Dangerous Woman - BTS 8th Member

GRACE TOUR DIARY: April 19th-April 20th, London

Note: I apologise for how long it's taking me to update. I've got bad writer's block, I have no inspiration at all and trying to write anything at all about Grace, the boys, or anyone - it's just not happening. So I'll try my best, but just be aware that this girl has nothing in her right now. 

APRIL 19TH - LONDON

As Sejin had promised, it was an unforgivably early wake-up call.

The quiet chime of the suite's doorbell rang like a warning bell through the dark. A second later came the faint click of the lock disengaging, followed by the unmistakable scent of breakfast flooding into the room: bacon crisped to perfection, scrambled eggs glossy and steaming, the tang of baked beans, the warm comfort of toast, the bitter bite of coffee, and, somewhere under it all, the sweetness of pastries or jam.

Still buried beneath the duvet, Seokjin stirred first. His nose twitched, then he cracked one eye open, bleary and unimpressed. The glowing red digits on the bedside clock blinked back: 3:30 a.m.

He groaned theatrically, letting his head drop back against the pillow as though it had betrayed him. "Humans aren't designed for this. Nothing good happens before sunrise," he mumbled, throwing an arm over his face in defeat.

Beside him, Grace shifted upright, strands of hair falling into her eyes. Sleep clung to her shoulders like a second blanket. She yawned, rubbed at her face, and muttered, "And that's my alarm clock. The food-scented variety." Swinging her legs over the side of the bed, she stood barefoot, already surrendering to the momentum of the day.

The moment she stepped into the main suite, it was as though she had crossed into another world.

The living area, serene the night before, now blazed with light and purpose. The table had been transformed into a command post where Sejin and Hana stood shoulder-to-shoulder, tablets and notepads open, already mid-discussion. The air was threaded with the faint buzz of earpieces, the rhythmic tapping of keyboards, and the occasional barked instruction.

The Queen's Guard team, those not already deployed at the venue, had begun setting up. Stylists wheeled in racks of clothing, each hanger tagged with times and outlets. Makeup kits lay open like surgical trays, brushes and palettes arranged with military precision. Curling irons warmed silently, their cords snaking across the carpet like tripwires.

Grace sank into a chair at the dining table, tank top and pyjama bottoms still clinging to her, while a stylist immediately slipped a comb through her tangled hair. Someone placed a bowl of porridge with berries and honey in front of her, and she accepted it with a nod of gratitude, spooning absent-mindedly while Sejin launched into the morning briefing.

"Here's the run. Good Morning Britain phone-in at four thirty, Radio One rehearsal at six, then Live Lounge live at eleven. After that, transfer to the Savoy for Buzzfeed, NME, and Vogue back-to-back. Midday TV tapings follow. Realistically, we'll wrap between six and seven, depending on delays. Dinner will depend on everyone's energy levels."

His tone was brisk but calm, the cadence of someone who had managed idols through impossible schedules before.

Grace stifled another yawn. "That's not a day, that's three days squeezed together."

Sejin only arched a brow. "That's the London press. One city, one shot. You know the drill."

The bathroom door opened, and Seokjin shuffled out, damp-haired and already dressed in dark jeans, a navy pullover, and sneakers. He looked more awake now, scrolling his phone with a faintly smug smile.

"Your eomma has updated the list," he announced, waving the screen like an official document. "It now includes Yorkshire tea, Cadbury's Dairy Milk, Take a Break magazine, and a tin of Fox's biscuits, the blue one, not the red."