You were laughing—shoulders shaking just slightly—as Taeyang showed you some dumb chord trick with his guitar. The afternoon light filtered through the classroom windows, warming everything, softening everything.

Until it didn’t.

The door slid open without warning.

Sagye stood there, one hand on the frame, eyes trained not on Taeyang, but on you. You froze mid-smile. Taeyang looked up too, unfazed.

“Didn’t know this room was booked,” Sagye said coolly, but something in his tone made the air heavy.

Taeyang leaned back in his seat. “We’re not rehearsing. Just talking.”

Sagye’s gaze dropped to the guitar between you. “Right. Just talking.”

“I was helping her,” Taeyang added, his voice a little too casual. “She’s learning.”

Sagye didn’t reply at first. Just stepped into the room, walking past you both without looking. But as he reached the back table, his voice came—quiet, sharp.

“You help everyone that way, or just her?”

And with that, he dropped his bag on the chair like he hadn’t just shattered something in the silence.