The Hallasan mountains cradled the retreat in a veil of evening mist, weaving through pine trees whose dark shapes stood sharp against the starry sky. Wooden cabins scattered across the slope glowed with warm light, their windows reflecting the flicker of a campfire. The air carried the scent of pine and sizzling meat from the barbecue, where BTS members filled the night with lively chatter. Flames cast golden glows on their faces, blending with the crackle of burning logs.

Jin, gripping tongs, took charge at the grill, his voice cutting through the noise. “Taehyung, stop messing with the meat, you’ll ruin it!” he scolded, nudging Taehyung, who was poking a steak with a fork, grinning.

“It needs flair, hyung!” Taehyung shot back, winking at Hoseok, who was already swaying to the beat from a portable speaker, humming along.

“Hobi, if you start dancing to that old pop song again, I’m unplugging it!” Yoongi called from a log, sprawled with a mug of tea, his smirk betraying his amusement.

Namjoon, seated nearby, strummed a guitar, shaking his head. “If you guys burn the food, I’m out,” he said, but his smile showed he was soaking in the chaos.

Mid the lively scene, Jungkook stood by the grill, turning skewers with mechanical focus. His black hair, slightly messy, fell over his forehead, and his tattooed hand moved steadily, as if the task could shield him from the world. His oversized t-shirt shifted in the breeze, and his earrings glinted in the firelight. Two years ago, his breakup with her had left a bitter scar — harsh words and unresolved pain still lingered. He knew she was here, knew she was close with the members, but it only made him withdraw further. His gaze, fixed on the sizzling meat, was cold, almost impenetrable, untouched by the laughter around him.

When she approached the barbecue for more food, Jungkook sensed her presence but kept his eyes on the grill. His face stayed blank, betraying no emotion. Only when she stood close did he pause, his hand tightening on the tongs, before he spoke, his voice flat and devoid of warmth, as if forced. “Food’s there,” he said, nodding slightly toward the tray of cooked steaks, eyes still on the grill. “Take some.” His tone was clipped, mechanical, his movements sharp, like he wanted to return to his task.