The first time Yoongi shows up at her apartment, she’s just finished cleaning up her after-dinner mess and opened her laptop for a movie, wanting a quiet night in.
“I hope this is okay,” he says after she opens the door to him slumped against the frame, purpled exhaustion painted into his lacrimal groove and a reddened darkness in the outer corner, as if one of his makeup artists had applied a rusty shadow to elongate his eyes and create depth.
“You said to come over if I needed,” he adds.
She nods. “Of course, come on in.”
He shuffles in, toeing off his shoes in the cramped entryway space, then follows her into the small Gangnam studio apartment. He looks around at her minimal decor, enough to show glimpses of her personality, but little enough to keep her space from feeling overcrowded and busy, the pale peachy wall color cocooning him in warmth.
