Days blurred into a rhythm. Jungkook returned each evening, eyes haunted, shoulders slumped. He avoided looking at Tae directly. Mr. Jeon was always there—lounging on her couch, using her shower, drinking her coffee.
Tae moved between them like a practiced dancer—a soft kiss for Kookie’s forehead when he slouched past, a rough grope from Mr. Jeon pulling her onto his lap during commercials.






















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