The morning light filtering through the sheer curtains was different somehow—thicker, more golden, as if the universe itself had decided to illuminate this particular bedroom with a spotlight reserved for revelations. Taehyung woke slowly, consciousness returning in layers: first the sensation of silk against her bare skin, then the ache between her thighs that spoke of thorough use, then the weight of an arm draped possessively over her waist, and finally, the sound of breathing—two distinct rhythms, one deep and slow behind her, one soft and steady to her front.

She opened her eyes to find Jimin watching her, propped up on one elbow, her pink hair catching the morning light like spun cotton candy. She was already dressed, or rather, dressed for her—a silk robe the color of ripe peaches, loosely belted to reveal the soft swell of her breasts, the delicate curve of her collarbones, the creamy expanse of her stomach that disappeared beneath the silk tied at her waist. In her hand, she held a cup of tea, steam rising in lazy curls, but her attention was entirely fixed on Taehyung's face, her expression unreadable, her eyes dark with an intensity that made her breath catch.