No Strings Attached | Min Yoongi x OC

2 ♡

"How's work?" I ask.
"Busy," she says, then shrugs. "Same as always. You?"
"Same."

We both laugh quietly at how useless that answer is. This is how it always starts, small talk to disguise what we're really here for. Routine, safety. But it doesn't feel safe anymore. It feels... exposed.

She crosses one leg over the other, sips her drink. Her flannel slides off her shoulder, and I catch the faint trace of the perfume that still lingers on that shirt in my closet. My body reacts before my mind does, but it isn't lust – it's memory.

I watch her eyes move over the room, taking in the framed records, the books stacked unevenly, the faint clutter of real life. "Nice place," she says softly.
"Thanks."

She doesn't ask why I changed the rules. I don't ask if she's wondering. We just sit there, two people pretending we don't already know this isn't the same kind of night.

She sets her glass down first.

"I didn't think it'd feel this different," she says. Her voice is steady, not heavy, but the air shifts.

I look at her. "Different how?"

She hesitates, searching for the right words. "You. This place. I don't know. Maybe me."
Then she laughs once, softly. "Why am I here, Yoongi?"

It isn't a challenge. It's a simple, quiet question that lands like a stone dropped in water.
I open my mouth, but nothing useful comes out. The answer sits somewhere behind my ribs, tangled with everything I've been trying not to name.

"If this was your way of trying to tell me that we should stop," she goes on, "you could've just texted me. I'm not that fragile."

That one hits deeper than I expect. I swallow around it. "That's not why I—"
"Then why?"

The words aren't sharp; they're tired. She folds her hands around her glass again, eyes fixed on the amber inside. "You don't owe me an explanation, I know that. But if this is about guilt, or someone finding out, or whatever it is that makes you suddenly change the rules... just say it."

I lean back against the couch, exhale through my nose. "It's not that simple."

"It never is."
She smiles then, faint and self-aware, the same smile she used the night we first met. "For what it's worth, I still don't want your money. And I'm still willing to sign an NDA if it helps you sleep."

That makes me look at her. "Stop."

She raises a brow. "What?"

"Don't make it sound like you're doing me a favor for being decent."

Her lips part, and for a moment she looks almost hurt. Then she nods slowly. "Okay."

The silence stretches. Somewhere outside, a car horn echoes up the street. I press my palms together, stare at the floor. "I asked you here because I didn't want to see you in another hotel room. That's all."

"That's all?" she repeats, half a whisper. "Because that sounds like more."

Maybe it is. I don't say it. My throat tightens, and I shake my head once, the smallest movement.

She studies me for a long time, and when she speaks again her voice is gentler. "Yoongi... you don't have to fix whatever this is. You can just let it be what it's been."

"I know."

"Do you?"

I don't answer, and she sighs; soft, not frustrated. She leans back, looks around the room again. "This place suits you," she says finally. "Quiet. Ordered. No surprises."