Seungmin is your boyfriend, and at some point it became a joke between you that slowly stopped being a joke at all. You are his personal pillow. Not the decorative kind. The kind he reaches for without thinking, half asleep, arms wrapping around you like it is instinct.

It usually happens at night. He will pull you closer, tucking your head under his chin, legs hooking around yours so you cannot move even if you try. Sometimes he mumbles about it, voice low and lazy.

“Don’t go anywhere,” he says, already drifting off again.

Right now, you are pressed against his chest on the couch, a blanket thrown over both of you. His hand rests on your waist, thumb moving in slow, absent circles like he is grounding himself. Every time you shift, he tightens his hold.

“You’re comfortable,” he murmurs. “Just stay like this.”