Tangled Realities (Ot7xreader)

Waking up slowly, you feel someone behind you-familiar, grounding warmth. Taehyung's arm drapes lazily across your waist, his breath soft against your neck. For a moment, the pressure of looming dead-lines and unspoken fears fades into the background.

But reality has a habit of pulling you back.

Your alarm blares, cutting through the peaceful quiet, and you groan softly. Before you can reach for your phone, Taehyung's grip tightens.

"Ignore it," he mumbles, voice thick with sleep.

"I can't, Tae," you whisper, trying to wiggle free. "I have class."

He sighs dramatically but lets you go, rolling onto his back.

"You work too much," he grumbles, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

You smile softly, brushing a strand of hair from his forehead. "And you're too clingy."

"You love it," he quips back, but there's a tinge of seriousness beneath the teasing.

And he's not wrong. You do love it. You love the way they each hold you in their own way-soft, protective, sometimes demanding-but lately, you've been slipping through the cracks between them.

And no one really sees it.

Your day is a blur of lectures, sketching assignments, and caffeine-fueled deadlines. Between your animation studies at K-ARTS and your internship, there's barely enough time to breathe.

By the time your classes end, you're exhausted. Still, your inbox is full of notes from your supervisor asking for edits, revisions, and more deadlines. You barely have time to check your phone between meetings-but when you do, your heart softens.

Hobi: "Don't forget to eat, love. I made you something. It's in the fridge."

Koo: "I found this cool animation tool online. Thought you might like it. I miss you, noona."

The messages bring a flicker of warmth, but the overwhelming pile of work dulls their comfort.

You've gotten used to this feeling-being stretched between the worlds of your dreams and your love. But lately, it's harder to hold everything together.

---

By the time you finally get home, the house is quieter than usual. The hum of conversation drifts from the living room, but all you want is to disappear into your room and finish your work.

You barely make it to the stairs when Jin's voice cuts through the silence.

"Yah, where do you think you're going?"

You pause mid-step, biting back a sigh. He's seated on the couch, legs crossed, with Hoseok sprawled next to him, his head resting on Jin's lap. Yoongi sits nearby, laptop perched on his knees-but his sharp gaze is fixed on you.

"Work," you answer softly, already inching toward your escape.

Jin raises an eyebrow. "When's the last time you ate?"

Your silence is answer enough.

In a flash, Hoseok is on his feet, already guiding you toward the couch.

"Hobi-" you protest, but his hands are firm as he presses you down between him and Yoongi.

"Sit. Stay," he says gently, like you're a flight risk.

You sigh, tension easing slightly under their warm, familiar presence.

Yoongi doesn't speak at first. But then he closes his laptop with a quiet snap, placing it aside. His fingers trail over your wrist lightly, a silent reminder that he's watching-always watching.

"You're pushing too hard," he murmurs.

You swallow against the lump rising in your throat. "I can handle it."

Jin snorts softly. "Just because you can doesn't mean you should."

Hoseok's arm slides around your shoulders, his warmth chasing away the cold knot of anxiety in your stomach.

"We're worried about you," he admits, voice softer than usual.

For a moment, the weight of their concern presses against the fragile wall you've built around yourself. You want to tell them you're fine-that you don't want to be a burden. But under their combined gaze, the words stick in your throat.

Instead, you murmur, "I'm trying."

Yoongi's touch lingers at your wrist, a thumb sweeping slowly over your pulse.

"You don't have to try alone."

Later that night, when the others drift upstairs, you linger behind. Your laptop hums softly, half-finished projects still waiting for your attention.

A yawn escapes before you can catch it.

"Come here," a voice calls softly from the kitchen.

It's Namjoon-shirt sleeves rolled up, glasses perched low on his nose. He's sitting at the kitchen island, a cup of chamomile tea already waiting for you.

"Joon, I still have-"

"You'll burn yourself out," he interrupts gently. "Take a break. Please."

His words aren't a command-but the weight of them settles into your bones, pulling you forward until you're sinking into the chair beside him.

For a while, you sit in companionable silence. His presence is grounding, anchoring you to something steady while your world spins too fast.

When he finally speaks again, his voice is softer.

"You know, you don't always have to be strong for us," he says quietly, his fingers brushing against yours. "Let us be strong for you too."

You blink back the sudden sting in your eyes. "I'm just scared I'll fall behind," you confess in a whisper.

Namjoon's hand finds yours, holding it tightly. "Even if you do-we'll be right here to catch you."