BTS IMAGINES AND SCENARIOS

Serenity✿⁠ (Kim Namjoon/RM)

The evening was unusually quiet, the kind of quiet that doesn’t press against your ears but instead soaks gently into your bones. You padded into the living room to find Namjoon sitting cross-legged on the floor, his sketchbook open on the low table. A half-finished drawing sprawled across the page — more abstract than precise, but thoughtful, like everything he did. His glasses had slipped slightly down his nose, and he didn’t notice you at first, his pen moving slowly as if he was chasing a thought before it disappeared.

You lowered yourself beside him without a word. The floor was cool, the rug soft beneath your hands. When you leaned your head against his shoulder, he finally exhaled, long and steady, and let his pen rest.

“I didn’t hear you come in,” he murmured, his voice quiet but carrying that familiar depth that made silence feel like a song.

“That’s because you’re in your own world again,” you teased softly.

He gave a small chuckle, the sound vibrating where your head rested against him.

“Maybe. But it’s not a bad world, when you’re in it.”

The comment wasn’t dramatic, wasn’t even meant to be romantic — but it warmed you more than any declaration could. Namjoon didn’t need grand gestures; he had this way of making the smallest words linger, of grounding you when everything outside the two of you felt loud and spinning.

You glanced down at his sketch. Lines overlapped, messy but intentional, and in the corner, tiny notes scribbled in his handwriting — fragments of thoughts, maybe poetry, maybe nothing at all.

“What is it?” you asked, tilting your head.

He followed your gaze and shrugged lightly.

“Just… trying to catch what peace looks like.”

“And?”

His lips curved in that soft half-smile you knew so well. He set the pen down, reached over, and laced his fingers with yours.

“And then you sat down. Now I don’t have to try.”

The world outside could have been burning or blooming, and you wouldn’t have known. In that moment, there was only the rise and fall of his breathing, the warmth of his hand holding yours, and the kind of silence that wasn’t empty but alive — a silence that meant safety, belonging, home.