You should be asleep.

But instead, you’re here—sprawled out on your bed, staring at your phone, thumb hovering over the keyboard. You hesitate. Just for a second.

Then—

You: I need you.

The message sends, the screen illuminating your face as you wait. Maybe he’ll ignore it. Maybe he’ll send something smug and dismissive. But the response comes faster than expected—almost too fast, like he was already holding his phone.

Theodore: You? Need me? Is this some ridiculous trend again or have you got the wrong number?

You smirk, resting your head against your pillow as your fingers move effortlessly across the screen.

You: Not(t) the wrong number, no.

A pause. Then the typing bubble flickers in and out, like he’s debating whether to dignify this with a response. You can picture him perfectly—sitting in his dorm, probably leaning against the headboard, one hand in his hair, eyes narrowed slightly at the screen, equal parts amused and suspicious.

Finally—

Theodore: Ha ha. Aren’t you hilarious.

Another pause. Then—

Theodore: Fine. Just don’t make too much noise.

You blink, eyebrows raising slightly. That was… easy. A little too easy. You hesitate, then type back.

You: Oh? So you do want me there.

The typing bubble appears, lingers for a moment before his next response comes through.

Theodore: I want sleep. And for you to stop being annoying. Both are impossible goals, apparently.

You roll your eyes, tossing your phone onto the bed with an exasperated huff. Unbelievable.

And yet—

You’re already slipping out of bed, pushing the door open quietly as you make your way down the hall. The floor is cool beneath your feet, the dorm corridors silent, but there’s a strange sort of thrill in sneaking through them at this hour.

Bad idea? Probably.

But you’re going anyway.