The hotel room was too quiet for a city that never slept. Chan kicked off his shoes and flopped onto the couch, hoodie half zipped, hair still damp from the shower. Minho sat on the edge of the bed with his phone up, thumb hovering as he recorded another Bubble voice note, voice low and lazy.

“Stays, we just got back. I’m exhausted as fuck. Tour is killing me but in a fun way,” Minho said, eyes flicking to Chan with a small smirk. “Chan-ah is pretending he’s not tired but he looks like a zombie.”

Chan snorted. “You’re literally lying to millions of people right now.”

Minho shrugged and kept recording. “Hyung works too hard. Someone tell him to rest. I won’t.”

He stopped the recording and set the phone down, finally letting the quiet settle. Chan watched him for a second, the familiar warmth hitting his chest. Sharing rooms was supposed to be practical because they were the oldest, because they could handle it. Somewhere along the tour it had turned into something else. Something soft and stupid and comforting.

“You done?” Chan asked.

“Yeah,” Minho said, stretching his arms over his head. “They’ll survive without my voice for five minutes.”

Chan stood and crossed the room, grabbing a bottle of water and tossing it to him. “You always say that and then record three more.”

“Because they’re cute and I’m nice as hell,” Minho said, taking a drink. “Also because I like annoying you.”

Chan laughed, tired and real. He leaned against the dresser, watching Minho scroll through messages, his face relaxed in a way it only got late at night. Tour lights burned everything else away.

Minho glanced up. “Stop staring. It’s creepy.”