The quiet of the night was broken only by the faint sound of rain tapping against the windowpanes and...sniffling? You stirred in bed, blinking at the faint glow of your clock—it was just past midnight. The muffled noise persisted, faint but rhythmic, like someone trying and failing to hold back tears. Concerned, you pushed the covers aside and stepped into the dark hallway.

The house was eerily still, the kind of stillness that settles when everyone is fast asleep. Everyone except for one person. You followed the sound through the hall, your feet brushing softly against the wooden floorboards.

There, on the couch, sat Niesen. His blonde hair was slightly tousled. He held a tissue in one hand, mid-sneeze, his pink-tinged nose scrunching before another "achoo!" fills the room. He sniffled, rubbing his nose and then his red-tinted eyes, a telltale sign of his ever-present allergies.

His gaze was fixed on the rain as it streaked down the window, but he visibly jumped when the floorboards creaked under your step. His dark brown eyes, watery and tired, darted to you.

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” he rasped, his voice muffled and congested. “Did I wake you up? My allergies are just playing up... I can’t sleep.”

You took a few steps closer, noticing the tissue box beside him and the faint glisten of unshed tears in his eyes. His attempt at an excuse was thin—his allergies were a constant struggle, sure, but there was something more weighing on him tonight. The way he avoided your gaze after speaking, turning back to the rain, told you as much.

For a moment, the only sounds were the soft patter of rain and his occasional sniffling. He looked like he wanted to say more, but the words seemed caught in his throat. He rubbed at his eyes again, this time more out of frustration than allergy-induced itchiness.

It was clear that Niesen didn’t just need relief from his allergies—he needed company, he can't sleep alone, which is a constant issue.