"I haven't told anyone the real story.
Not even him, her father."
BTS is set to tour South Korea, including one hotspot in particular.
Daegu.
Where Min Yoongi, a rapper of the group, left his past lover and something else he does not know about.
Yo...
Songs of the chapter - Sad Girl (Lana Del Rey) & Habits (Genevieve Stokes)
The pale light of early morning crept in through the curtains, soft and grey, wrapping the apartment in a quiet chill. Kyomi stirred beneath the covers, her eyes opening slowly to the familiar ceiling above. Her body felt heavy, the kind of tired that seeped into the bones — but the soft rustling from the bassinet beside her tugged her fully into wakefulness. She turned her head and saw Min-ches stretching, fists balled tight, mouth already forming the beginnings of a cry.
With a gentle groan, Kyomi sat up and pulled her baby into her arms, cradling her close. "Good morning, moon bean," she whispered, pressing her lips to Min-ches's forehead. Her daughter's little noises softened immediately, as if soothed simply by her mother's scent and warmth. The moment felt familiar — part of their rhythm now. Kyomi stood carefully, wrapping the two of them in a throw blanket before heading to the changing mat in the corner of the room.
She laid Min-ches down and began changing her diaper, humming quietly as the baby kicked her legs in sleepy protest. Kyomi smiled faintly, brushing a curl away from her daughter's forehead. "You're already growing too fast," she murmured, her fingers working with practiced ease. Once Min-ches was dressed in a soft yellow onesie with tiny clouds on the front, Kyomi scooped her up again and made her way into the kitchen.
The fridge still offered little, but Kyomi managed to find a small carton of formula she had tucked away and warmed a bottle while rocking Min-ches gently in one arm. The hum of the kettle and the gentle tap of rain outside filled the silence, creating a quiet stillness in the morning. Once the bottle was ready, she sat on the couch, feeding her daughter slowly, her gaze unfocused and heavy-lidded with lingering exhaustion.
As Min-ches drank, Kyomi let her thoughts drift to the day ahead — the plan Mineso had insisted on, the overnight bag she still had to pack, the hours she'd need to push through before stepping outside her carefully maintained world. The thought made her stomach flutter with nerves. But as her baby looked up at her with calm, trusting eyes, Kyomi steadied herself. "We'll be okay," she said softly, more to herself than anyone else. "Just one day at a time."
Kyomi laid the small duffel bag open on her bed, the fabric worn but clean — something she hadn't touched in months. The apartment was quiet except for the occasional gurgle or coo from Min-ches, who lay nearby on a soft blanket surrounded by a few rattles and plush toys. Kyomi moved slowly, her fingers brushing over folded clothes as she debated what to bring. The uncertainty of the night ahead gnawed at her, but she pushed the feeling down, focusing instead on the task in front of her.
She carefully placed a change of clothes inside — a simple pair of leggings, a loose cotton shirt, and a pair of socks. Her eyes lingered on the outfit Mineso had encouraged her to wear: the light purple corseted top and short white skirt. It still hung on the back of her closet door, tags untouched. With a sigh, she added it to the bag, gently folding the delicate fabric. A wave of self-doubt crept up, but she tried to shake it off. "You're just going to be with Mineso," she whispered, trying to reassure herself. "One night. That's all."
Next, she packed the essentials — a toothbrush, her small travel makeup bag, deodorant, and a hairbrush. She hesitated before tossing in her journal, the one she hadn't written in for weeks, maybe even months. Something about having it with her felt like carrying a little piece of her real self — the one still trying to breathe beneath the exhaustion. Finally, she zipped the bag shut and sat back on her heels, exhaling slowly.
Kyomi looked over at Min-ches, who was babbling now, her tiny hands batting at a stuffed animal. A smile tugged at Kyomi's lips despite her worry. "You're going to have a good night with grandma," she said softly, crawling over to scoop her daughter into her arms. "And I'm going to try to remember what it's like to be more than a mom. Just for a little while." Holding Min-ches close, Kyomi stood up and glanced back at the bag. Packed, prepared — but nowhere near ready.
The bathroom was fogged with steam, the mirror blurred and the air thick with warmth. Kyomi stood beneath the running water, her head bowed as droplets traced paths down her back and shoulders. Her arms wrapped around herself despite the heat, as though shielding against something colder — something internal. The water beat against her skin, a steady rhythm that offered no answers, only temporary silence. Her thoughts, however, refused to stay quiet.
She leaned into the tiled wall, her forehead resting against the cool surface as she let out a shaky breath. What if it's too much? The idea of leaving Min-ches for the night — of stepping back into a world where music pulsed and people danced — felt almost foreign. She hadn't done anything like this since before her daughter was born. Her body was different. Her heart was different. She felt exposed, unsure of who she even was without Min-ches cradled in her arms or crying out for her in the middle of the night.
When she finally stepped out of the shower, she moved slowly, drying off with the towel and catching glimpses of herself in the mirror. Her eyes looked tired, her frame slightly thinner than before, but there was still softness there — a kind of quiet resilience. She brushed her fingers through her damp hair, letting it fall around her shoulders naturally, too drained to style it with effort. She pulled on a simple cream blouse and a pair of light blue jeans, comfortable but still presentable for her drive.
As she stood in front of her small hallway mirror, Kyomi looked at herself fully — not just her clothes, but the worry in her brow, the way she held her shoulders stiff. "It's just one night," she whispered, echoing her words from earlier. Still, she couldn't stop her hand from hovering briefly over her chest, feeling the thud of her heartbeat beneath her palm. Her bag was ready by the door, and Min-ches already napping in her carrier seat. But even as she reached for her keys, her steps were hesitant — her vulnerability tucked just beneath the surface, trailing behind her like a shadow.
Kyomi stood at the kitchen counter, slowly spooning leftover rice into a bowl. It wasn't much — just enough to fill her stomach before the drive — but her appetite had been fickle lately, flickering on and off like a faulty light. She sat down at the small table with the bowl and a glass of water, eating in silence while keeping one eye on Min-ches, who dozed peacefully in her carrier near the door. The rhythmic sound of the weather report buzzed from the small TV mounted in the corner, its background music calm and falsely cheerful.
"Rain is expected to continue into the evening with no signs of clearing," the weatherwoman announced. "Drivers are urged to take caution on the roads. Looking ahead, meteorologists predict a stronger storm system could move in next week, bringing heavier rainfall and gusty winds. More updates to come."
Kyomi's eyes flicked to the screen as she chewed slowly, the forecast settling in her chest like a dull weight. It felt like the sky was mirroring something inside her — this low, gray stretch of uncertainty, of things building and gathering out of sight. She pushed the last few bites of food around the bowl with her spoon, then set it aside half-finished. The food didn't taste like much anyway, not with her mind preoccupied by the thought of leaving her daughter behind, even just for the night.
She got up to rinse the bowl in the sink, the sound of the water briefly masking the TV's voice. Outside, the rain tapped softly on the windowpane, not yet a storm, but persistent — constant. Kyomi dried her hands on a kitchen towel, stealing one last glance at Min-ches before walking over to the carrier. "Alright, little one," she whispered, brushing her fingers gently along her baby's cheek. "Let's go see Grandma." But even as she said the words, a strange ache threaded through her chest, subtle but lingering — like the rain, steady and quiet, but impossible to ignore.
End of chapter 4.
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