He knows it’s late. He knows. But the craving hits like a truck out of nowhere—full-speed, no brakes, total ramen emergency.

He’s lying on his couch, hoodie half on, feet hanging off the edge, when he opens his messages and taps their name without thinking. His stomach growls as if to say hurry the hell up.

yo r u awake i want ramen

He stares at the screen for a few seconds, debating if he should add something else. Then:

i’ll pay and i’ll let u pick the music this time pls