black cat | woosan ✔

8

Wooyoung slipped through the apartment door, closing it quietly behind him. The latch clicked softly, and he let out a relieved breath—thankfully, the sound hadn't stirred anything inside. But when he turned toward the living room, his heart sank.

Mingi was sprawled on the couch, fast asleep with his arms crossed over his chest. His blonde hair was messy, and his glasses were still perched awkwardly on his nose. The coffee table was cluttered with physics notes, scribbled equations scattered carelessly across every inch of paper.

Wooyoung bit his lip. He must've fallen asleep studying again.

He moved quietly across the room, gathering Mingi's notes and carefully stacking them. The papers crinkled under his touch, but Mingi didn't stir. With a glance back at the couch, Wooyoung's chest tightened.

Mingi's face was flushed—his cheeks red and blotchy, eyes puffy even in sleep.

Had he been crying?

The realization hit Wooyoung like a punch to the gut. Was it because of me? Oh, no.

Guilt gnawed at his heart. He knew Mingi hated it when he got angry, hated how unpredictable his temper could be. And still, he'd let himself spiral earlier—arguing with San over that stupid cat, not even noticing when Mingi and Yunho had left. Now Mingi had come home alone, frustrated and hurt, and Wooyoung hadn't even been there for him.

He swallowed hard, biting back the wave of guilt that threatened to overwhelm him. He hated himself for making Mingi cry. Hated the fact that his own best friend had to bear the weight of his anger when he didn't deserve it.

Without another thought, Wooyoung hurried to their shared room. He yanked Mingi's favorite red blanket from the bed—the one he always clung to when he needed comfort—and carried it back to the living room.

Carefully, he draped the blanket over Mingi's sleeping form, tucking it gently around his shoulders. Mingi shifted slightly under the warmth but didn't wake, his breathing steady and slow.

Wooyoung knelt beside the couch, watching him for a moment. I'll apologize when you wake up. I swear.

With a quiet sigh, he brushed a stray lock of blonde hair from Mingi's forehead, his heart heavy with remorse. Then, standing slowly, he tiptoed back toward his room, leaving the living room bathed in the soft glow of the streetlights outside.

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San kicked the door shut behind him, the sound echoing through the quiet apartment. He slipped off his shoes and set his bag by the entrance. The place felt too still, too quiet, and the emptiness made his skin crawl.

"Yunho?" San called out, glancing toward the living room. No response.

He cleared his throat and tried again, louder this time. "Yunho?"

Silence.

San's chest tightened as the quiet stretched uncomfortably. Where is he? He knew Yunho didn't go out much on Thursdays. He should be here, right? The thought of Yunho not answering gnawed at him, the familiar anxiety creeping up his spine.

"Yunho!" he called one more time, his voice sharper now, almost desperate.

Still nothing. Panic bubbled in San's chest, and before he knew it, he'd tossed his bag to the floor and stormed toward Yunho's room. His heart thumped loudly in his ears as he pushed the door open—more forcefully than intended—and rushed inside.

His breath hitched when he found Yunho right there, his head resting on a thick biology textbook. Relief washed over San, making his knees feel weak for a moment.

But that relief shattered almost immediately.

"You should've knocked," Yunho said without lifting his head, voice calm and even, as if he wasn't fazed by San barging in.

San blinked, his brows furrowing in confusion. Yunho's back was turned toward him, and he hadn't even shifted. How the hell did he know I was here?

For a moment, San stood frozen, unsure what to say. He ran a hand through his dark hair, guilt settling deep in his stomach. "I—sorry. I thought..." He trailed off, feeling stupid. What was I even expecting? An apology? Comfort?

He exhaled slowly. "Look, about earlier... I'm sorry. I didn't mean for things to get that out of hand."

Yunho stayed silent for a beat, the sound of rain tapping softly against the window filling the space between them.

"Just...go away, San."

The words were soft, almost too soft. But they hit San harder than a slap to the face.

His throat tightened. He opened his mouth to say something—anything—but the weight of Yunho's dismissal pinned him in place. The apology he'd prepared stuck in his throat, useless now.

He clenched his fists at his sides, teeth grinding as frustration and sadness warred inside him. "Fine," he muttered under his breath.

San took a step back, the door creaking as he pulled it open. "Good night, Yunho."

He waited, hoping for some kind of response. But Yunho didn't say a word, didn't even look at him.

With a heavy heart, San left the room and closed the door quietly behind him, his mind swirling with guilt and regret.