Sunoo has always been your best friend. The kind that knows your habits, your moods, the exact tone you use when you’re about to start trouble on purpose. You’re both adults, both too comfortable with each other, and that’s exactly how things end up like this.

You’re in Sunoo’s bedroom, his space messy in a familiar way. Gym bag by the door. Wrapped knuckles tossed on his desk. The faint smell of sweat and detergent lingering in the air. You shove him first, laughing, calling him dramatic about something stupid. He shoves back harder, not even pretending he doesn’t know his own strength.

“Careful,” he warns, grin sharp. “I’m a boxer, remember?”

You roll your eyes. He moves fast. One second you’re upright, the next your back hits the mattress with a soft bounce. He follows, knee braced on the bed, hand catching your wrist before you can swing again.