XIX

POV: NAMJOON

The room was quiet. Too quiet. 

Just the soft scratching of my pen against paper, the hum of the air conditioner, and the occasional scream of a car speeding down the Las Vegas strip far below. My notebook lay open in my lap, lyrics half-formed—thoughts bleeding into verses that made no sense until they all came back to her.

Her voice.Her laughter.Her quiet ache.

We had all regained our Rooms after the episode. We all needed rest.

And yet.

I was scribbling a line , inspired by her, when the knock came. Soft. Hesitant. Two short taps, like a question already unsure of the answer.

I figured it was one of the guys. Maybe Jungkook needing toothpaste. Maybe Yoongi with a snack raid plan.

But when I opened the door, it was her.

YN.

Hair slightly messy. Shoulders small in her oversized hoodie. Two bottles of beer held up like peace offerings. And eyes... God, those eyes.

Soft. Sad. Uncertain.

"Can we talk?" she asked, voice low.

And just like that, everything in me tilted.

A storm broke loose in my chest, quiet and invisible but devastating all the same. I wanted to say no. Not because I didn't want her here—but because I did. Too much. I wasn't ready. I wasn't strong.

But I stepped aside anyway.

She walked in like she belonged. Like she'd always belonged. And instead of the couch or the chair, she plopped herself down cross-legged on the carpet, right up against the side of the bed, as if it were the most natural place in the world.

"Come on," she said, patting the spot next to her. "Be floor people with me."

I sat.

Of course I did.

She handed me a bottle. Our fingers brushed. Just that brief contact shot through me like lightning, like punishment. I hadn't touched her in while. Not really. Not like before.

"So," she said, twisting her cap off. "What's wrong?"

I blinked. "What?"

She looked at me then. Really looked. And I couldn't hide. Not from that face. Not from those eyes.

"You've been cold with me," she said gently. "Distant. Different. And it's okay if something changed—I just... I need to know. Did I do something wrong?"

"No."

She nodded, but didn't stop.

"Is it me? Is it who I've become now that we're working together more? Did I annoy you somehow? Cross a line? I just miss the way we used to talk. Before all the... madness."

I swallowed. Hard.

"I miss it too," I said.

"Then why?" she asked, so softly I almost didn't hear it. "What happened? What did I do?"

"You didn't do anything, YN."

"Then what is it?" she whispered. "Is there something I can fix? Or change?"

And that—that—was when the bottom fell out of me.

Because she really thought it was her.

She really thought that she was the problem.

And it broke something inside me.

I turned to her, trying to find the words. The right ones. The safe ones. But how do you explain to someone that the reason you've been pushing them away is because you've never wanted anything more in your life?

That every moment with them sets your skin on fire?

That you spend entire flights gripping the armrest just to stop yourself from reaching out?

I wanted to tell her the truth.

That I was jealous.Of the way the others could hold her hand without it meaning everything. Of Maru being so close to her, without having to fear any consequences. The freedom that man would have to confess his feelings if he wanted to.Jealous of how easily they made her laugh.Of how she looked at them without all the carefulness she used with me.

That I hated this feeling. This constant ache. This madness of having to pretend I didn't want her more than I've ever wanted anything.

I wanted to tell her all of it.

But I didn't.

Because the truth would change everything.

And maybe she didn't feel the same.

Maybe she couldn't.

So I just sat there, fists clenched, stomach twisting.

But then she broke.

Tears welled in her eyes—real ones. The kind you can't fake. She didn't sob. Didn't even sniffle. They just fell, silently, traitorously, down her cheeks.

And I—

I lost it.

My body moved before I could think.

I cupped her face in both hands—gently, fully, like she was something sacred and breakable. My thumbs moved instinctively, brushing away the tears, tracing the shape of her sadness.

Her skin was warm. Damp. Soft.

And when her eyes met mine—

Time stopped.

It was like the whole room inhaled and held its breath with us.

She looked at me like she could see everything. Every wall I'd built. Every battle I was fighting. Every line I was trying not to cross.

I should have let go. Should have looked away.

But I couldn't.

My forehead leaned a fraction closer to hers. My breath hitched.

I could feel her. Every inch. Every heartbeat.

She didn't pull back.

Neither did I.

My heart slammed against my ribs like it was trying to break free, to jump into her hands, to give up.

And still—somehow—I held back.

Barely.

Because if I kissed her now, there would be no going back.

No more pretending.

No more coldness.

Just the fire. All of it.

So I stayed there—my hands on her face, her breath on my lips, my entire body screaming to close the distance.

But I didn't.

I stayed.

Because even if I couldn't kiss her, I could hold her.And maybe that was enough.

For now.

POV: YN

I didn't mean to cry.

I'd told myself I wouldn't. That I'd come in here with composure and honesty and no expectations. That I'd be mature.

But there I was, sitting cross-legged on the hotel carpet like a child, voice breaking over words I hadn't planned to say, and tears spilling like they'd been waiting all week.

I hated this. Hated not understanding where we stood. Hated that he'd gone so quiet. That he laughed with everyone else, but hardly looked at me anymore.

I thought maybe I was too much. Or too different. Or just... not who he thought I'd be.

And just when I tried to blink the tears away before they got worse—

He touched me.

His hands were suddenly on my face. Warm. Big. Gentle. So gentle it nearly undid me.

I froze.

Not from fear.Not from awkwardness.But from the weight of the moment. The electricity in it.

Because I'd dreamed of this.

Of what it might feel like to have his hands on me like this—not rehearsed, not playful, not public. Just raw and real. Like he couldn't help it.

His thumbs wiped at my cheeks so tenderly, I almost forgot to breathe.

And when I finally looked up at him—

Everything changed.

His eyes...God, his eyes.

I'd never seen them like that. Not this close. Not this bare.

It wasn't just sadness. Or care. It was something deeper. Something burning behind restraint. A storm he was holding back with everything he had.

I could feel the war inside him.

Every part of him was still. But his chest was rising fast. His breath shallow. His lips parted just slightly like he wanted to speak—or maybe just taste the space between us.

And yet... he didn't move.

Neither did I.

Because some invisible thread was holding us right here, in this moment. In this almost.

And I wanted him to kiss me.

God, I wanted it so badly I felt it in my bones.

But more than that—I wanted to understand.

Why he was pushing me away.Why he looked at me like this, then turned cold the next day.Why he was trembling ever so slightly, just holding my face.

I lifted one of my hands and rested it lightly on his wrist. His skin was warm. His pulse was racing.

"Joon," I whispered.

His jaw tensed.

But he didn't let go.

I think, in that moment, we were both caught.In everything we couldn't say.Everything we wouldn't admit.

And still—he stayed.

So I did too.

And maybe it wasn't a kiss.Maybe it wasn't a confession.

But it was a truth.

Unspoken.Unmovable.Unforgettable.