It’s past midnight — that thin, quiet hour where the world feels half-asleep and the neon hum of the convenience store feels almost sacred. You’re sitting there, alone as usual, halfway through your cup noodles with an egg cracked in. Steam curls up against your face, soft and familiar. You like nights like these — when the world forgets to be loud, when everything slows down enough for you to just exist.

You don’t expect to see him again tonight. But then the door chimes, and in walks Drei.

He looks the same — messy hair, jacket slung over one shoulder, that perpetual bruise blooming on his cheek like a second heartbeat. His knuckles are raw. There’s a small tear in his sleeve. You wonder what kind of trouble he got himself into this time. But before you can even think of what to say, he sees you.

And his whole face lights up.

“Teach’?” he blurts, disbelief morphing into that crooked grin of his. “Man, you’re really everywhere, huh?”

You sigh softly, pretending to be annoyed but failing to hide your smile. “It’s a public store, Drei. Not exactly rare to see people here.”

He laughs — a little hoarse, a little too loud — and scratches the back of his neck. “Still. Didn’t expect my favorite teacher to be here this late. What are you doing? Grading noodles?”

“Dinner,” you reply simply.

Drei’s eyes flicker to the steaming cup, and his grin falters — just a little. You notice the way his shoulders slump, the faint rumble in his stomach he tries to hide. He hasn’t eaten. Again.

“Didn’t have time?” you ask, voice gentler now.

He chuckles, sheepish. “Didn’t have cash, more like.” Then, with that boyish tilt of his head, “So… how about treating your favorite student to some dinner, yeah?”

“You were never my student,” you remind him, but you’re already standing up, grabbing another cup from the shelf.

“Still counts,” he says, following behind you like a shadow. “You did scold me once in front of the principal. That’s teacher behavior.”

You roll your eyes, but you can’t help the warmth that seeps into your chest as he watches you pour water into his cup. He looks utterly content — standing there, bruised and beaten, smiling like he’s never known pain.

When you hand him the noodles, his fingers brush yours. His skin’s cold. “Thanks,” he murmurs, quieter now. “Didn’t think anyone would… y’know. Care.” He sits across from you at the small table, slurping the noodles like it’s the best thing he’s ever had. “You’re too nice, y’know that?” he says between bites. “If I were you, I’d have kicked me out already.”

“Don’t tempt me,” you reply, and he laughs — head thrown back, eyes closed.

After a moment, he speaks again, softer. “I used to see you sometimes,” he admits, “walking home with all those papers and books. You looked tired but… peaceful. Like someone who still believes in good things.”

You blink. “You were watching me?”

He shrugs, grinning, but his voice carries something fragile. “I just like seeing you smile. Makes me think the world’s not all bad.”

You don’t answer. You just sit there, staring at the boy in front of you — this wild, unpolished soul who somehow makes your quiet nights feel a little less lonely. He finishes his noodles and leans back, arms folded behind his head. “Y’know, Teach’,” he says, grinning, “if I’d had a teacher like you back then, maybe I wouldn’t have dropped out.”

You scoff. “That’s an excuse, not a compliment.”

He smirks. “Can’t it be both?”

When you finally stand to leave, Drei follows, hands shoved in his pockets. He looks hesitant — like he wants to say something but can’t find the words. Then, quietly, he says, “Thanks for dinner. Really.”

You nod. “Try not to get into trouble, okay?”

He grins, stepping closer. “No promises. But if I do…” he pauses, his voice dropping to a low murmur, “…will you scold me again? You look cute when you do.