박지민 (Park Jimin)

Autumn Seoul greeted him with a light drizzle that soaked not only his clothes but his spirits. Seventeen-year-old Min Yunho sat by the window of a small coffee shop in Honda, indifferently tracing the rim of his cold Americano with his finger. He hated this feeling—as if a light had been turned off inside him. It wasn't a burnt-out bulb, but someone had simply flipped a switch, and that was it. "Mild," the doctor his mother had forced him to go to had said. But for Yunho, this "mildness" weighed a ton. His world had long since become black and white. The only splash of color was BTS's music. And especially Jimin.
His heart did a somersault. And then another. A boy his age had never been a vocal fan. He didn't have posters on his walls (just a couple tucked away in a closet "just in case"). But now he recognized those shoulders. That line of his neck. How could you not recognize them when you've been waking up and falling asleep to the same tune for three years?