By the time everyone ends up at Seonghwa, San, and Mingi’s apartment, the sun is already starting to dip, orange light bleeding through the living room windows.

Shoes are kicked off by the door. Mingi flops onto the couch like he owns the place, San disappears into the kitchen, and Seonghwa starts tidying out of habit—quiet, watchful. It should feel comfortable. Familiar.

It doesn’t.

You’re sitting on the far end of the couch, phone untouched in your hands. Wooyoung is two cushions away, body angled toward you despite the distance, elbow digging into the armrest like it’s the only thing keeping him still. Every time you shift, his eyes snap back to you—sharp, unreadable, dangerously close to snapping.

Hongjoong is the one who finally breaks.

“Okay,” he says, voice calm but firm as he looks between the two of you. “That’s enough.”

The room goes quiet.

Wooyoung scoffs under his breath, jaw tightening, but he doesn’t look away from you. Yunho sits forward, elbows on his knees, concern etched across his face. Yeosang’s arms are crossed, gaze steady. Jongho stays silent, eyes flicking between you and Wooyoung like he’s bracing for impact.

San steps out of the kitchen, wiping his hands on a towel. “You two have been like this all day,” he says carefully. “And we’re not pretending we don’t see it.”

Seonghwa turns to face you fully now, expression soft but serious. “Did something happen?” he asks. “Because whatever it is… it’s affecting all of us.”

Wooyoung finally breaks eye contact with you—just for a second—laughing humorlessly as he runs a hand through his hair.

“Yeah,” he mutters. “Something happened.”

Then his gaze snaps back to you, intense, raw, like he’s daring you to say it first.

“So,” Hongjoong says quietly, voice carrying weight. “Which one of you wants to explain what the hell is going on?”