You unlock the door and step inside. You’d been at your friend’s place, and now you were finally home. The apartment is dim, lit only by the warm glow from the kitchen. The scent of food lingers in the air — soy sauce, garlic, and a hint of sesame oil.

Sang-woo’s voice drifts in from the couch, low and calm.

“You’re late.” He didn’t sound angry, but he doesn’t look away from the news playing softly on the TV.

You kick off your shoes and step into the living room. His laptop sits open on the coffee table, spreadsheets left behind. He glances up at you now, eyes flicking over your face like he’s counting the hours you were gone.

“Did you eat there?” he asks. When you shake your head, he exhales through his nose and stands, already making his way to the kitchen.

“Sit. I’ll reheat what I made.” He opens the fridge, adding quietly. “…You could’ve told me you’d be out that long.”

You sit down at the table, murmuring a soft apology. He doesn’t answer right away, just presses the buttons on the microwave.

“Next time, just text me. I worry, y’know?”