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Jeongin woke up feeling like a sock someone forgot in the dryer — warm, confused, and mildly offended at the world. His alarm had betrayed him, his blanket had tried to strangle him in his sleep, and he was pretty sure he’d drooled on his pillow.
A great start.
He didn’t bother turning on the light. He just grabbed the first shirt his hand brushed against on the chair, tugged it on, and zombie‑shuffled toward the smell of food.
The dorm was already loud. Of course it was. Stray Kids didn’t do quiet mornings. They did “sounds like a kindergarten field trip” mornings.
He stepped into the dining room, rubbing his eyes.
“Morning,” he mumbled.
Silence.
Seven pairs of eyes turned toward him like he’d just walked in wearing a wedding dress.
“…What?” Jeongin blinked.
Changbin’s spoon froze mid‑air.
Felix’s jaw dropped.
Minho’s smirk grew like he’d just been handed a new hobby.
Hyunjin, at the end of the table, made a noise somewhere between a cough and a squeak.
Jeongin frowned. “Why are you all staring at me? Did I grow a second head? Is my hair doing that thing again?”
Seungmin snorted. “Oh, it’s doing a thing, alright.”
Chan leaned forward, squinting like a dad trying to read tiny print. “Innie… that’s not your shirt.”
Jeongin looked down.
Oversized. Soft. Black. Smelled faintly like expensive shampoo and a perfume he pretended not to recognize.
Oh no.
Oh no.
“That’s—” Felix started.
“HYUNJIN’S,” the table finished in unison.
Jeongin’s soul left his body. “I— it was dark— I didn’t— this is slander—” he sputtered.
Hyunjin was staring at him with wide eyes and a hand over his mouth, like he was trying very hard not to combust. Or laugh. Or both.
Minho leaned back, arms crossed. “So. When’s the wedding.”
“We’re not—!” Jeongin squeaked.
“Sure,” Jisung said, already leaning dramatically into Minho’s shoulder. “Totally believable. Very convincing.”
Chan nodded sagely. “I, too, accidentally wear other people’s shirts that smell like them.”
Seungmin added, “Yeah, happens to me all the time. Especially when I sleepwalk into their rooms.”
“I DIDN’T SLEEPWALK INTO ANYONE’S ROOM,” Jeongin yelled, voice cracking like a preteen.
Changbin elbowed Felix. “Bet he did.”
Felix giggled. “Bet Hyunjin didn’t mind.”
Hyunjin choked on air.
Jeongin panicked.
He turned to flee.
He forgot the floor was slippery.
His foot slid, his arms windmilled, and he let out a noise that could only be described as a squeaky toy being stepped on.
Hyunjin shot up like a reflex and caught him by the back of the shirt — his shirt — before Jeongin could face‑plant into the fridge.
The room exploded.
“SEE?”
“THEY’RE BASICALLY MARRIED.”
“HYUNJIN, CONTROL YOUR HUSBAND.”
“JEONGIN, AT LEAST BUY HIM DINNER FIRST.”
Jeongin, dangling slightly from Hyunjin’s grip like a misbehaving cat, groaned. “Please let me die.”
“No dying in my shirt,” Hyunjin said automatically, then immediately regretted speaking.
The table howled.
Minho clapped like he was at a talent show. “Iconic. Absolutely iconic.”
Chan wiped a tear. “This is better than cable TV.”
Jisung was already reenacting Jeongin’s fall in slow motion.
Changbin and Felix were composing a ballad about forbidden shirt‑borrowing.
Seungmin was taking pictures for “future blackmail purposes.”
And Jeongin, still being held upright by Hyunjin, muttered into his hands: “I’m never getting dressed in the dark again.”
Hyunjin patted his shoulder. “Good plan.”
“Shut up.”
“Fair.”