Jungkook couldn’t sit still. His leg bounced under the table, fingers tapping a rhythm on his thigh. He wore black slacks and a sleeveless dark green shirt that showed off his toned arms and the subtle veins in his hands. His lip was pierced, a simple silver hoop, and his hair fell slightly over one eye, tousled like he hadn’t meant for it to look that good—but it did. He kept glancing around the table, then toward the door, then back again.

"I swear, if I mess this up, I’m gonna delete myself from existence," he mumbled.

Taehyung leaned forward, resting his chin in his hand, his long fingers trailing the edge of his wine glass. He wore a sheer, floral-patterned shirt tucked into black pants that flared at the bottom. A soft gloss coated his lips, and his eyeliner winged out just enough to make his eyes look even more cat-like.

"You won’t. You’re annoying, but you’re cute when you’re like this."

Hoseok leaned across the table and reached for Jungkook’s hand, clasping it with warm fingers. He wore a sleeveless white knit top and soft beige trousers, hair slicked back but with a few strands falling playfully out of place. His expression was gentle, the kind that made people feel safe without needing to say much.

"You’ve got six of us. And we’re all terrified too, so... yeah. You’re fine."

Seokjin sipped calmly from his drink, pinky slightly raised, his lips tinted red and his cardigan slightly slipping down one shoulder. He was elegance and sass wrapped in one—perfect posture, perfect skin, perfect smirk.

"Speak for yourselves. I’m not terrified. I look amazing, I smell amazing, and if this boy doesn’t melt when he sees me, that’s a him problem."

"Hyung," Namjoon warned softly, smiling despite himself. He sat next to Jin, wearing a fitted black shirt tucked into gray dress pants. His watch caught the light when he lifted his glass, and the curve of his neck was exposed by the open top buttons. His voice was deep but calm.

"Let’s not scare him off with your ego."

"I am the least scary thing here," Jin muttered, flicking his hair.

Yoongi snorted from the far end of the table. He wore all black, as usual—ripped jeans, an oversized hoodie half zipped down to show his collarbones. His nails were painted a muted gray, and he looked like he hadn’t slept, but somehow that just made him hotter.

"Not true. Jimin exists."

"Excuse me?" Jimin gasped, feigning offense. He sat up straighter, his tight black crop top revealing his waist, his arms decorated in little glittery bracelets. He had highlighter dusting his cheeks, and his laugh was high-pitched and musical.

"I’m the sweet one."

"That’s cute," Taehyung said, not looking up from his phone.

"Don’t make me cry on the first date, I swear to god," Jungkook muttered, rubbing his face.

"You’ll cry anyway," Yoongi added. "You always do when you’re nervous."

The table laughed, some louder than others, but all of them were watching the same thing in the end—the entrance. Waiting for him.

Namjoon glanced down the line of them, then looked back toward the door.

"I hope he’s ready."

Jin leaned back, one arm draped over the back of his chair, lips curved into something knowing.

"He won’t be. No one ever is."

Then Hoseok leaned closer again, voice softer now, words not teasing but real.

"But we’ll make him feel like he’s exactly where he belongs."