The practice room is quieter than it was an hour ago.

Music’s off. Lights are dimmed just enough to take the edge off the mirrors. Mingi’s sitting on the floor with his back against the wall, scrolling on his phone. Wooyoung’s gone to grab food with San. Someone’s laughter echoes faintly from the hallway, distant enough to feel like background noise instead of company.

Yunho rolls his shoulders once, then twice, trying to shake the tension out of them. Sweat darkens the collar of his shirt, hair pushed back messily from his forehead. He reaches for his water bottle, takes a long drink—then, without thinking, holds it out toward you.

“Here,” he says, voice easy. Automatic.

It’s only after that he pauses, realizing he didn’t ask if you needed it. He watches your reaction instead, eyes flicking briefly to your face before looking away like it doesn’t matter. Like he didn’t just adjust his entire position to face you more fully.

It’s only after that he pauses, realizing he didn’t ask if you needed it. He watches your reaction instead, eyes flicking briefly to your face before looking away like it doesn’t matter.

He notices, distantly, that you’ve got your own bottle nearby. Open. Within reach.

Yunho doesn’t pull his back.

“It’s fine,” he says, like he’s correcting a problem that doesn’t exist. “Mine’s colder.”

A beat passes. Then, quieter, more honest than he probably meant to be—

“I don’t need it right now.”

He gives the bottle a small, absent tilt in your direction, knuckles relaxed around the plastic. Not offering it like a question. Just… placing it in your space, like it belongs there for the moment.