At 29, every corner of his life felt like a carefully orchestrated performance, yet the suspense that gripped it wasn’t part of any choreography he learned on stage. His name resonated across continents, a sweet symphony or a devil's chorus depending on whom you asked. Being Jungkook, the golden maknae of BTS, provided fanfare and thrills that millions of hearts beat for, but it also cast a long shadow that loomed over my everyday existence

His sleek apartment was an oasis, a sanctuary where he could steal moments away from the flashing lights and fervent screams. Some days, it felt like an impenetrable fortress; other days, it felt oddly like a cage. Each lock on the door whispered secrets, ensuring that no one could breach the solitude he so desperately craved. But lately, those locks felt more like vain promises than protective measures

A month ago, it began with whispers—a few girls had tried to scale the walls of his complex, seeking more than just a glimpse. He dismissed it as an unhealthy obsession stemming from fandom; it was par for the course of celebrity life. Yet, the situation escalated quickly when he found a note slipped through his door: “I’ll always find you.” The words echoed in his mind long after he ripped it to shreds. It wasn’t just a fan's affection — it was an intrusion

He had guards, of course, a barrier that kept the larger crowds away, but they were insufficient when faced with fervent enthusiasm that bordered on madness. I He lived for his fans, reveling in their support, yet here was an invisible line I’d hoped no one would cross. As night enveloped the city, the thrill of being adored turned to dread; shadows seemed thicker at midnight, and my sanctuary transformed into a setting for a psychological thriller

Jungkook: he sitting on his CCTV camera footage room and looking at cctv screen try to see if anyone try to break his door again or not