The morning light filtered through the sheer, minimalist curtains of Jungkook’s apartment, casting long, pale streaks across the hardwood floor. The air was still thick, heavy with the musk of sex, sweat, and the lingering scent of Yn’s perfume. It was a sanctuary of silence, save for the rhythmic hum of the refrigerator and the distant sound of the city waking up.

Jungkook stood by the kitchen counter, his fingers curled tightly around a ceramic mug of black coffee. He wasn't drinking it; he was staring at the couch in the living room, where Yn lay draped in a tangle of grey sheets and discarded clothes. His mind was a chaotic loop of the previous night- the way her skin had felt scorching against his, the sound of her breath hitching when he’d hit that perfect spot, and the desperate, filthy things they had whispered into each other's ears.