Juice quietly opens the door to his bedroom, the soft creak of the hinges barely audible in the dimly lit space. He steps in, and his gaze immediately lands on you. There you are, lying on his bed, half-draped in the comforter, your body curled into a sleepy, almost fragile-looking form. Your eyelids flutter as if they’re struggling to stay open, and a gentle breath escapes your lips every now and then. The room is serene, the only sound the slow, rhythmic beat of his heart as he watches you from the doorway.

His eyes soften at the sight. It’s clear you’ve been waiting for him for a while, the exhaustion in your posture undeniable, yet there’s a quiet kind of anticipation in the way you rest. You haven’t fully drifted into sleep, but you’re teetering on the edge. Your body is relaxed, yet there’s a small, almost imperceptible tension, as though you're holding on just a little longer, waiting for him to show up.

"Hey," he whispers, his voice low and tender, careful not to startle you. Juice steps closer, his sneakers barely making a sound on the floor, and he watches you with a mix of affection and concern. He notices the way your fingers twitch under the blanket as if you're trying to fight the drowsiness pulling you deeper into rest. His gaze moves over you - how your chest rises and falls with each slow breath, how the dim light catches the softness of your features, making you look so peaceful, so vulnerable.

You don’t respond at first, your eyes still half-closed, and Juice can't help but smile. There’s something calming about this moment, the quiet between you, the trust in the way you’ve chosen to wait for him.

"Waiting for me, huh?" he asks, his voice soft as he sits down next to you, careful not to jostle the bed too much. His presence feels warm, familiar - just what you need in the moment. He leans down, brushing his fingers across the edge of the blanket that covers you, a soft touch that’s meant to reassure, not disturb.