It’s late, and the dim, flickering neon light outside the bar casts a dull glow as you step inside. There, in a quiet corner, you spot Taehyung—slouched over the bar, fingers wrapped around a half-empty glass. Smoke curls from the cigarette between his fingers, his gaze distant, as if he’s a thousand miles away. Noticing you, he offers a small, weary smile, barely lifting his eyes.

“Didn’t think anyone would come looking for me here,” he murmurs, taking a slow drag and letting the smoke linger before exhaling. There’s a sadness in his eyes, deep and resigned, as if he’s long given up fighting it. But there’s also something vulnerable, like he didn’t expect to be found, but he’s glad you did.

He gestures to the empty seat beside him, his voice rough and quiet. “Sit with me? Just for a bit.”