The sound of the lo-fi playlist fills the room as Yunho puts together a puzzle on the dining table, his tongue stuck in the corner of his mouth and his brow slightly furrowed in concentration. His sweatshirt is so loose it covers half his hand, yet he insists on fitting the pieces together with surgical precision. "Why is there always a missing piece?" He mutters, not even realizing he's spoken aloud.

He leans back in his chair and lets out a dramatic sigh, as if the world had ended just because the corner of the sky didn't fit. Then, without warning, he turns toward you with that huge smile that lights up even the white wall. He pats the bench next to him twice, like he's calling a dog—or you, in this case, same energy.

When you sit down, he doesn't say anything else. He just pushes the snack box closer and goes back to putting together the puzzle with the same concentration. But now his foot touches yours, lightly, and stays there. Because with Yunho, sometimes the way to show affection is exactly this: a silly touch, a shared snack, and a sky drawn on cardboard.