V

Something was off.

Min Yoongi sniffed the air suspiciously, his eyes narrowing like a bloodhound catching a strange scent.

"Something smells..." he muttered under his breath, pausing in the hallway of their shared apartment.

"It wasn't me!" Kim Taehyung shouted instantly, raising both hands in protest.

"Tae," Park Jimin sighed, dragging a palm across his face. "Literally no one said it was."

But the weirdness wasn't in the air. It walked straight through the door in the form of Kim Namjoon, who entered the living room humming a tune suspiciously close to a Disney melody, spinning lightly on his heel as he made his way to the kitchen.

That alone was enough to make Jeon Jungkook drop the protein bar in his hand.

"Is he drunk?" Jungkook whispered.

Jung Hoseok raised an eyebrow and tilted his head. "Jooni doesn't drink."

Kim Seokjin narrowed his eyes, watching Namjoon with the expression of a man watching a beloved pet start speaking fluent Italian.

"This is worse," Jin muttered. "This is much worse."

Jungkook frowned. "Worse than drunk? What could possibly-?"

He was cut off by Namjoon's laughter echoing from the kitchen as the leader poured himself a coffee like it was the best day of his life. He even added whipped cream. Whipped cream.

Jin and Yoongi exchanged a silent glance. Without a word, they launched into action.

In one swift move, Seokjin snatched Namjoon's phone from the counter, and Yoongi tackled him onto the couch like a seasoned linebacker.

"Hey!" Namjoon shouted, squirming under Yoongi's weight. "What the hell, Yoongi! Jin! Give me back my phone!"

"You're acting weird," Yoongi said coolly, pinning him with one knee.

"Suspiciously weird," Jin added, already scrolling through the unlocked screen.

Namjoon groaned and tried to wriggle free, but by then, Hoseok had joined the pile, followed by Jungkook, Jimin, and a giggling Taehyung who landed with dramatic flair.

"I'm being attacked by children," Namjoon grunted.

Jin's voice sliced through the chaos. "'Sonsaengnim'? Who's that?"

Namjoon froze. "Don't."

"Too late," Jin said, lifting an eyebrow. "Who is she?"

"She's my English teacher."

Yoongi scoffed. "You already speak English."

"I'm improving!" Namjoon barked from under the pile. "Is that a crime now?"

"You're smiling like a lunatic," Hoseok said. "That's new."

"And humming," Jimin added.

"Let's not forget the whipped cream," said Taehyung solemnly, as if it were the final piece of evidence.

Namjoon groaned and dropped his head back against the cushion. "She's a language teacher. She's helping me brush up on pronunciation. That's all."

"Right," Jin said, finally tossing the phone back onto the coffee table. "And I'm marrying my air fryer next week."

Namjoon surged up from the dogpile with the strength of a man possessed, dusting himself off and snatching his phone before storming toward his room.

"Meeting's at three o'clock tomorrow," Jin called after him, voice too casual. "Hope you wear that whipped cream smile for her too."

The door slammed shut.

Yoongi smirked. "We're following him."

Taehyung grinned. "Obviously."

The next day arrived far too quickly.

Y/N stood at the base of the gleaming BigHit building, clutching her tablet and mentally reciting conjugations in four languages to calm her nerves. She had taught businessmen, CEOs, even foreign diplomats. But nothing-absolutely nothing-had prepared her for this student.

Kim Namjoon. Rapper. Global artist. And apparently, her new language student.

She stepped into the lobby, greeted by a cheerful receptionist.

"Hello, I'm Y/N," she said, trying not to sound breathless. "I'm here to see Kim Namjoon."

The woman smiled knowingly. "You're expected. Top floor. Fifty."

"Fiftieth," she repeated faintly. "Right."

She entered the elevator, her heart thudding against her ribs like a frantic drumroll. When the doors opened to the penthouse floor, she found herself facing a single, imposing door. She rang the bell and waited, gripping her tablet a little too tightly.

It opened almost instantly.

"Teacher," Namjoon said warmly, his deep voice smooth as silk. "Glad you found it."

He was barefoot, in black jeans and a loose gray sweater that made him look both effortlessly casual and unfairly gorgeous.

Y/N smiled, bowing slightly as she stepped inside and removed her shoes.

"This place is..." Her words trailed off as the view stretched out before her. "...Incredible."

Floor-to-ceiling windows spilled light across the open space. Everything was elegant without feeling cold-art books, vinyl records, a soft mezzanine above. A place that felt lived in. Thoughtful.

"Can I get you something?" Namjoon asked, already moving toward the kitchen. "Coffee? Tea?"

"A coffee would be great, thank you," she replied, grounding herself in the mundane.

While he prepared it, she set her bag down and pulled out a folder. "I brought my credentials," she said as he joined her at the marble dining table.

He took her résumé, flipping through the pages. His brows arched.

"You speak eight languages?" he asked, clearly impressed.

She shrugged modestly. "It's not so unusual where I'm from."

Namjoon chuckled softly. "It's very unusual where I'm from."

She smiled, pulling out a few sheets and sliding them toward him. "Let's start with a placement test. It'll help me tailor the lessons to your needs."

He accepted the pen, nodding, and began working. She watched him from the corner of her eye-the way he furrowed his brow, how his lips curved slightly when he puzzled through something.

God help her, this man made grammar look attractive.

"I-I'm just going to find the bathroom," she blurted, suddenly needing air.

"Second door on the left upstairs," he said, not looking up.

She climbed the stairs carefully, her fingertips grazing the polished wood banister. At the landing, she paused. Three doors.

Which one had he said?

She hesitated, then picked one at random.

The moment it creaked open, something crashed to the floor.

"YAH! Hoseok!"

"That wasn't me! Jimin dropped the toy!"

"I did not-"

Y/N froze, eyes widening.

Chaos.

Jung Hoseok stood in the center of the room like a child caught red-handed. Park Jimin was crouched beside a toppled stack of books and an army of plushies that had clearly seen war. Behind them, Kim Taehyung leaned against the wall, arms crossed, wearing the grin of someone thoroughly amused.

Then the light flipped on behind her, and she turned.

At the top of the stairs stood Kim Namjoon, staring like he'd walked into a secret club meeting in his own house.

"What the-guys?!" His voice cracked with disbelief. "What are you doing here?"

Hoseok stepped forward, brushing imaginary dust off his sweater and offering a sheepish hand. "Sorry. Didn't mean to scare you."

"It's okay," Y/N mumbled, still trying to process what she was seeing.

Taehyung tilted his head, his eyes drifting over her with languid curiosity. "We came," he said, voice low and teasing, "to meet our teacher."

Y/N blinked. "'Our'...?"

Jimin stood, brushing off his jeans. "Namjoon hyung said he was taking private lessons. We decided to join."

"Without asking me first," Namjoon muttered under his breath.

Taehyung gave him a lazy shrug. "You never say no to us."

Y/N's head turned from one face to the next, heart still pounding, mind whirring. She had walked into a quiet tutoring session. She had stepped into a whirlwind instead.

And somehow-somehow-she wasn't entirely sure she wanted to leave.