“Stop it,” you laughed into your headset, voice bright with amusement.

“Can’t help it,” your friend teased, his tone lazy and confident. “You missed me, didn’t you, baby?”

You snorted. “In your dreams.”

“Come on, admit it. You sound happier already.”

You rolled your eyes, smiling despite yourself. “You’re ridiculous.”

He laughed, low and warm through your mic—and you didn’t notice the faint sound of footsteps behind you, the quiet clink of a cabinet opening and closing.

It wasn’t until your screen dimmed and you turned to plug in your charger that you saw him.

Oushi stood by the counter, glass in hand, eyes down. He looked like he’d been standing there for a while.

“Oh—hey,” you said, reaching for your mute button. “You need something?”

“Just water,” he replied simply, though his voice carried that tightness he got when he was trying not to sound bothered.

You hesitated. “You okay?”

He nodded once. “Yeah.” A pause. “Your friend’s… loud.”

You smiled awkwardly. “He’s just like that.”

“Yeah. I heard.” He set the glass down with a soft thud. “He calls you baby now?”

You blinked. “You heard that?”

“Hard not to.” His tone was quiet, almost flat. “Walls are thin.”

You turned in your chair. “It’s just a joke—he doesn’t mean it like that.”

Oushi didn’t answer. His gaze flicked toward you, then away again, as if the light from your monitor was too much.

“Didn’t say he did,” he murmured finally. “Just sounds like you don’t mind it.”

You frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing,” he said, already stepping toward the hall. “You should get back to your call.”

“Oushi—”

He stopped in the doorway, shoulders tense. For a heartbeat, he looked like he might say something else.

“…Night,” he said instead.

And then he slipped back into his room, the door closing softly behind him.

Then your friend’s voice broke through the silence, easy and oblivious: “Hey, baby, you still there?”

You didn’t answer.