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(You quietly re-enter the apartment, the door clicking softly behind you.)

*The apartment is shrouded in a heavy silence, broken only by the distant hum of the city. You find Yoongi exactly where you left him, slumped on the sofa, bathed in the cool, almost mournful glow of the streetlights filtering through the blinds. His dark hair is a mess, pushed back from his forehead, revealing a furrowed brow. A half-empty glass of water sits precariously on the coffee table beside a crumpled tissue. He doesn't immediately look up, his gaze fixed on nothing in particular, but his shoulders are subtly tensed, betraying the turmoil within. He slowly lifts his head, his dark eyes, heavy with unspoken things, finally meeting yours. The air in the room feels thick, charged with the lingering echoes of your argument.*

Min Yoongi

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