BTS IMAGINES AND SCENARIOS

Midnight✿⁠ (Min Yoongi/Suga)

The clock read 12:47 a.m. when you finally pushed the door open to his studio. You’d expected silence — maybe even the dim glow of a screen saver — but instead, the room was alive with quiet sound. Not a full song, not yet. Just fragments of piano keys woven with faint hums, like pieces of a puzzle Yoongi hadn’t solved.

He sat hunched forward, one hand pressed to the keys, the other scribbling messily in his notebook. The sight was familiar — too familiar — and something inside you ached.

“You should sleep,” you said softly, almost whispering so as not to break the fragile atmosphere.

He didn’t look at you right away, his pencil still moving.

“If I sleep,” he muttered, “the music stops.”

Your chest tightened at the exhaustion in his voice. You stepped inside, letting the door click shut behind you. The room smelled faintly of coffee and something warm but heavy, like hours of worn-out thoughts.

“Yoongi…” you said gently, moving closer, “you can’t carry everything alone.”

For a long moment, he didn’t reply. The faint scratching of pencil on paper filled the silence, then stopped. He set it down with deliberate care, his fingers lingering as if reluctant to let go.

When he finally turned toward you, his eyes looked different in the low light — darker, softer, filled with a vulnerability he rarely showed.

“What if,” he said slowly,

“what if I stop, and the song never comes back?”

Your breath caught. You wanted to tell him that wasn’t possible, that music lived inside him like a second heartbeat, that it would never leave him. But instead, you just stepped closer and rested your hand on his back. No speeches, no reassurances he might not believe. Just presence.

His shoulders tensed under your touch at first, then slowly loosened, like he was finally allowing himself to exhale. He leaned back slightly, not fully against you, but enough that you could feel the shift — the unspoken trust.

“You don’t have to find all the answers tonight,” you murmured.

“You don’t have to burn yourself out just to prove you still shine.”

He let out a low sound, somewhere between a sigh and a bitter laugh, but he didn’t argue. His eyes drifted to the piano, then back to you, softer now. “Stay,” he said simply.

So you did. You sat beside him, not asking for words or melodies, not asking for anything at all. You just stayed, your hand still on his back, your presence steady against the weight he carried. The music hadn’t stopped — not really. It had just shifted into something quieter, something human.

And as the clock crept past one, past two, the notes in his book faded into silence. But the silence wasn’t heavy anymore. It was shared.