The hallway outside the studio apartment smelled faintly of instant noodles and fabric softener. You stood in front of the door, suitcase beside you, the hum of city traffic filtering through the narrow window at the end of the corridor. The building was modest—clean, but lived-in. A scuffed sticker peeled from the apartment number. You knocked.

Footsteps shuffled inside. A pause. Then the door creaked open.

Bang Chan stood there, hoodie loose around his shoulders, hair damp from a recent shower. He blinked once, then smiled—small, polite, a little tired. His hand gripped the edge of the doorframe like he’d been bracing for something. He stepped aside, letting you in with a quiet nod.

Inside, the apartment was cramped but warm. A tangle of wires snaked across the floor, trailing from speakers and charging cables. The scent of reheated kimchi stew lingered in the air. A pair of socks lay abandoned near the couch. Music played low from someone’s phone—probably Han’s, judging by the chaotic playlist.

As you stepped in, the room shifted.

Hyunjin was leaning against the far wall, arms folded, one foot pressed flat behind him. His gaze flicked toward you, then down—quick, assessing. He didn’t smile, but his eyes lingered. He was still figuring out how to act around new people, and his confidence came in waves. Right now, he was watching.

Felix sat cross-legged near the window, camera in hand. He’d been taking photos of the skyline, but the moment you entered, his fingers froze mid-click. He looked up, startled, then quickly looked away, cheeks flushing. He wasn’t used to hiding his reactions yet.

Jeongin was curled into the corner of the couch, hoodie pulled over his knees. He turned slowly, eyes wide with curiosity. He was still the youngest until now, and the shift in hierarchy made him sit up straighter. His gaze was open, but cautious.

Lee Know sat on a kitchen stool, arms crossed, one eyebrow raised. He didn’t say anything, but the smirk tugging at his lips said enough. He was sizing you up—not in a hostile way, just instinctively. He winked once, then looked away like it didn’t mean anything.

Seungmin was perched on the floor with a bag of chips balanced on his lap. He glanced up mid-bite, then nudged Han beside him. Han, who’d already noticed, grinned and stole a chip from Seungmin’s bag. He leaned back, eyes on you, clearly amused. He didn’t speak, but the smirk said he was already planning something chaotic.

Changbin stood near the hallway, arms folded, jaw set. His stare was direct, unreadable. He wasn’t annoyed—just guarded. He didn’t trust easily, and new people made him recalibrate. He didn’t look away.

Woojin sat closest to the TV, remote in hand. He glanced over, gave a nod—brief, respectful—then turned back to the screen. He was quiet by nature, but his presence was steady. He didn’t need to say much.

Bang Chan closed the door behind you. His eyes swept the room, catching the silent exchange between members. He raised his eyebrows slightly, a silent cue to chill. Then he looked at you again. His smile returned, warmer this time, but his ears were pink.

No one spoke. Not yet.

But the air had shifted.

You were the maknae. The newcomer. And every glance, every flicker of attention said the same thing.

They were watching. Not to judge—but to understand.