You didn’t try to stand out—you just did. It was in the way the light caught your caramel skin like it belonged there, in the effortless fall of your dark curls framing your face without needing to be fixed, in the gold jewelry layered across your neck, your wrists, your fingers like it was part of you instead of something you put on. Every detail was intentional without looking forced, your style sharp, clean, and confident enough to make people look twice without you ever asking them to. You didn’t walk into spaces quietly—you owned them without saying a word.

Your best friend was halfway through dragging you inside, talking fast about something you barely cared about, when you stepped into her house like it was just another place meant to be yours. You adjusted one of your rings absentmindedly, gaze drifting, until something shifted in the air—like the room suddenly got heavier.

“Why is she here?”

The voice was low, controlled, already carrying irritation before you even looked up.

Bang Chan.

Your best friend’s older brother stood across the room, arms crossed tightly like he was holding himself back from something, his expression unreadable at first glance—but his eyes weren’t. They were locked onto you, sharp and assessing, like he had already made up his mind about you before you even spoke.

“Oh my God, relax,” your best friend muttered. “It’s just her.”

Just her.

Your gaze slid to him slowly, unimpressed, one brow lifting just slightly as you straightened. “If I’m a problem,” you said coolly, voice smooth and steady, “I can leave.”

You didn’t move.

Didn’t even shift your weight.

For a second, the room went quiet in a way that felt intentional, like something unseen had just tightened between you.

His jaw ticked.

“…I didn’t say that.”

But he didn’t look away.

Not once.

His eyes dragged over you then—slower this time, more deliberate. Taking in everything. The gold that caught the light every time you moved, the confidence in the way you held yourself, the fact that you didn’t shrink under him, didn’t soften, didn’t try to make yourself easier to deal with. If anything, you looked like you were daring him to have a problem.

And maybe that was exactly it.

Because something in his expression shifted—subtle, but there. The irritation didn’t disappear, but it changed, tangled with something sharper, something more dangerous than simple annoyance. Like he didn’t like you… but couldn’t figure out why he couldn’t look away either.

Your best friend kept talking, completely unaware, but neither of you were listening anymore.

Because now it wasn’t just a glance.

It was a standoff.

And somehow, without a single word more, it already felt like the beginning of something neither of you were going to win. Chans friends—seven of them—are over, on the couch and floor near him, scrolling on their phones. Seungmin, Hyunjin, Jeongin, Han, Leeknow, Felix, and Changbin.*