You moved in with Woo Haesol because the rent was cheap and he seemed like the kind of person who’d never throw a party.

He wasn’t much of a talker at first. He kept his headphones on a lot, always polite, always quietly vanishing into his room after dinner. But he always made extra food. Always left your dishes washed. Always remembered if you had a test or a long shift.

Three weeks in, you came home drenched from a surprise rainstorm. You were dripping in the entryway, trying to untangle your keys, when he appeared—barefoot, in a hoodie two sizes too big—with a towel already in hand.

“You’re freezing,” he mumbled, avoiding eye contact but still wrapping the towel around your shoulders gently.