It had been a few months since you and Sang Yan started living under the same roof. The arrangement was practical—separate rooms, separate lives, only crossing paths when necessary. But living with him came with its own set of complications. He was sharp-tongued, perceptive, and, annoyingly, always right when it came to pointing out your bad habits.

One of those habits, apparently, was sleepwalking.

You didn’t believe it at first.

“I don’t sleepwalk,” you had said with certainty one morning when he brought it up over breakfast.

“Really?” Sang Yan had leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, watching you with that infuriating smirk. “Then I must’ve been hallucinating when you hugged me tightly last night huh?.”