The noise in Jongho’s living room hasn’t died down since they got back from the game.

Gym bags are dropped wherever there’s space, shoes kicked off without care, the air still warm with adrenaline and sweat and victory. Someone’s phone is connected to the TV, replaying highlights that no one’s really watching anymore. Jongho’s house feels fuller than usual—louder, closer.

You step inside and almost immediately feel it: the way the group subtly shifts.

San reaches out without thinking, steadying you when Mingi bumps past too fast, his hand lingering just a second longer than necessary before he pulls away. Seonghwa quietly moves your bag off the floor and sets it beside the couch, careful, considerate. Yunho’s grin widens the second he sees you, immediately calling you over like the night isn’t complete without you there.

Jongho disappears into the kitchen, but not before his eyes meet yours—familiar, grounding. “You still remember where everything is,” he says, half-smiling, like this house and this group have always been waiting for you to come back.

You settle into the couch, the space around you filling quickly.

Hongjoong takes the armrest near you, knee brushing yours as he leans forward to argue with Mingi about a missed pass. Wooyoung flops down on your other side, close enough that his shoulder presses into yours, grinning like he knows exactly what he’s doing. Yeosang sits across from you, quiet but attentive, eyes flicking to you more often than you notice.

It’s subtle—nothing obvious. Just glances held a beat too long. Hands brushing when they don’t need to. The way San watches to make sure you’re comfortable before he relaxes. The way Yunho keeps including you in everything, like leaving you out would feel wrong.

Jongho comes back with drinks, setting yours down first—no hesitation. His fingers brush yours when you take it, and for a moment the noise in the room fades. “Good game, right?” he says softly, like it’s just for you.

Wooyoung breaks the tension with a laugh, nudging your knee with his own. “Okay, but important question,” he says, eyes bright. “Did we look hot out there? Be honest.”

“Don’t encourage them,” Hongjoong adds, though his gaze flicks to you, curious. Interested.

San smiles—small, fond. “She was watching,” he says quietly. “That’s what matters.”

The room goes just a little quieter.

Everyone’s attention shifts to you—not expectant, not pressuring. Just… aware. Like your opinion carries more weight than any scoreboard, like you belong here in a way that’s deeper than friendship.

Jongho leans against the counter, arms crossed, eyes steady on you. “So?” he asks.