XVII

POV: YN

7:03 AM.

I ran my finger down the list again, mouthing the words like a prayer. Passport. Charger. Stage shoes. Vitamins. Backup vitamins. Notebook. The  camera Namjoon gave me. Again. Passport. I opened the pouch for the fifth time. It was there. Still there. God.

I closed my eyes for a second, breathing into the quiet. The kind of quiet that feels like it's listening.

This was it.

Three months of filming. Three months of laughter, early call times, sleepless nights, inside jokes, too many meals shared in vans, on hotel beds, backstage. Three months of the seven of them letting me into their space, their rhythm, their real.

But that was behind closed doors. Today, Episode One would air. Today, the world would see.

And I was terrified.

Not because I wasn't ready—no, I'd made peace with it. At least I thought I had. But the moment the reality met the morning air, everything in me tightened.

I'd seen what fans could do. How much they loved. How much they could protect. But also... how much they could destroy.

What if I hurt them? Not just one of them. All of them. They'd worked so hard. Every ounce of blood and bone they gave to music, to performance, to meaning. What if my presence—my voice, my face, my stupid nervous laugh—somehow tainted it?

I didn't care about being hated. I really didn't. But if my being in this meant they got even an inch of undeserved backlash...

I wouldn't survive it.

They always told me not to worry. That they'd stand by me. That real ARMY would see me for who I was. That they'd protect me. But I didn't want protection. I wanted to protect them. I wanted to be worth the trust they put in me. I wanted to be small and invisible and bulletproof all at once.

But I wasn't.

I was shaking and soft and too visible now.

"Maru-ya," I called, grabbing the Camera off the entry table, my voice shaking in a way I hoped sounded like excitement.

He looked up from his phone. "Yeah?"

"Can you take a photo of us? The eight of us? Before we head to the airport?"

He blinked. "Now?"

"Yeah. Please."

He nodded, already standing. "Of course."

I stepped outside with him where the boys were waiting on the sidewalk, half-dressed, coffee in hand, half awake, laughing about something Taehyung said.

I lifted the camera. "One shot," I said, smiling too wide. "Before the madness starts."

They grumbled but stood close, shoulder to shoulder, arms thrown lazily around each other.

Maru raised the camera. I didn't miss the flicker in Jungkook's eyes. Nor the way Namjoon glanced, just for a second, jaw tight. Why?

I ignored it.

The shutter clicked.

A moment frozen.

I tried to lock the quiet happiness into my bones before everything changed.

POV: Jungkook

Maru-ya?

YN-ya?

What the hell?

Since when were they so close they talked like that?

It wasn't even that I cared. It's not like I— It's not—

It was just weird, that's all.

I didn't like it.

And judging by the way Namjoon-hyung's entire posture shifted, neither did he.

He was quiet after that. Too quiet. His usual leadership calm replaced by something clipped and distant. The others noticed too. Jimin gave me a look across the van. Taehyung smirked like he was ready to tease him about it. But they didn't say anything. Not yet.

We rode in silence.

POV: Namjoon

It was stupid. I knew it was stupid.

She could be close to whoever she wanted. I never once flinched seeing her curled up on the couch with Jin, or giggling over something on Jimin's phone, or giving Yoongi a shoulder massage while he pretended not to like it.

But Maru?

A staff member?

A guy?

And that casual tone—"Maru-ya"—like they'd known each other for years, like they shared something.

It hit me wrong.

I clenched my jaw so tight my temples throbbed. I kept my eyes forward during the whole ride to the airport, ignoring the boys' side glances and their whispered jokes.

"I'm just saying," Taehyung said at one point, barely hiding his grin, "our leader-nim looks like he bit into a lemon."

Jimin chuckled. "A very bitter one."

"Knock it off," I snapped.

And they did. They did, but I hated the way I reacted. Because they were right.

We arrived before YN. The fans were already there. Our managers had it planned perfectly—separate vans, separate entrances, tight security. She wasn't supposed to be seen yet.

We shuffled through, heads down, hands raised, hearts braced.

When I finally saw her again, it was on the plane. She walked in quietly, hoodie up, eyes a little wide. And next to her... Maru.

My head tilted. Why the hell was he in first class?

"Company mistake?" Yoongi muttered.

"Actually," YN said, sliding into the seat across from me, "I upgraded his ticket. It's a thank-you gift. For... y'know. Putting up with me."

I didn't answer.

Didn't look at her either.

But I knew she saw it—the tension. The way my jaw clenched. The way my hands curled into fists on my thighs. The way I didn't smile, didn't joke, didn't even pretend.

Because I couldn't.

POV: YN

Everyone was sleeping.

Or pretending to.

I needed air. Or something like it.

I slipped down the aisle and found Hoseok near the back of the plane, stretching his legs, earphones out, eyes kind.

"Hey," I said softly.

"Can't sleep?"

I shook my head.

He smiled. "Same."

I hesitated before blurting, "Is Namjoon okay?"

His smile faded just a little.

"What happened in the van?" I asked.

"Why?"

"He's been weird. Cold."

Hoseok studied me. "You didn't do anything wrong."

But he didn't say someone else had. He didn't tell me not to worry.

Which meant... maybe I had.

My heart thudded.

Did he notice something? Did he feel something shift between us? Did I cross a line without realizing it?

Was he pulling away?

Had I made myself too obvious?

Did he finally see that I was nothing special? That I didn't belong in their world, that I was just one more risk to manage?

My throat burned.

Was I losing him?

And worse—had I ever really had him to begin with?