The morning light filtered through the heavy curtains of Jungkook’s room like a hesitant intruder, soft and golden against the dark sheets that still carried the scent of steam, salt, and something far more dangerous than either of them had names for yet. They had ended up here sometime in the deep hours after the sauna—bodies tangled, skin still damp, the bullet pendant pressed between them like a shared secret neither had the strength to examine in the aftermath. YN’s leg had been thrown over his hip, his arm locked around her waist with a possessiveness that felt less like a cage and more like the only thing keeping either of them from drifting into the dark.

Jungkook woke first.