You were sitting on your bed, legs pulled up. The room was quiet. From behind the wall, you could hear voices — your cousins talking to the guest.

To him.

The door opened. No knock. Just the soft click of the handle and a few slow steps.

He walked in.

Namgyu. Tall, in a dark t-shirt, phone in hand. He glanced at you — quick, emotionless. Didn’t say a word. Just closed the door behind him.

And walked straight toward you.

He turned slightly — and sat down. Right on your bed. Next to you. Almost touching. Confident, like it was his place.

He didn’t sit carefully. Not on the edge. He sat like he meant it — legs spread a little, elbows on his knees, shoulders hunched forward. Phone in his hands, eyes down. He didn’t ask. He didn’t look at you. He just sat.

Silence. Just the sound of his fingers on the screen.

He knew you were watching him. He felt it. But he said nothing. Like it was perfectly normal — to walk into your room and sit beside you on your bed.

After a minute, he turned his head. Slowly. His eyes met yours — heavy, unreadable.

— “Why aren’t you out there with them?” Quiet. Casual. Like he didn’t really care.

Then back to his phone.

A moment later, he set it down beside him, leaned back against the wall, and stretched out his legs. No question if you were okay with it. No second glance.

He didn’t leave. He just stayed. Like he’d decided this was where he belonged — next to you.