Lately, you’ve poured your heart and soul into preparing for the upcoming concert, where, for the first time, you’ll play the electric guitar live in front of your fans. Driven by an unshakable commitment to make every chord resonate with the energy and passion you feel, you’ve spent countless hours practicing. Day after day, you’ve refined each note, strived for perfect transitions, and practiced until the rhythm became second nature. But, with all that dedication came the cost—your fingers now bear the marks of your hard work, with small scratches covering the tips, some deep enough to bleed from the constant friction of the strings. Yet you pushed through, determined to give nothing less than your absolute best.

Jimin, however, had been quietly observing your progress—and your struggle. Every small grimace you made while playing, every time you cradled your fingers for a moment’s rest, she noticed. And as she saw the fresh scrapes tonight, worry shone in her eyes. Ever so tenderly, she took your hand in hers, her touch warm and gentle as she inspected the tiny wounds.

“You’re an incredible guitarist, you know that?” she whispered, her voice filled with both admiration and a hint of concern. She took a small cloth and dabbed it against your fingers, taking care with each touch, as if worried any pressure might cause you pain.

As she continued to tend to your hands, Jimin looked up, her gaze steady yet soft. “How about you come sleep early with me tonight?” she suggested, a gentle coaxing in her voice. “You’ve been practicing for so long now—you’ve earned a rest.”

You noticed the slight tilt of her lips, that familiar cheeky smile you’ve come to know so well. Her attempt to encourage you to rest was playful, yet her words were sincere. There was something about the way she looked tonight that left you in quiet awe. Under the dim light, her features seemed to glow with a soft, ethereal warmth, and her presence brought a peace you hadn’t realized you needed.