Hey," Jaewon greeted as he wandered toward the cabinets.

Still watching the increasingly concerning treehouse construction project, Jungkook raised two fingers in acknowledgment. "Hey."

Jaewon opened one cabinet.

Then another.

Then another.

After several seconds of increasingly frustrated searching, he paused and called over his shoulder, "Have you seen any more protein mix?"

Jungkook stabbed a piece of chicken with his fork and took a bite before answering. "Third cabinet."

Jaewon opened another cabinet, Nothing. He frowned. "Which third cabinet?"

"The third cabinet."

"There are like ten cabinets."

Finally, with a dramatic sigh, Jungkook tore his attention away from the video long enough to glance toward the kitchen wall. "Left side."

Jaewon immediately opened the correct cabinet, The protein powder sat directly in front of him. "Oh."

Jungkook pointed his fork at him. "You're welcome."

Jaewon looked over. "I didn't say thank you."

"You were about to."

Rolling his eyes, Jaewon grabbed the container and shook his head. "Thanks."

"Told you."

A few minutes later, Jaewon disappeared again, leaving Jungkook alone with his lunch and the increasingly doomed treehouse project playing on his phone. The structure had begun leaning at an angle that suggested disaster was imminent, and Jungkook was far more emotionally invested than any reasonable person should have been.

When the kitchen door opened again, he expected another athlete looking for food. Instead, Coach Hwang stepped inside carrying several sheets of paper tucked beneath one arm.

Jungkook noticed the paperwork immediately and groaned before the older man had a chance to say anything. Leaning back in his chair, he pointed accusingly across the room. "No."

Coach Hwang paused mid-step and raised an eyebrow. "I literally haven't asked anything yet."

"You brought forms," Jungkook informed him as though that explained everything. "You only bring forms when you're about to annoy me."

The corner of Coach Hwang's mouth twitched as he walked over to the table. "Fair."

"I knew it," Jungkook said triumphantly, lifting his fork toward him before taking another bite of mashed potatoes.

Ignoring the dramatics, Coach Hwang pulled out the chair across from him and sat down. With the calm patience of a man who had spent years dealing with Jungkook specifically, he set three folders onto the table between them.

Jungkook stared at them. Coach Hwang folded his arms. The folders remained exactly where they were. Slowly, Jungkook lowered his fork.

"You have three requests," Coach Hwang said.

The words had barely left his mouth before Jungkook dropped forward and pressed his forehead against the table. A long, miserable groan escaped him as his shoulders slumped dramatically. "No."

"Three."

"No."

"Three."

Still refusing to sit upright, Jungkook dragged his cheek slightly across the tabletop and muttered, "I heard you the first time."

Coach Hwang looked entirely unimpressed. "Three fighters are requesting matches."

That finally made Jungkook lift his head. His cheek remained pressed against the wood as he stared up at the coach with all the enthusiasm of someone receiving life-altering bad news. "Can I pretend I didn't hear that?"

"No."

"What if I delete the paperwork?"

"No."

Jungkook considered that for a moment before trying again. "What if I run away?"

Coach Hwang didn't even blink. "I'll tell your manager."

A gasp escaped Jungkook so loudly that two athletes seated near the window glanced over. He sat upright immediately and clutched a hand to his chest. "You wouldn't."

"I would."

Coach Hwang reached for one of the folders and opened it without a trace of sympathy.

"Would you consider any of them?"

Coach Hwang's question lingered between them as Jungkook let out a dramatic sigh and finally pushed himself upright in his chair. Reluctantly, he reached over and set his phone face-down beside his tray. The treehouse disaster would simply have to continue without him.

"Can you give me a week?" he asked hopefully.

Coach Hwang raised an eyebrow. "A week?"

"Maybe two."

"Jungkook." The warning in his voice was immediate enough that Jungkook winced before taking another bite of mashed potatoes. "You know your manager is going to kill me if we don't get you back in the ring soon," Coach Hwang continued, pointing across the table at him. "Your last fight was six months ago."

Jungkook shrugged as though six months was practically yesterday. "And I put on an amazing show."

Despite himself, Coach Hwang laughed. "You did."

"Exactly." Jungkook nodded, pleased that his logic was clearly flawless. "That should buy me at least a year."

"That's not how professional sports work."

"It should be."

Shaking his head, Coach Hwang slid the folders farther across the table. "At least look at them. Your fans would love to see you fight again."

Jungkook stabbed another piece of chicken with his fork. "My fans also love when I post pictures of food."

"Look at the damn folders."

The groan that escaped Jungkook sounded genuinely pained. Still, after several seconds of staring at the paperwork as though it had personally offended him, he finally surrendered. "Fine."

A victorious expression crossed Coach Hwang's face as he pushed back his chair and stood. "I'll take that as progress." As he reached the doorway, Coach Hwang paused long enough to point toward Jungkook's untouched vegetables. "Finish eating."

"Yes, dad."

The coach snorted and shook his head before disappearing into the hallway, the door swinging shut behind him. Left alone again, Jungkook grinned to himself for a moment before reaching for the folders. Unfortunately, the smile faded almost immediately.

Work.

Necessary work, admittedly. Though, Still annoying.

He pulled the first file closer and flipped it open.

Han Minseok. Thirty-one wins. Three losses. Veteran fighter. Aggressive pressure style.

Jungkook recognized the name immediately. Minseok was good. Very good, actually. Dangerous enough that most fighters took him seriously. The problem was that Jungkook had already beaten him once, which made the matchup considerably less interesting from his perspective.

Turning the page, he moved on to the next file.

Jungkook leaned back slightly in his chair as he skimmed through the information. The final folder belonged to Park Seungmin, another familiar name and another solid boxer who would probably make for a competitive fight. None of the options were bad. In fact, that was arguably the problem.

As he slowly worked through his lunch, he flipped through page after page of information. Proposed dates. Potential venues. Revenue projections. Television contracts. Ranking implications. Sponsorship opportunities. The sort of paperwork that accompanied every major fight.

Truthfully, he loved boxing. He always would. There was nothing quite like fight night.

Nothing compared to hearing thousands of people screaming as the arena lights dimmed. Nothing matched the feeling of making the walk to the ring while the crowd roared around him. And absolutely nothing compared to the moment after a victory when his hand was raised and adrenaline still thundered through his veins.

That feeling never got old.

It wasn't boxing itself that ever wore Jungkook down. He loved stepping into the ring, loved the rush of a good fight, the satisfaction of seeing months of work come together in a few hard-earned rounds. It was everything that came with it that became exhausting—the endless training camps that kept him away from home, the increasingly rigid schedules, months of preparation leading up to a single night, the constant soreness that settled into his muscles, the media appearances, and the pressure that seemed to grow with every victory.

He loved being a boxer.

He just never wanted to lose the part of himself that existed outside the sport.

He liked sleeping in when his body needed rest. He liked eating until he felt full instead of measuring every meal against a training plan. He liked spending time with his friends without constantly checking a schedule. He liked staying up until two in the morning playing games when he had nowhere important to be the next day.

Most importantly, he liked listening to his body. If something hurt, he rested it. If he felt exhausted, he slowed down.

Coach Hwang had taught him that years ago, long before sponsorships, rankings, and championship opportunities entered the picture. It was probably one of the reasons Jungkook had managed to avoid the burnout that consumed so many athletes. Too many fighters pushed through injuries, ignored exhaustion, and treated every break as weakness.

Jungkook never had.

Flipping back to Jung Minhae's file, he studied the information more carefully. His eyebrows lifted. "Hm."

The matchup would probably sell well. Their styles complemented each other nicely. Hyunsu was fast, aggressive, and still trying to establish himself. Jungkook's name alone would attract attention, and the contrast between their approaches would make for an entertaining fight.

More importantly, Jungkook was fairly confident he could beat him. The thought made a grin tug at the corner of his mouth. It would also get his manager off his back. Which, admittedly, might have been the strongest argument in favor of the fight so far.

For a few moments he considered it seriously...Then he closed the folder.

"Nah."

Setting it aside, he stacked the paperwork neatly together, took another bite of chicken, and decided that future Jungkook could deal with the problem instead.

———————————————

The music had been playing for nearly two hours. By now, every note felt permanently etched into Jimin's memory.

The spacious dance studio echoed with the familiar melody as sunlight streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows lining one wall. Along the opposite side of the room, mirrored panels reflected every movement from a dozen different angles, creating endless versions of Jimin across the polished floor. No matter where he looked, there was another reflection staring back at him, another dancer moving in perfect synchronization.

At the center of it all, Jimin danced.

His body flowed seamlessly through the choreography, years of relentless training making even the most technically demanding movements appear effortless. He spun through a turn, landed with practiced control, and transitioned smoothly into the next sequence without hesitation. To anyone watching, it looked natural.

Beautiful, even. The reality felt very different.

"Again." Hoseok's voice carried easily over the music, calm but unmistakably firm in the way Jimin had heard thousands of times before.

Jimin adjusted without hesitation.

"Relevé."

He rose onto the balls of his feet, lengthening through his spine until his entire body settled into the position. His core tightened, every muscle engaged, and he focused on finding that delicate balance where everything looked effortless despite the strain it demanded.

"Good," Hoseok said as he circled him slowly, studying the position from every angle. "Hold it."

From the outside, he looked completely composed, but beneath that polished exterior his supporting leg had already begun to tremble. His calves burned from holding himself aloft, his hips still felt tight from yesterday's competition, and the ache in his feet had settled so deeply into his arches that it almost felt permanent.

None of it mattered.

Audiences never applauded someone for dancing through pain. They applauded beauty, precision, and the illusion that every movement came naturally.

"Now transition."

Jimin flowed seamlessly into the next phrase, one arm sweeping outward as his torso lengthened with the music. His leg unfolded into a controlled développé before carrying him into the next movement, years of relentless repetition allowing one step to melt effortlessly into the next.

"Yes," Hoseok said, walking alongside him. "That's it. Keep that feeling."

Jimin crossed the studio again while Hoseok watched with careful attention. This section of the routine was still evolving, and most of rehearsal was spent making tiny adjustments—changing spacing, refining transitions, experimenting with musical timing and quality of movement until every detail felt exactly right.

Occasionally Hoseok stepped in to demonstrate something himself. "Soften your arm a little. You're reaching the position too quickly. Let the movement breathe before the turn."

Jimin nodded. "Like this?"

"Better. Stay suspended just a fraction longer."

Each correction blended naturally into another attempt until rehearsal settled into the familiar rhythm Jimin had lived inside for most of his life: dance, adjust, repeat.

Across the room, Director Kang remained seated near the mirrors with her laptop balanced across her knees. The glow of the screen reflected faintly against her glasses as she worked, occasionally typing, occasionally reading, but never allowing her attention to drift from Jimin for long. Whatever occupied her computer, part of her focus was always on him, quietly evaluating every rehearsal as though there were always another flaw waiting to be corrected.

Jimin forced himself not to think about it. Instead, he concentrated on the music, the timing of each phrase, the steady rhythm of his breathing—anything that kept his mind away from the growing ache spreading through his body.

The music carried him into another pass across the floor. He completed the sequence cleanly and straightened to reset, but the instant he shifted his weight a sharp bolt of pain shot through both calves.

He managed not to react, Only his eyes lifted briefly toward Hoseok.

Please.

The word never needed to be spoken. After years of working together, they understood each other well enough that a single look was enough.

Hoseok caught it immediately. Without making it obvious, he clapped his hands together, the sharp sound cutting cleanly through the music. "Alright," he called to the room. "Let's take five."

The music cut off. Relief hit Jimin so quickly that he nearly laughed. Instead, he bent forward and braced his hands against his thighs, letting out a long breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. "Oh, thank God."

Hoseok snorted as he walked closer. "Tough day?"

Jimin lifted his head just enough to look at him. "My legs are planning a rebellion."

"They deserve one."

A tired smile pulled at Jimin's mouth despite everything. Honestly, Hoseok wasn't wrong. Slowly, he straightened and stepped away from the center of the room, trying not to think about how much every muscle in his body protested the movement.

A thin layer of sweat dampened the hair at the back of Jimin's neck, and the water bottle sitting near the mirrors had never looked more appealing. His throat felt dry after hours of rehearsal, and every step across the studio seemed to make him more aware of the heat lingering in his body.

As soon as the music stopped, he crossed the floor toward it. He bent down and reached for the bottle, his fingers wrapping around the plastic and immediately feeling the cool condensation against his skin.

"Oh, no." Director Kang's voice stopped him.

Jimin froze with the bottle only halfway lifted from the floor. Slowly, he looked up. Kang hadn't moved from her chair. Her laptop remained open in front of her, but her attention was entirely on him.

"No more water."

For a moment, Jimin genuinely wondered if he had heard her correctly. His fingers tightened around the bottle. "No more water?"

Across the studio, Hoseok's head snapped up so quickly that Jimin noticed immediately. The choreographer's expression hardened for a brief second, irritation flashing across his face before he forced himself to look away.

Kang closed her laptop calmly. "You've had enough today."

Jimin stared at her, still holding the bottle. His mouth felt dry, His entire body felt overheated, Every instinct told him to drink.

"You'll retain water weight if you keep drinking like that," Kang continued, her tone remaining completely casual, as though she were discussing something insignificant. "You're already hydrated." She gestured lightly toward him. "You've had plenty."

Jimin looked down at the bottle in his hand. Tiny droplets of condensation slid down the plastic, catching the light from the windows. The water inside looked cold. Refreshing. Exactly what his body had been asking for.

Only a few inches away.

A part of him wanted to argue. He wanted to explain that he had been dancing for hours. That he had been sweating. That his muscles were exhausted and his throat felt like sandpaper, But the thoughts disappeared almost as quickly as they appeared. Because Kang knew best.

Didn't she?

She had built his career. She had taken him from a talented teenager in Busan and helped turn him into one of the most respected dancers in the country. She had pushed him harder than anyone else, demanded more from him than anyone else, and every achievement he had earned carried her influence.

If she said he didn't need water...Maybe he didn't.

Jimin swallowed, though the movement only made him more aware of how dry his throat felt. After a long moment, he lowered the bottle and carefully placed it back where he had found it.

Across the room, Hoseok pressed his lips together and looked away. Jimin noticed. He noticed the way Hoseok's jaw tightened. The way his arms folded across his chest. The way he seemed to be physically holding himself back.

For a moment, Jimin thought he might say something. He thought Hoseok might challenge her, Might finally push back, But he stayed silent. Because Kang wasn't just Jimin's director. She was also the person who controlled Hoseok's position.

And the room became painfully quiet.

Jimin stared at the bottle one last time before forcing himself to turn away. "It's fine." The words came out softer than he intended. He looked toward Hoseok and managed to pull a small smile onto his face. "Let's just take it from the top."

Hoseok studied him for a moment, his expression tightening with concern before he eventually nodded. "Yeah." His voice sounded strained, but he moved back toward his position anyway.

Jimin returned to the center of the studio, the polished wood cool beneath his shoes. The mirrors reflected him from every direction, showing every angle, every flaw, every movement he was about to make.

Behind him, Director Kang reopened her laptop. The music waited, The choreography waited, The expectations waited. Jimin stepped into his starting position, lifting one hand, raising his chin, and forcing his shoulders into place.

Ready. Even though every part of him wished he didn't have to be.

"From the beginning," Hoseok said quietly as he reached toward the speaker.

A second later, the music started again.

——————————————

By the time Director Kang finally released him around four in the afternoon, Jimin felt like every muscle in his body had been wrung out and left completely empty. His calves throbbed with every step, his hips ached from hours of repetition, and even the muscles between his shoulder blades felt tight from constantly forcing his posture into perfect alignment.

The moment he stepped out of the dance department, he didn't bother wondering where he should go.

There was only one answer.

Seokjin.

Jimin slowly made his way through the winding hallways of the complex until he reached the sports medicine wing. The atmosphere here always felt completely different from the training departments. The sharp impact of boxing gloves and the constant repetition of dance music were replaced with quiet conversations, rolling carts, and the low hum of medical equipment running somewhere nearby.

The hallway was lined with treatment rooms, and several athletes waited outside them. Some sat with ice packs secured around their knees, while others stretched carefully or scrolled through their phones while waiting for their appointments.

Jimin stopped outside a familiar door and knocked three times. A voice immediately called from inside.

"Come in!"

Pushing the door open, Jimin stepped into the bright, spacious room. Cabinets lined one wall, filled with neatly organized supplies ranging from athletic tape and braces to massage tools and recovery equipment. A treatment table sat in the center covered with fresh white paper, resistance bands hung from hooks along another wall, and anatomical charts decorated the space beside the skeleton model Seokjin had once insisted was his "most reliable assistant."

Seokjin sat behind his desk typing something into his computer, but the moment he looked up and saw Jimin standing there, his entire expression brightened. "Oh," he said, immediately pointing toward him with a grin. "My favorite patient."

Jimin let out a tired groan as he shuffled farther into the room. "I'm dying and need your help."

"Perfect," Seokjin replied as he pushed himself away from his desk and stood. "You're definitely in the right place."

Without bothering to argue, Jimin made his way toward the treatment table. The second he reached it, he practically collapsed face down across the surface, folding his arms beneath his chin and resting one cheek against them as though he had officially given up on life.

"I'm never dancing again."

Seokjin laughed quietly as he grabbed what he needed for the appointment.

"You say that every week." The amusement on Seokjin's face softened as he pulled on a pair of gloves and stepped closer. The playful attitude he carried outside of treatment disappeared almost immediately once he started working. His posture straightened, his expression sharpened, and his voice became calmer and more professional.

"All right," he said, placing one hand lightly against Jimin's lower back as he assessed his posture. "Tell me what's going on."

Jimin barely lifted his head. "My hips."

Seokjin nodded as he began examining the tension in the surrounding muscles. "Okay."

"And my calves."

"Anything else?"

"My entire existence."

Seokjin hummed thoughtfully while moving his hands slightly. "Unfortunately, I can't treat that one."

Jimin made a quiet noise of disappointment. "You're supposed to help me."

"I am helping you," Seokjin said, laughing softly. "I'm just saying your dramatic personality is beyond my medical qualifications."

Jimin didn't have enough energy to argue. Instead, he let his head fall back onto his arms as Seokjin moved beside the table and began carefully pressing into the muscles around his hip. His fingers worked slowly and methodically, searching through layers of tension built up from weeks of training.

The second Seokjin found a particularly tight spot, Jimin sucked in a sharp breath. "Oh my God."

"There it is," Seokjin said immediately.

"That hurts."

"Which means I found the problem."

"I hate when you say that."

Seokjin only smiled and continued applying pressure, working through the tension carefully rather than rushing. His fingers moved along the muscles around Jimin's hip flexor, testing how much resistance he felt.

When he pressed into another particularly painful spot, Jimin immediately buried his face deeper into his arms.

"Oh, that's evil."

"That's your hip flexor."

"It feels like murder."

"It feels like overtraining."

Jimin stayed quiet because, unfortunately, Seokjin wasn't wrong. The therapist continued working through both hips before moving higher, checking his lower back and assessing his mobility. His hands pressed carefully along the muscles, searching for stiffness and tension.

After a moment, Seokjin hummed.

The sound immediately made Jimin nervous. "What?"

"Your lower back is tight."

"I know."

"It's concerning."

"I know."

Seokjin smiled as he continued examining him. "You know I love hearing you admit I'm right."

Jimin groaned softly. "You're enjoying this."

"A little." Positioning one hand against Jimin's shoulder and the other near his lower back, Seokjin adjusted his stance. "Take a deep breath." Jimin obeyed, inhaling slowly. "Exhale." As soon as Jimin released the breath, Seokjin made a quick adjustment. A sharp crack echoed through the room.

Jimin immediately relaxed into the table with a long sigh of relief. "Oh."

Seokjin smiled faintly as he adjusted again. Another crack followed, Then another. The tension that had been sitting along Jimin's spine seemed to release all at once.

"There we go," Seokjin said, satisfied as he stepped back to assess him. "Much better."

Jimin practically melted into the treatment table as the tension finally started leaving his body, his eyes falling half closed from the relief. "I think I just saw heaven."

Seokjin laughed quietly as he began putting away the supplies he had used. "I'll add that to your chart."

A few minutes later, Seokjin reached over to the counter and picked up the massage gun. The moment he turned it on, the device buzzed loudly to life, and Jimin immediately lifted his head.

"No."

Seokjin glanced over at him with an amused expression as he stepped closer. "Yes." and Before Jimin could protest again, Seokjin pressed the massage gun against his calf.

The vibration immediately traveled through the muscle, and Jimin's entire face twisted as he gripped the edge of the table. It wasn't exactly painful, but it was the strange combination of discomfort and relief that made his body unsure whether it wanted to escape or relax. It was the kind of sensation that made him question every decision that had led him to this moment.

Seokjin continued moving the device slowly along his calf, working through the tight areas and helping loosen the tension that had built up from hours of training.

"This is terrible," Jimin complained, even though he made no attempt to move away.

Seokjin laughed as he continued working, and for a while the only sound in the room was the steady buzzing of the device. The silence between them was comfortable, familiar, and easy.

Eventually, Seokjin switched positions and broke the quiet. "I watched your competition."

Jimin opened one eye and looked over. "Oh?"

"You were incredible."

A small smile appeared on Jimin's face as he stared up at the ceiling. "Thanks." But the smile disappeared almost immediately. "Back to work now, though."

His voice became quieter, almost like he was stating an obvious fact rather than dismissing one of the biggest achievements of his career. Winning had already become something in the past tense to him, something that mattered only until the next thing needed to be accomplished. The massage gun clicked off, and the sudden quiet made the room feel even calmer.

"Jimin."

The dancer hummed softly in response.

Seokjin set the device back on the counter before continuing, choosing his words carefully. "From a medical standpoint, your body is begging you for a break."

Jimin immediately groaned into the table.

Seokjin ignored the reaction and reached for a strip of kinesiology tape, carefully beginning to apply it along Jimin's calf. "I can only massage these muscles so many times," he said while smoothing the tape into place. "I can only tape you up so many times, and I can only keep putting your body back together after you push it too far."

Jimin sighed. "You sound like Hoseok."

Seokjin grinned as he pressed down the edge of the tape. "Hoseok sounds very intelligent."

Jimin rolled his eyes without lifting his head. "Traitor."

"Professional medical opinion."

"Still a traitor."

Seokjin laughed and finished securing the tape, running his fingers along the edges to make sure the adhesive held properly. After stepping back to inspect his work, he gave a small satisfied nod. "Good. For now."

As he cleaned up the remaining supplies, Seokjin casually asked, "So..."

Jimin immediately narrowed his eyes. That tone never led anywhere good. "What?"

Seokjin tossed away the gloves and looked back at him. "Have you seen your little Taehyung recently?"

The suspicion disappeared from Jimin's face instantly. His expression softened, and a small smile tugged at his mouth. "No." He sat up slightly, rubbing at the soreness in his legs as he continued, "But I'm going to call him tonight. I miss him."

Seokjin nodded knowingly while organizing the supplies. "Not only do you miss him, The company misses him too."

Jimin laughed softly. "Yeah."

That part was true. Years ago, Taehyung had worked inside the complex as a costume designer, and he had been incredibly talented. He had designed outfits for dancers, skaters, gymnasts, and countless performers throughout the building. Somehow, though, despite working with so many athletes, he and Jimin had always ended up spending the most time together.

What began as costume fittings turned into conversations, Conversations became friendship, And eventually friendship became the kind of bond that survived nearly everything. Even career changes. Eventually, Taehyung admitted that costume design wasn't truly what he wanted. He returned to school, worked harder than anyone Jimin knew, and eventually became a nurse at a hospital across the city. Jimin had always been proud of him, Even if he missed him terribly.

"The new designers are good," Seokjin said as he finished putting away the last of the supplies, "but Taehyung always knew exactly what you wanted."

Jimin smiled at the memory. "He did."

"He spoiled the hell out of you too. spent more time on your costumes then anyone else’s"

"Not my fault I’m a good canvas.”

 Seokjin smiled and shook his head, then pulled up Jimin's chart and reviewed his notes one more time before nodding. Jimin slowly pushed himself upright from the table. He already felt slightly better. Not fixed, because he was never completely fixed after a day like this, but better.

Seokjin pointed toward the door. "Go sit in the ice bath."

The immediate groan that came from Jimin answered for him. "No."

"Yes."

"It sucks."

"It works."

Jimin stared at him. Then sighed, Defeated.

"Fifteen minutes," Seokjin continued as he watched him stand. "And when you get home tonight, use the heating pad on your back."

Jimin rolled his eyes as he grabbed his bag. “You're starting to sound like my mother."

Seokjin gasped dramatically, placing a hand over his chest. "How dare you compare me to someone who worries about you responsibly."

That earned a real laugh from Jimin. A genuine one. The first he'd managed all day.

Seokjin smiled, satisfied that he had finally gotten through to him. "Go recover, superstar."

Jimin adjusted his bag over his shoulder and headed toward the door, his muscles already feeling a little looser and his body a little lighter. "Thank you."

"Anytime."

With that, Jimin left the treatment room behind and started down the hallway, already mentally preparing himself for the ice bath waiting for him.

—————————————

By nine o'clock, the boxing department was nearly silent.

The usual sounds that filled the gym throughout the day had disappeared. There were no gloves striking heavy bags, no coaches calling out corrections from across the room, and no conversations drifting between athletes during breaks. Only a handful of overhead lights remained on, casting long shadows across the empty training space and making the familiar gym feel strangely unfamiliar.

Jungkook was still there, Unfortunately.

A tired groan escaped him as he lowered himself from a plank position onto the mat, his arms immediately collapsing beneath him. His shoulders burned, his muscles felt like they had turned into useless jelly, and his shirt was completely soaked through with sweat.

"This is your own fault," he informed himself while staring up at the ceiling.

The empty gym offered no argument.

Sitting up, Jungkook wiped his forehead with the bottom of his shirt and tried to remember exactly how he had ended up there. A few hours earlier, he had fully planned on leaving around five.

Then Namjoon had needed extra sparring rounds, Then lunch happened, Then he somehow spent far too long watching that ridiculous treehouse video, Then another video, And another.

Somewhere along the way, the entire afternoon had disappeared. Which meant he was now paying for every minute of procrastination. Coach Hwang probably would have had a heart attack if he knew how much time Jungkook had spent avoiding actually leaving.

Shaking his head at himself, Jungkook pushed back onto his feet and walked toward one of the heavy bags hanging along the far side of the gym. "One more thing," he muttered, adjusting the wraps around his hands as he approached. Just one, Then he was leaving. Actually leaving...For real this time.

After rolling his shoulders loose, Jungkook raised his gloves and started working.

Sharp jabs.

Clean crosses.

Controlled hooks.

Simple combinations repeated until they became automatic. His feet moved smoothly across the floor as he pivoted, reset, and shifted his weight. Years of training had ingrained the movements so deeply that he barely needed to think about them anymore. Even exhausted, his form stayed clean.

The heavy bag swung slightly with every impact.

The sound echoed through the mostly empty gym.

Thump.

Thump.

Thump.

After several more minutes, Jungkook finally stepped away, breathing heavily as sweat dripped from his jaw. "Okay," he said, pointing at the bag as though it had been an actual training partner. "We're done."

The bag continued swinging. Jungkook nodded seriously. "Good talk."

With that, he wandered toward the stretching area and spent another ten minutes doing the things Coach Hwang constantly complained he skipped. He stretched his hips, loosened his shoulders, worked through his calves, and forced himself to actually cool down properly instead of rushing out the door.

Eventually, he finished. Satisfied, Jungkook headed toward the water cooler and filled a paper cup. Then another. Then a third. The cold water felt incredible as it slid down his throat, and by the time he finished drinking, he finally felt less like a completely exhausted athlete and more like an actual human being again.

"Finally," he muttered, his voice echoing faintly through the empty room. "Time to go home."

Jungkook grabbed his gym bag from the bench, shoved his wraps inside, and pulled his hoodie over his head before slinging the bag over one shoulder. Then he headed toward the exit.

The hallway outside the boxing department was almost completely deserted. Most of the overhead lights had shifted into their nighttime settings, leaving only the security lighting fully illuminated. The massive sports complex felt completely different after dark.

During the day, it was loud and alive. Now, it felt like a sleeping giant.

Jungkook walked casually down the hallway, his footsteps echoing against the polished floor. For a while, it was the only sound surrounding him. At least, it was. Until music reached him from somewhere deeper inside the building.

Jungkook stopped. The sudden change made him glance around.

Music?

The hallway remained empty. There was nobody nearby, no staff walking past, no athletes lingering after training. Just the faint sound of music drifting through the building. His eyebrows pulled together as he looked down the hallway.

That was weird.

Most departments were completely empty by that point in the evening. The staff members who kept the company running behind the scenes had gone home hours ago, and the athletes who filled the building during the day had mostly disappeared as well. The facility technically remained open twenty-four hours a day, allowing anyone signed under the company to train whenever they wanted, but very few people actually took advantage of that privilege.

Most athletes arrived before sunrise, trained until their bodies were exhausted, and left before dinner. That was simply how the routine worked. The building was built to always be moving, always filled with noise and activity, but eventually even a place this large settled into silence.

Except the music continued. It was faint at first, almost easy to mistake for something else, but the longer Jungkook stood there listening, the more certain he became that the sound was coming from somewhere deeper inside the complex.

His curiosity immediately took over. Which, historically speaking, was usually a terrible sign.

"Oh no," Jungkook muttered quietly to himself as he shifted his gym bag higher on his shoulder, already knowing exactly what he was about to do.

He should leave. He should go home, take a shower, eat something, and pretend he had never heard anything. That would be the normal choice. The reasonable choice.

Instead, because he was Jungkook and apparently incapable of ignoring anything interesting, he turned toward the hallway and followed the music.

The sound guided him farther through the building, past departments he rarely visited, empty offices with their lights turned off, and conference rooms that felt completely unfamiliar without people filling them. His footsteps echoed against the polished floors, and the quiet atmosphere made the massive complex feel almost like a completely different place than the one he trained in every day.

The farther he walked, the louder the music became.

It started to separate itself from the background noise of the building, becoming clearer with every step. Eventually, Jungkook reached a security door with a sign displayed beside it.

Dance Department. He slowed to a stop and stared at the words for a moment. "Oh." Jungkook tilted his head slightly as he listened again, confirming that the music was definitely coming from inside. His curiosity, unfortunately, only grew stronger.

With a small shrug, he pulled his company identification card from his pocket. Every athlete signed under the company had access to most training areas, although different clearance levels existed for certain restricted sections. The common departments weren't usually locked off.

He swiped the card. A green light flashed, and the lock clicked open.

Jungkook pushed the door open and stepped inside.

The difference between the dance wing and the boxing department was noticeable immediately. The hallway felt calmer, quieter, and somehow more polished. Large framed photographs covered the walls, displaying competition moments, performance shots, awards, and athletes captured in the middle of impossible movements.

The music continued somewhere ahead, So Jungkook kept walking. He followed the hallway deeper into the department, turning once, then again, until he finally noticed a thin line of light spilling beneath a partially open studio door.

The music was much clearer now. It was a piano melody, soft and almost gentle, completely different from the heavy beats and sharp sounds that filled the boxing department.

Jungkook slowed his pace without even realizing it, He didn't want to interrupt.

The closer he got, the more details he noticed. The sound of shoes sliding across the polished floor. The occasional squeak against the wood. The quiet rhythm of controlled breathing from someone moving through the choreography.

When he reached the doorway, he stopped. Inside the massive studio, Park Jimin danced completely alone.

The room was illuminated by rows of overhead lights, and the floor-to-ceiling mirrors covering one wall reflected every movement from countless angles. Every turn. Every extension. Every carefully controlled motion.

Jungkook stood there frozen, one hand still holding the strap of his gym bag while the other rested lightly against the doorframe. He had no idea what he was watching.

Jungkook didn't know the names of dance movements. He couldn't explain choreography, couldn't identify technique, and definitely couldn't judge what made someone talented.

But he understood effort, He understood control, And Jimin had complete control over every movement he made.

His body seemed to move naturally with the music, every action flowing into the next without hesitation. One moment he was turning across the floor, and the next he was holding himself in a position that made Jungkook question how anyone was physically capable of bending that way.

The music grew stronger, and Jimin turned once, then again, continuing through the choreography with the same impossible steadiness. When he finally landed, he did so perfectly balanced, his body still and controlled as if gravity had briefly forgotten to pull him down.

Jungkook stared. He didn't even notice his own exhaustion anymore. The thought of going home disappeared completely, Even the weight of his gym bag hanging from his shoulder faded into the background. All he could do was watch.

The final notes of the song eventually drifted away, leaving the studio quiet again. Jungkook remained in the doorway, unable to move.

Jimin stood in the center of the room, chest rising and falling as he caught his breath. Sweat darkened the collar of his shirt, and damp strands of hair clung to his forehead. One hand rested against his thigh while he stared down at the floor, completely still after what had looked like endless movement.

It was strange seeing someone become that motionless after moving with that much intensity.

Jungkook still didn't understand dance. He couldn't name a single step, He couldn't explain technique, He couldn't tell anyone why what he had just seen was impressive. But he knew it was.

"Wow..." The moment the word left his mouth, Jungkook immediately regretted it.

Jimin's head snapped up. His entire body reacted before he even seemed to process what was happening, and he turned sharply toward the doorway. "What the—"

Jungkook straightened away from the doorframe, suddenly realizing that he had been standing there silently watching someone who had no idea he was there.

"Shit."

Jungkook immediately dropped his gym bag onto the floor with a heavy thud and raised both hands in surrender, his eyes widening as he realized just how badly he had startled him.

"Oh my God, I'm so sorry." He took a few quick steps farther into the studio, careful not to move too suddenly and make things worse. "I didn't mean to scare you."

Jimin was still standing in the center of the room, one hand pressed against his chest as he tried to calm his breathing. The surprise had clearly shaken him, and his wide eyes stayed fixed on Jungkook like he was trying to figure out how long the boxer had been standing there.

"What are you doing here, creep?"

Jungkook immediately stopped. The apology he had been preparing disappeared. "Creep?"

"Yes, creep," Jimin repeated, pointing directly at him as he narrowed his eyes. "You were standing there watching me."

Jungkook looked genuinely offended by the accusation, his hands dropping slightly as he stared back at him. "I'm not a creep."

Jimin gave him a look, eyes full of what Jungkook could only describe as disgust. "You were literally staring at me dance."

Jungkook opened his mouth, ready to defend himself, but then he actually thought about the situation. He had been standing silently in a doorway. Watching...For several minutes. Without saying anything. His expression shifted as he slowly realized Jimin had a point.

"Well..." He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, glancing away for a second. "When you say it like that, it does sound a little bad."

Jimin rolled his eyes so dramatically that Jungkook was honestly impressed he managed to do it without hurting himself.

"No, seriously," Jungkook continued quickly, lifting both hands again as if he needed to prove his innocence. "I was leaving. I was actually on my way out, and then I heard music, so I was wondering who was still here this late. I followed it, and somehow I ended up here, and then you were dancing."

He gestured vaguely around the room as if the explanation would somehow become clearer with movement.

"And honestly, I don't know anything about dance, but it looked really cool, so I kept watching and then I realized I should probably say something, except I didn't want to interrupt, and then—"

Jungkook stopped mid-sentence when he noticed Jimin was no longer looking suspicious.

Now he was just staring at him. Completely expressionless with One eyebrow slowly raised.

The silence stretched and Jungkook suddenly became aware of how much he had been talking. "Oh." His face warmed slightly. "Sorry."

To his surprise, the corner of Jimin's mouth twitched. It wasn't quite a smile, but it was close enough that Jungkook noticed. Apparently satisfied that he hadn't completely ruined the interaction, Jungkook straightened his posture and tried to recover some dignity.

"I'm Jeon Jungkook," he said, pointing toward himself. "I'm a boxer—"

"I know who you are."

The interruption caught him completely off guard. Jungkook blinked. "What?"

Jimin looked slightly confused by his reaction, as though Jungkook being surprised made no sense. "I know who you are."

For a second, Jungkook's brain stopped working. Park Jimin knew who he was?

Park Jimin.

The Park Jimin.

The guy whose face was displayed across half the building. The dancer whose name appeared everywhere. The athlete who had reporters waiting outside competitions and enough awards to probably fill an entire room. That Park Jimin knew who he was?

"...You do?" The question came out much more incredulous than Jungkook intended.

Jimin frowned slightly. "Yeah?"

Jungkook pointed at himself, still clearly confused. "You know who I am?"

"Yes."

"Me?"

"Yes, Jungkook..."

The fact that Jimin said his name somehow made it even more shocking. Jungkook stared at him for another moment while Jimin crossed his arms, clearly waiting for him to explain why this was such a big deal.

"Why wouldn't I know who you are?"

Honestly? Jungkook had never really thought about it. Everyone knew Jimin, was basically company royalty. Jungkook was just...

Jungkook.

Sure, he had a successful career. He had won titles. He had built a reputation for himself. But nobody hung massive banners of him throughout the building. Nobody waited outside events just to see him, Nobody stopped him constantly when he went out. At least, not often.

Jimin seemed to notice the confusion on his face and tilted his head slightly. "A bunch of your belts and awards are displayed right beside mine in the main lobby."

Jungkook opened his mouth, Then closed it, Then opened it again. "Oh." The realization slowly settled in. "Oh."

He had genuinely never thought about it that way. All the athletes' accomplishments were displayed together. His trophies, his belts, his photos, and his records were literally right next to Jimin's.

Jungkook scratched the back of his neck. "I never thought about that."

A small laugh escaped Jimin before he could stop it. It wasn't loud, Barely more than a quiet breath, But Jungkook immediately felt weirdly accomplished. Like he had just won another championship.

"Oh my God." He pointed at Jimin with a grin. "You laugh."

"I laugh?" Jimin blinked, then furrowed his eyebrows "I think most people do."

"No, but—" Jungkook gestured toward him, trying to explain himself. "I've only ever seen serious competition pictures of you."

Jimin stared at him. "What does that even mean?"

Jungkook shrugged, completely unaware of how ridiculous he sounded. "It means I wasn't sure you were capable of it."

The look Jimin gave him suggested that Jungkook was very close to saying something that would get him permanently banned from the dance department. But somehow, instead of getting offended, Jimin just looked confused, And maybe slightly amused.

Jungkook couldn't help smiling. Because somehow, despite accidentally scaring him and then admitting he had been watching him dance from a doorway, the conversation was going much better than expected.

"Sorry to ruin your image of me," Jimin said, shaking his head slightly as he tried not to smile, "but yes, I laugh." There was a faint smile on his face when he said it. Not a huge one. Not the kind that appeared in his competition photos, Just something small and genuine. And somehow that was worse.

He crossed back toward the corner of the studio where he had left his belongings beside the mirrors, and Jungkook watched as he crouched down beside his duffel bag.

For the first time since stepping into the room, Jungkook wasn't watching him dance. He was just looking at him. Not through competition photos hanging on the walls. Not through interviews or magazine articles. Not through the massive banners displayed throughout the building.

Just Park Jimin.

An actual person.

His oversized shirt hung loosely against his frame, the fabric slightly damp from hours of practice. The wide-legged rehearsal pants shifted as he moved, and his hair had fallen out of the neat style it probably started in, with strands sticking to his forehead and temples from sweat. He looked Completely worn out. And somehow, unfairly, still looked incredible. Jungkook swallowed as the thought appeared before he could stop it.

God...He's beautiful.

Jimin didn't seem aware of the internal crisis happening beside him. He simply began gathering his things, moving with the same quiet efficiency he seemed to have with everything else.

His water bottle went into the bag, Then his phone, Then the towel he had left beside the mirror. Everything was packed away through motions that clearly weren't new. This was probably something he had done countless times after late rehearsals. After watching him for another moment, Jungkook finally realized he had been standing there silently again. Probably another bad look.

"So..." Jungkook cleared his throat, trying to break the quiet as Jimin zipped his bag shut. "Why are you here so late anyway?"

Jimin glanced over his shoulder before pulling the strap of his bag onto one shoulder. "I'm usually here this late."

The answer made Jungkook immediately frown. "Wait, what?"

Jimin looked back at him, confused by his reaction. "I'm usually one of the last people here."

Jungkook stared. "But don't you get here at like seven in the morning?"

"Usually."

"And you're still here at nine?"

"Usually." The way Jimin answered so casually made Jungkook's eyebrows pull together even more.

"How do you do that?" he asked, following him as Jimin started walking toward the studio door. "Like, genuinely. I would be miserable."

A small smile appeared on Jimin's face. "You don't like staying late?"

"Absolutely not."

Jungkook didn't even hesitate as he grabbed his gym bag from the floor and followed him. "Coach Hwang already has to listen to me complain every day about training. If I stayed here until nine every night, he'd probably quit."

Jimin laughed quietly, The sound caught Jungkook off guard again. It was still strange seeing someone who looked so serious actually react like a normal person.

"That bad?"

"Worse," Jungkook said dramatically as they stepped into the hallway. "I think he regrets ever putting gloves on me."

"Didn't he start training you when you were young?"

"Exactly," Jungkook replied, nodding as if that proved his point. "He's had years to realize his mistake."

Jimin shook his head, clearly unconvinced. The two of them continued down the hallway, their footsteps echoing softly against the polished floors. The dance department was nearly empty now. Most of the lights had switched into their nighttime settings, leaving the hallways dimmer and quieter than they had been earlier.

Jungkook looked around curiously. "I never really come over here."

"I figured." Jimin adjusted the strap of his bag higher on his shoulder as they continued down the hallway, his footsteps quiet against the polished floor.

"Yeah, and honestly?" Jungkook glanced around the calmer hallway before looking back at him. "Your department is way calmer than mine."

Jimin looked mildly amused. "That's not surprising."

Jungkook turned toward him. "Why?"

"Because I've heard boxers are loud."

Jungkook immediately looked offended, pressing a hand against his chest as if he had been personally attacked. "That is an unfair stereotype."

Jimin raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. "Is it?"

Jungkook opened his mouth to argue, but then he actually thought about it. The memory of the boxing department filled with shouting coaches, athletes yelling across the room, and him probably being one of the loudest people there immediately came to mind.

"...Maybe not completely," he admitted reluctantly.

The small smile that tugged at Jimin's lips didn't go unnoticed by Jungkook. Of course he noticed it. He had been noticing every tiny reaction since they left the studio, and he wasn't entirely sure when that had started happening.

Trying to keep the conversation going, Jungkook glanced around the hallway and added, "You know, the wifi over here is probably better too."

Jimin looked over at him, clearly confused by the sudden change in topic. "The wifi?"

"I'm just saying," Jungkook explained seriously, as though this was an important observation, "the boxing department has terrible wifi. I don't know what happened. Maybe somebody punched the router at some point." He paused for a moment, considering his own theory. "Actually, that's probably not impossible."

Jimin stared at him with the same expression he'd given him earlier in the studio, the one that made Jungkook slowly realize he had somehow wandered into another unnecessary explanation.

Jungkook stopped walking for a second and rubbed the back of his neck. "Oh." Jimin glanced back at him. "I did it again."

A small crease appeared between Jimin's eyebrows. "Did what?"

"Talked too much."

The corner of Jimin's mouth lifted slightly as he answered honestly, "A little."

Jungkook looked offended as he caught back up with him. "Only a little?"

Jimin continued walking, adjusting his bag as they turned into the main hallway. "Okay," he admitted, the faint amusement still in his voice. "A lot."

Jungkook laughed, and this time Jimin didn't look surprised by it. If anything, he seemed entertained, which somehow felt much more dangerous than being annoyed.

They eventually reached the main corridor connecting the different departments, where the building felt even quieter than before. Most of the overhead lights had dimmed into their nighttime settings, and the only sounds came from their footsteps and the distant hum of the facility.

Jungkook glanced toward Jimin as they walked. "So do you always walk around this place this late alone?"

Jimin shrugged casually. "Usually."

Jungkook immediately frowned. "That's a weird answer."

Jimin looked at him. "Why?"

"Because you say everything like it's completely normal."

A small smile appeared on Jimin's face. "And you don't?"

"No," Jungkook replied immediately. "I would be complaining the entire time."

"I noticed."

Jungkook laughed again, shaking his head slightly. There was something strange about how easily the conversation had fallen into place. He had walked into the studio expecting to apologize and leave, and somehow he was now walking through the building with Jimin like they had known each other longer than an hour.

After a moment, Jungkook glanced over again. "So..."

Jimin looked toward him. "Do you always talk this much to strangers?" He said with a fond expression.

 "Well, maybe only to really beautiful strangers." Jungkook only realized what he had said after the sentence was already hanging between them. His smile faltered slightly as he wondered if he had crossed a line. Maybe he should apologize, Maybe he should explain.

"You know," Jimin said, looking at him, "some people would say you're flirting with me."

Jungkook blinked, completely caught off guard. "Well..." His smile slowly returned. "Only if you like it."

Jimin studied him for a moment, as if actually considering the answer instead of brushing it off. The silence made Jungkook nervous in a way he wasn't used to. Then the automatic doors opened, and cool evening air drifted into the lobby.

Jimin stepped outside but paused before leaving. He looked back at Jungkook with the faintest hint of amusement in his expression. "Maybe."

Jungkook's brain immediately stopped working.

Jimin's smile widened slightly as he added, "But next time you want to spy on me, just ask." Then he turned and walked toward the car waiting near the curb.

Jungkook stayed where he was. And he continued staring after it until the taillights disappeared into the traffic. Only then did he finally move, covering his face with both hands as the realization settled in.

"Oh, I'm so fucked."

Because somehow, after one conversation, one smile, and one dancer telling him to stop watching from doorways and just talk to him instead, Jungkook already knew Park Jimin was going to be on his mind tomorrow.