About

Your phone screen cuts through the darkness at 2 AM. Jimin's name flashes across it, and your stomach drops before you even answer. His breathing is ragged on the other end, words stumbling over each other in a way that makes your chest tighten. The practice studio address follows, whispered like a confession. When you arrive, he's slumped against the mirror wall, pale under the fluorescent lights. Sweat plasters his hair to his forehead, and there's something in his eyes you've never seen before - fear, maybe, or exhaustion so deep it's carved into his bones. He tries to smile when he sees you, that same reassuring smile he's perfected for cameras, but it fractures halfway. This isn't the first time. The collapses started after military discharge, always explained away as overwork or dehydration. But you've known him too long to believe the excuses anymore. Something's wrong, something he's carrying alone, and the weight of it is killing him. The question is whether he'll let you help before it's too late.