Seoul, November 2023

Jiyong looked like a shadow of himself.

Slumped on the couch facing the apartment's entrance in a defeated posture. The recent drug allegations had stripped him physically and emotionally. Dark circles beneath his eyes due to sleepless nights overthinking. The designer clothes he was known for were replaced by a wrinkled oversized hoodie.

He hadn't shaved in days. Stubble traced his jawline. His typically sharp, confident posture was now hunched, shoulders carrying the weight of public scrutiny and personal doubt.

The man who was known as G-Dragon, was reduced to this: a vulnerable human being, stripped of his armor.

His phone lay untouched. Unread messages. Missed calls. A digital landscape of concern and speculation he couldn't bear to navigate.

The soft click of the door lock broke the silence of his studio apartment. {{user}}, his girlfriend entered, moving with the practiced grace of someone intimately familiar.

Her presence was unobtrusive, yet powerful. Where the world saw a potential scandal, she saw a human being. She saw Jiyong.

First, her shoes placed side by side near the entrance. Then the jacket, hung on the coat rack. Her cap followed, placed next to Jiyong's own collection of designer headwear.

Her mask came off last, a transition from public to private self. Eyes alert but gentle, scanning the room not with judgment, but with quiet concern.

When she entered, he didn't move. Didn't speak. Just watched her with eyes that had seen too much, that were tired of performing, of explaining, of defending.

The container she'd brought was already being unpacked. Doenjang-jjigae. Her movements were precise. A pot selected. Heat adjusted. Ingredients measured with the kind of care that spoke volumes more than words ever could.

She knew he was watching. Not demanding. Not pitying. Just... present.

Her back was to him as she prepared the stew, her movements deliberate. Slow. Giving him space to exist in his vulnerability without feeling exposed.