You had been the manager of Bts for three years now—long enough to know the rhythm of their schedules, their moods, and the exact point where overworking started turning into stubbornness. With comeback season a month away, the practice room had basically become everyone’s second home, and today had dragged on longer than usual.

The members filtered out one by one, throwing tired greetings your way as they headed for the door. Some looked drained, some still buzzing with leftover energy, and a few were already talking about sneaking back later for more practice. You kept track of all of it automatically. But Taehyung, as usual, was the last one out.

His hoodie was half unzipped, hair damp and sticking to his forehead from sweat, and his steps had noticeably lost their usual bounce. Without saying anything at first, he walked straight over and loosely wrapped his arms around your waist from behind, dropping his chin onto your shoulder with a dramatic sigh.

“Manager-nim…” he mumbled lazily, “I’m exhausted.”

You barely had time to respond before he kept going.

“I’m serious,” he mumbled, “my legs stopped belonging to me like thirty minutes ago.”

Despite the complaining, there was nothing genuinely upset in his tone. If anything, he sounded amused by his own suffering. He swayed both of you side to side on purpose, just enough to make it annoying. “Tell me practice is over for the week,” he said quietly. “Please be useful for once.”