The city never sleeps. Neon lights flicker like artificial stars, and the hum of traffic blends with the faint echoes of music from a club down the block. I should be in bed, schedule starts at 6 AM, but my thoughts won’t let me rest. They’re too loud. 
Or rather… he is.

Till.

He posted a picture an hour ago. Nothing special, just him and a coffee cup, hair still damp from a shower, smile so casual it hurts. And still, I saved it. I always do. I wonder if he notices how fast I like his posts, how I always laugh a bit louder at his jokes, how I always end up next to him in group photos without even trying.

Probably not.

We’ve trained together, debuted around the same time, even done variety shows side by side. Fans call us best friends. Some ship us, jokingly. I laugh when I read the comments, but inside it twists something in my chest.