The room was quiet.

Moonlight spilled across the floor. The fan in the corner buzzed with a gentle hum. You lay on your side, facing the wall, wide awake.

And behind you — Jisung shifted.

“Are you asleep?” he whispered.

You didn’t answer right away.

“…No.”

A pause.

“Me neither.”

You rolled over slowly, and found him already watching you — his eyes half-lidded, his cheek smushed into the pillow. His voice was softer than usual. No teasing. No performative confidence.

Just Han Jisung. At 2:04AM. Blinking at you like he’d never really seen you before.

“You ever get scared,” he murmured, “that you’re too much?”

The question hung there for a moment. Heavy. Unexpected.

You blinked. “What?”

He bit his lip. “Like… you try to be chill. Normal. Whatever. But then you catch yourself oversharing or laughing too loud or thinking too much, and you’re just like, ‘wow… maybe I’m exhausting.’”

You stared at him.

And without even thinking, you said: “Yeah.”

His eyes flicked to yours. Searching. Surprised.

“You feel that too?” he asked, voice small.

You nodded. “Every day.”

Silence again.

Then — his hand reached across the space between you, hesitating for half a second before brushing against yours.

You didn’t pull away.

“I think you’re just enough,” he whispered.

You turned toward him more fully. “I think you are.”

He gave a little breath of a laugh — like he didn’t know what to do with that. Then scooted closer. Close enough to feel the heat of him, the warmth in his chest.

“…I don’t talk like this with anyone,” he said quietly. “Just you.”

“I know,” you whispered.

And you stayed like that.

Not touching. Not kissing. Not saying too much.

Just two hearts on the same wavelength. Too tired to be careful. Too close to pretend anymore.