She came to his hotel room like it was the natural thing to do.
Always at night.
After the lights dimmed, after the crowd cleared, after the runways.
After he watched her glide across the stage like she hadn't spent the night before tangled in his sheets.
Sometimes she was there. Sometimes not.
But it didn't matter—he knew, either way, they'd end up in the same room eventually.
No promises. No questions.
Just fire, skin, and the ghost of something they refused to name.
One evening, Jungkook barged into Jimin's room, eyes bright with mischief and dressed like he was born to walk into a fashion ad. Taehyung followed with sunglasses on indoors and a scarf that didn't belong to him.
"Let's eat. I'm starving," Jungkook announced, tossing himself on the couch like he owned it.
"Wow, someone's energetic," Jimin mused, barely looking up from his phone as he typed something out.
Taehyung peeked at the screen. "You inviting her?"
"Yeah," Jimin said, not bothering to hide it. "Told her to go straight to the restaurant."
Jungkook raised an eyebrow. "Her as in—"
"As in the girl who keeps stealing your hoodies and disappearing before sunrise," Taehyung added, grinning.
"Can you both shut up?" Jimin rolled his eyes, pocketing his phone. "You two are way too loud for people who can't hold eye contact with their own feelings."
"Ooooh," Taehyung snorted.
Jungkook leaned forward, eyes narrowing. "You're one to talk, lover boy. Didn't you say it was casual?"
Jimin smirked. "It is. I just happen to like my casual delivered in heels and attitude."
Taehyung let out a fake cough that sounded suspiciously like "simp," and Jungkook slapped the back of his head.
But then Jungkook leaned back, the teasing slipping into something a little more honest. "Sayuri's in Seoul," he muttered. "It's weirdly quiet without her."
Jimin looked up.
"Isn't that a good thing?" he asked, tone light but something sharper in his eyes. "You're finally joking again. Might be time to break up with her before it gets worse."
Jungkook didn't answer.
Because deep down, he knew Jimin was probably right.
And across the room, Taehyung just kept chewing on his gum, silently watching the pieces shift again—like he always did.
(See anyone but you for reference >o<)
***
The trinity arrived on time.
Jungkook in his signature all-black—sharp, jawline carved like a sin.
Taehyung, layered in risky prints and a leather coat that looked stolen from a rockstar.
And Jimin, soft yet lethal, dressed like he belonged in a dream you couldn't wake up from.
The restaurant was upscale. Moody lighting, low jazz, and quiet elegance that clung to the air like perfume.
Jimin had already asked the waiter for four sets of utensils. Ordered a little extra. Even added a plate of something she once mentioned liking in passing—just once.
But no Celine came.
Not even her shadow.
Not a text.
Not a goddamn word.
He kept checking his phone under the table. Backreading their last thread.
Had he said something wrong? Too much? Too soon?
Or maybe too little?
She wasn't the type to explain herself. That, he knew. But it didn't stop the gnawing ache under his ribs.
"She's not coming?" Taehyung asked between bites of wagyu.
Jimin gave a slow shrug. "Guess not."
Jungkook glanced at the empty seat, then back at Jimin. "She always does this disappearing act?"
"No," Jimin murmured. "She usually just... appears."
A silence lingered—weighty, but not uncomfortable. Familiar, like the kind you share with people who've seen you broken and still stayed.
Then Jungkook tilted his glass toward Jimin with a smirk. "So what are you two, anyway? Fuck buddies? Friends with benefits?"
Jimin let out a breathy chuckle, eyes still on his untouched drink. "Man, fuck off."
"Oof," Taehyung chimed in, dragging the word like a tease. "He's getting in deep. Stop before you end up like Jungkook."
"Hey!" Jungkook snapped, half-offended, half-laughing. Throwing him a piece of a roll.
"What? I'm just saying," Taehyung grinned as he ducked. "One minute it's casual, the next you're composing sad songs on rooftops and drinking like Sayuri didn't rip your heart out."
"I'm right here, you idiots," Jimin muttered.
"And we love you," Jungkook said, knocking his glass lightly against Jimin's.
Jimin finally smiled—but it didn't reach his eyes.
The kind of smile that says you're probably right... but I'm already in it.
Later, as they exited the restaurant, the city buzzed softly around them. Paris at night had a lullaby quality, the kind that soothed you just enough to hurt quietly.
Then—
Taehyung paused mid-step.
A sleek, luxury car rolled past them. He caught a glimpse through the tinted window. Passenger seat. A woman laughing—head thrown back, teeth bared in joy.
Celine.
It was her laugh. Her profile. Her.
Next to her, a man in a crisp white button-down, one hand on the wheel, the other on the back of her headrest. Close. Intimate.
The car passed like a ghost ship and disappeared down the boulevard.
Taehyung blinked, unsure if it was real.
"Everything good?" Jungkook asked.
"Yeah," Taehyung said quickly, brushing it off. "Probably just jet lag."
Jungkook, not buying it, clapped a hand on Jimin's back. "Let's go out. You need a drink."
"Or five," Taehyung added, already texting the promoter.
Jimin didn't argue.
Because in that moment, maybe distractions were safer than closure. And silence hurt less than answers.
Later that night, the Trinity found themselves backlit by neon, the pulse of Paris' underground club scene thudding beneath their feet like a second heartbeat.
Jungkook was in full mischief mode now—dressed in black-on-black with a diamond earring catching the strobe light as he leaned over the bar. "Three shots of regret, please."
Taehyung clinked his glass against Jimin's, already swaying slightly to the beat. "To making terrible decisions in beautiful cities."
Jimin cracked a grin, tossing back his drink. "Cheers to that."
But even in the middle of bass drops and bodies moving, he was scanning. Not obviously, but just enough. Every time the door opened. Every time someone passed too close.
She wasn't there.
He didn't say it, but both Jungkook and Taehyung knew. They'd known since he stared at that empty chair hours ago.
"You okay?" Jungkook leaned in.
"I'm good," Jimin lied too fast.
"Right," Taehyung drawled, side-eyeing him. "Totally good. Brooding in a club while looking like a Saint Laurent campaign."
"She said she wasn't the type to do dinner," Jimin finally said, more to himself than to them.
"Yeah?" Jungkook raised a brow. "But she's the type to give head in a VIP booth?"
Jimin almost choked on his drink. Glaring at Jungkook for spilling beans in front of Taehyung.
Taehyung was already laughing. "Damn, he's not holding back tonight."
"I mean—" Jungkook threw his hands up. "If she can show up for that, she can show up for risotto."
Jimin shook his head, smiling despite himself. "You two are insufferable."
"Maybe," Taehyung said, then leaned in with a rare flicker of seriousness. "But don't lie to yourself. This thing you got with her? It's not nothing."
Jimin fell silent.
"Yeah, well," Jungkook said, patting his back. "So did Sayuri. And we all know how that's going."
Jimin didn't answer. He just looked toward the balcony, where the Paris skyline glittered in soft rebellion—too beautiful to match the ache in his chest.
Jimin sat there, glass in hand, watching the liquor swirl like it held answers. Maybe he was getting a little clingy. Thinking about her this much? That wasn't what she wanted. She'd made it painfully clear—what they had was just fucking. No strings, no expectations. If she wanted to stay, she would've. If she wanted more, she'd have said so.
But she hadn't.
Jimin exhaled, tongue clicking against his teeth as he downed another glass of whatever Jungkook had ordered. One. Two. Three. Five shots later, and the ache was gone—at least dulled enough to pull a smirk back on his face. His posture loosened, laugh easier, that chaotic charm seeping back like it never left.
He could play this game. He'd been trained in it.
But even that night—the memory of her voice cut through, uninvited.
It was after the last time. They'd been tangled together, the room still warm from what they'd done. His hand had still been on her hip, grounding him. But she sat up, bare shoulders rising as she slipped her bra back on like a silent curtain call.
"Don't get attached," she had said. Her tone wasn't cold. Just final.
Jimin blinked at the ceiling, heartbeat still catching up. "Bit late for that warning, don't you think?"
"If I feel it—any of it," she continued, facing the mirror, smoothing down her hair, "I'll vanish."
And vanish she did.
Three days. No texts. No replies. Not a ghost of her. Not even a scent left on the pillow.
Jimin wasn't new to this kind of disappearing act. But damn it, this one stung more than he cared to admit.
He smiled bitterly, raising another shot to his lips.
"To no strings," he muttered to himself.
Then he stood up, turned to where Taehyung and Jungkook were mid-debate over some ridiculous club drink, and slid right back into his role.
Flirty. Loud. Carefree.
At least, that's what he'd tell himself until she showed up again.