The sound of sneakers squeaking against polished wood echoed through the dance studio, a sharp contrast to the low thrum of the bass-heavy music playing from the speakers. Jimin moved with the kind of grace and precision that had made him famous—a perfectionist’s obsession with detail mixed with a dancer’s passion. His body flowed effortlessly, muscles remembering choreography even when his mind was elsewhere.

It had been five years since Jimin had seen him. Five years since everything fell apart. And yet, despite the time that had passed, Yoongi still lived in the corners of Jimin’s mind. There wasn’t a day when the ghost of their relationship didn’t linger in some form—whether it was a song that reminded him of late nights spent together in the studio or a fleeting memory of the way Yoongi’s hands had once held him like he was something fragile and precious.

Jimin exhaled sharply, his movements faltering. He stopped, leaning against the mirror, eyes staring at his reflection but seeing something else entirely. He thought he had left all of that behind. He thought he was over it—over him.

But when the text had come in last week, asking him to collaborate on a high-profile music video, the name attached to the project had stopped him in his tracks. *Min Yoongi.* It was as if the universe was playing a cruel joke, throwing their paths together again after all this time.

“I can handle this,” Jimin whispered to himself, closing his eyes. “I’m stronger now.”

But no amount of personal growth could prepare him for facing Yoongi again.

---

The day of the meeting arrived faster than Jimin expected. He stood outside the studio, the one Yoongi had turned into his home over the years. The building loomed large, cold and unfamiliar despite how many times he’d been there in the past. He swallowed hard and took a breath. This was just work—nothing more. He had faced far worse than a past lover in his career. He could do this.

With a push of the door, he entered, the sound of music already greeting him from the hallway. It was Yoongi’s music. His sound was unmistakable—sharp, distinct, and somehow still managing to make Jimin’s heart clench. He moved down the corridor, each step heavier than the last, until he reached the main studio.

Yoongi was there.

His back was to the door, hunched over his laptop, headphones on. He looked… exactly the same and yet so different. His hair was shorter now, dyed an inky black, and there was a tension in his shoulders that hadn’t been there before. Jimin watched him for a moment, unsure whether to announce his presence or quietly leave before anyone noticed him.

But fate—or perhaps something more twisted—had other plans.

Yoongi shifted, taking off his headphones, and turned as if sensing someone watching him. Their eyes met across the room, and for a moment, time seemed to suspend itself. Everything around them blurred—the music, the world outside, even the years that had separated them. It was just them, locked in a stare that was filled with too many emotions to name.

Shock. Pain. Regret. But most of all, a heavy silence that neither knew how to break.

Jimin was the first to move, awkwardly clearing his throat as if the sound would shatter the invisible wall between them. “Yoongi,” he said, his voice softer than he intended. “It’s been a while.”

Yoongi didn’t respond at first, just stood there, eyes still fixed on Jimin as if he couldn’t quite believe he was real. When he finally spoke, his voice was rough, like the words had been stuck for years. “Yeah. Too long.”

The air between them was thick, heavy with the weight of everything they hadn’t said. Jimin shifted, unsure of what to do with his hands, his body suddenly feeling too small for the room. He hadn’t prepared for this moment, hadn’t rehearsed what he would say. He had thought about it, of course. Replayed this reunion in his mind a hundred times. But now that it was happening, he was at a loss.

“I didn’t know you were attached to the project,” Jimin said, more to fill the silence than anything else.

Yoongi’s lips pressed into a thin line, his usual stoic demeanor slipping back into place. “I didn’t either. They didn’t tell me you’d be choreographing until last minute.”

Jimin nodded, swallowing hard. Of course. Why would they tell him? He was just another name on a list, another person they hired to make the video happen. But still, something about hearing Yoongi say it out loud made his chest tighten.

“It’s fine,” Jimin said quickly, trying to mask the awkwardness. “We’re both professionals. We can handle this.”

Yoongi gave a short nod, his expression unreadable. “Yeah. We can.”

But there was something in his voice, a hint of something unspoken, that made Jimin wonder if either of them actually believed that.

The silence that followed was almost unbearable, the tension in the room thick enough to cut with a knife. Jimin shifted his weight, trying to find something, *anything* to break the awkwardness, but every word he could think of seemed inadequate. His mind was racing, memories flashing through his head uninvited—the nights they spent together, the fights, the laughter, the way Yoongi had kissed him like it was the only thing that mattered.

“I should go,” Jimin finally said, taking a step back. “I need to meet with the director about the choreography.”

Yoongi’s gaze followed him, something flickering in his eyes that Jimin couldn’t quite place. “Yeah,” he murmured. “See you later.”

As Jimin turned and walked away, his heart was pounding in his chest. He had known this would be hard, but nothing had prepared him for the reality of seeing Yoongi again, for the way his presence still had the power to stir up emotions Jimin had buried long ago.

He thought he was over it. Over him.

But as he stepped out of the studio and into the bright sunlight, Jimin realized that some things—some people—were harder to let go of than he ever imagined.

Jimin spent the rest of the afternoon locked in a conference room with the director, working through choreography ideas and shot lists. It was a welcome distraction, allowing him to temporarily push thoughts of Yoongi to the back of his mind. But no matter how many times he forced himself to focus, he couldn’t shake the weight that sat heavy on his chest.

Every time he closed his eyes, he saw Yoongi’s face, heard the way he said *"too long."* As if he were remembering something distant but still close enough to touch.

Jimin tried not to think too much of it. He wasn’t the same person he’d been five years ago, and Yoongi certainly wasn’t either. Time had changed them—hardened them in ways that made them strangers to each other. At least, that’s what Jimin told himself.

“Jimin?”

The director’s voice cut through his haze of thoughts, and Jimin blinked, realizing he had missed whatever question was being asked.

“Sorry, what?”

The director, a tall, sharp-featured man named Lee Junho, raised an eyebrow. “I asked if you had any changes to the opening sequence. You seem a little distracted.”

Jimin shook his head, forcing a smile. “No, it’s fine. I’ll work on the transitions and send them to you by tomorrow morning.”

Junho nodded, glancing at his phone. “Great. We’ll run through everything tomorrow. Make sure the dancers are ready. I’ll need everyone sharp and on point—we only have a few days of filming.”

With that, the meeting was over, and Jimin gathered his things, clutching his notebook a little tighter than necessary as he made his way out of the room. He needed air. He needed space. And more than anything, he needed a moment to gather himself before running into Yoongi again.

---

Jimin didn’t plan to bump into Yoongi on his way out, but of course, fate wasn’t going to make things easy. As he turned the corner of the studio hallway, he collided with a familiar figure, sending his notebook and Yoongi’s phone clattering to the floor.

“Shit—sorry,” Jimin muttered, crouching down to gather his things before looking up at Yoongi.

The moment their eyes met again, it was like the air left the room. Jimin swallowed, fingers brushing against Yoongi’s phone as he handed it back. His hand trembled slightly, but he quickly steadied himself, trying to ignore the way his heart raced in his chest.

Yoongi straightened up, pocketing his phone with a casual nod. “No problem.”

Jimin wanted to say something—*anything*—to ease the tension, but the words stuck in his throat. He had always been the more expressive one between them, but now, in front of Yoongi, he felt small. Vulnerable in a way he hadn’t in years.

Yoongi was looking at him again, that same unreadable expression on his face. “So… how’s everything going with the choreography?”

Jimin blinked, surprised by the question. It was so mundane, so normal, like they were just coworkers and not two people with a tangled, painful history.

“It’s going well,” Jimin replied, shifting on his feet. “I’ll have the final draft ready by tomorrow.”

Yoongi nodded, his gaze lingering for a moment before he spoke again. “Good. Let me know if you need anything from me.”

Jimin almost laughed at the irony. If he needed anything from Yoongi? He needed a lot from him—closure, understanding, maybe even an apology for how things ended. But he said none of that. Instead, he nodded stiffly, forcing another smile.

“Thanks. I’ll keep that in mind.”

Yoongi gave a short nod before turning to walk away, but just as he reached the end of the hallway, Jimin’s voice stopped him.

“Yoongi.”

The name left Jimin’s lips before he could stop it. He didn’t even know what he was going to say, but Yoongi paused, glancing over his shoulder with a raised brow.

“Yeah?”

Jimin took a step forward, heart pounding in his chest. He had so many questions, so many things he had wanted to ask for years. But now, standing there with Yoongi looking at him like that, he realized he wasn’t ready. Not yet.

“Never mind,” Jimin said quietly, shaking his head. “It’s nothing.”

Yoongi hesitated for a moment longer, his gaze softening just a fraction before he turned and left without another word.

Jimin stood there for a few minutes, staring at the empty hallway, wondering how it was possible for someone to feel both so close and so far away at the same time.

---

That evening, Jimin found himself back in his apartment, sitting on the floor of his living room, staring at the ceiling. His body was exhausted from rehearsal, but his mind refused to rest. Thoughts of Yoongi buzzed incessantly, replaying their brief conversations over and over until Jimin wanted to scream.

He didn’t know what he had expected—some grand moment of reconciliation, maybe? Or at least acknowledgment of the pain they had both endured. But Yoongi had been distant, cold, as if their history was nothing more than an afterthought.

Jimin’s phone buzzed on the coffee table, pulling him from his thoughts. He reached for it, expecting a message from the director or one of the dancers. But when he saw the name on the screen, his breath caught in his throat.

**Yoongi: Let’s talk tomorrow. After the run-through.**

Jimin stared at the message, fingers hovering over the keyboard. His mind raced with all the things he wanted to say—*Why now? What do you even want to talk about? Do you think this will fix everything?*—but instead, he typed a simple response.

**Jimin: Okay.**

He set the phone down, exhaling slowly as the tension in his chest tightened. Tomorrow. They would talk tomorrow. But whether it would bring healing or just reopen old wounds, Jimin wasn’t sure.

He just hoped he was ready for whatever came next.

---

The following day felt like a blur for Jimin. Rehearsal ran longer than expected, and he found himself pushing the dancers harder than usual, frustrated by small mistakes he normally would’ve brushed off. But the tightness in his chest never eased, his mind always drifting back to the inevitable conversation with Yoongi.

By the time the final run-through finished, sweat dripped down his temples, and his muscles ached from hours of practice. But none of that compared to the dread that had settled deep in his stomach.

He knew he couldn’t put this off any longer.

As the dancers filed out of the studio, offering tired waves and goodbyes, Jimin lingered, taking slow, deliberate breaths to steady himself. He wiped his face with a towel, glancing at the clock. Yoongi would be here any minute.

“Are you staying late again?” Junho’s voice startled him, and Jimin turned to see the director leaning against the doorway, watching him with a concerned look.

Jimin shook his head, managing a faint smile. “No, I’ll be out soon. Just need to finish a few things.”

Junho gave him a long look, clearly sensing that something was off, but he didn’t push. “Alright. See you tomorrow, then.”

As soon as Junho left, the studio fell into silence, the only sound being the distant hum of the air conditioning. Jimin stared at the mirrored walls, his reflection tired and frayed at the edges. His mind raced with what he would say to Yoongi. How could he even begin to unravel everything that had been left unsaid for five years?

The door creaked open, and Jimin’s heart leapt into his throat. He didn’t need to look to know who it was.

“Hey.” Yoongi’s voice was quiet but firm, like a wave breaking against the shore, steady and constant.

Jimin turned slowly, eyes locking onto Yoongi’s. He was still in his usual black hoodie and sweatpants, a look so familiar it almost hurt to see. Yoongi looked the same—yet different. His eyes held the same intensity, but there was something deeper now. Something weary.

“Hey,” Jimin echoed, standing straighter, clutching the towel in his hands as if it could anchor him. “You wanted to talk?”

Yoongi nodded, stepping further into the studio, but keeping his distance. His hands were stuffed into his pockets, his gaze briefly flicking to the floor before landing back on Jimin. “Yeah. I think we should.”

Jimin exhaled sharply, his fingers tightening around the towel. “Okay.”

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The silence stretched between them, heavy and uncomfortable, filled with all the things they hadn’t said for years.

Yoongi cleared his throat, glancing away for a moment as if gathering his thoughts. “It’s been a long time.”

Five years. A lifetime. Jimin almost scoffed, but instead, he nodded, keeping his voice even. “Yeah. It has.”

Yoongi shifted on his feet, his hands still deep in his pockets, as if he didn’t trust himself to let them free. “I don’t know how to start this… there’s a lot I want to say.”

Jimin swallowed, feeling his heart race in his chest. He had waited for this moment, but now that it was here, he didn’t know if he could handle it.

“Then just say it,” Jimin said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper.

Yoongi met his eyes, and for the first time in years, Jimin saw something raw and vulnerable in his gaze. “I never wanted it to end like that.”

Jimin’s breath hitched, his chest tightening as old wounds reopened. The breakup had been so sudden, so cold. He had been left without answers, with nothing but a gaping hole where their love had once been.

“You left,” Jimin whispered, his voice shaking. “You didn’t even explain. You just… walked away.”

Yoongi’s jaw clenched, guilt flashing in his eyes. “I know. I was a coward.”

The admission hung in the air, and for a moment, Jimin didn’t know how to respond. He had spent years trying to understand why Yoongi had ended things without warning, why he had disappeared from his life with no explanation. Now, hearing Yoongi admit to his cowardice felt both validating and infuriating.

“Why?” Jimin asked, his voice rising slightly as the emotions he had buried for so long came bubbling to the surface. “Why did you leave, Yoongi? Why didn’t you fight for us?”

Yoongi’s expression tightened, and he ran a hand through his hair, exhaling heavily. “Because I was scared.”

“Of what?” Jimin’s voice cracked, and he hated how small and broken he sounded. But he couldn’t help it. His heart was laid bare, exposed in a way that left him vulnerable to whatever Yoongi would say next.

“Of losing you,” Yoongi said, his voice soft but laced with pain. “Of ruining everything. I thought if I stayed… if we kept going the way we were, I’d hurt you more.”

Jimin shook his head, disbelief washing over him. “You *did* hurt me. You hurt me by leaving. Do you know how long I waited for you to come back? How long I hoped you’d call? And you never did.”

Yoongi flinched at Jimin’s words, and the guilt in his eyes deepened. “I know. I know I messed up, Jimin. I should’ve handled things differently. I should’ve fought for you, for us. But back then… I didn’t know how.”

Jimin’s heart ached at Yoongi’s honesty. There was no anger in his voice, just regret. And for the first time in years, Jimin realized that Yoongi had been just as lost as he had.

“I thought I was protecting you,” Yoongi continued, his voice low. “But all I did was push you away.”

Jimin closed his eyes, tears prickling behind his lids. He had imagined this conversation so many times in his head, but he hadn’t expected it to hurt this much.

“I was ready to stay, Yoongi,” Jimin whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “I would’ve stayed if you had just asked.”

Silence followed his words, and Jimin felt a tear slip down his cheek before he could stop it. He wiped it away quickly, not wanting to show Yoongi how deeply he was still affected.

Yoongi took a step closer, his expression pained. “I’m sorry, Jimin. For everything. I know it’s too late, but I need you to know that I regret how things ended. I’ve regretted it every day.”

Jimin’s throat tightened, and for a moment, all he wanted to do was collapse into Yoongi’s arms, to let him comfort him like he used to. But he couldn’t. Not yet.

“You can’t just apologize and expect everything to be okay,” Jimin said quietly, wiping his eyes. “It’s been five years, Yoongi. You can’t undo that.”

Yoongi’s gaze softened, and he nodded slowly. “I know. I don’t expect you to forgive me right away. But I want to make things right. If you’ll let me.”

Jimin hesitated, his heart warring with his mind. Part of him wanted to run, to avoid the pain of reopening old wounds. But another part of him—the part that had never truly stopped loving Yoongi—wanted to give him a chance.

“I don’t know if I can trust you again,” Jimin admitted, his voice trembling.

Yoongi stepped closer, his eyes full of determination and something else—hope. “Then let me earn it. I’ll wait as long as it takes.”

Jimin looked up at him, searching his face for any hint of insincerity. But all he saw was Yoongi, raw and open, offering a second chance.

“I don’t know,” Jimin whispered, feeling the weight of the past pressing down on him.

Yoongi took one last step forward, closing the distance between them. He reached out, his hand hovering just inches from Jimin’s arm. “I’m not going anywhere this time, Jimin. I promise.”

Jimin stared at him, his heart pounding in his chest. Could he really do this? Could he let Yoongi back in after everything that had happened?

“I’ll think about it,” Jimin finally said, his voice barely audible.

Yoongi nodded, a small, hopeful smile tugging at his lips. “That’s all I’m asking for.”

As Yoongi turned to leave, Jimin felt a mix of emotions swirl inside him—hope, fear, longing, and pain. He wasn’t sure what the future held, but for the first time in years, he felt a spark of something he hadn’t felt in a long time.

Maybe, just maybe, they could find their way back to each other.

---