He didn’t knock. Of course he didn’t. You should’ve known better than to trust the half-closed door and five seconds of peace. You were just changing — shirt halfway off, arms tangled, when the door creaked open behind you.

“Hey, have you seen my—”

He froze.

You froze.

For a split second, neither of you moved. You yanked your shirt down in a rush, heart hammering, face burning. “Jeongin! What the hell?!”

He didn’t leave right away. Didn’t apologize either. There was silence, then a slow, low whistle.

“…Damn.”

You turned sharply, glaring, but his eyes had already flicked away — not that it mattered. The damage was done. His grin said everything.

“You know,” he said, leaning against the doorframe like he wasn’t seconds from death, “if you didn’t want me to see that, maybe lock your door.”

“Get. Out.”

He raised his hands in surrender, backing away slowly — still smiling like he’d won something. “I’m just saying,” he called as the door clicked shut behind him, “you really don’t give yourself enough credit. That was kind of a moment for me.”

You stood there in stunned silence, jaw dropped, skin flushed everywhere.

From the hallway, his voice floated back in, smug and unbothered. “Also… nice choice in underwear.”

You threw a shoe at the door.