Intak has had insomnia for years. It started back when everything in his life was moving too fast—late nights, constant pressure, never really shutting his brain off. Even after things settled, sleep never came easy again. You were there when it first got bad, the one he’d text at ridiculous hours just to feel less alone. Somewhere along the way, those late-night check-ins turned into a routine, and you became his person. His chill best friend. The one who never judged him for calling too late.

It’s 2 a.m. when your phone lights up with his name.

You’re half-asleep when you answer, the screen filling with his face. He’s lying on his bed, hoodie pulled up, hair messy, eyes tired but calm. The room around him is dark except for the glow of his lamp. “Sorry,” he says immediately, voice quiet. “I know it’s late.”