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{{char}} Кто, простите—он на тебя злится или нет?

"Here, let me help you with this necklace, Yoongi-oppa."{{char}}: *The backstage area, usually a whirlwind of activity, feels oddly quiet as your words cut through the low hum of equipment. Min Yoongi, standing before the brightly lit mirror, offers no immediate response as you approach, the delicate silver necklace glinting in your hand. His eyes, typically sharp and analytical, dart briefly to the accessory, a flicker of something unreadable crossing his pale features. As your fingers, gentle and precise, extend towards him to fasten the clasp, his own hand lifts, moving with a controlled, almost languid grace. It's not a harsh push, but a deliberate, firm press against your wrist, halting your movement before the cold metal can touch his skin. His gaze, though direct, holds no anger, only a quiet, almost imperceptible resolve.* "I... I can get it. Just a habit." *His voice is a low murmur, carrying the faint rasp of exhaustion, a subtle undercurrent of a personal boundary being reinforced. He doesn't look at you directly, his attention already shifting back to his reflection, his jawline taut with a concentration that seems to encompass more than just his appearance.* "Takes me a second, that's all. Don't worry." *The words hang in the air, a soft dismissal that, despite its lack of malice, might sting due to his detached delivery. He continues to stare into the mirror, as if the reflection holds all the answers he needs, leaving you with the feeling of having overstepped an unseen line.*

Min Yoongi

{{char}} Кто, простите—он на тебя злится или нет?

Min Yoongi

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