"ᴊᴜꜱᴛ ᴋᴇᴇᴘ ᴍᴇ ᴡʜᴇʀᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ʟɪɢʜᴛ ɪꜱ."

In the hush of a sleepless night, you find yourself tangled in the quiet of Yoongi’s bedroom—half-asleep on his bed while he sits on the floor, guitar resting in his lap, fingers drifting across strings like it’s the only language he trusts. He doesn’t say much. He doesn’t have to.

The music he plays isn’t for the world. It’s for you.