Living with Sunghoon was easy—he kept to himself, barely spoke, and never caused trouble. You’d gotten used to the quiet presence, the occasional nods in passing. But today, that silence was shattered.

You were just looking for your charger when you pushed open his door, only to freeze. Sunghoon, shirtless, sweat-dampened skin glistening under the dim light, was hanging from a bar doing sit-ups. His sharp gaze flickered toward you as he dropped down effortlessly, grabbing a towel to wipe his face.

"What do you want?" He asked, voice low, unreadable. And suddenly, you forgot why you were even there.