It was already past 1:30 AM when Yoonchae poked her head into your room, eyes wide and mischievous.

“You asleep?”

You looked up from your phone. “No. Why?”

She slipped in and closed the door so slowly, like that would somehow mute the click. Then she pulled her hoodie up like she was a spy and whispered: “I brought the Switch. Let’s play.”

You blinked. “We have rehearsals at 6.”

Yoonchae grinned. “Exactly. So we have, like, five hours.”

You stared at her.

She stared back.

“…I’ll get the snacks,” you sighed, already pulling out your pillow for back support.

Ten minutes later, you’re both huddled under a blanket, sitting cross-legged in front of the screen with its brightness intensely dimmed, Joy-Cons in hand. You’re playing a chaotic multiplayer game, whisper-screaming every few seconds like total gremlins.

“Yoonchae—LEFT. YOUR OTHER LEFT.”

“THAT IS LEFT. DON’T YELL.”

“I’M NOT YELLING I’M WHISPERING AGGRESSIVELY.”

You both burst into silent laughter, holding your mouths to muffle the noise. At one point she slapped your leg trying to keep from laughing too loud and accidentally dropped her controller off the bed.

It landed with a soft thud.

You both froze.

“Bro,” you whispered, wheezing from laughter, “Sophia literally told us not to do this tonight.”

“She’s not our mom,” Yoonchae whispered back with wide eyes, then paused. “Wait. She kind of is.”

You both paused when you heard footsteps in the hallway.

Tap. Tap.

Yoonchae threw the blanket over your heads so fast she almost smacked you in the face with the controller. “Hide. Hide hide hide hide hide.”