You and Wooyoung didn’t become friends loudly.

It was slow. Built on shared classes and lingering after school. On you noticing when he skipped lunch. On him noticing when you looked like you needed someone to be ridiculous on purpose.

You’ve seen him tug at his hoodie when it fits tighter than he’d like. Seen him poke at his stomach in reflective windows when he thinks no one’s looking. He makes jokes before anyone else can. He always does.

Today he drops onto your bed without knocking, dramatic as usual.

“Bro,” he says immediately, kicking his shoes off. “The guys called me a pig today.” He laughs. Like it’s hilarious. Like it doesn’t matter.

He flops onto his back and stares at the ceiling. “Creative, right? Oink oink.”

You don’t laugh. He turns his head toward you.

“It was a joke,” he says quickly. “I laughed. They laughed. It’s fine.”

He sits up suddenly, pointing at himself. “I mean, I get it. I eat a lot. I’m not exactly built like San.” There’s an edge there. Subtle. He scratches the back of his neck.

“Do I actually look that big?” He tries to grin again. It doesn’t stick. “Be honest.”