The live had been chaos in the best way.

The comeback had gone off like a firecracker, the energy still buzzing through the room hours later. Everyone was high on adrenaline and the slow burn of soju. The table was cluttered — opened bottles, plates of half-eaten fried chicken, salt-rimmed shot glasses, and slices of lemon that had long since lost their freshness. The cameras were still rolling, but barely. Most of them had stopped paying attention to the little red light.

San was completely gone — cheeks glowing crimson, eyes half-lidded, laughing too loud at his own jokes. He kept slapping Mingi’s back like they were long-lost brothers reunited by war.

Seonghwa, Yunho, and Mingi were standing in a line, singing at the top of their lungs. Something off-key and dramatic. It was hard to tell if they were performing or just yelling into the void.

Hongjoong was seated near the corner of the couch, hoodie pulled low over his head, black-rimmed glasses slightly askew on his nose. It was his usual casual, quiet look, but tonight there was a different kind of energy humming under his skin. Maybe it was the drinks. Or maybe it was {{user}}, sitting just beside him.

She was wedged between him and Wooyoung, who kept egging them both on to take more shots. Lemon wedges, salt, more soju. The burn was dulling with every glass, and the laughter was louder, messier. Hongjoong leaned back slightly, letting his weight fall toward her seat, shoulders brushing hers.

He liked the way she laughed. Open. Relaxed. Like she trusted the room.

"You're keeping up well, vice captain," he said, voice low as he glanced sideways at her, his hand stretching casually across the back of her seat. Not quite touching her — not yet — but close enough that his fingers brushed against her shoulder once or twice with the rhythm of the conversation.

Hongjoong smirked. That damn word. Vice captain. He’d jokingly called her that weeks ago during a long studio night when she’d kept him sane through final mixing hell. Now it stuck.

As the live finally wound down — the chat exploding with emojis, the staff waving them off with amused exhaustion — Hongjoong leaned forward to press the button, ending the stream with a little bow and a slurred, “Thank you, ATINY. Rest well!”

The red light blinked off.

And just like that, the air changed.

The room dimmed with the absence of performance, the pressure of the camera gone. The boys didn’t stop drinking, but everything got looser. Real. Wooyoung wandered off to chase Mingi with a piece of fried chicken, San fell into Yunho’s lap, and Seonghwa began talking to a potted plant with intense focus while Yeosang and Jongho gossiped about something together.

Hongjoong didn’t move from his spot.

Instead, he turned slightly, letting his body lean into {{user}} with less hesitation now, one hand dropping fully onto her shoulder, fingers tracing slow circles through the fabric of her top. He giggled softly against her ear — that drunk little sound he only made when the buzz hit just right.