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POV – Y/N

There weren't many things I disliked about Donghwan, but his smoking habit? That one made the list. The night had worn on, the laughter quieted, and Donghwan had grown increasingly silent, lost in his thoughts. I knew why—his world was about to change. But I couldn't tell him just yet. If I hinted even slightly, he'd know I was involved.

When he stepped out to the balcony for his third cigarette of the evening, I excused myself and followed. The city lights reflected on the glass doors as I slid them open and stepped into the cool night air.

"You'll be a dad in nine months," I said, leaning against the railing beside him. "Maybe it's time you stopped ruining your future. Don't you think?"

He didn't answer right away, just took a slow drag, exhaled toward the sky, and turned to look at me with a crooked smile.

"He likes you," he said.

I blinked. "What?"

"Namjoon," he clarified. "He likes you."

"Don't be ridiculous." I laughed, too quickly, too forced. Even I didn't sound convinced.

Donghwan turned his body toward me, propping one elbow on the railing, the cigarette now forgotten between his fingers.

"And you like him too."

I looked away, pretending to focus on the view, but his words lingered in the air between us, thick and impossible to ignore.

"Three-year contract, right?" he added. "That's a long time. Any 'no dating' clause in there?"

There was no use lying to him. I had barely managed to lie to myself until now, and as his eyes searched my face, I knew he saw straight through me. I shifted my weight and leaned forward, elbows on the railing.

"No. No dating clause," I admitted quietly.

He hummed. "Figures. Bang PD-nim's not blind."

I shot him a side glance, unimpressed. "I'm serious. You really should quit."

Donghwan held up the pack of cigarettes and shook it—it was empty.

"This was my last pack," he said, flicking the final cigarette over the edge. "And that was my last one. I want to be there at my kid's wedding, not in a grave from lung cancer."

I smiled, genuinely relieved. "Finally. I knew my nagging would pay off one day."

He looked at me then, his expression softening. "And I want you to be there at mine, too."

I turned my head slowly. "What?"

"I'm going to propose, Y/N. I love Sunghee. She's it for me. I always wanted to marry her, and well... her being pregnant just moved the timeline up."

"That's wonderful news," I said, my eyes stinging with tears I hadn't expected. "I'm so happy for you. And proud."

"Thanks," he grinned. "But I'll need your help. I want you to help me pick out the ring."

I nodded, heart full. "I'd be honored."

With that, he stubbed out the last cigarette of his life, and we stepped back inside, where the air was warm and laughter echoed softly from the living room.

---

Namjoon stood, brushing invisible lint from his shirt, that charming, polite smile on his lips.

"It was really nice meeting you all. Thank you for having me," he said, glancing at me. "It's getting late, and I have an important meeting tomorrow at ten. Actually—don't we both have that meeting, Y/N?"

I stood as well, brushing my skirt down unnecessarily. "We do. I'll walk you out."

Sunghee and Donghwan exchanged knowing smiles, the kind that made my cheeks burn with suspicion. I ignored them, praying Namjoon hadn't noticed.

At the door, he turned to me, standing a little closer than he needed to. The air between us shifted.

"Tonight was great," he said softly. "I really enjoyed meeting your friends."

"Thanks for coming. It was fun. Time flew by."

"It always does... when you're around."

I looked up at him, and there it was—that grin. That warm, heart-melting grin. I looked down again quickly, feeling the flush creep into my face.

"I'll see you tomorrow, then? At the meeting?"

"Yeah," he said. "I'll send a car for you. 9:30 sound good?"

"You don't have to do that—"

"It's one of the perks of working at BigHit," he interrupted, gently teasing. "Just say yes."

I laughed. "Alright, then."

"You're moving into your new place tomorrow, right?"

"Yep. It's just me and my suitcase, so it's not exactly a complicated move."

"You still need furniture," he said, eyes lighting up. "We could go shopping after the meeting. I have the company card..."

I raised a brow, amused. "Sounds dangerously fun."

He grinned again. "Perfect. I'll arrange it."

He reached for the door, about to leave, then paused. Turned back. In one smooth motion, he leaned in and kissed my cheek. A second later, he was gone—down the steps, disappearing into the night.

I stood there, heart thudding, cheek burning, and only one thought in my head:

Donghwan was right. Three years is a hell of a long time.

POV – Namjoon

"You know," Yoongi muttered from the bed, arms crossed, watching me with that judgmental older-brother look, "the last time you took this long with your hair was when we were in Bern. You were freaking out that you weren't handsome enough."

I scowled at the mirror, fighting with a rebellious tuft of hair.

"My hair's fried," I grumbled. "I have to dye it again soon for the tour, so the stylists told me to let it breathe until then. Not much I can do with it."

"You never cared this much about your hair. What's going on?"

"Last night was good," I said, ignoring his tone. "I had fun."

"Jin's worried about you," Yoongi said, more gently now. "So am I."

"Because of the same nonsense again?" I asked without turning.

"It's not nonsense," he said, voice lower. "We just don't want you to get hurt."

Silence stretched. I didn't argue, because... well, he wasn't wrong.

Yoongi exhaled quietly. "You know, I still check in on her sometimes."

My hand froze mid-adjustment. I turned to look at him.

"Last time I did, I saw her wedding pictures. She looked happy."

Jiah.

Her name didn't need to be said. I knew who he meant. We all did.

She was our makeup artist, back before the debut days. She saw Yoongi—the real him—when he was still just a kid under pressure, scared to fail. She gave him peace, and he gave her love. Quiet, private, beautiful love.

Until the fans found out. Until the threats started. Until the day she didn't show up for Music Bank, and Yoongi's gut told him something was wrong. She was unconscious at her doorstep, beaten so badly it nearly killed her.

Three broken ribs. A punctured lung. Two weeks in ICU.

They never found out who did it. The footage showed three girls in masks. Just... gone.

And so was Jiah—from our lives, and especially from his.

He had to let her go. Not because he stopped loving her, but because loving her had nearly cost her life.

He never recovered from it.

Yoongi sat there now, hands resting on his lap, the corners of his mouth lifting in that sad smile we all hated. The one he wore when memories became too loud to silence.

I walked over and sat beside him, resting a hand on his shoulder.

There was nothing to say. So I said nothing. Just stayed there with him.

A few minutes later, Jimin peeked in. "The car's here."

He saw Yoongi's face, the silence between us, and didn't ask. He just stepped forward and placed a quiet hand on Yoongi's other shoulder.

We walked to the car like that—shoulders touching, past and present heavy in the air—but moving forward anyway.