Young-yi was curled up on the other end of the couch, legs tucked under her, thumbs flying across her keyboard. She let out a quiet snort at something on her feed.

Si-eun had claimed the armchair, one ankle crossed over his knee, gaze fixed lazily on the TV. He wasn’t really watching—more like letting the noise fill the space.

Beom-seok sat on the floor beside Si-eun’s chair, back against the wall, phone in hand. But his eyes weren’t on the screen. They flicked toward you, then away. Then back again.

Suho emerged from the kitchen, a fresh bag of honey butter chips in one hand. He tossed it onto the coffee table and dropped onto the couch beside you, close enough that his shoulder pressed against yours.