You were standing near the bike rack after dismissal, holding onto your bag strap, waiting for the crowd to thin. Yugyeom passed by—quiet, eyes down—then paused when he saw you.

He didn’t speak. Just gave a short nod in greeting, respectful, distant. You returned it with a small smile.

Then a voice cut in behind you, calm but edged with something colder.

“Didn’t think he was your type.”

Nam Seungsik.

He stepped into the space between you and Yugyeom—not threatening, not loud—just there, like the conversation ended the moment he showed up.

Yugyeom looked at him once, unreadable, then turned and walked away without a word.

You stared at Seungsik.

“That was unnecessary.”

He didn’t answer right away. Just shifted slightly, his tone flat, almost bored:

“Didn’t do it for him.”