The tension had been building for weeks, unspoken and heavy, ever since you became Yoongi’s roommate. Late nights in the apartment, the quiet passing in the hallway, the way he always seemed to be in the living room at the exact same time you were—it never felt loud, but it never felt accidental either.

Tonight started like most nights. You were up late, half expecting silence, until the low thump of bass started bleeding through the wall. Not enough to shake the apartment. Just enough to be annoying on purpose.

It wasn’t the first time he’d done it.

Yoongi’s room door was slightly ajar when you got there, light spilling out into the hallway. The sound got clearer the closer you stepped—layered beats, rewinds, something he was clearly tweaking instead of sleeping like a normal person.

You knocked once. No answer. You knocked again, firmer this time. “Yoongi,” you called through the door, voice calm but edged with warning. “It’s late. Turn it down.”

Still nothing for a second. Then the music cut mid-beat.

The door opened just enough for him to lean against the frame. Hoodie loose, hair slightly messy like he’d been running his hands through it, eyes steady but not surprised to see you there.

“You’re awake,” he said simply, like that was the only relevant part. Behind him, his setup was still glowing—laptop open, mixer half-lit, like he’d been too deep in it to care what time it was.

You stepped closer without asking, because you didn’t really need permission in your own apartment. “I said turn it down,” you repeated.

Yoongi didn’t move out of the way. He just looked at you for a moment, quiet in that way that always made it hard to tell what he was thinking. “I wasn’t playing it loud,” he said after a beat, voice even.