Caffeine || CHOI SOOBIN FF

ℂ𝕙𝕒𝕡𝕥𝕖𝕣 𝟜𝟞

-Start of Chapter  46-

Y/N's POV

I wake up to the brightest light imaginable hitting me straight in the face like it's personally offended  that I exist. I squint, groaning as a headache pounds away at my skull. Great. The one time I try to have a little fun, my body decides to punish me for it.

Rolling over, I slap the alarm clock off, not even caring if it breaks. I don't have time to deal with a technological meltdown this morning—my brain's doing that on its own.

I drag myself out of bed, yawning silent, my eyes watering slightly. My legs wobble as I shuffle to the bathroom, eyes barely open, ready to bust in like usual. Soobin never locks the door anyway.

But when I try the handle, it doesn't budge.

What the—? I blink, still groggy. That's weird...

I knock lightly, just in case.

"Hold on..." Soobin's muffled voice comes from the other side.

My eyebrows shoot up. Did he just... lock me out? 

That's a first. He never locks the door. 

Not even when he's brushing his teeth half-naked or dealing with his whole "I'm allergic to clothes in the morning" routine.

After a moment, Soobin opens the door, and for some reason, he's... wearing a shirt.

A shirt.

I stare at him, blinking. My brain, still half-asleep, tries to process this alien sight. Soobin. Fully clothed. In the morning.

Something's definitely off.

I stare at him for a moment longer, eyes narrowing as my brain finally catches up. "You're... wearing a shirt?"

Soobin doesn't joke back, doesn't even flash that lazy grin he usually gives when I point out his lack of clothing in the mornings. Instead, he barely glances at me, his gaze fixed somewhere past my shoulder. "It's not like we're dating or anything." he mutters, voice flat. "It's logical."

His words are a slap. I know he's right—it's not like there's anything between us. But somehow, the casual way he says it stings more than it should. I bite the inside of my cheek, suddenly unsure of what to say.

He turns away, heading back to the sink, resuming his usual skincare routine, patting toner on his face like everything's completely normal. But something about the way his shoulders are a little too tense, the way he avoids looking at me, makes it all feel... off.

I step into the bathroom quietly, grabbing my toothbrush. We stand side by side, me brushing my teeth, him dabbing at his face with some cream, but the silence between us feels louder than usual. 

The easy morning banter we usually have? Nowhere to be found.

As I spit out the toothpaste and glance at him from the corner of my eye, a knot forms in my stomach. Something's definitely wrong. It's like there's a weight in the air that wasn't there before, a distance between us that I can't quite put my finger on.

"Soobin" I ask cautiously, rinsing my mouth. "Is everything... okay?"

He doesn't look at me, still focused on his reflection in the mirror. "Yeah. Everything's fine."

But the way he says it—too quick, too clipped—tells me everything isn't fine. I want to push, to ask him what's really going on, but... I don't. Instead, I just stand there, brushing my teeth in silence, thinking, Something's wrong.