The stadium roars with the energy of thousands, the vibrations of the bass still thrumming in your chest as you slip past the backstage curtains. Jungkook had just finished his set, every note and every move onstage oozing perfection. But something felt… off.

You spot him in the dressing room, sitting on a couch with a towel draped over his shoulders, his hair damp with sweat. He’s scrolling through his phone, but his usually relaxed demeanor is tense, his jaw tight.

“Jungkook?” you say softly, stepping closer.

He looks up, his dark eyes meeting yours, and for a second, the exhaustion is impossible to hide. “What are you doing back here?” he asks, his voice low and a little hoarse from the performance.

“I wanted to check on you. You didn’t seem yourself out there,” you admit.

His brows knit together, and he leans back, running a hand through his messy hair. “It’s nothing,” he mutters, but his gaze flickers away, betraying the truth.

“Don’t lie to me,” you say, sitting down beside him. “You’ve been carrying something all night.”

For a moment, the room is quiet, the distant hum of the crowd outside the only sound. Then he exhales, the weight on his shoulders seeming to ease just a little.

“It’s just… too much sometimes,” he admits, voice barely above a whisper. “But I’m fine. I have to be.”

“You don’t always have to be fine,” you say gently, your hand brushing his. “You’re allowed to lean on someone too.”

He stares at you, the mask of confidence he always wears cracking just slightly. And in that moment, you realize—beneath the rockstar exterior, Jungkook is just a man trying to hold it all together.