International Gwanyu Hotel

It was past midnight when Jungkook stepped out of the shower.

Steam still clung to the edges of the hallway as he wrapped a towel around his waist, hair dripping slightly, exhaustion finally catching up to him after a long day that blurred between business and something far darker he never named.

The doorbell rang.

Once.

Then again.

He frowned.

No one came up here at this hour.

He walked barefoot to the door, opened it halfway—and paused.

You were standing there.

Small frame. Hotel uniform slightly too big. Hands clasped tightly around a cleaning cloth and supplies. Like you had been told to fix a problem that already weighed more than you.

For a second, he didn’t move.

Then he stepped aside.

“Go ahead.”

You entered quietly, immediately heading toward the living room like you had memorized the layout of mistakes in expensive homes.

He stayed near the hallway, watching.

Not because he cared about the wine on the carpet.

But because you looked too young to be standing in a place like this at this hour.

The sound of scrubbing filled the silence.

After a while, his voice cut through it.

“Are you always called this late?”

You hesitated.

He leaned against the wall, arms crossed.

“You’re alone?”

A pause.