The last of her things.
Yoongi leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed loosely as he watched her kneel by the open suitcase. Her movements were careful, mechanical—like muscle memory had taken over where feeling had long since vanished.
She was packing the last traces of herself from what used to be their home.
He didn't speak as she gathered her books, nor when she found the small, leather-bound sketchbook—the one she always kept near her nightstand.
She flipped it open absentmindedly, and her hand stilled.
There it was.
A pencil sketch, barely finished, just the outline of a baby curled up gently like a comma. Small, round head. Tiny fingers. In a blanket she never got to buy.
Her baby.
Would've been… their baby.
She stared at it for a heartbeat longer before shutting the book and tossing it into her luggage without a word.
Yoongi saw.
He said nothing.
He just sighed and walked over, kneeling beside her. Wordlessly, he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close—his forehead resting against her shoulder.
No explanations. No apologies.
Just a silent hug that said, I still love you. I never stopped.
She sat still at first, unmoving… until she turned to him, her fingers brushing his cheek. She saw it all—guilt carved deep into his face, regret aging his eyes, love that still hadn't faded despite everything they'd lost.
And she kissed him.
Soft. Hesitant. Like a question.
He kissed her back.
Then deeper—urgent, fevered, messy with longing and pain. Fingers gripped too tight. Clothes tugged, discarded, forgotten.
Moans and gasps filled the once-quiet room, their bodies tangled on the living room floor like two people trying to remember what it felt like to be whole.
To be theirs again, even just for one night.
The next morning.
The apartment was quiet.
Yoongi stirred on the couch, the sun painting golden slats across the floor.
She was gone.
The suitcase was gone. Her shoes. The faint scent of her shampoo in the air.
He sat up slowly, a hand dragging through his hair.
And somewhere across town, Rhea pushed open the door to her own apartment, wincing a little as she walked inside, muscles sore from the night before.
She dropped her bag by the door and leaned against the wall.
Her body ached, her heart heavier than ever…
But a ghost of a smile curved the corner of her lips.
He still loves me, she thought.
Maybe that was enough.
Maybe it wasn't.
But for now, it was real.
***
A fresh start.
The sunlight streamed into the little café tucked between trees, its windows frosted faintly from the late Seoul autumn chill. Rhea sipped her warm herbal tea, the steam curling around her face. Her hair was short now—cut just at her chin. Sharp. Bold. It framed her face in a way that declared: I'm not the same woman anymore.
Selena stared for a moment, blinking as she slid into the seat across from her.
"Damn, Rhee," she exhaled with a laugh. "You look like the main character of a K-drama after breaking up with the second lead."
Rhea smirked. "Maybe I am."
They talked. Really talked. The way best friends do when time has passed and life has bruised them both in quiet places.
Selena spoke about Jin—how he had proposed in the most chaotic, romantic way only he could manage. Rhea smiled genuinely but said, "I'm jealous of you two. But the good kind. The kind that still lets me root for you."
Selena reached over, squeezed her hand.
When the question came—about him—Rhea cut her off gently.
"I'm going away," she said, folding the corner of her napkin neatly. "Just for a while. Needed… a fresh perspective."
"I get it," Selena whispered.
"I'm thankful for you. Please don't let that change," Rhea murmured, leaning over to kiss her best friend's cheek. She pulled her into a warm hug, lips close to her ear. "Tell him nothing. I know he's here somewhere. I just hope someday… we can talk again. Just us. And don't worry, he and I can talk again, face to face. Not just... today."
Selena's throat bobbed. She didn't look back. Just nodded once.
Rhea slipped a folded napkin onto the table—her new number scribbled neatly across it.
Do not give this to Yoongi.
They both smiled.
"See you again," Selena said softly, blinking back tears. "This isn't goodbye."
Rhea left the café.
She didn't look back at first, but halfway across the street, her eyes flicked toward the alley beside the building.
There he was.
Dressed in all black, hood over his head, face half-hidden—but unmistakable.
Yoongi.
His shoulders tensed the moment she looked. But she didn't stop walking.
That was the last time they saw each other.
***
[Yoongi's POV]
Six months since Rhea left.
Since the coldness in her eyes replaced the warmth he once called home.
Yoongi didn't chase the cameras.Didn't speak much in interviews.He buried himself in the only place he could still breathe—the studio.
No parties.No distractions.
Just whiskeys.
Just pain.Raw. Guttural. Unrelenting.The kind that gnawed at the soul until it bled music.
The album didn't have a name at first.Just a folder on his computer titled: "For Her."
Track after track, he carved every apology, every sleepless night, every memory of her bare feet dancing in their living room, the ultrasound photo he couldn't throw away—even when it shredded his insides.
The Trinity just sang without asking.Jungkook laid background harmonies that felt like pleading.Jimin's high notes sounded like heartbreak.Taehyung's low tones grounded the chaos.And Jin—Jin sang like a man begging heaven to give someone back.
The song that changed everything was "So Far Away."
It wasn't new—just reborn.
Yoongi rewrote the verses. Slower. More contemplative.The lyrics now read like a letter to a woman halfway across the world who still held his heart.
Don't be afraid.It's okay to cry.I never said it enough but…You were always my safest place.
They layered the harmonies in one late-night session. The air in the studio was heavy, like mourning.When they finished, no one said a word.
It went viral in days.Not because of its trend value, but because people felt it.Like grief hidden between piano chords.Like a man shouting into the void, hoping someone—just one person—was listening.
Yoongi never said her name.Never told the press who the album was for.
Hoping that she hears him.
And maybe—just maybe—she still cared.
***
2 years later.
The song "So Far Away" played over a speaker in a Canadian grocery store—its strings haunting, its harmonies rich with the layered voices of The Trinity and a surprise verse from Jin.
It had taken over the world.
Teenagers leaned over the cart in front of her, sniffling and gasping.
"God, who hurt Yoongi like that?"
"It's so beautiful. I can't stop crying."
Rhea clutched her daughter a little tighter, shifting the toddler's weight to her hip. The little girl reached for the cereal box in the cart, babbling incoherently, completely unaware of the storm swirling in her mother's chest.
Rhea smiled softly.
It was real.
It was raw.
It was him.
And still, after everything… his voice had the power to break her.
But now, she wasn't shattered.
Now, she could stand—baby in arms, memories behind her, future unwritten.
Because healing didn't always come loud.
Sometimes, it came quietly… in silence, in distance, and in the sound of a familiar voice playing through a speaker in a foreign country
.
Rhea adjusted the strap of her purse on her shoulder as she pushed the cart down the grocery aisle.The little girl in her arms—just one and two months—had Yoongi's eyes. Her cheeks. Her pout.A mirror image of a man she once thought she'd never survive losing.
The song still played softly from the phone tucked in her bag.
So Far Away.It was hauntingly beautiful.
The harmonies, the progression, the desperate confession between every line.She had googled the lyrics.Read each word like scripture.And it hurt.God, it hurt.
"dream, hope it to be there with you at your creation and at the end of your life…"
Rhea swallowed. Her throat tightened.
She hadn't cried in months. Not since the night she signed the medical release forms.Not since the moment she sat alone in that airport, leaving behind not just Yoongi—but a grave of what could've been.
But now, standing in a foreign store, in a city where no one knew her name, holding the baby that was never supposed to survive…
She cried. Quietly. One hand over her lips. Eyes stinging.
Rhea blinked the tears away looking at her toddler.
Yoona's small hand reached for the cereal box again, and Rhea handed it to her with trembling fingers.
She sat in the car minutes later, seatbelt clicking into place as Yoona hummed in the backseat—still babbling words.
Rhea stared at the steering wheel, the engine off.
The question had haunted her for weeks now.
What would she say when Yoona asks?
Who is my father?
Why wasn't he there when I was born? Why didn't he tuck me in? Why doesn't he know I don't like strawberries in my yogurt anymore?
Rhea knew the answers.And yet… none of them were enough.Because in the silence between verses, in the pain laced in every line of his voice, she felt him calling her back.
Not to pick up where they left off.
But maybe…
To begin again. On new ground. With truth, not tragedy.
She looked at her daughter through the rearview mirror—head tilted, hair a dark halo, half-asleep with the cereal box hugged to her chest.A tiny version of Yoongi, with none of his demons.
Rhea exhaled slowly.
Yes. It was time.
Time to go home.
Not for her.Not even for him.
But for the little girl who would one day ask, "Who is my dad?"And deserve more than a story rooted in heartbreak.