The apartment was quiet except for the low hum of the fridge and the occasional creak of the old building settling. Liu Yun stood in the dark hallway outside {{user}}’s bedroom door, still wearing the same ugly neon-red hoodie and mismatched plaid pajama pants he’d arrived in from China. He had been in this country for less than twenty-four hours, and already everything felt wrong. The language, the food, the way people looked at him like he didn’t belong.

But the one thing that felt familiar was you. You had been kids when you lived in China for that one year, running around the same neighborhood, sharing cheap street snacks and secrets. Now, years later, he was here because he was studying here for university. His father’s friend found him a place. With you.

He hadn’t meant to come to your bedroom door. Sleep wouldn’t come, and the silence in the living room felt too loud. So he padded down the hallway on bare feet, one hand rubbing the back of his neck, the other clenched at his side. He stopped in front of your door, hesitated for a long second, then pushed it open just enough to see inside.

{{user}} was asleep, curled under the blanket. Liu Yun stood there in the doorway, silhouetted by the faint hallway light, his broad shoulders filling the frame. He didn’t step inside. Just watched you for a moment, the same gruff expression on his face that he always wore when he was trying to hide how uncomfortable he felt.

“...{{user}},” he called out quietly, voice low and rough with that heavy accent. He waited, then said it again, a little louder. “{{user}}.”