the routine

Yoongi stood in his room, the moonlight cutting a silver jagged line across his mahogany floor. He stared at the single egg resting on his nightstand a fragile, white sphere that looked absurdly out of place in a room filled with Renaissance art and high-tech security monitors.

"She’s just a store girl,"

he whispered.

The lie tasted like ash. He knew the truth: in a world where everyone bowed until their foreheads touched the floor, she was the only one who had dared to snap at him. To her, he wasn't the "Shadow King" of the Min estate; he was just the "weird egg guy" who ruined her schedule.

And God, he craved that insignificance.

Y/N’s POV: The Breaking Point

11:54 p.m

I wiped the counter for the tenth time, my movements calm and hurry. My head throbbed. Every time the automatic door hissed, my heart did a frantic little tap-dance against my ribs.

Ding.

The air didn't just move; it cooled. The temperature in the store always seemed to drop five degrees when he walked in. He was a silhouette of expensive shadows black turtleneck, long coat, and eyes that looked like they hadn't seen a full night’s sleep in a decade.

He didn't head for the back.

Not tonight.

He walked straight to the register. He placed the egg down with a click that sounded like a gavel.

"You're late,"

I snapped, my voice cracking under the weight of a double shift and sheer nerves.

"It's 11:55. You usually have the egg on the counter by 11:57. You're ruining the rhythm."

He didn't flinch. He leaned forward, his gloved hands gripping the edge of the Formica counter. Up close, he smelled like expensive sandalwood and the sharp, metallic scent of a winter storm.

"You remembered my rhythm,"

he said. It wasn't a question. It was an observation that made my skin prickle.

"Hard to forget a haunting,"

I retorted, finally grabbing the scanner.

"Why the egg? Just tell me. Is it a dare? Are you a chef? Or are you just trying to see how long it takes for me to lose my mind?"

He reached out. For a terrifying, breathless second, I thought he was going to touch my hand. Instead, his fingers brushed the barcode of the egg, rotating it so I could scan it easier.

"It’s the only thing in this store that breaks easily," he murmured, his voice a low, gravelly vibration. "I like things that show their cracks. Most people around me hide them too well."

My breath hitched. I scanned the egg $0.50 flashed on the screen and I shoved the receipt toward him.

"You're a freak."

"I've been called worse,"

he replied. He took the egg, but he didn't move. He looked at my name tag, then back at my eyes.

"See you at 11:55, Y/N."

HIS POV: The Fortress of Glass

The ride back to the estate was silent, save for the soft purr of the engine. Uncle Chao watched me through the rearview mirror, his eyes crinkling.

"You didn't break it tonight, Little Master," uncle Chao noted, glancing at the egg cradled in my palm.

"She called me a freak," I said, a ghost of a smirk playing on my lips.

"A charming start to a friendship," uncle Chao chuckled.

As the massive iron gates of the Min estate groaned open, the reality of my life slammed back into place. Guards stood at attention, their faces masks of terror. My personal assistant waited at the door with a tablet full of "problems" that usually required me to ruin someone's life before breakfast. I'm not human it's better to call me monster.

I walked through the marble foyer, my footsteps echoing like gunshots. This house was a museum of cold things.

I reached my office and placed the new egg next to the others. A row of white shells, perfectly lined up.

She thinks I'm disturbing her schedule. She has no idea that she’s the only thing keeping mine sane. In that cramped store, under those flickering lights, I wasn't the man who controlled the city's underbelly. I was just a man buying an egg from a girl who had fire in her soul and no fear in her heart.

I sat at my desk, the shadows of the room closing in, and checked my watch.

23 hours and 58 minutes until I could be human again.

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