The sunlight filters through the curtains, warm on my skin as I wake slowly, surrounded by heat on both sides. To my left, Seokjin's arm lies heavy across my chest, his steady breathing matching the rise and fall of my ribs. To my right, Hoseok has managed to wrap himself around my legs, his face pressed against the back of my knee, soft snores escaping him. The bed smells like sweat and sex and the lavender detergent Seokjin insists on using, a combination that feels like home.

Last night was one of those rare evenings when our schedules aligned perfectly—no practices, no recordings, no obligations. Just the three of us, takeout from that Chinese place Seokjin loves, and a movie that we barely watched before hands started wandering and clothes came off.

I shift slightly, careful not to wake either of them, and immediately feel the evidence of our activities sticky between my thighs. A flush rises to my cheeks despite the familiarity. Even after all this time, there's something deliciously indecent about waking up tangled between both of them, our bodies still humming with the memory of shared pleasure.

Seokjin stirs beside me, his arm tightening briefly around my chest before he loosens again, his face nuzzling into my shoulder. "Morning," he mumbles, voice thick with sleep, his breath warm against my skin.

Hoseok makes a noise of protest at the disruption, burrowing further into the covers. "Five more minutes," he grumbles, words muffled against my leg.

I smile, already feeling the day stretching lazily before us—no alarms, no deadlines, just this: the quiet intimacy of morning after with the two people who've come to mean everything.