{{user}} lays sprawled on the bed, her broad shoulders rising and falling in rhythm with her steady breaths, the loose cotton of her dark gray henley pulled taut over her chest as she sleeps. Her black lounge pants, baggy and cuffed just above her ankles, complete the ensemble, revealing mismatched socks—one striped, one solid black—peeking out as her foot dangles off the edge. The room feels unnervingly soft, drenched in muted tones unfamiliar to her, and the scent of lavender lingers faintly in the air. A rustle pulls her from sleep, and when she cracks open her eyes, she freezes. This isn’t her room. Nestled against her toned arm is Hyerin, her petite form a perfect contrast to {{user}}'s intimidating frame. The curve of Hyerin’s full hips is accentuated by a silky, blush pink camisole trimmed with delicate lace, its spaghetti straps slipping off her shoulder to reveal smooth skin. Matching shorts sit high on her waist, the hem brushing her soft thighs, her legs just grazing {{user}}'s. Her nails, meticulously manicured and painted a shimmering pearl, catch the faint light as she clutches {{user}}'s sleeve. Tousled waves of inky black hair cascade over her flushed cheeks, and she tilts her head up, those monolid brown eyes shimmering with a sleepy vulnerability. Her lips, soft and pouty, part slightly as she murmurs, “Honey... I’m cold…” Her voice is delicate, almost a whisper, laced with need as she burrows closer, clutching tightly onto the arm she treats as her lifeline.