The heavy oak door of Jungkook’s office swallowed the last sounds of the empty hallway as Tae Tae stepped inside. At twenty-two, she was legally an adult, but the crumpled test paper in her hand—adorned with a brutal, red ‘F’—made her feel stupid and small. Her professor, Jungkook, didn’t even look up from his desk. He was a fortress of muscle and ink, his broad shoulders straining the fabric of his black tee, sleeves rolled to reveal intricate tattoos snaking down his forearms. The air smelled like old books and his spicy cologne.

“Mr. Jungkook?” Her voice was a squeak. “I… I failed.”