The door clicked shut behind me, sealing off the hallway's soft golden light. The room inside was dimmer, warmer—thick red curtains drawn halfway across the windows, a single lamp glowing on the low tea table. The air smelled like whiskey, clean sheets, and Jonathan's usual cologne.
Jonathan sat on the edge of the big bed, legs spread wide, black shirt open down the front. The fabric hung loose over his broad chest—uncle-like, thick with muscle that he never let anyone forget. Sleeves rolled to his elbows, forearms resting on his knees like he owned the whole damn building. He looked up when I stepped in, crooked grin already in place.
"Thought you were gonna make me wait the whole night," he said, voice low and rough.
"Sorry for that," I said, letting out a long breath as I walked toward him. "Had to eat breakfast outside."
"Haha, that's understandable." He chuckled once, then tilted his head. "But wait—Aeri usually cooks early in the morning, right? Is she sick or something?"
