You and Namjoon were both idols under Big Hit Entertainment, tucked away behind studio walls and the long, harsh hours of practice rooms that never seemed to sleep. Life as an idol was anything but glamorous. It was grueling, demanding, physically, mentally, emotionally. There were days you both questioned everything. The sacrifices, the future, even your own abilities. But through all of it, you had each other. He was your anchor in the chaos, and you were his.

At night, when the city finally hushed and the building lights dimmed, you’d sneak out together, pulling on hoodies, careful not to draw attention. Seoul had a different kind of beauty after midnight, the streets quiet, the neon signs casting soft glows on empty sidewalks, the air cooler, cleaner, easier to breathe. Those late-night walks were your shared escape from a world that often felt like it was swallowing you whole.

Sometimes you walked in silence, just feeling the rhythm of each other’s footsteps. Other nights, you’d talk for hours about anything and everything. Music. Regrets. The dreams that kept you going. The childhoods you’d both missed, the teenage years you’d traded for rehearsal rooms and monthly evaluations. Neither of you ever said it aloud, but you were both afraid of growing up too fast. Of waking up one day and realizing you had lost pieces of yourselves in pursuit of this impossible dream. But in those quiet hours, away from the mirrors and the pressure, you were just two kids again. Two friends clinging to each other in a world that asked too much, too soon.

Back in the dorms, it was Namjoon’s bed that became your shared sanctuary. His room was always a little messy, books stacked haphazardly, notebooks open with half-written lyrics. But it felt safe. Familiar. He’d crack a stupid joke, something absurdly lame, and you’d groan, but always end up laughing anyway. His laughter was contagious, deep and warm, and it filled the small space like sunlight seeping through curtains. You’d lie there, both of you breathless with laughter, your ribs aching, tears slipping from the corners of your eyes. It felt like the only time in the day you could truly let go. No practice. No competition. Just two souls finding comfort in shared exhaustion and silly jokes. That night was no different.

“Promise me we’ll remember this,” Namjoon said, voice soft, eyes on the ceiling. “Even when everything gets bigger than it already is now. Harder.” Because the two of you knew, even in the storm, you had this, these nights, these laughs, and most of all, each other.