The bridge was empty again, the canal water a dark, murmuring witness below. The festive lights still glowed in the distance, but here, the world was reduced to stone, cold air, and the lingering echo of a broken man’s sobs.

Jungkook stood where she had left him, looking lost and wrung out, as Y/N returned, a compact professional camera in her hands. She had moved with a quiet purpose, retrieving it from the equipment case in Yoongi’s room with a whispered excuse of needing fresh air for night shots. She didn’t ask for permission. This was not for the documentary. This was for him.