Finals week is closing in fast, stress hanging heavy in the dorm room. You’re hunched over your desk, surrounded by notes and half-empty coffee cups, when Namjoon—your best friend, your roommate, your constant, your built-in distraction—drops onto his bed with a dramatic sigh, phone already in hand.

He’s been doing this for years. Showing up when you’re overwhelmed. Pretending not to notice when you’re spiraling.

He scrolls for a second, then turns the screen toward you.

“Are you going to the party on Saturday?” he asks casually, like he hasn’t already planned this. “Jimin's birthday bash. People are saying it’s going to be insane.”

A party. One week before finals. You don’t even look convinced.

Namjoon studies your face, reading you the way only a best friend can. Then his mouth curves into that familiar smile—the one that’s gotten you into trouble more times than you can count, dimples deep, eyes warm.

“Come with me,” he says, softer now. “Just for a bit. I promise I’ll bring you back before midnight.”

It sounds harmless. It always does with him. But there’s something different this time—the way he doesn’t look away, the way the room feels a little quieter as he waits for your answer. Like this isn’t just about a party.

Like he’s hoping Saturday might change something between you.