Rhea adjusted the pale curtains to let the late afternoon light pour into the apartment. The golden glow softened the edges of the room, casting long shadows over the record player and the scattered books Yoongi left behind before flying out for a tour. The scent of him still lingered faintly in the cushions—cologne, peppermint, and something earthy, like sandalwood and studio dust. It made her smile.
She had been happy lately. Not the kind of happiness that made you shout from rooftops, but the kind that curled up beside you in the quiet. The kind you felt when his texts would come at random times, always checking in.
"Did you eat?"
"There's a new poetry book on your shelf. I had it delivered."
"I dreamed of you last night. You were laughing. Loud. It was good to hear."
He was away—another country, a demanding schedule, barely sleeping. But he tried. Yoongi always tried in his own quiet, constant way. And she understood. She didn't need a grand romance. Just him.
Her days were soft, slow. Morning coffee. Watering the plants. Watching the shows they used to critique together. Sometimes she'd record herself reacting and send it to him. He never replied with much—just an emoji or a single-word message.
But she knew he watched every one.
She missed him, of course. The smell of his hair, the way he mumbled into her neck when half-asleep, his warm hands that always found her waist in the kitchen. But she also respected him. Understood him. She knew what it meant for a man like him to open his world, even just a sliver.
So she waited.
Every night, she folded his side of the blanket down. Every morning, she reached across the bed, smiling at the familiar emptiness.
Rhea was content. Peaceful. Grateful.
Rhea was cutting up some apples in the kitchen when her phone buzzed.
Sugar.
Her heart lifted immediately.
She wiped her hands on a towel and picked up, already smiling."Hey, love."
The video call connected. His face appeared, slightly grainy, lit by the low lights of his hotel room. His eyes, though—tired, distant, shadowed with something heavier than jet lag.
"Hey," he murmured. His voice was scratchy, like he hadn't slept. Or spoken in hours.
She leaned against the counter, careful. "You okay?"
Yoongi let out a slow exhale. "They just pulled the plug on another stop. Jakarta. Manila's next."
Rhea frowned. "That's... three shows in the last two days, right?"
He nodded. "Probably more tomorrow. Staff's panicking. Half of the crew's stuck in Seoul, half out here. Flights are getting weird. Borders tightening."
She watched the way his jaw flexed. How he didn't blink much. How his hand gripped the side of his neck like he could rub the tension away. He always took these cancellations personally, like he was letting someone down—even if it was the whole world shutting down.
"Yoongi... it's not your fault."
"I know," he said, but his eyes dropped. "I just... wish I was home."
Rhea's chest tightened. "Me too."
For a moment, there was only silence between them—deep, understanding, aching silence. Then she spoke again, gentler this time.
"We'll get through this. One day at a time. The world's just... pausing. And maybe we all need that."
He looked at her then, gaze softening just slightly. "I miss you."
"I miss you too."
They ended the call a few minutes later—Rhea lingering on the blank screen long after he hung up.
Still holding the phone, she scrolled and found Selena's name. Jin's girlfriend. Her confidante in this strange parallel life they led—quiet partners of men constantly in the public eye, watching from the sidelines.
Selena answered after one ring, already sounding winded. "Please tell me this isn't another postponement."
"It is," Rhea said quietly.
Selena groaned and flopped somewhere soft. "Jin just called me too. Said rehearsals are frozen. They might get sent home early."
"That's good, right?"
Selena sighed. "Yeah. But also... they're gutted. You know how they are. All that momentum. Now it's nothing but waiting."
Rhea nodded even though Selena couldn't see. "Yoongi looked so tired. I think he's trying to hold it all in. Like he has to stay composed for everyone else."
"They always do," Selena said. "But this time... I think we're the ones who'll need to hold them."
"Yeah," Rhea whispered, eyes glancing at the framed photo on the wall—her and Yoongi under a cherry blossom tree, laughing. "We will."
***
When Yoongi came home, Rhea's heart fluttered like a flame.
It had been weeks since she last held him, and now—here he was, in their shared apartment, suitcase in one hand, sleep-deprived smile in the other. She threw her arms around him before he could even speak, burying her face into his coat, breathing him in.
That first night, she cooked everything he loved—braised beef, kimchi fried rice, japchae, and for dessert, the little honey rice cakes he liked when stressed. He ate quietly, thanked her softly. Smiled.
But something was off.
His smile didn't reach his eyes.
By the end of the week, Seoul was in lockdown. Everything outside their windows fell eerily still.
Yoongi turned one of their spare rooms into his temporary studio. Video calls, tapings, editing, internal meetings—from dawn to nightfall, Rhea watched him disappear into it.
He rarely left the room unless it was to shower or reheat something she left for him. His headphones were always on. His gaze distant. The silence between them stretched longer with each passing day.
Rhea kept herself busy. Cleaning, organizing, cooking, folding his laundry with that soft scent he liked. It was her way of staying close, even if he didn't notice.
She would glance at his closed door and smile to herself."I'm still here," she'd whisper.
It happened on a Tuesday afternoon.
Rhea was vacuuming, half-humming a tune under her breath. She hadn't eaten since breakfast—too caught up in her to-do list. She wiped her forehead, feeling the familiar lightheaded tingle, but ignored it. Just one more room.
She didn't realize how low her blood sugar had dropped.
The sound of the vacuum still running was the only thing Yoongi heard when he stepped out of his studio hours later. He blinked, frowning, stretching his arms. The digital clock on his phone blinked 6:24 PM. His last meeting had ended. He hadn't seen Rhea since early that morning.
Then he saw her.
Collapsed on the kitchen floor, vacuum still buzzing beside her hand.
"Rhea!"
He dropped his phone, rushing to her side. Her smartwatch blinked an alert—blood sugar dangerously low.
He shook her gently, panic overtaking logic. "Rhea, hey—hey, wake up. Baby, come on—"
No response.
His hands shook as he called emergency services. The seconds stretched like hours. He felt like he couldn't breathe.
At the hospital, Yoongi paced while nurses tended to her. Getting her admitted wasn't easy amid the pandemic chaos, but after verifying she wasn't COVID-positive, they allowed it.
He sat beside her bed, eyes glassy, mask hiding his trembling lips.
She looked so small there. Pale. Hooked to IV fluids and a monitor that beeped softly in the background.
"I'm sorry," he whispered, holding her hand in both of his. "I should've noticed. I should've seen you..."
It took a few hours before her eyelids fluttered open.
Yoongi stood immediately, pressing her hand to his lips. "You're okay. You're okay, thank God."
Rhea blinked up at him, still groggy. "Did I... faint?"
"You scared the hell out of me."
She gave a weak laugh. "Guess I forgot to eat."
"That's on me," he murmured, forehead resting against her hand. "You were taking care of everything. And I wasn't even seeing you."
Back home, everything changed.
Yoongi stopped disappearing into the studio. He started joining her at the table again. They'd eat together, even if silently. He'd offer to help with chores, hold her hand while she watched dramas, or curl beside her while she read.
He didn't always say the right things—but he was there.
Present.
He'd reach out to touch her shoulder more. Sit quietly beside her and ask about her day. And when she'd drift off on the couch, he'd carry her to bed and stay with her until morning.
They never really talked about what happened that Tuesday.
But from then on, Rhea felt it:
The silence between them wasn't empty anymore. It was filled—with intention, with presence, with quiet love.