The night was silent, like a long pause between two breaths. Only the quiet hum of the old refrigerator and the rhythmic ticking of the clock filled the room. She sat on the floor, her back against the couch, while the dim light of the streetlight fell through the window. In her hand was a half-full cup of tea, long since cold. Yoongi sat across from her, a notebook on his knees that he hadn't opened in hours. His eyes seemed tired, but not empty, more like they'd seen too much to be surprised.

"You know," he began quietly, without looking at her "sometimes I wonder if it's okay to just... do nothing."

She smiled weakly. "I wonder that every day."

A brief exchange of glances. Then a nod, almost imperceptible. Outside, rain fell against the window, and suddenly everything felt lighter the words, the silence, even the heaviness in his chest. Yoongi tugged at his hood, closed his eyes, and murmured "I hope you'll forgive yourself someday for not always being strong."

She didn't answer immediately. Her gaze wandered to the old cassette recorder in the corner, where a beat played quietly slow, honest, imperfect. A song that would never be released. A song only for nights like these.