The next few days blurred into a whirlwind of activity, faster than I could catch my breath. Photoshoots, interviews—I was swept into a rhythm I'd never experienced before. Taehyung, Suga, Jungkook, Jimin, and RM had seamlessly integrated me into their world, and while it was overwhelming at times, it was also exciting. I was no longer just Clover Peewee, the bitter girl who found comfort in solitude. Here, I was someone new. Someone they were introducing to the industry.

The absence of J-Hope, though, cast a noticeable shadow over everything. He had enlisted in the military just yesterday—April 18, 2023—and even though the members smiled and pushed forward with their usual professionalism, there was a quiet longing among them.

"It feels strange," Jungkook admitted to me during a short break at one of the photoshoots. He slouched in his chair, staring thoughtfully at the empty seat where J-Hope would usually be. "Hobi-hyung always makes everything feel... lighter, you know? Like he fills the room."

I nodded, understanding the sentiment. Even in the short time I'd spent with him, J-Hope's energy had been undeniable—his constant smile, his uplifting words. It was impossible not to miss him.

Taehyung chimed in from across the room, where he was sprawled lazily over a couch. "We'll send him pictures. I bet he'd get jealous knowing we're still slaying these shoots without him." His playful grin didn't quite reach his eyes, though.

"It's not the same," RM murmured softly, but his voice was steady. Ever the leader, he seemed determined to keep everyone focused, even while carrying the weight of missing one of their own. "He'll be proud of us. Of all of this. And he'll be proud of you too, Clover," he added, looking at me with that reassuring calm he always carried.

The photoshoots continued, and while the energy didn't dip, the absence of J-Hope was palpable.

The makeup artists, stylists, and photographers bustled around us in controlled chaos. I'd sit in the makeup chair as Naeun, the stylist, worked magic with her brushes, and I'd catch glimpses of the BTS members being their usual selves—charming and effortlessly cool.

Taehyung, naturally, thrived in front of the camera. His presence was magnetic, and every pose came easily to him. Between shots, he'd sneak in a smile or a playful look my way, as if silently encouraging me. "Relax," he'd say whenever he noticed me overthinking. "It's just another photo. They'll love you."

Jungkook, on the other hand, treated it like a challenge. The maknae had endless energy, moving between serious and playful expressions effortlessly. Once, he pulled me into a shot unexpectedly, making the photographer laugh. "Come on, no pressure!" he teased, flashing his usual bunny grin.

Jimin was my surprise safety net. He had a way of checking in without making a big deal about it. He'd notice the way I adjusted my posture nervously or fiddled with the hem of my clothes, and he'd sidle up to me, whispering, "You're doing great, Clover. Just enjoy it, yeah?"

RM carried the whole experience with his usual professionalism. During interviews, he introduced me so kindly, so thoughtfully, that I couldn't help but feel grateful. He seemed to know exactly how to ease my nerves. "We're really excited to work with Clover," he said in one segment, his tone steady and warm. "She's got a fresh energy, and I think fans will really connect with her."

And then there was Suga.

He wasn't unkind, but he remained distant, almost aloof. He'd cooperate perfectly during group shots, standing beside me with that calm, composed energy only he could pull off. But there was no casual conversation, no encouragement, no warmth. If anything, his gaze seemed to weigh me down—always assessing, always skeptical. I tried not to let it get to me, but it was hard not to notice.

Still, for every moment Suga ignored me, Taehyung or the others would make up for it.

After one particularly long day of shooting, Taehyung slumped beside me in the waiting area, his head resting dramatically on my shoulder. "This is exhausting," he whined.

I laughed softly. "You're the one who made it look easy."

"Acting is easier than being tired," he murmured, half-asleep. "Don't worry—you're getting the hang of it. Everyone's noticing."

I felt a small flutter in my chest, quickly reminding myself to stay calm. "Thanks, Taehyung."

"Don't thank me. Just believe it."

It wasn't just Taehyung who reassured me. The entire group, despite their insane schedules, made sure I wasn't drowning in all of this. For all their superstar status, they were just five guys looking out for someone new—someone they were letting into their world.

And while I knew it was all still business on some level, I couldn't help but feel grateful. These busy days were exhausting, but at least I wasn't facing them alone. And even though I hadn't known J-Hope long, I made a silent promise to do well—because when he returned, I wanted him to be proud of this too.

When we arrived at the studio, the familiar buzz of creativity greeted us—hushed conversations, faint music leaking through soundproof walls, and the occasional sound of instruments being tuned. It felt alive, in the most purposeful way.

Inside the meeting room, we all settled in, a mix of focus and calm filling the space. I sat between Taehyung and Jungkook, their casual energy helping ease my nerves. Being part of this meeting—this process—was both exciting and intimidating.

RM took charge, standing at the front with a notebook in hand and his usual composed demeanor. As BTS' leader, he always had a way of facilitating conversations naturally, making sure everyone felt included.

"Alright," RM began, his voice steady and clear. "Let's talk about how we'll divide the workload for this song. Everyone has something important to bring to the table, so we'll assign roles that play to our strengths."

He scanned the room, ensuring everyone was engaged before continuing.

"Clover," RM said, looking at me first, "your primary focus will be songwriting. You'll collaborate closely with Suga on the lyrics. We're looking for depth, storytelling, and real emotional connection—something that fits the group's identity but also brings your unique voice to it."

I nodded, feeling the weight of the responsibility but also the honor of being trusted with something so significant.

"You'll also contribute to melody composition," RM continued, "helping shape the song's structure so it complements the lyrics. And don't hold back when it comes to artistic direction—your creative input will be valuable."

"Got it," I replied, my voice steadier than I felt.

RM turned toward Suga, who was listening intently.

"Suga, you'll take charge of production. Build the instrumental arrangement, fine-tune the beats, and create the overall sound design."

Suga gave a small, professional nod. "Understood."

"You'll also partner with Clover on the songwriting, and oversee the vocal arrangement—making sure transitions between vocalists and rappers are seamless."

"Okay," Suga replied, already looking like he was mapping it out in his mind.

RM's gaze moved to Taehyung, who seemed relaxed as always, a faint smile on his lips.

"Taehyung, I want you to focus on mood and concept development. Use your artistic sensibility to shape the song's aesthetic and emotional direction."

"Of course," Taehyung said easily.

"You'll also work on harmonization—your tone adds a richness to the background vocals that we'll need. And if you've got suggestions for instrumental elements, like incorporating classical or jazz, bring them up."

A satisfied grin crossed his face. "Sounds good."

Next was Jimin.

"Jimin," RM began, "you'll help with the vocal arrangement alongside Suga. Work on vocal dynamics, transitions, and add your own flair where it makes sense."

"Got it," Jimin said with a confident smile.

"Additionally," RM continued, "you'll act as emotion coach. Guide everyone during recording sessions so we hit the right feeling for the lyrics. And if choreography ideas come to mind that match the song's rhythm, share them."

Jimin nodded eagerly, already looking inspired.

"Jungkook," RM said, turning to him, "as the main vocalist, the core vocal performance will rely on you. Focus on precision and emotional delivery."

"Yes, sir," Jungkook replied playfully, earning a quiet laugh from Taehyung.

"You'll also assist as recording lead, making sure we're capturing the best takes during sessions. And if you come up with alternate melodies, ad-libs, or vocal layers, share them."

Jungkook smiled. "No problem."

Finally, RM addressed his own role.

"I'll focus on lyric refinement," he said, tapping his pen against the notebook. "I'll polish the tone and meaning to make sure it aligns with the song's message. I'll also handle the rap arrangement, making sure it flows seamlessly into the melody."

He paused, his eyes sweeping the room. "And of course, I'll facilitate our discussions. If anyone has concerns, ideas, or feedback, share them. Let's make sure this song is something we're all proud of."

The room hummed with energy as RM's words settled in. He had a way of making the process feel collaborative and purposeful. It wasn't just a matter of completing tasks—it was about creating together.

"Any thoughts?" RM asked, always open to feedback.

"Sounds like a solid plan," Suga said, pushing up his sleeves as if ready to dive in.

I glanced around at the members, each of them slipping into their respective roles with practiced ease. There was something inspiring about it—seeing how naturally they worked together while still making space for someone new.

When the meeting wrapped up, everyone scattered to start their individual tasks. I lingered for a moment, feeling a mix of anticipation and determination.

"You okay?" RM asked, pausing beside me.

I nodded, smiling faintly. "Yeah. Ready to get started."

He smiled back, reassuring and steady as always. "Good. You've got this, Clover."

And somehow, I believed him.

Later that day, Suga and I found ourselves in one of the studio's quieter rooms, a notepad and a laptop between us. The energy in the room felt... cautious. I could sense the unspoken boundaries he'd set, like invisible walls I wasn't meant to cross.

He sat across from me, his posture relaxed but his sharp eyes focused, as if assessing me with every move. "Alright," he said, his voice calm but clipped. "What's your take? What theme do you want to explore?"

I hesitated, unsure if I should dive in or test the waters first. But then I decided there was no point in holding back. "What if we wrote about friendship?" I started, my voice steady despite my nerves. "The kind that changes over time but still... lasts. Even when people are on different paths."

Suga's expression didn't change, but he leaned slightly forward, tapping his pen against the table. "Keep talking," he said, his tone neutral, neither encouraging nor dismissive.

"It could be about how life pulls friends apart, but the bond is still there," I continued, carefully watching his reaction. "Like, you still think about them, miss them, and hope they're okay, even if you're not in the same place anymore."

He didn't respond immediately, and the silence stretched long enough to make me second-guess myself. But then, he gave a slight nod, almost imperceptible. "Not bad," he murmured, his gaze dropping to the notepad.

My shoulders relaxed a fraction. "And maybe," I added, "we could focus on the bittersweetness of it. The pride you feel seeing them chase their dreams, mixed with the ache of missing them."

Suga's pen moved across the paper as I spoke, his movements precise and deliberate. He didn't say anything, but he wasn't stopping me either, which felt like a small victory.

"It's honest," he said finally, his voice low but firm. "Bittersweet is good. We don't need to dress it up too much. Just keep it real."

His words caught me off guard—not quite praise, but close enough to make me feel like I'd passed some kind of unspoken test.

I smiled slightly. "I think it could resonate with a lot of people. Especially..." I trailed off, hesitating before finishing the thought. "Especially with everything going on now, with the enlistments."

Suga's pen stilled, and for a brief moment, his expression softened, though he quickly masked it. "Yeah," he said quietly. "That's... relatable."

We worked in near silence after that, tossing ideas back and forth in short, efficient bursts. Suga remained distant, his tone measured and his praise nonexistent, but I could tell he was engaged. He liked the idea—he just wasn't the type to say it outright.

At one point, I asked, "Do you think we should frame it around a specific memory or keep it more abstract?"

He looked up, his expression unreadable. "Abstract, but grounded. Let the listener find their own meaning in it."

I nodded, scribbling the note down. His answers were short, but there was weight behind them, as if every word was carefully chosen.

By the end of the session, we had a solid foundation: a song about friendship, distance, and the threads that keep people connected even when life pulls them apart.

As Suga gathered his notes and stood to leave, he glanced at me briefly. "You've got some decent ideas," he said, his tone almost grudging, but not unkind.

"Thanks," I replied, trying to hide my smile. "That means a lot coming from you."

He gave a small shrug, nonchalant as ever. "Don't let it go to your head."

And with that, he was gone, leaving me alone in the studio with the beginnings of something meaningful.