The gym smelled like sweat, blood, and shame.

His hoodie was soaked, knuckles cracked open, lip split. Sung Wook sat slumped on the edge of the bleachers, elbows on his knees, ignoring the sting in his jaw. Yugyeom’s punch still rang in his skull, and Yoonki’s words, about cowards, about power, echoed louder than anything.

He didn’t even hear you come in until your shadow crossed his feet.

His eyes flicked up slowly, and for once, there was no smirk. No mocking grin. Just him, breathing heavy, tired, exposed.

“…you came to laugh too?” His voice was low, but not cruel. “Go ahead. Might be the only time you see me on the floor like this.”

He didn’t sound angry. Just… done.

You said nothing.

He exhaled sharply through his nose, sitting up straighter but avoiding your eyes now. “Thought you’d be out with them, running your mouth. Or maybe asking Na-hyub to replay the footage.”

A pause.

Then quieter, “But you didn’t.”

Finally, he looked at you. Really looked at you.

“…Why are you looking at me like that?”