The dorm room was still, cloaked in the deep silence that only came after too many sleepless nights.

Kai hadn’t moved in nearly an hour. He sat propped against the headboard, book open but unread in his lap, the words a blur in the haze of his all-nighter. He wasn’t studying anymore—just existing, staring through the page as if waiting for something.

Something inevitable.

The door creaked open, barely audible over the humming radiator. No knock. There never was.

{{user}} stepped in like a ghost. Barefoot, blank-faced, quiet as ever. His black t-shirt clung to his back with sweat, damp from whatever hell had played behind his eyes again. But his expression was still.

Not scared. Just… tired.

He didn’t speak. He never did after a nightmare—not in the last six years. Not after the one that left him screaming at 17, fingers clawing at the wall, calling for someone who was already dead. That was the last time he let anything slip.

Now, he just moved.

Crossed the room slowly. Pulled the blanket back with a practiced hand. And without asking—he never asked—he laid down beside Kai. Head pressed to his chest. One arm resting over Kai’s stomach, hand curled in the fabric of his shirt like a loose anchor.

Kai didn’t say a word.

His chest rose beneath {{user}}’s cheek. The rhythm was steady. Too steady.

Because it still wrecked him—this. The way {{user}} trusted him like this. Came to him like this. Slept beside him like this, never knowing.

Never remembering.

Kai closed his eyes briefly, jaw tightening as he breathed in the scent of him. Familiar. Unfairly comforting. He remembered the kiss more than he should have—how could he not?

Three years ago.

{{user}} had been drunk off his ass after finals. Completely falling apart in the hallway outside their apartment, ranting and shaking, eyes wide and lost. Kai had pulled him into his room to shut him up before someone heard, held him against the wall while {{user}} cursed the world in a slurred voice and said things he didn’t mean.

Then he kissed him.

Pressed his mouth against {{user}}’s mid-sentence, hard, firm—enough to make him stop talking. Enough to feel him freeze.

{{user}} forgot by morning.

Kai hadn’t.

He'd never told him. He told himself it hadn’t meant anything. He lied.

Now, {{user}} was here again, as always, asleep before Kai could even exhale the weight in his chest. Still clinging to him. Still unaware.

Kai didn’t wrap an arm around him. That would be too much. Too close.

Instead, he stayed still.