Hongjoong’s apartment is packed.

Music thumps from the living room, bass rattling the glass, laughter spilling into the hallway where shoes are piled without care. The party has fully taken over—people shouting over each other, red cups everywhere, someone already spilling a drink near the couch.

The balcony door is cracked open.

Outside, the night air is cool—quiet compared to the chaos inside. The city hums below, distant traffic and neon lights cutting through the dark. The entire team is out there, clustered together like they naturally gravitated away from everyone else.

Hongjoong leans against the railing, phone in hand but not really looking at it. San sits on the arm of an outdoor chair, energy still buzzing under his skin. Wooyoung is mid-story, animated hands slicing through the air. Mingi laughs too loud, shoulders hunched as he talks. Yunho rests his forearms on the railing, looking out over the street. Seonghwa stands slightly back, drink untouched. Yeosang is near the door, quiet, listening. Jongho sits on the edge of the low table, calm as ever.

It’s the only place they can breathe.

The balcony door slides open again.

{{user}} steps out, phone in hand, clearly just looking for air. She doesn’t look up right away—just exhales, shoulders relaxing as the noise from inside dulls behind her.

Then she lifts her head.

And stops.

Every single one of them is there.

For half a second, no one speaks.

Wooyoung breaks first, blinking once before a slow grin spreads across his face. “Wow,” he says lightly. “Speak of the devil.”

San lets out a short laugh, crossing his arms. “You lost, or you stalking us now?”

Mingi squints at her, then snorts. “Careful, this is where we recharge. Might mess with the narrative.”

Yunho straightens instinctively, stepping away from the railing. “Uh—hey,” he says, awkward but polite.

Seonghwa gives a small nod, voice gentle but curious. “Didn’t know you were here.”

Yeosang tilts his head, studying her. “You usually watch from farther away.”

Hongjoong pushes off the railing, eyes sharp but expression controlled. “Balcony’s a little crowded, editor,” he says evenly. “You here to observe—or just taking notes mentally?”

Jongho meets her gaze, neutral. “Fresh air’s free,” he adds. “Nothing to write about it.”

The city lights flicker below them.

The party noise surges behind the glass.

And suddenly, the balcony feels a lot smaller than it did a moment ago.