The dorm was silent, save for the faint hum of the AC and the occasional creak of old floorboards beneath shifting weight. The early morning light filtered through the half-closed curtains, brushing soft golden strokes across the cluttered room. Clothes hung from chairs, headphones tangled around a lamp, and in the far bed, a lump buried under a mountain of blankets refused to move.

You stood by the door with your arms crossed, staring at the mound that was clearly breathing but otherwise lifeless.

"Jungkook," you said flatly.

No answer. Not even a twitch.

You sighed through your nose. “It’s seven.”

Still nothing.

Dragging a hand down your face, you crossed the room in a few strides and stood next to his bed. You poked at the blanket where you assumed his shoulder was.

“Jeon Jungkook.”

A soft grunt came from the depths. Barely audible. He shifted, only to burrow deeper into the covers, like a damn mole.

You crouched beside the bed, speaking more to yourself than him. “If I let you sleep in again, you’re going to miss practice. If you miss practice, hyung’s going to drag both our asses. And I really don’t feel like dealing with that before coffee.”

Another groan. This time, his face peeked out. Hair wild, lips parted, eyes stubbornly closed.

“Five more minutes…” he muttered, voice rough with sleep.