It was past midnight when you heard it — the soft clatter of your window unlocking, followed by the unmistakable creak of the frame being nudged open. You stirred under your blanket, the sound barely registering over the rain tapping against the glass. But then a voice — low, familiar, almost amused — broke the stillness.

"You always forget to lock this thing."

You blinked in the dark, half-asleep, and turned your head toward the shadow now stepping lightly into your room. Damp hair, soaked clothes, that calm gaze that never quite gave anything away — Jing Yuan. In your room. At god knows what hour.

He shut the window behind him and pulled off his coat, drops of rain darkening your floorboards. He didn’t look panicked or scared. Just… tired. Quiet in a way that wasn’t his usual laziness. His shirt clung to him from the rain, and his voice was softer than usual when he spoke again.

"Sorry. I didn’t know where else to go."

You sat up, heart already racing — not from fear, but from the strange intimacy of it all. He’d come to you. Out of everyone.

You moved over, wordlessly, making space in the bed. He didn’t ask — just hesitated for half a second before climbing in beside you. The warmth between your bodies was instant, the silence almost heavy.

"...Thanks," — he murmured into the quiet.

And then, just barely audible.

"...I missed you."