Being leader isn't about giving orders. It's about seeing what others don't. Carrying what others can't. Sometimes it feels like I'm the quiet wall holding everything in place while everyone else gets to lean, laugh, stumble, and fall.
Lately, what I've been noticing is how Jungkook and Taehyung have changed. It's not a dramatic change, not something loud. It's the kind of shift you feel more than see. The way they sit together, not with the usual playful distance, but with a closeness that lingers. The way they look at each other, softer now, less like friends joking and more like people who share a secret.
During rehearsals, I watch without watching. My eyes stay on the mirror, on the movements, on the staff giving directions, but inside, I see everything else. Jungkook pulling Taehyung into his space to show him a move, Taehyung resting his hand a little longer than necessary on Jungkook's shoulder. Small things. Subtle. But to me, not invisible.
The staff sees it too. They won't say anything out loud, but I catch their eyes shifting, their brows lifting in silent questions. The air changes when something new is happening, and part of my job is to feel it first. To decide how much of it needs to be hidden, and how much can be let free.
After one long rehearsal, I stayed back with the managers to talk about setlists and stage cues. Numbers, logistics, everything that keeps us running. While I nodded along, I heard laughter behind me. It was too genuine, too warm. I turned slightly and saw Jungkook holding his phone out, Taehyung leaning in close, their shoulders pressed together. They weren't even aware of the room around them.
That's when I felt it—both happiness and a little bit of fear. Happiness, because I know how rare it is to find comfort in someone in this industry. Fear, because I know how quickly comfort can be broken once the world starts asking questions.
Back in my room later, I opened my notebook. Not lyrics this time, not poetry. Just thoughts.
"They're happy," I wrote. "And happiness is fragile. The more people notice it, the easier it is to break. But maybe what makes it real is that they don't care who's watching. Maybe strength is not hiding."
I thought about the fans. About how much they already read between the lines. The lives, the glances, the inside jokes. Fans know more than we think, but they also protect more than we realize. Maybe they'll protect this too.
The next morning, I decided to go live. It wasn't scheduled. I opened Weverse and just started talking. About the books stacked by my bed, about the half-finished demos on my laptop, about the rain that wouldn't stop falling in Seoul. The comments came fast, scrolling faster than I could read. Some were soft questions. Others were sharp, asking directly about Jungkook and Taehyung. I smiled but didn't answer.
"Everyone's working hard," I said instead. "Everyone's growing. That's all you need to know."
It was vague, but I meant it. Growth is personal. Some growth you show, some you keep close until it's ready.
When I ended the live, I leaned back in my chair and closed my eyes. My chest felt heavier than when I started. This is the part no one sees—the silent calculations, the quiet decisions to protect, to deflect, to shield.
Being leader isn't about having power. It's about carrying weight. And right now, part of that weight is making sure Jungkook and Taehyung get to hold onto their happiness, even if the world is already starting to notice.
So I'll keep watching. I'll keep listening. I'll keep writing in my notebook. And I'll keep making sure their light doesn't burn out, even if it means letting my own stay in the shadows for a while.