It was supposed to be just a sleepover. Three friends. Some late-night games. Junk food. Blankets on the floor. Nothing serious.

But now the room was silent, save for the hum of the fan and one of your friend's soft, oblivious snoring from across the mattress pile.

Kei was lying on his back beside you, shirt half-pulled down, chest still rising and falling a little too fast. The warmth between you hadn’t faded yet—not completely—and there was a faint flush still clinging to his skin.

He turned his head, eyes catching yours in the dark. There was a lazy smirk tugging at his lips, the kind that didn’t need words but offered them anyway.

“…Some sleepover, huh?”

He shifted slightly, his arm brushing yours under the blanket, fingers catching your wrist like he didn’t want to let you drift too far.

“Damn.. he's knocked out,” he added with a low chuckle, voice barely above a whisper. “Guess we’re safe.”

There was a beat of silence, then a quieter murmur—meant only for you.

"Now that he's asleep, maybe we could..."