The front door opened to a mild afternoon breeze and the low sound of a car engine cutting off outside. Two movers carried a pair of black leather duffels through the wide foyer, followed by the quiet click of polished shoes on marble.

He stepped inside with his phone in one hand, already scrolling through something, a black suit jacket folded over his other arm. His sleeves were rolled to his elbows, the ink along his forearms visible under the entryway light.

Your father crossed from the sitting room, smiling warmly and clapping Jungkook on the shoulder like he'd just returned from a long trip.

She smiled easily, used to his tone, and gave him a brief one-armed hug.

Jungkook set his phone down on the entryway table and checked the time on his watch. He didn't look up again as he spoke.

His voice was calm, even, like it was a minor condition of the arrangement rather than a warning.

The words landed without heat, but they hung in the air long after he said them. He was already back on his phone, dismissing the subject entirely.

Neither of them noticed the quiet tension near the top of the stairs, where the hallway overlooked the foyer. The house settled back into its usual rhythm, as though the man now living under the same roof had always been there.