By the second week of January 2026, the halls of the HYBE building had become a fever dream of activity. With the official announcement of BTS’s comeback set for March 20th, every floor was vibrating with the bass of new choreography and the frantic energy of a world-class team preparing for history. As a junior producer, your life consisted of caffeine, glowing monitors, and endless vocal files—until the door to your small, tucked-away studio creaked open at midnight.
Jungkook slipped inside, looking less like the "Global Pop Icon" and more like the boy who had just survived a fourteen-hour dance practice. He was wearing an oversized black hoodie, his hair still damp from a quick post-rehearsal shower, and he held two bottles of banana milk like a peace offering. Since his discharge, your studio had become his unofficial "safe zone," the one place where no one asked him for a status report on his fitness or his high notes.
"Is the 'Vocal Recovery Room' open?" he asked, his voice a soft, tired rasp. He didn't wait for an answer before plopping down on the floor cushions, immediately pulling out his phone to show you a video of Bam clumsily chasing a ball in his living room. "He’s finally used to the house again," Jungkook beamed, his eyes crinkling in that familiar, bunny-toothed way. "He sleeps at the foot of my bed every night now. It’s like the last two years never happened."
For an hour, you didn't talk about the album or the looming world tour. You talked about the simple things he had missed—the smell of laundry detergent, the ability to sleep past 6:00 AM, and the thrill of being able to choose his own snacks at a convenience store. But eventually, the pull of the equipment was too strong. You began tinkering with a rough, acoustic melody you had been building—a light, breezy track inspired by the "Golden Hour" sun hitting the Han River.
Without a word, Jungkook stood up and leaned over your shoulder, his scent of clean soap and citrus filling your space. He began to hum, his voice naturally locking into a harmony that was so sweet it made the hair on your arms stand up. He started ad-libbing lyrics about the feeling of the sun on his face after a long winter, his tone airy and relaxed—the "soft" Jungkook that the public rarely got to see.
"Wait," he whispered, grabbing a spare microphone. "Record that. Right now."
In one single, effortless take, he laid down a guide vocal that was pure magic. It wasn't the powerful, stadium-shaking belt of his title tracks; it was a lullaby, a secret shared between friends. When he finished, he sat back and listened to the playback, a small, genuine smile playing on his lips. "This should be the 14th track," he decided. "A hidden outro. After all the noise of the comeback, I want the fans—to hear what peace sounds like."
The night ended in the HYBE cafeteria, the two of you hunched over steaming bowls of ramen as the first snow of 2026 began to drift past the floor-to-ceiling windows. Jungkook looked out at the city, looking more content than you had ever seen him.
"2026 is going to be big," he said, tapping his chopsticks against the table. "But I think I’m going to like the quiet moments like this the most. Don't forget to save that file, okay? It’s our secret for now." As he walked you to the elevators, he gave you a playful nudge and promised to bring Bam to the studio the next night, leaving you with a heart full of fluff and the realization that the world’s biggest star was, at his core, just a boy who found his home again.
Jungkook slipped inside, looking less like the "Global Pop Icon" and more like the boy who had just survived a fourteen-hour dance practice. He was wearing an oversized black hoodie, his hair still damp from a quick post-rehearsal shower, and he held two bottles of banana milk like a peace offering. Since his discharge, your studio had become his unofficial "safe zone," the one place where no one asked him for a status report on his fitness or his high notes.
"Is the 'Vocal Recovery Room' open?" he asked, his voice a soft, tired rasp. He didn't wait for an answer before plopping down on the floor cushions, immediately pulling out his phone to show you a video of Bam clumsily chasing a ball in his living room. "He’s finally used to the house again," Jungkook beamed, his eyes crinkling in that familiar, bunny-toothed way. "He sleeps at the foot of my bed every night now. It’s like the last two years never happened."
For an hour, you didn't talk about the album or the looming world tour. You talked about the simple things he had missed—the smell of laundry detergent, the ability to sleep past 6:00 AM, and the thrill of being able to choose his own snacks at a convenience store. But eventually, the pull of the equipment was too strong. You began tinkering with a rough, acoustic melody you had been building—a light, breezy track inspired by the "Golden Hour" sun hitting the Han River.
Without a word, Jungkook stood up and leaned over your shoulder, his scent of clean soap and citrus filling your space. He began to hum, his voice naturally locking into a harmony that was so sweet it made the hair on your arms stand up. He started ad-libbing lyrics about the feeling of the sun on his face after a long winter, his tone airy and relaxed—the "soft" Jungkook that the public rarely got to see.
"Wait," he whispered, grabbing a spare microphone. "Record that. Right now."
In one single, effortless take, he laid down a guide vocal that was pure magic. It wasn't the powerful, stadium-shaking belt of his title tracks; it was a lullaby, a secret shared between friends. When he finished, he sat back and listened to the playback, a small, genuine smile playing on his lips. "This should be the 14th track," he decided. "A hidden outro. After all the noise of the comeback, I want the fans—to hear what peace sounds like."
The night ended in the HYBE cafeteria, the two of you hunched over steaming bowls of ramen as the first snow of 2026 began to drift past the floor-to-ceiling windows. Jungkook looked out at the city, looking more content than you had ever seen him.
"2026 is going to be big," he said, tapping his chopsticks against the table. "But I think I’m going to like the quiet moments like this the most. Don't forget to save that file, okay? It’s our secret for now." As he walked you to the elevators, he gave you a playful nudge and promised to bring Bam to the studio the next night, leaving you with a heart full of fluff and the realization that the world’s biggest star was, at his core, just a boy who found his home again.
