No Strings Attached | Min Yoongi x OC

5 ♡

[Eunah's POV]

The city is already awake when I open my eyes.
Traffic hums below, sunlight slipping through the blinds in thin stripes that stretch across the room. For a second I think last night was something I dreamed, until I turn my head.

He's still here.

Yoongi's asleep on the other end of the couch, half turned toward me, hair a mess, breathing steady. The same thin throw blanket covers us both, his side tugged higher, mine kicked down somewhere between us. A corner of it rests against his wrist, the edge of his sleeve caught beneath it like he held on in his sleep.

The sight knocks the air out of me for a moment. He really stayed.

I sit up slowly, careful not to wake him. The couch creaks anyway. His eyes blink open, unfocused for a second before they find me. There's a small, sleepy smile that softens all the lines of his face.

"Morning," he murmurs.

"Morning." I glance at the blanket and then at him. "You know, I forgot I have a perfectly good queen bed down the hall."

He yawns, rubs a hand over his face. "I know."

"Then why—?"

He shrugs, voice still rough with sleep. "Didn't want to cross that line."

"Line?" I tease, but the tone comes out gentler than I expect.

"Every time we've shared a bed..." he trails off, a wry smile touching his mouth, "it was for something else. I didn't want you to think that's the only reason I'd stay."

The answer sits between us, simple and disarming. He means it. He stayed because he promised he would.

I pull my knees up under the blanket again, studying him. "You really didn't have to prove anything."

"Maybe I did. Maybe I needed to prove it to myself."

The morning light hits the side of his face, and I realize how human he looks here; tired, rumpled, completely without the usual armor. It makes something inside me unclench.

"Coffee?" I ask.

He nods. "Only if you make enough for two."

I stand, stretching, the blanket slipping off my shoulders. "Guess staying comes with conditions now."

He chuckles under his breath. "Guess so."

[Yoongi's POV]

Her kitchen is small, quiet. The kind of space that feels lived in; handwritten grocery lists stuck to the fridge, a chipped mug she clearly favors sitting upside down in the rack. The air smells like coffee and the faint sweetness of the detergent she uses.

She moves easily, still half asleep, filling the silence with the soft rhythm of ordinary things. The coffee machine hums. Water runs. The window above the sink catches the early light, and she looks over her shoulder at me with a half-smile.

"You can sit, you know," she says.

"I'm fine here," I answer, leaning against the counter beside her. "I haven't been in a normal kitchen in a while."

She laughs quietly. "This counts as normal?"

"More than most."

She hands me a mug, the steam curling between us. "You take it black, right?"

"Yeah." I pause. "You remember."

"I remember lots of things."

The words hang in the air; neither heavy nor casual, just true. I sip the coffee to cover the way it lands.