Morning arrived with the subtlety of a knife wound—sharp, insistent, impossible to ignore. Taehyung woke to the sensation of heat against her back, a heavy arm draped over her waist, and the distinct soreness between her thighs that spoke of thorough, repeated use. For a moment, caught in that liminal space between dreams and waking, she simply existed in the warmth, letting the memories of the previous night wash over her in waves that made her skin flush and her breath hitch.

Jungkook was still asleep, his breathing deep and even, his face relaxed in a way she rarely saw when he was awake. Awake, he was guarded, controlled, every expression calculated. Asleep, he looked younger, the lines around his eyes softened, his full lips slightly parted. She turned carefully, wincing at the ache in her muscles, and studied him in the early morning light filtering through the curtains.