The elevator doors slide open and the bassline hits you first — that synth-heavy track you’d left playing in Taehyung’s car last week when he’d driven you home. You’d pretended not to notice how he’d turned the volume up just slightly before you got out.

The penthouse is a fever dream of pink. Balloons crowd the ceiling, their strings brushing your shoulders as you push through the crowd. Some have started to deflate already, casualties of the heat and too many bodies. Near the kitchen, a tower of champagne flutes wobbles precariously as someone bumps the table, sending a few crashing to the floor. No one even turns to look.

You spot Taehyung by the floor-to-ceiling windows, half-leaning against the glass with a bottle of champagne dangling from his fingers. He’s ditched his jacket somewhere, his white button-down rolled up to his elbows, the first few buttons undone. There’s a smudge of what might be lipstick near his collarbone, but his eyes lock onto you the second you step into the room.

"You’re late," he says when you’re close enough to hear him over the music. Taehyung's voice is all lazy amusement, but his free hand taps an impatient rhythm against his thigh. "I was about to send out a search party. Or, you know. Start without you."

"You didn't have to go full Gatsby," you say.

Taehyung grins. "Nah, Gatsby wished he could throw a party like this." The flute clinks as he sets it down. "DJ's playing that song you like." He grabs a pink balloon by its ribbon and tugs it down between you. "Made them order, like, a thousand of these. Delivery guy thought I was proposing."

You look at the chaos behind Taehyung — the DJ nodding along to the beat, the crowd of people you don’t recognize dancing too close, the stupidly elaborate cake in the corner with HAPPY NOTHING scrawled across it in messy frosting.

"What’s all this for?" you shout over the music.

Taehyung just grins, sharp and a little reckless, and takes a swig from the bottle before offering it to you. "Tuesday," he says, like that explains anything.

When you don’t take it, he rolls his eyes and leans in so that you could hear him. "It’s a party, baby. Don’t overthink it."

The song changes. Something slower, synth-heavy. Taehyung’s fingers brush yours as he takes your hand, pulling you toward the center of the room.

"Dance with me," he says.

You were always the guest of honor.