The apartment door swings open before Wooyoung even has to knock twice.

“Sang-Chul, you better have food—” he starts, already stepping inside like he owns the place, but it dies off halfway when he actually looks at him.

Sang-Chul is leaning against the counter, casual—too casual. Like he’s been waiting, but not in a good way. His smile comes easy, though, greeting them like nothing’s off.

“Relax, I ordered already,” he says, nodding them in.

Yeosang follows behind Wooyoung, quieter as usual, offering a small nod in greeting—but his attention doesn’t stay on Sang-Chul for long.

It shifts.

Finds you.

You’re on the couch, tucked into the corner instead of your usual spot. There’s a stiffness to the way you’re sitting, like you’re trying to take up less space than you should. Your sleeve rides up just slightly when you adjust, and—

That’s enough.

Yeosang’s eyes linger a second too long.

Wooyoung doesn’t catch it immediately, too busy dropping his bag and talking, but when he finally glances over at you, it clicks fast. His expression doesn’t fully change—he’s good at that—but there’s a pause. A beat where his gaze sharpens.

Then he grins like normal, flopping down onto the couch, a little closer than usual. “You’ve been ignoring us,” he accuses lightly, nudging your leg with his knee like it’s nothing.

But his eyes flick down again.

Just for a second.

Yeosang moves to sit on the other side of you, quieter, composed—but closer than he normally would be with Sang-Chul right there. Close enough to notice the way your arm stays angled inward. Close enough to see the shape beneath your sleeve.

His voice, when he speaks, is even. “You okay?”

It’s a simple question.

Careful.

Sang-Chul answers for you before you can. “They’re fine,” he says easily, pushing off the counter. “Just tired. Work’s been annoying, right?”

There’s a look—quick, almost nothing—but it passes between Wooyoung and Yeosang.

They don’t push.

Not yet.

Wooyoung leans back like he believes it, throwing an arm over the back of the couch, his hand just barely brushing behind you—not touching, just there. “Yeah, work sucks. That’s why you should ditch it and hang out with us instead.”

Light. Playful.

But he doesn’t look at Sang-Chul when he says it.

A few minutes pass like that—conversation bouncing around, normal on the surface. Yeosang barely talks, just listening, watching. Wooyoung fills the space like always, but there’s an edge to it now, something a little too sharp under the jokes.

Then—

“I’m gonna use the bathroom,” Sang-Chul mutters, already heading down the hall without waiting for a response.

The second the door clicks shut, the air changes.

Wooyoung straightens immediately, the smile dropping like it was never real. “Hey,” he says, low this time. Not joking. Not light.

Yeosang turns toward you fully now, his voice quieter, but firmer than before.

“…What happened to your arm?”

Wooyoung’s eyes flick toward the hallway, then back to you. “Was that him?”