The backstage corridor was a chaos of stylists wheeling racks, staff shouting into headsets, and the distant thump of a soundcheck running late. Y/n had barely dropped her bag before Benny had descended on her.

The dressing room door was ajar, a sliver of warm light spilling out. Muffled voices inside. Then a deep sigh—relieved, almost pained—as the door swung open further.

He stood in the doorway, broad-shouldered but tense, his hair still unstyled from the rush. He looked like he hadn’t slept. Behind him, Y/n could see the others scattered on couches and chairs—Hoseok pacing, Yoongi staring at his phone, Jimin curled in on himself.