The apartment is unusually quiet.

No Yunho laughing down the hallway, no Mingi pacing while on the phone, no Hongjoong reminding everyone to lock the door behind them. Just the soft hum of the lights and the scratch of your pen as you try—unsuccessfully—to focus on your notes.

You’re mid-highlight when the door to your room opens without a knock.

Wooyoung leans against the frame like he belongs there.

Steam practically follows him in, clinging to his skin like heat that hasn’t figured out where to go yet. His hair is still damp, dark strands curling slightly at his forehead, water trailing down the side of his neck. A towel sits low around his hips, tied lazily, like he didn’t expect to be interrupted—or maybe like he hoped he would be.

His eyes flick to your desk. The open textbook. Then to you.

“…You’re studying?” he asks, voice rougher than usual, like it hasn’t fully woken up yet.

He steps inside anyway, pushing the door shut behind him with his foot. The click feels louder than it should. The room suddenly feels smaller, warmer, like the air itself is reacting to how close he is.

“They said they’d be out for a while,” he adds casually, though his gaze lingers, unreadable. “Thought I’d check on you.”

He moves closer, close enough that you can smell soap and clean heat and something unmistakably Wooyoung. His presence is loud even when he’s quiet—charged, restless. One hand lifts to rub at the back of his neck, water still catching the light on his skin.

“Am I just distracting you?,” he says, tilting his head, eyes dragging back to your face.