Rewrite the Rules

Lost and Found: Part 6

 "Miss, are you a guest at this hotel?" he inquired, the starched formality of his uniform a stark contrast to the rumpled grey sweatshirt clutched in my hand. Disappointment gnawed at me as the hotel staff shook his head.

"Oh, yes, I am," I managed, my voice tight with frustration. "I have a suite on the 33rd floor." Relief battled with a flicker of annoyance. Why was this so difficult?

"I'm sorry, I can't take anything to a member of BTS," he stated apologetically, his voice low and kind, but firm. The scent of stale coffee and chlorine wafted from him, a reminder of the bustling hotel behind him.

"But I'm telling you, this is Namjoon's sweatshirt," I pleaded, desperation creeping into my tone. The soft cotton felt warm against my fingertips, a lingering echo of his presence. "If you ask him, he can confirm it. I'm not saying I want to take it to him, I'm asking if you could take it to him."

He sighed, a flicker of sympathy crossing his features. "Miss, I'm sorry, that's just not possible. Maybe you could try the front desk," he suggested, his eyes flickering towards the marble expanse in the distance.

Determined, I walked towards the desk, the weight of the sweatshirt a physical manifestation of my frustration. I noticed the concierge wasn't swamped with tasks. He was a compact man with a neatly trimmed salt-and-pepper beard, his gaze steady and assessing as I approached.

"Hi, my name is Emma Rowan. I'm up on the 33rd floor. Namjoon of BTS, left this sweatshirt with me, and I was wondering if I could leave it with you to get it back to him"

A flicker of recognition crossed his face, a subtle shift in expression that spoke volumes. He recognized me? Was it from the internet, or perhaps the hushed whispers amongst the staff?

"Ms. Rowan," he said slowly, his voice laced with a hint of disapproval. "We've been having a lot of people wanting to deliver things to BTS, we're not doing that."

My stomach clenched. Disappointment coiled in my gut, tight and heavy. "If you take a look at it, you can see it's a worn shirt. If you just let their personal security know that I do have it and I'm willing to return it," I proposed, my voice dropping to a pleading whisper.

He pursed his lips, his gaze unwavering. He reached down and picked up an iPad, his thumb scrolling across the screen. Was there some protocol for dealing with fans and forgotten articles of clothing?

"Ms. Rowan," he finally said, breaking the silence. "I'll see what I can do for you, but I won't take the sweater. If he does want it back, I'll have security come and pick it up."

Relief flooded me, warm and sweet. "Absolutely, thank you for your help. I appreciate it," I expressed, a genuine smile breaking out on my face. I folded it placing into my messenger bag.

"Now, is there anything else I can help you with today? Need tickets for the concert?" he offered, a hint of a smile playing on his lips.

"No, I have tickets, but thank you," I replied, the weightlifting from my shoulders. Leaving him with the candy apple-smelling sweatshirt still in my possession, a small thrill danced in my chest.

---

A sharp rap echoed through my hotel room, making me jump. Security?

There he stood, Kim Namjoon, bathed in the soft glow of the hallway light. He looked effortlessly handsome, the crisp white of his golf shirt, navy shorts, white runners, offsetting the sun-kissed tan of his face. His dark hair, slightly damp, framed his eyes that sparkled with amusement. It was as if he'd stepped out of a dream.

"You know, i did think I would find it on eBay, selling for $500."

I couldn't help but grin. "I think you underestimate your value," I quipped, a boldness surprising even myself. "I'm pretty sure I could get more than $500."

He raised an eyebrow, a hint of surprise flickering across his face. Surprisingly, he was alone, no entourage of security guards or watchful managers. This was unexpected, a thrilling deviation from the protocol I'd imagined.

"Come in, and let me grab it for you," I offered, stepping back to allow him into the room.

He hesitated for a second, then stepped inside. The scent of his cologne, a clean, woodsy fragrance, filled the room, sending a jolt through my senses. "Hey, this is a nice room," he remarked, his gaze sweeping across the plush furniture and expansive view.

"It's all thanks to my vice president," I replied, feeling a flicker of self-consciousness under his scrutiny. "I think he spends more time here than any of us knew." 

I scurried towards the closet, retrieving the sweatshirt from its temporary haven. Taking the garment from my outstretched hand, his fingers brushed lightly against mine. A spark shot through me, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake. 

"Thanks," he murmured, his voice tinged with a warmth that sent my heart fluttering. "I appreciate it. You're going to be at the soundcheck Thursday?"

"Yeah, I'll be there," I confirmed, meeting his gaze. 

We stood there for a beat too long, a silent conversation passing between us. The air crackled with unspoken tension, a delicious electricity that made the silence feel deafening.

"So, I guess I'll see you then," he finally said, a hint of awkwardness in his voice.

"Okay, sure. See you then," I stammered. He turned and walked towards the door, leaving me breathless and yearning for more.

As the door clicked shut behind him, I sank onto the plush sofa, a million questions swirling in my mind. What could I have said? What could I have done differently?

The encounter left me breathless and flustered, the memory of his touch and the lingering scent of his cologne a woodsy reminder of our unexpected encounter.

Author's note:

How do you think Emma could have kept Namjoon in the hotel room longer ?