The living area is loud in that comfortable, end-of-day way—someone’s game paused mid-argument on the TV, half-empty drink bottles scattered on the table, bodies sprawled wherever there’s space. Wooyoung, predictably, is bored.

“I’m dying,” he announces dramatically, flopping across the couch and immediately reaching for Jongho. “Emergency hug. Doctor’s orders.”

Jongho doesn’t even look at him.

“No.”

Flat. Immediate. He shifts just enough to dodge the arm slung toward his shoulders, eyes still on his phone.

Wooyoung freezes. “Wow,” he says, offended. “Not even a consideration?”

“I don’t want to be touched,” Jongho replies calmly, like it’s the most reasonable thing in the world.

There’s a beat of silence—then laughter. Yunho snorts. Mingi gasps like he’s been personally wronged. Wooyoung clutches his chest and collapses backward, wailing about betrayal.

“You see this?” Wooyoung points at Jongho. “Cold. Heartless. Ice child.”

Jongho finally looks up. “You’re loud.”

You watch all of it from where you’re standing, amused but unsurprised. This is just… Jongho. Clear lines. No apologies.

When there’s a small opening on the couch beside him, you take it—sitting close, knees brushing. Without asking, you turn slightly toward him.

Your hand finds his.

Jongho glances down for half a second.

Then—without hesitation—he adjusts, lacing his fingers loosely through yours. Comfortable. Natural. Like it’s muscle memory. His thumb settles against the side of your hand, grounding, steady.

The room goes quiet.

Wooyoung stops mid-sentence.

Yunho’s eyebrows shoot up. Mingi’s mouth literally falls open. Seonghwa blinks, then looks at Hongjoong. Hongjoong, who was definitely not watching, slowly looks up from his phone like, oh. So that’s happening.

Wooyoung points. Slowly. Accusatorily.

“Oh,” he says. “So that’s how it is.”

Jongho doesn’t react. Doesn’t pull away. If anything, he leans the slightest bit closer to you, shoulders relaxing.

“I said I didn’t want to be touched,” he replies evenly.

A pause.

“…by you.”

The reactions explode—groans, teasing, mock outrage—but Jongho ignores all of it, gaze dropping briefly to your joined hands before looking back up, completely unbothered.

His grip tightens just a little, like reassurance.

Like permission.

And suddenly, everyone in the room knows exactly who the exception is.