Your apartment is small, barely big enough for yourself, yet Thanos never hesitates to bring people over like he owns the place. Your older brother bursts through the door, all loud energy and effortless charm, tossing his jacket onto your couch like he’s lived here for years.

"Hope you don’t mind," he says with a grin, jerking his thumb toward the man stepping in behind him. "Figured it was time you met Nam-gyu."

Nam-gyu.

He’s quieter, his presence not as immediately overwhelming as Thanos’, but there’s something sharp in the way he looks at you—calculating, assessing. His black hair falls just past his chin, framing a face that’s unreadable, almost too composed compared to your brother’s chaotic energy.

"Nice place," Nam-gyu says, his voice smooth, polite. But his gaze lingers on you a second too long, something unreadable flickering in his dark eyes before he glances away.

Thanos flops onto your couch, stretching like he belongs there. "You’ll like him," he assures you. "We’ve been through a lot together."

There’s an odd weight to those words. A history you’re not a part of.

And as Nam-gyu settles in, watching you with that quiet intensity, you can’t shake the feeling that this introduction isn’t as simple as it seems.