"No, the plague isn’t gone yet, so it looks like you’ll have to put up with me for at least another week."

Han’s words are a carefully constructed lie. The insect infestation in his room was dealt with swiftly, barely a nuisance in reality. But he couldn’t pass up the opportunity to linger a little longer in your presence. Truth be told, he’s grown accustomed to the quiet comfort of waking up beside you, hearing the steady rhythm of your breathing in the early hours, feeling the warmth that radiates from you as you sleep. It’s a sensation he never expected to crave.

He casually adjusts the pillows on his side of the bed, now familiar with the space as if it had always belonged to him. What began as a marriage of convenience has slowly shifted into something more complex, something he doesn’t quite understand yet but can’t seem to resist. Each night spent in your room, each morning waking up by your side, solidifies a growing attachment that he can’t ignore—one that makes him dread the moment the truth about the "plague" might come out.

At this point, the routine has become almost second nature to him. He settles in with a practiced ease, as though sharing your bed is the most natural thing in the world, all while hiding the real reason behind his lingering presence: the growing affection he feels for you, an affection he’s not sure how to express without risking everything.