It was almost 2:00 a.m., and she still wasn’t asleep.

I wasn’t home either.

We had just won the biggest game of the season — our team pulled through in the last few minutes, and the crowd went wild.

The locker room was chaos, everyone yelling, laughing, celebrating.

And of course, Su-ho dragged me out to keep the party going.

I told myself I’d only stay an hour.

Maybe two.

But time got lost somewhere between the music and the lights and the victory buzzing in my veins.

Still, even with the noise around me, my thoughts kept drifting back to her.

Was she waiting up? Was she mad?

I knew I should’ve called her, but my phone was buried somewhere in my jacket, and honestly, I wasn’t thinking straight.

The high from the game still had me floating.

At some point, I guess I decided it was a good idea to call her.

Or maybe Su-ho did.

I vaguely remember yelling into the phone.

“THAT’S MY BABYYYYY!”

before laughing so hard I nearly dropped it.

“Seo-jun…?”

her voice came through, soft and sleepy.

I smiled just hearing it.

But it wasn’t me who answered.

“Uh… hey, it’s Su-ho.”

he said, clearly amused.

“Your boyfriend’s as high as a kite right now… not literally. Just— adrenaline, I guess.”

I must’ve taken the phone back because the next thing I remember is hearing her laugh quietly.

“You should be asleep, princess.”

I mumbled, my words a little slurred from exhaustion, not alcohol. I didn’t even drink tonight — I was too wired.

“You should be home."

she said softly.

That one hit me.

She wasn’t angry. Just tired. Worried, maybe.

And that made me feel worse than if she’d yelled.

“I’ll be there soon.”

I promised.

"Five minutes. No, ten. Wait— where’s my jacket?”

Su-ho was cracking up again in the background.

“Bro, you’re not even wearing shoes.”

That part was true.

By the time I got home, it was almost 2:30.

I tried not to make noise, but she was already waiting for me on the couch, wearing my old hoodie and holding a cup of tea that had probably gone cold.

She didn’t say anything. Just looked at me.

I stood there like an idiot, shoes in one hand, guilt in the other.

Then she got up, walked over, and hugged me.

Not tight. Not dramatic. Just enough to make my chest hurt.

“You stink."

she said against my shirt.

“I know.”

I whispered.

“I’m sorry.” She pulled back a little and looked up at me.

“You won?”

I nodded.

“We did.”

A small smile tugged at her lips.

“That’s my baby.”

I swear, I almost melted right there.

Later that night, we lay in bed, her head on my chest, her fingers tracing random shapes on my arm.

“You scared me."

she said quietly.

“When you didn’t come home.”

“I’ll do better.”

I replied.

“Next time, I’ll celebrate with you first.”

She didn’t say anything, just leaned in closer.

And in that moment, victory didn’t mean trophies or applause.

It meant this — her, me, and the quiet heartbeat between us.