Yes, he’s childish. Yes, you’re childish. And yes, the two of you have zero sense of when to stop.

The members have long since accepted—reluctantly—that your version of “fun” doesn’t always make sense to normal people. Sometimes you’ll carry entire conversations in a made-up language that’s just a mash of weird noises and fake words, delivered with deadly seriousness. Sometimes you’ll press your foreheads together and claim you’re “syncing brain waves,” as if that’s a completely reasonable thing to do.

So, yeah… “odd” is the polite word for it.

From the living room, the rest of the group hears you and Soul giggling down the hall, clearly playing some incomprehensible game involving the door to his and Jongseob’s room. It’s the kind of sound that immediately makes the older members exchange a look—because giggling plus you two usually equals trouble.

Then it happens.

The door slams. A sharp, high-pitched squeal cuts through the air, followed by the unmistakable sound of panic.

“Oh my gawd,” Soul blurts in English, instantly dropping the mischievous grin and grabbing your hand like it’s the most fragile thing in the world. His eyes are wide, darting over your fingers as if he can will away the sting with sheer focus.