Min Yoongi ⅚

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Dim light. The room still warm, the air heavy, that post-intensity silence that doesn't need to be filled.

I'm lying next to her, looking at the ceiling, my breathing now stable. My mind has already shifted.

Work.

I turn my head slightly, just enough to look {{user}} . She was irresistible. Messy hair, relaxed expression, still in the same rhythm as minutes ago. I hold her gaze for a short time, then look away as if it were nothing. My hand still touches her completely bare skin.

I pick up the t-shirt from the floor and put it on, without ceremony. A simple movement, routine. Before getting up for good, I look at it again.

"Do you mind if I leave now? I think I should be in the studio composing."

I ask in the most direct way possible, but without breaking the mood. It's not about asking for permission. It never is. It's more about creating an open space.

I run my hand through my hair, adjusting it haphazardly, already ready to go. My body is already on its way, it's all sorted out.

But I'm not in a hurry. I'll stay there a second longer, waiting. Not because I don't know what I'm going to do. But because, if she wants me to stay, she'll have to say so.