Chapter 8: Sharing a Suite
TN Perspective
The flight had left a trail of unspoken words. A half-finished conversation, with pauses that spoke volumes more than any well-constructed sentence. And now, landed in Berlin, that tension seemed to have climbed into the car with us and seeped into our suitcases.
The hotel was luxurious, but not ostentatious. The kind of place that didn't need to say much to impress. And as we were being directed to the elevator, the receptionist announced:
—An executive suite, with two private bedrooms and shared common areas, as requested.
I didn't remember asking for anything. I looked at Yoongi, but he just nodded, as if he was perfectly comfortable with the idea. Maybe he was.
The suite was spacious. Modern. Impersonal in its decor, but with that kind of quiet elegance that makes you lower your voice without realizing it. Two separate bedrooms, yes. But connected by a living room and a small dining area with windows overlooking the city.
I left my suitcase in the room on the left. I needed to breathe. To process. Not so much the trip itself, but the idea of sharing space. With him.
A shower. That's what I needed.
When I came out, wrapped in my hotel robe and with my hair still damp, I found him in the living room, sitting on the sofa with his laptop on his lap. A half-empty glass of whiskey was on the table.
He looked at me.
"I gave you space to decompress," he said, as if anticipating my tension.
-Thank you.
I sat down at the other end of the sofa. Silence fell between us again, but this time it was different. Thicker. More conscious.
—You're not used to this, are you?
-That?
—Being so close to someone you normally only see behind a meeting table.
I looked at him.
—I'm not used to sharing a suite with anyone I translate for, if that's what you're asking.
He laughed softly. He put down his laptop and closed it.
—And that bothers you?
I swallowed hard. Not out of fear. But because the question was loaded with something more.
"I don't know if 'uncomfortable' is the word," I said. "But yes... it's different."
He got up and walked to the window. He stood there, his back to me, watching the lights of Berlin.
"There's something strange about this," he finally said. "Like we're outside of time. Like nobody knows we're here."
—Nobody knows.
He turned slowly and looked at me again.
—So what would you do if you didn't have to answer to anyone?
I froze. He said it without provocation, without any apparent double meaning. But the air between us had become charged with electricity.
I stood up, without looking away.
—It depends on what that question implies.
He took a step toward me. Not a leap, not an invasion. Just a step. But it was enough to make the distance tense. Intense.
"I'm not going to do anything to make you uncomfortable," he whispered. "But it would be hypocritical not to acknowledge that there's something in the air. Can you feel it?"
I felt it. Of course I did. Every part of my body felt it. But I couldn't say it. I shouldn't.
—I'm here for work, Yoongi.
—Me too. But that doesn't change what's happening right now.
We stared at each other. Breathing in the same space. Too close.
His hand brushed against my arm. Barely a touch. But I shuddered.
It wasn't a kiss. It wasn't a brazen caress. It was barely a brush, a sustained tension… that was interrupted when he, with a sigh, took a step back.
—We'd better get some rest. Tomorrow is a long day.
I nodded, still unable to speak. I went back to my room, closing the door behind me with trembling hands.
Because nothing had happened.
And yet, everything was beginning to happen.