"You hear someone walking towards the door on the other side. The black door labeled '541' opens. It's Jungkook. There stands the most handsome man, wearing a black t-shirt, silver basketball shorts and very wet hair-he must have just gotten out of...
As you step out of the car, you realize the tall building is a hotel. You look up at the skyscraper before you. It's so big that looking up at the top makes you dizzy. The driver takes your bags out of the trunk for you. You thank him, and before you can ask him for any type of instruction, he nods goodbye and drives off. You struggle to get a handle on all your bags. You put your backpack on and your purse over your shoulder. It begins pouring rain. You take one luggage in each hand and walk slowly to balance the weight of everything as you aimlessly walk into the hotel lobby.
This hotel is by far, the fanciest hotel to (probably) ever exist. The interior is outstandingly beautiful and immaculately clean. You take a moment to appreciate it. The only thing you can think of is to see if you have a room to check in to. Jungkook did book you a flight, so he probably booked you a hotel, too. You would think that he would have sent you that itinerary in the mail as well, though. You have nothing to lose by trying.
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You stand in line and wait to be called by one of the ladies working. You begin to daydream about Jungkook—his big, round eyes and his sparkling smile; you can't wait to see it in person again. The way he picked you up and spun you around, so effortlessly. The way he held in the shower in the middle of the night. The way he made every moment you two shared, so special. It's crazy, how loved you felt by someone you barely knew. Connections like that don't come easily. All the feelings that you'd hidden away inside you start to resurface. It gives you butterflies.
"Hello!", you hear, and snap out of your daydream to one of the ladies smiling and waving at you. You excitedly walk up to the counter. "Are you checking in?" she asks, politely. "Um," you say, "I believe so". "What's the name on the reservation?" she asks, and you tell her. You see her eyes scrolling through the computer screen in front of her. "Ahh, the Presidential Suite!" she says, excitedly, "What's the occasion?" she asks. "Just—uh—" you think of an excuse, but doesn't matter; she's not paying attention. She becomes distracted. You can see she has a puzzled look as she reads whatever is in front of her. She calls a manager over, showing her the monitor. You hear their curiosity spike as they converse in Korean, leaving you out of the loop. Finally, the manager kindly asks for your ID. They don't type any of your information into the computer. They look at the computer and down at your ID—then at your ID and back at the computer, and finally back at you. You think they're just verifying your identity. You awkwardly wait. The manager nods at the woman, who then scans a keycard, places it in a cardboard envelope and hands it to you, along with your ID. "Okay," she smiles, "all set!". "Do—do I have to sign anything? Do you need a credit card?" you ask. One of the girls lets out a chuckle, and the other one tells you, "It's all taken care of. Elevators are to your left. Enjoy your stay". Before you can walk away, she flags a man over from the bell desk. He rushes over and puts all your belongings on a cart. He asks what room number you're in. You look in the card. "Room 9243" you read aloud. He writes it on a pink slip and tears the bottom portion of the slip off. He hands it to you and says, "Hold onto this ticket. Push the button for "bell desk" on your phone when you are ready for us to bring your luggage" he tells you. "Thank you!", you respond, relieved that you don't have to haul all your things anymore. "Let us know if you need anything", the ladies tell you, and you walk left toward the elevators.
