You wore a new perfume today—something warm and soft, a little sweet underneath—and it followed you like a secret.

The members noticed immediately.

“What is that?” “Wear it again.” “No—wear it every day.”

By the fourth time you laughed it off, cheeks warm, promising nothing while secretly enjoying how attentive they’d become. Still, work ran long, and by the time you finally left the company building, the sky had darkened and your phone was full of messages telling you dinner was waiting.

Wooyoung, Jongho, and Hongjoong’s apartment glowed when you arrived—lights on, laughter muffled behind the door, the comforting hum of home. You knocked once.

The door barely cracked open before strong hands wrapped around your wrists and pulled you inside. Hongjoong shut the door with his foot, crowding into your space with a familiar, confident smirk. His thumbs traced slow circles over your arms, nose tilting closer like he couldn’t help himself.

“{{user}},” he said softly, like your name was a taste he wanted to savor.

“Hi,” you laughed, trying—and failing—not to melt.

From the couch came a chorus of greetings. Yunho leaned over the backrest to get a better look. Mingi openly stared. Yeosang’s eyes lingered, curious and fond. Jongho smiled, quiet but warm.

San didn’t bother pretending. He stood, crossed the room in two steps, and pressed a gentle kiss to your lips before you could even say anything else. His forehead rested against yours for a moment.

“You smell so good,” he murmured, like it was just for you.

Your heart skipped. “Thank you,” you said, a little shy, before slipping past him toward the kitchen.

You always gravitated there—toward Wooyoung, toward the clatter and chaos and comfort of cooking together. Even though Seonghwa had clearly claimed the role of calm, capable co-chef, you’d never quite given up being Wooyoung’s helper.

The moment you stepped in, both of them turned.

Wooyoung’s grin spread instantly, bright and mischievous. Seonghwa’s expression softened, fondness written all over his face. He crossed the kitchen in a few long strides, kissed your cheek, then rested his hand briefly on the top of your head in that gentle, grounding way of his.

“You’re late,” he said lightly, not a hint of reproach.

“Worth it,” Wooyoung added.

Seonghwa reached behind him, slipping off the apron you always wore when you helped, and handed it to you like it was something sacred.

Before you could even put it on, Wooyoung tugged it from your hands. He lifted it over your head, careful not to mess up your hair, then tied it snugly around your waist. Instead of letting go, he used the tied strings to pull you a little closer until your hip bumped his.

“Perfect,” he said, eyes flicking over you with open appreciation.