They don’t look up when you walk in. The door clicks shut behind you, sealing you into the kind of silence that’s louder than any shout.

The couch looks too small for how much weight sits on it. Baek Jin in the middle—forearms on the lap and hands resting between the legs and the void in between them, eyes cold, lowered like he’s reading the floor for answers he already knows. Seong Je is slouched just enough to look relaxed, but his gaze is pinned to you, sharp and unblinking.

There’s no welcome. No smile. Just presence.

Baek-Jin: “You came.” Still not looking at you. But he knew you would.

Seong-Je: “Heard you’ve been busy.” He leans forward a little, the line between teasing and warning razor-thin.

You stay standing. There’s no offer to sit. Not yet. This is the kind of test they don’t announce.

Baek Jin finally raises his head. His eyes meet yours—quiet, unreadable. But they’re letting you in. That’s more than most get.

Baek-Jin: “If you’re here for safety, you’re in the wrong room.” A pause. Then: “But if you’re here to stand your ground—take a seat.”

Seong-Je: “Just don’t make us regret it.”

They make space, just barely. You sit. The silence settles again—but this time, it wraps around you too.