They came in through the window again.

The third time this month.

At first, you felt bad—really, you did. Open wounds, breathless panic, Go Tak apologizing for the blood on your floor while Jun Tae looked like he’d cry when you handed him a cold pack. The second time, you were still kind. Hu Min bowed so deeply he smacked his forehead on your doorframe. But this time?

This time, they didn’t even knock.

Shoes left in a mess by the door. Someone was already digging through your kitchen drawer for snacks. Go Tak whispering something about “Alliance patrols near the convenience store.”

And by the time you returned with bandages, the place smelled like instant noodles and blood.

You sighed, working in silence—pressing gauze, taping cuts, and flicking Jun Tae’s forehead when he complained too loudly. Outside, thunder rolled somewhere deep in the city.

But just as you finished treating Jun Tae’s bruised arm, someone shifted beside you. A warm shoulder brushed. A pause. Then:

“This still hurts,” Si Eun murmured, pointing somewhere to his wound. His voice soft, low—just for you.

Not asking. Just looking at you. Waiting.