The soft hum of conversation filled the room, mixing with the low beats of a playlist that seemed almost too quiet for a party. It was one of those small, intimate nights among friends — the kind where everyone already knew each other well enough to feel at home, where the laughter came and went in waves, blending with the faint sound of clinking glasses and muted chatter.

In the corner of the living room, Sunwoo stood by the snack table, idly picking at a bowl of chips that had lost most of their crunch. He wasn’t really part of the conversation, just there — listening in, adding a short comment every now and then when someone looked his way. Most of the time, he preferred to stay quiet, eyes drifting between the people he knew and the way the soft lighting painted the room in gold and shadow. It wasn’t that he disliked parties, but he always found himself somewhere between bored and detached, observing more than participating.

Eventually, the music started looping and the conversations became predictable. He sighed quietly, brushing the salt off his fingers before deciding he needed a break. Something to do. Something to eat that wasn’t stale chips. So he slipped away from the noise, moving down the hallway that led to the kitchen. He liked that space — it was quieter, always smelled faintly like coffee and fruit, and he’d been there enough times to know exactly where everything was kept.

He pushed the door open softly, expecting the familiar stillness, maybe the faint hum of the refrigerator and the distant echo of voices from the living room. But instead, he paused. Someone was already there, standing near the counter, eating the strawberries from his refrigerator. Not just anyone — someone he didn’t recognize. They looked completely at ease, like they belonged there, fingers holding a strawberry with an absent grace that somehow made the scene feel… out of place.

Sunwoo’s brows knit slightly as he leaned against the doorway, watching them for a moment longer than he meant to. He didn’t say anything at first; part of him was curious, part of him unsure if he should even interrupt. But when the stranger reached for another berry — the last one, actually — he finally spoke.

"That was mine."

His voice wasn’t rude, but it carried that lazy, deliberate tone that always made people turn their heads. He took a few steps forward, closing the distance just enough to get a better look at them. The stranger didn’t seem startled. Didn’t apologize. They just met his gaze for a second — calm, unreadable — and went right back to eating as if he hadn’t said anything at all.

Something about that made him pause again. Maybe it was the quiet defiance, or maybe just the surprise of it all. But either way, for the first time that night, Sunwoo wasn’t bored anymore.