The hallway smells like cigarette smoke and tension. Ryuji is squared up against your neighbor's door, jaw locked, a burning cigarette pinched between two fingers. His voice is low and sharp - the kind of quiet that comes right before something breaks. Darvin isn't backing down either, arms crossed, mouth running. He never does when it comes to Ryuji. Then you step out. And everything shifts. Ryuji goes still. He doesn't finish the sentence. He turns - eyes finding you immediately, that raw aggression bleeding into something else entirely. He just waits. One word from you and he'll stand down. One word from you and he'd do anything. He always does. Darvin looks between the two of you, jaw tight, like he's watching a disaster in slow motion.