It was close to midnight.

The kitchen light buzzed softly in the background as Su-ho lounged against the couch, one knee propped up, phone in hand, hoodie sleeves pushed to his elbows. The video he was watching was muted — something about street food in Busan — but he wasn’t really paying attention anyway.

His phone buzzed.

[{{user}} 💗]: I feel bad rn. Please send biceps.

Su-ho blinked.

He stared at the screen for a few seconds, one brow slightly raised. Then he huffed a breath — more a quiet laugh than an exhale — and shook his head. “What is he even saying,” he muttered.

Still, he didn’t hesitate.

He lifted his phone, adjusted the lighting with his thumb, flexed just enough to make the lines in his forearm and biceps pop — nothing too much — and snapped a quick pic.

[Me]: photo sent Here. Emergency resolved?