• 5- ʏ/ɴ •

I dig through my bag for the thousandth time, fingers sifting through loose pens, crumpled receipts, my book. My wallet.

My lip balm. Му-

Where the frick are my keys?

I freeze, my heart doing an awkward little skip before thudding hard against my ribs.

No. No, no, no.

I drop my bag onto the hallway floor, the contents spilling out in a chaotic mess.

My hands fly over everything, sifting, searching, willing my keys to magically appear.

Come on. They have to be here. They have to.

But they aren't.

I sit back on my heels, staring at the disaster I just created. The dim hallway light flickers above me, buzzing faintly, making everything feel even more tragic.

I groan, pushing my hair out of my face. Okay. Think. I could call the landlord. Yeah. That's a good plan.

I pull out my phone and hit call.

One ring.

Two.

Straight to voicemail.

I groan louder this time, dropping my head back against the door. "Pick up your phone, dude."

I glance down the hallway. No sign of JUNGKOOK. Not that I expect him to swoop in and save the day like some tattooed, brooding knight, but it would be really convenient right about now.

Too bad I don't even have his number.

I sigh, slumping against the door. My fingers drum against my knee as I consider my options. I could sleep outside the door like a stray cat. Not ideal. But calling the landlord again seems pointless, and wandering around at this hour isn't exactly appealing either.

So, I wait.

Minutes pass. Then longer. My eyelids grow heavy, my head tipping back against the door. The cold from the floor seeps through my skin, but at some point, my body stops caring.

Just for a second, I tell myself. Just one.

Before I know it, I'm asleep.

. . . . .

I wake up warm.

Which is weird. Because last I checked, I was definitely not warm.

I blink at the ceiling, my brain crawling out of sleep in slow motion. The room is quiet, the kind of quiet that only exists in the early morning before the world fully wakes up. I push myself up, rubbing my eyes.

And then I notice it.

JUNGKOOK's side of the room.

The bed is unmade. The sheets messy, like someone slept in them. But he's not there.

I frown, glancing around. No sign of him anywhere. But on my desk-

A piece of paper.

I get up, grabbing it.

A number.

No name, no explanation. Just a lazy scrawl of digits.

Huh. Interesting.

But no time to dwell on that, because I have work.

I pull open my tiny wardrobe, grabbing my uniform-the same beige button-up and the same tight brown skirt. After buttoning up and tucking in, I roll up the sleeves, just enough to feel a little less formal.

Then, for once, I put in more effort.

A little mascara. My usual lipstick. A delicate gold bracelet I haven't worn in a while.

Because I feel pretty today.

And because sometimes, you have to romanticize life a little.

I look at myself in the mirror and smile.

Satisfied, I grab my bag and head out.

. . . . .

The air outside is crisp, cool against my skin. Morning light spills onto the street, painting everything in a soft glow. I adjust my bag on my shoulder, taking a deep breath-

-only to immediately choke on the smell of smoke.

I cough, eyes watering slightly as I look up.

JUNGKOOK.

He's leaning against the wall of the building, a cigarette held loosely between his fingers. His other hand is stuffed in his pocket, his expression unreadable as he exhales a slow stream of smoke.

He sees me. Looks at me.

And then?

He full-on ignores me.

This male.

He looks like he stepped out of some fictious book-dark hair ruffled just enough to look like he didn't try, veins on his forearm shifting as he flicks ash from his cigarette.

The black T-shirt clings to muscle, to definition, to the kind of strength that's impossible to ignore. Tattoos peek out, bold against his skin, like an invitation to stare.

And I do.

Would he let me lick them?

What the fuck, Y/N.

Wait. Wait wait wait. Is he smoking outside because of my asthma? Because I was inside the room? That's so fricking sweet-

No. Shut up, Y/N. That's the bare minimum.

But also- oh my GOD??

I clear my throat, forcing down the weird warmth blooming in my chest. "Hi."

JUNGKOOK exhales, flicking his cigarette. His eyes rest on mine, almost lazily. "What."

Not even a question. Just a flat, unimpressed what.

I squint at him. "Okay, rude."

He shrugs. "I'm just being efficient."

I fold my arms. "Efficient at what? Being a jerk?"

"Being direct." He takes another slow drag, exhaling like this conversation is physically exhausting him. "You walked up to me first. That's on you."

I scoff. "Wow. You must be a hit at parties."

"I am, actually." He tilts his head slightly, studying me. "You, though? I'm guessing you talk so much they don't even need music."

I gasp, clutching my chest. "Oh my GOD. That was so mean."

His mouth almost twitches. Almost.

"I'm heartbroken," I continue, dramatically. "Crushed. Absolutely devastated."

"Tragic." He flicks his cigarette onto the pavement and steps on it. "Hope you recover."

JUNGKOOK exhales, adding. "You're annoying."

"And yet," I say, pointing a finger at him, "you're still standing here, talking to me."

Silence.

Then, finally, he pushes off the wall, brushing past me. "Go to work, ARCHER."

I blink after him.

Wait.

Wait.

Did he just-he knows my last name?

I whip around. "How do you know my name?"

But he's already gone.

I stare after him, brain catching up way too late.

Wait.

I was actually supposed to ask why I woke up in my bed when I'm sure I fell asleep on the hallway. And why his number was sitting on my desk.

If I sleeptalked or-God forbid-sleep-walked or something.

But, uh. Never mind.

He's gone.

. . . . .

The café smells like coffee and vanilla, warm and familiar. The hum of conversation floats in the air, mixed with the occasional clatter of dishes.

It's slow today.

I sit at the counter, chin resting on my hand, absently wiping the surface even though it's already spotless. The lull is dangerous because it gives my brain too much space to think. To wonder. To replay the weirdness of waking up in bed when I should've been outside.

Then, the door chime rings.

I glance up.

TAEHYUNG.

My stomach does a weird little flip, and not the fun kind.

He steps inside, his eyes scanning the café before landing on me. His lips twitch into a small smile, like he's pleasantly surprised.

"Oh, hey," he says, walking closer. "You work here?"

His voice is smooth, practiced, the kind that's used to getting what it wants.

I tighten my grip on the rag.

"Yeah," I say carefully. "Been here a while."

TAEHYUNG nods, taking his time looking around. Like he's memorizing the place.

He's dressed sharp, as always. A navy button-up, sleeves rolled to his elbows like he just casually decided to be effortless and attractive today. Dark tailored pants. A silver watch that probably costs more than my rent. His hair is perfectly styled-short on the sides, tousled just enough on top.

Basically, he looks like someone who belongs in a high-end bar sipping expensive whiskey, not standing in a tiny café that smells like burnt caramel.

"Huh," he muses. "Didn't expect to see you here."

I force a small hum, noncommittal. Sure, dude. Totally normal coincidence.

Except he doesn't order anything. Doesn't even glance at the me

nu.

Instead, he leans against the counter, settling in. Looking at me with a creepy grin.

And I can't shake the feeling that maybe -just maybe-he came here for a reason. And that reason has something to do with me.