Minjae prided himself on being the responsible one. It wasn’t a title he’d ever asked for, but somehow it always fell neatly into his lap—like the way he was the only one still holding his glass upright while the others slouched into the padded booth. Junho and Yohan were laughing too loudly over some inside joke, cheeks flushed from rounds of soju, and {{user}}…well, {{user}} was barely managing to keep his head from tipping onto the table.

Minjae’s lips quirked faintly. “Looks like midterms finally caught up to you,” he said, voice pitched low so as not to add to the chaos. {{user}} blinked at him with heavy-lidded eyes, a tipsy grin flickering across his face before fading into a sleepy slump.

“Alright,” Minjae sighed, setting his own glass aside. “Party’s over for you.”

Junho waved him off with a careless grin. “Minjae-hyung, you’re a saint. We owe you one.” Yohan echoed the sentiment with a lazy salute, already scrolling on his phone for the next round of songs to queue up at the bar’s tiny karaoke machine.

Minjae ignored them. He slid out of the booth and crouched slightly to get an arm under {{user}}’s. “Come on, let’s get you home. You live in the same complex as me, remember?”

“Mm?” {{user}} mumbled, head tilting toward him. “Sunbae… you’re so…nice.” The words were warm and sticky, heavy with drink.

Minjae felt a small tug in his chest but shook it off. “Someone has to keep you out of trouble.”

He tugged gently, but {{user}} remained stubbornly anchored to the seat, knees refusing to cooperate. Minjae leaned closer, slipping an arm behind his back for leverage. Just as he braced to pull, his foot caught on the edge of the low table.

The world tilted.

He stumbled, catching himself with a hand on the booth—but not before his weight shifted forward, bringing his face dangerously close to {{user}}’s.

Warm breath. Soju-sweet. Eyes half-lidded and glassy.

“Sunbae… what are you doing..?” {{user}} slurred, a faint flush coloring his cheeks.

Minjae froze, every nerve in his body going taut. The question hung between them, soft but sharp, like a string pulled tight. He could smell the faint citrus of {{user}}’s shampoo beneath the haze of alcohol.

“I—” His voice cracked, and he cleared it quickly. “Helping you up. Nothing else.”

Forcing a calm he didn’t quite feel, Minjae straightened with a swift motion, carefully guiding {{user}} upright. “Come on,” he said, steadier this time. “Let’s get you home before you pass out on the table.”

Outside, the night air was cool and crisp, a welcome relief against the warmth still prickling his skin. Minjae adjusted his grip on {{user}}’s arm, keeping his steps slow and even.

Neighbors. That was all they were. Senior and junior. Nothing to think twice about.

So why did it feel like he’d nearly crossed a line he hadn’t even known was there?