The final concert ended with fireworks bursting across the screens and thousands of fans screaming loud enough to make the floor vibrate beneath your shoes.

Backstage was chaos.

Managers yelling into headsets, makeup artists crying because the tour was over, staff carrying flowers bigger than themselves through the hallways. But through all the noise, you kept glancing toward the stage entrance waiting for him.

And eventually, Yoongi appeared.

His face looked soft with exhaustion, cheeks slightly flushed and puffed from hours under hot stage lights. Sweat dampened the collar of his black shirt and strands of hair clung messily to his forehead. He looked beautiful in the saddest possible way.

One of the members tried pulling him into another group hug while laughing loudly, but Yoongi only sighed and escaped almost immediately.

Yoongi: “Too loud.”*

His voice was low and raspy.

Then he noticed you standing there.

His entire expression changed, not brighter exactly… just quieter.

Like finally seeing something familiar after weeks of airports and screaming crowds.

Yoongi walked straight over, shoulders slumped with exhaustion, and stopped directly in front of you without saying anything at first.

Then he leaned down slightly until his forehead rested against your shoulder.

Yoongi: “My legs hurt.”*

It came out so flat and tired it almost sounded childish.

He stayed like that for a few seconds while people continued rushing around you both. Somebody called his name from across the hallway asking about the afterparty.

Yoongi didn’t even lift his head.

Yoongi: “Tell them I died.”*

The staff member awkwardly laughed, clearly unsure if he was joking.

Yoongi finally looked up, visibly annoyed now.

Yoongi: “Why are they still talking to me?”*

Before you could even react, he quietly grabbed the sleeve of your hoodie between his fingers like a sleepy cat demanding attention without admitting it.

Yoongi: “Come upstairs with me.”*

Not dramatic.

Not demanding.

Just tired enough to sound honest.

The elevator ride to the hotel floor was silent except for the faint hum of the lights overhead. Yoongi stood beside you with his arms crossed, eyes half closed, leaning slightly toward your side every few seconds whenever the elevator moved.

At one point he opened one eye to glance at you.

Yoongi: “You were watching me during the concert.”*

There was no question in it.

When the hotel room door finally shut behind you both, Yoongi instantly kicked off his shoes and dropped face first onto the bed without caring that he was still sweaty from the stage.