The dim glow of the monitors was the only light in the room. Yoongi sat in his chair, one knee pulled up, fingers tapping against the desk in rhythm with the unfinished beat looping through the speakers. It was late, too late, but the silence of the dorm had always been when his mind worked best.
He reached for his notepad, scribbling a few words, crossing them out, then scribbling again. It wasn't lyrics yet—more like fragments, pieces of thoughts he couldn't shake. Words about weight, about silence, about eyes that said too much when lips said nothing at all.
He leaned back, rubbing his face with both hands. His body was tired, but his mind refused to stop spinning.
The rehearsal earlier still lingered. The way the manager's words had cut deeper than intended. The way Namjoon had carried it like a leader should. The way Taehyung and Jungkook had looked at each other when they thought no one noticed.
Yoongi noticed. Yoongi always noticed.
It wasn't his place to comment, not yet. He knew when to stay quiet. But inside, he was piecing together things the others pretended not to see. The faint tension, the almost-hidden smiles, the stolen glances. He wasn't blind, and he wasn't naïve.
He clicked the mouse, shifted the beat, added a heavier bassline. Something darker, something closer to what his chest felt like. He listened to it loop, over and over, until the sound filled the small space like a confession he couldn't speak aloud.
A soft knock interrupted him. Three short taps. He knew it wasn't the manager—too late for that. He didn't even turn when the door creaked open.
"Hyung," Jimin's voice came, quiet but clear. "You're still here?"
Yoongi glanced over his shoulder. Jimin leaned against the doorframe, hair messy from sleep, oversized T-shirt hanging loose on his frame. He looked half-awake, but his eyes were sharp in a way Yoongi recognized.
"Can't sleep," Yoongi replied simply, turning back to the screen.
Jimin walked in, sitting on the couch in the corner. He didn't speak for a while, just listened to the beat. Then, softly, he said, "You noticed too, right?"
Yoongi froze for a moment before spinning his chair slightly. "What do you mean?"
Jimin gave a small smile, not playful, but knowing. "You don't miss things, hyung. You saw them."
The beat kept looping, filling the silence between them. Yoongi studied Jimin's face, searching for judgment, for concern, for anything. But Jimin's expression was calm, even a little sad.
"They're… careful," Jimin continued, pulling his knees up to his chest. "But not careful enough."
Yoongi exhaled through his nose, turning back to his screen. "And what do you think about it?"
Jimin shrugged. "It's not my place to think. But I don't hate it. Do you?"
The question hung in the air. Yoongi didn't answer right away. His fingers tapped on the desk again, restless, betraying his thoughts.
"I don't hate it," he finally said. His voice was low, almost drowned by the music. "I just… don't know how it'll end."
Jimin nodded, as if he understood more than he let on. He didn't push further. Instead, he let the silence stretch, both of them listening to the beat cycle again and again.
After a while, Jimin stood, stretching his arms. "Don't stay up all night, hyung. You'll regret it tomorrow."
Yoongi gave a small hum of acknowledgment, but his eyes stayed on the screen. The door clicked shut softly as Jimin left.
Alone again, Yoongi leaned back in his chair, staring at the ceiling. His thoughts circled like the beat he had made.
They were standing on something fragile, something unspoken. He knew it. Jimin knew it. Maybe the others did too.
And he wondered, not for the first time, if silence would be enough to keep it from breaking.