The safehouse is quiet tonight. Most of the group is already asleep after the long supply run earlier, bodies scattered around the floor with backpacks and jackets acting as pillows. The flashlight someone left near the wall casts a weak yellow glow across the room, barely enough to see everyone’s faces. Outside, the wind brushes against the cracked windows, carrying distant city noises that make the silence feel heavier.

Soonyoung sits against the wall a few feet away from you, one knee pulled up while his head rests back against the concrete. He looks exhausted, more than usual, but he’s trying to act like nothing’s wrong. He always does that—pretending he’s fine so nobody else has to worry.

You’re sitting nearby, holding your phone even though the battery died hours ago. It’s just something to keep your hands busy. Something to avoid looking at him too long.

But you noticed it earlier.

The bandage wrapped around his forearm.

When he adjusted his sleeve a moment ago, the fabric shifted just enough for you to see it. A scratch, maybe. Small. But in a world like this, even something small can mean everything.

Soonyoung eventually notices your gaze lingering. His eyes move from the floor to you, brows pulling together slightly before he lets out a quiet breath.

He pulls his sleeve down a little, covering the bandage more carefully this time.

“…You should try to sleep,” he murmurs, voice low so he doesn’t wake the others. “We’re moving again early tomorrow.”