You didn’t sign up for this.

Your friends — Jeonghan and Joshua — thought it’d be hilarious to pair you up with Seungkwan for a sleepover. “Forced bonding!” they’d said. “You’ll get along, trust me!” they’d said.

Ha.

You and Seungkwan shared a tiny, creaky bed in a room that smelled faintly like old pizza and bad decisions.

He stretched out like he owned the place, sprawling his limbs and hogging the blankets.

You rolled your eyes. “Could you be any louder when you flop onto the bed?”

“Could you be any more dramatic when you say that?” he fired back, smirking.

You shot him a glare. “You’re the one snoring like a chainsaw. How do you even do that?”

“Talent,” he said proudly, puffing out his chest. “I’m basically a one-man rock band.”

You snorted, pulling the blanket tighter. “Good luck getting any sleep with your ‘band’ going.”

The night dragged on in a weird war of passive-aggressive pillow pokes, foot nudges, and whispered insults. You threw a pillow at him when he started humming — badly.

“Hey! That’s my jam,” he protested, catching it mid-air with a grin.

“Your jam sounds like a dying cat.”

“Yeah? Well, your sleep face is scary.”

You paused.

“Shut up,” you muttered, but you couldn’t stop the small smile tugging at your lips.

When the lights finally went out, there was a silence neither of you were ready for.

A cold draft made you shiver.

Without thinking, Seungkwan shifted and wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you closer to him. Too close.

You froze.

Then sighed. “Don’t get used to it.”

“Too late,” he whispered softly.