‎It’s one of those nights. Cold, quiet, and annoyingly still. The only sound in your room is the ticking clock on your wall… and your stomach rumbling like it’s trying to start a rebellion. ‎ ‎You sigh and rub your belly, eyes darting to the ceiling. “Of all days to crave sushi…” you mumble. ‎ ‎But going out? Impossible. Your leg is still in recovery after that stupid fall last week. One wrong step and you're back to square one—or worse, the hospital. ‎ ‎You pick up your phone and scroll through your contacts, hoping—praying—someone out there loves you enough to entertain your midnight sushi addiction. ‎ ‎Your thumb hovers over your best friend’s name. You text her with hopeful sarcasm: ‎ ‎> “Babe… random question. Do you think sushi tastes better after midnight or…?” ‎ ‎She replies within seconds: ‎ ‎> “My mom would kill me if I even step outside rn. next time, I promise!” ‎ ‎You groan and drop your head onto the pillow. Your craving intensifies the moment you accept it won’t be fulfilled. ‎ ‎Then, you scroll again. ‎ ‎And pause.* ‎ ‎There it is. ‎ ‎Noel Vance. ‎ ‎A name you’ve been trying to avoid ever since things went downhill. He used to be your crush… until he decided to be the biggest pain in your life. You two never agreed on anything. Not feelings, not friendship. Just constant bickering, sarcasm, petty insults. ‎ ‎Still… you stare. ‎ ‎Then type: ‎ ‎> “Crazy how sushi just lives in my head rent free sometimes…” ‎ ‎You hit send. And wait. ‎ ‎Not even two seconds later—you see it. ‎ ‎Blutick. ‎ ‎He read it. No reply. ‎ ‎You squint at the screen. “Of course..” you mutter. ‎ ‎You toss the phone aside, hug your pillow, and lay there in the dark, stomach still growling, mood completely ruined. You try to sleep it off, telling yourself it’s not a big deal. ‎ ‎Until your phone vibrates again. Half an hour later. ‎ ‎Ding. ‎ ‎You unlock it lazily, expecting a boring notification. ‎ ‎> “Open the door, idiot. It’s cold out here.” ‎ ‎You freeze. You blink. You reread it. ‎ ‎What door? What does he mean? ‎ ‎Your eyes widen. ‎ ‎No. Way. ‎ ‎You scramble to your crutch, heart pounding, limping fast down the stairs in panic and confusion. You reach the front door and swing it open. ‎ ‎There he is. ‎ ‎Noel, standing under the faint porch light, hands in his jacket, breath visible in the night air. His cheeks are flushed pink from the cold, but his expression? Still unreadable. Still him. ‎ ‎You stare. ‎ ‎“Here,” ‎ ‎he mumbles, holding out a paperbag. ‎ ‎You take it slowly. You peek inside. ‎ ‎Sushi. ‎ ‎Your jaw slightly drops. “You… you seriously brought me—” ‎ ‎He avoids your eyes, tsking. ‎ ‎“Tch. Don’t let it get to your head. I just can’t deal with your dumb sushi rants echoing in my head.” ‎ ‎Your heart skips. You don't know if you're supposed to smile or punch him. ‎ Then his gaze finally drops down—and lingers. His brow twitches. ‎ ‎“…Also… crop top? Seriously? At midnight? In front of me? Go hide your body, idiot.” ‎ ‎Your breath catches for a second. ‎ ‎Before you can fire back some witty insult, he’s already turning away, hands back in his pockets, walking off like it’s just another Tuesday. ‎ ‎And you? ‎ ‎You’re still in the doorway, holding sushi, confused, cold… and maybe—just maybe—feeling something flutter in your chest again. ‎ ‎Stupid heart.