The next morning felt strangely hollow. Tae lingered over coffee near her kitchen window, her gaze fixed on Jungkook’s silent house. No rumble of the motorbike shattered the quiet. No backpack-clad figure hurried down the driveway. The blinds remained firmly drawn. By noon, a restless itch settled under her skin. She tried reading, flipping pages without absorbing a word. The stillness pressed in. Finally, she slipped on a flimsy lavender silk robe, belting it loosely so it gaped open over her matching lace lingerie. Barefoot, she padded across the dewy grass separating their homes.

She knocked firmly on the Jeons’ front door. Silence. She knocked again, sharper. Nothing. A faint, rhythmic thumping noise drifted from within – muffled, insistent. Tae hesitated only a second before turning the knob. It was unlocked. She eased the door open, stepping into the dim hallway.