Later that night, I couldn't help but watch Yoongi eat. He sat across from me, his chopsticks moving with precision as he quietly finished the takeout I had picked up earlier. His forehead creased slightly when he noticed my gaze.

"What?" he asked, his voice nonchalant, though there was a slight edge of curiosity.

I laughed softly, shaking my head. "Nothing. I just didn't expect you to be here... with me, at a time like this."

He didn't respond immediately, but the crease in his forehead relaxed a little as he continued eating.

The silence between us was comfortable, and yet my mind wandered. Out of nowhere, I blurted, "You know, I remembered reading this article about you. Back when you were in middle school, you developed feelings for a classmate and submitted a love letter to a local radio host because you were too shy to say it directly."

Yoongi paused mid-bite, giving me a brief look of surprise, but he didn't interrupt.

"You eventually confessed, and you two started dating," I continued, "but then it didn't last because, according to you, it was too awkward."

He exhaled through his nose, clearly amused by my sudden recollection. "What's your point?"

I leaned forward, resting my chin on my hand. "What did you mean by awkward? Just because it was awkward, it didn't work out?"

Yoongi set his chopsticks down, his eyes meeting mine. "We weren't compatible," he said simply. "If we were, it wouldn't have been awkward."

"That's such a cop-out answer," I teased, narrowing my eyes at him. "Things like that can be worked out. Did you even try?"

He shrugged, his expression unreadable. "If it's the right person, you don't have to try. You just let it be."

I stared at him, half-impressed by his answer and half-annoyed by his usual enigmatic way of thinking. "That's a little too idealistic for someone like you," I remarked.

Yoongi smirked faintly but didn't say anything more.

After a beat of silence, I decided to press on. "Okay, what about that time you collaborated with Suran on 'Wine'? There were all those rumors about you two, and HYBE had to clarify that it was strictly professional."

At that, he leaned back in his chair, rolling his eyes dramatically. "That again?"

"Yes, that again," I replied, amused by his reaction.

Instead of giving me a direct answer, Yoongi did what Yoongi always does—he dodged. "Why are you so curious about me?" he asked, his tone light but teasing. "Shouldn't you be asking these questions to Taehyung? He's your bias, isn't he?"

I felt my cheeks flush at the unexpected remark. "What does that have to do with anything?"

He smirked again, clearly enjoying my embarrassment. "I'm just saying. You're asking a lot of questions for someone who's supposedly all about Taehyung."

I crossed my arms, narrowing my eyes at him. "Don't deflect."

Yoongi didn't respond right away, instead picking up his chopsticks again and resuming his meal. "Some things are better left unanswered," he finally said, his voice calm but final.

I let out a frustrated sigh, but deep down, I couldn't help but smile. Typical Yoongi—always a mystery.

After a moment of silence, Yoongi surprised me by speaking again. His voice was steady, almost contemplative, as he said, "You know, even if I wanted to be in a relationship, it wouldn't be fair to anyone."

I tilted my head, curious. "What do you mean?"

He rested his chopsticks on the table, his gaze distant as if he were sorting through his thoughts. "This life—my life—isn't normal. The schedule, the expectations, the constant pressure. I've given everything to my career, and I don't regret it. But it doesn't leave much room for anything else."

I watched him, noticing the faint crease in his brow that only appeared when he was being truly sincere.

"I don't feel the need for a relationship right now," he continued. "I'm focused on my work as an artist. That's all I've ever wanted to do. And... when I think about what it would mean to let someone in—to share this kind of life with them—I just don't think it's fair."

His words lingered in the air, heavy with the weight of an unspoken truth.

"You're really hard on yourself," I said softly, breaking the silence.

He turned his gaze back to me, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "Maybe. But I value my privacy, and it's not something I'm willing to give up easily. People don't understand how much it matters until they lose it."

I nodded, understanding him more than I thought I would. "It makes sense, I guess. You don't want to hurt anyone, and you don't want to lose yourself either."

"Exactly."

It was rare to hear Yoongi speak so candidly about himself. For a moment, I saw the vulnerability he so often kept hidden behind his quiet demeanor.

"You're a good person, Yoongi," I said with a faint smile. "Even if you're bad at showing it."

He smirked at that, his usual cool demeanor returning. "Don't tell anyone. I've got a reputation to uphold."

I laughed, the tension from earlier easing as we fell into a more familiar rhythm.

Just as the comfortable silence between us settled, Yoongi's phone buzzed on the table. He glanced at the screen and picked it up with a quiet sigh.

"Yoongi, where are you?" The voice on the other end was unmistakably our group manager, Soojin. She sounded frantic. "And is Clover with you? She's not answering her phone."

I froze, suddenly remembering that it had probably died hours ago.

Yoongi leaned back in his chair, his tone as calm and unbothered as ever. "She's with me."

Soojin didn't seem satisfied with that. "What do you mean? Is she okay? Why hasn't she—"

"She's fine," he interrupted smoothly, not offering any more information. His eyes flicked to me briefly, and I saw the faintest trace of amusement in his expression as he added, "Don't worry about it."

Before Soojin could push further, Yoongi ended the call and set his phone back on the table, entirely unbothered by the exchange.

I blinked at him, half in shock. "You didn't even let her finish."

He shrugged, reaching for his chopsticks again. "She'll survive."

A small laugh escaped me despite the situation. "You're unbelievable."

He raised an eyebrow, a faint smirk playing on his lips. "And you're careless. Who leaves without checking their phone's battery?"

I rolled my eyes but couldn't argue. He had a point. Still, the way he handled the call left me both impressed and mildly exasperated. Yoongi's way of managing things was as enigmatic as the man himself.

Yoongi set down his chopsticks and leaned back in his chair, fixing me with that steady gaze of his. "I'm heading home for a bit. Need to grab some clothes."

I nodded, understanding. "Makes sense. You've been here the whole day."

He tilted his head slightly, considering something. "Anything you need from your place? I can stop by and bring it for you."

The offer caught me off guard, and I hesitated before answering. "Yoongi, you don't have to do that. You should go home and rest. I'll be fine."

He shook his head, his expression firm. "You're not fine. And I'm not leaving you here alone for long."

His insistence was both frustrating and touching. "Yoongi, really—"

"I'll be back," he interrupted, standing up and grabbing his jacket. "Just tell me what you need."

I sighed, realizing I wasn't going to win this argument. "If you're sure... just grab my tablet and charger. They're on the table in the living room. And maybe my hoodie—the gray one with the zipper."

He nodded, already moving toward the door. "Got it. I'll be back soon."

"Yoongi," I called after him, making him pause.

"What?"

"Thank you," I said quietly, my voice carrying more emotion than I expected.

He didn't reply right away, but the look in his eyes softened just a little. "Get some rest," he said before walking out the door.

***

The soft rays of morning sunlight peeked through the curtains of the hospital room, casting a warm glow over the space. I blinked slowly, the fog of sleep lifting as I turned my head. That's when I saw him—Yoongi, sprawled on the couch beside my hospital bed, fast asleep.

His arms were crossed over his chest, and his head rested against the back of the couch. The peaceful expression on his face made him look younger, softer. For a moment, I simply stared, taking in the sight of him.

How had I not paid more attention to him before? Sure, I adored Taehyung—always had, always would. He was my bias, my ultimate. But now, seeing Yoongi like this, so quiet and so close, I couldn't help but wonder why I'd overlooked him.

It wasn't like I didn't love all of them; as an ARMY, that was a given. Each of them was special in their own way. But Yoongi... he had always seemed distant, mysterious. And now here he was, staying by my side, looking after me in ways I hadn't expected.

The thought made me pause. I shook my head quickly, as if trying to erase it. No, I had to stay loyal to my bias. Taehyung was the one who made my heart race, who I'd dreamt about and admired for years.

Still, I couldn't stop myself from glancing back at Yoongi. He shifted slightly in his sleep, his lips parting just a little as he let out a soft sigh. My heart tugged unexpectedly, and I immediately berated myself.

"Clover, get a grip," I whispered under my breath.

I instinctively reached for my phone. To my surprise, it was already fully charged. My eyes darted to the bedside table, where I spotted my charger neatly plugged in.

Suga.

I hadn't even asked him to grab my phone charger, but somehow he'd thought to bring it from my house and charge my phone while I was asleep. A small, warm feeling bubbled up in my chest, though it was quickly drowned out by a wave of guilt. I hadn't even thanked him properly for everything he did last night.

Unlocking my phone, I saw several missed notifications. Three texts from Tris immediately caught my attention.

Hey, are you okay?

I had to leave. Please take care of yourself.

I'm worried. Haven't heard from you.

My stomach twisted with guilt. I'd completely disappeared on him last night after everything he'd been through. I quickly typed a reply:

I'm so sorry I vanished last night. I'm okay. Are you doing alright?

Before I could even set my phone down, curiosity got the better of me. I scrolled through my notifications, opening one of the articles that had blown up overnight.

There was Tris—his face plastered across the screen, the headlines all focused on the tragedy he'd just endured. But what nearly made me scream was seeing my name in bold, right below his.

There I was, caught in a photo at the hospital lobby from last night, surrounded by the crowd that had recognized me. The headline read: "Tris Fuentes Speaks Out About Ex-Girlfriend Clover Peewee: 'She Was There for Me in My Toughest Time.'"

What?

I opened the attached video, my heart racing. There was Tris, looking exhausted but composed, addressing reporters. His voice echoed through the room as he said, "Clover was there with me last night, and I'm grateful she was there for me at the toughest time of my life."

My stomach dropped. It wasn't a lie, but the way he said it... It sounded like we were back together. Like we were more than we were.

I scrolled down to the comments and winced.

ARMYs:
"What's Clover doing with her ex when she's supposed to be linked to Taehyung? Fake fan vibes."
"First Taehyung, now Tris? She's really out here living the dream while we suffer."
"ARMYs, let's not give her attention. She's obviously trying to use Taehyung for clout."

I clenched my phone, my pulse pounding. This was a disaster. I needed to say something—clear the air, make a statement, do something.

Before I could even gather my thoughts, a groggy voice cut through the silence.

"Why are you screaming?"

I whipped my head around to see Suga sitting up on the couch, his hair a disheveled mess, his eyes half-closed as he stared at me.

"I—" I faltered, holding up my phone. "This. It's all over the media now. Tris mentioned me in an interview, and now people think we're back together or something. And ARMYs... they're furious."

Suga got up and walked over, taking my phone from my hand. He skimmed the article and comments, his face giving away nothing, though I noticed a flicker of irritation in his eyes. He handed the phone back without a word and leaned against the wall, crossing his arms.

"You shouldn't be worrying about this right now," he said, his tone calm but firm. "You're in the hospital for a reason. Stressing over this is only going to make things worse."

"But—"

"No buts." His gaze locked on mine, unwavering. "Your health is the priority. Everything else can wait. Let your management handle it. That's what they're there for."

I opened my mouth to argue, but his words settled in my chest like a stone. He was right. I hated to admit it, but he was.

I sighed, dropping my head back against the pillow.

Later that morning, as sunlight spilled gently through the windows, the door to my hospital room swung open, revealing the doctor, clipboard in hand. His expression was kind but serious, the kind of look that made my stomach churn with anticipation.

"Good morning, Clover," he greeted, stepping closer to my bed. Suga, who had been sitting on the couch scrolling through his phone, immediately straightened up, his attention shifting to the doctor.

"Good morning, Doctor," I replied cautiously, trying to read his face for any clues.

Before he continued, the doctor paused, a small, apologetic smile crossing his face. "I realized I didn't properly introduce myself last night, and I apologize for that. Everything was happening so quickly. I'm Dr. Daniel Hyunsoo Lee, one of the cardiologists overseeing your care. I'm Korean American, and I'll be guiding you through this process."

His words were formal yet warm, and I found myself nodding. "Thank you, Dr. Lee."

He pulled up a chair and sat beside me, his tone calm yet firm. "We've reviewed your case, and after consulting with the transplant team, we've decided to place you on the KONOS waiting list as a high-priority candidate—Priority 1."

The words hit me like a tidal wave. Priority 1. That meant it was serious—more serious than I had let myself believe. My heart thudded in my chest as I tried to absorb the weight of what he was saying.

Dr. Lee continued, "This means that when a compatible donor becomes available, you'll be at the top of the list. But until then, there are several steps we need to take to ensure you're fully prepared."

I nodded numbly, clutching the blanket in my lap. Suga's presence in the corner felt like an anchor, grounding me in the storm brewing inside.

"We'll start with comprehensive testing to confirm your eligibility for the transplant," he explained. "This includes physical evaluations, blood work, and imaging to ensure there are no contraindications."

"Okay," I murmured, my voice barely above a whisper.

"Additionally," he said, his gaze softening, "we'll need to ensure you have a strong support system in place—emotionally, physically, and financially. The transplant process can be overwhelming, and it's crucial that you have people around you who can help you through it."

I glanced at Suga, who was watching Dr. Lee intently. Somehow, his calm expression made it easier to breathe.

"We'll also provide counseling," Dr. Lee continued. "Both for you and your family. This will help you understand the risks, the waiting process, and what to expect post-transplant. It's a lot to take in, but we'll be here every step of the way."

I swallowed hard and managed a shaky nod. "How long... how long does it usually take?"

Dr. Lee hesitated, his professional mask slipping just enough for me to see the uncertainty beneath. "It varies. Some patients find a match quickly, while for others, it takes longer. But with your priority status, we're hopeful it won't be too long."

My hands tightened around the blanket as I forced myself to stay composed. "Thank you, Dr. Lee."

He offered a reassuring smile and stood. "You're in good hands, Clover. We'll get through this together."

After he left, silence settled over the room like a heavy fog. I stared at the wall, my mind racing with a thousand thoughts. Priority 1. Transplant. Waiting list. Risks.

Suga leaned back in his seat, his gaze steady as he studied me. "Maybe," he said, his voice calm but firm, "you should let your family know about what's happening."

The suggestion hung in the air like a weight pressing on my chest. I looked away, my fingers clutching the blanket tighter.

"I..." I started, but the words caught in my throat. I couldn't bring myself to say it. My mind raced with images of my dad's face if he found out—how the worry would carve deeper lines into his already tired features. And Break? He'd probably drop everything to be here, even if it meant abandoning his responsibilities.

"My father and Break," I finally said, my voice barely audible. "They're the only family I have."

Suga didn't say anything, giving me the space to continue.

"I don't want to burden them with this," I admitted. "They think my condition is manageable, that it's... not this bad." My voice cracked at the end, and I swallowed hard to keep the tears from spilling over. "How am I supposed to tell them everything's worse than they thought? They'd worry, and I don't want that for them."

Suga tilted his head slightly, his expression unreadable. "Don't you think they'd want to know? To be here for you?"

"They've already done so much," I said quickly. "Especially my father. He's been through enough, and Break... he's like my brother. I don't want them to feel like they have to put their lives on hold for me."

Suga sighed, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. "Clover, they're your family. You might think you're protecting them, but maybe you're just shutting them out."

His words stung because deep down, I knew he was right. But the thought of seeing the fear in my Papa's eyes, or the frustration Break would try to hide—it was too much to bear.

"I just..." I shook my head, my voice faltering. "I need to think about it."

Suga didn't push further. Instead, he simply nodded, his expression softening. "Alright," he said quietly.

I didn't respond, turning my gaze back to the window. The sunlight that once felt warm now seemed glaring, highlighting the complicated mess of emotions swirling inside me.

As silence settled over us again, I couldn't help but wonder if I was being selfish or just trying to hold onto some semblance of control in a situation where I had so little.