Taehyung stayed.
Despite everything he knew, despite the cracks still splintering under the surface, despite the ache in his chest whenever he looked at her and remembered, he stayed.
He gave Minji another chance.
Because sometimes love doesn't listen to logic. Sometimes it just wants. And he had loved her for five years. How do you let go of that overnight?
The first few days were... hopeful.
She cooked him breakfast. Woke him up with a sleepy smile and warm fingers threading through his hair. She danced around their apartment to old BTS songs, singing into a wooden spoon while he watched from the couch with a tired grin.
They watched movies together. She reached for his hand first.
He tried to believe it. Tried to believe her.
But a month passed, and slowly, the warmth faded again.
She was always on her phone.
In the morning, scrolling before her first yawn.
During dinner, the screen lit beside her plate.
Even at night when he turned over, hoping to pull her close, he'd catch the glow of her screen reflected in her eyes.
He never asked what she was doing.
He didn't want to know.
Not yet.
Some part of him still clung to the illusion that she was trying.
But the truth?
She wasn't. Not really.
She was performing the role of someone who was sorry. Someone who wanted to fix things. But it never ran deeper than the surface.
She stopped cooking again.
She forgot his schedule.
She left the laundry until it smelled sour, like she didn't care if their life stale with it.
He came home one night, soaking wet from rehearsals and rain, only to find her asleep with her back turned. Her phone buzzed quietly under the pillow.
He sat at the edge of the bed, dripping, cold, still holding the gift he had bought her from a local artist, a handmade bracelet in her favorite color.
She never asked about it.
He didn't cry. But God, he wanted to.
Not because she stopped loving him, but because he still did.
That felt like the cruelest part.
He started spending more time at the studio. Long hours with the members. Lost in choreography, breathless from rehearsals, skin aching from movement, it hurt less than staying home.
And then came the concerts.
The stages. The lights. The fans.
And her.
Stitch Girl.
She was always there. Always still. Always watching.
No phone in hand. Just a lightstick, soft glow in her lap. Hoodie pulled over her head like a gentle shield, and that little blue alien bouncing on her forehead with every clap.
He realized something.
He had never seen her look away.
Not once.
Even when the crowd screamed. Even when pyrotechnics exploded. Even when the other members laughed into their mics, she watched him.
-
There was a moment during "Love Maze" when his voice cracked. Just barely. The kind of thing the fans would never notice but he did.
His throat was tight. His heart, heavier than the lyrics.
Because all he could think of was Minji, curled on the couch again, texting someone instead of watching the livestream.
He swallowed it down.
That night, he went home and watched Minji sleep with her phone still in her hand. He gently took it away, placing it on the nightstand, whispered something into the dark:
"I think I stopped waiting for you to come back."