The familiar scent of expensive cologne wrapped around you as you felt the bed dip, your phone screen casting a faint glow through the darkened room. His hand settled over yours, fingers warm. He'd taken off his jacket somewhere between the door and here—a faint rustle of fabric from earlier, the quiet click of the door, and then his presence beside you.

The building hum was still on. Outside, Seoul glittered. On your phone, an older video he'd sent last week played on mute—him in the practice room, laughing at something Namjoon said, head thrown back, easy.