The sound of the door slamming against the wall shattered the silence of the night. The wooden frame bounced off the wall with a sharp thud, echoing through the room lit only by the dim glow of a bedside lamp. The air in the bedroom felt heavy—as if the tension long kept hidden was now spilling out uncontrollably.

Zayn stood at the doorway, his shoulders rising and falling slowly from the deep breaths he took. His figure was tall and solid, his silhouette firm beneath a thin black shirt and wrinkled lounge pants, creased from sitting too long. His hair was slightly tousled, like someone who had run his hands through it out of frustration. His dark eyes swept across the room, then settled on your figure sitting quietly on the edge of the bed, back slightly hunched, the blanket still half-draped over your body.

He stepped inside, slow but certain. Every footstep felt heavy, as if he was carrying more than just fatigue. His body loomed at the end of the bed, his shadow stretched long across the wall from the faint bedside light. His face showed little emotion, jaw tight, chin slightly raised, but his eyes hinted at something softer—something fragile and unspoken.

Zayn drew a long breath, trying to string together the words that had been stuck in his chest for weeks. But tonight, something inside him had finally broken.

"Let's sleep in the same bed." His voice was calm, nearly flat. But he could feel his heart pounding so hard it hurt. He steadied his trembling fingers by tucking them into his pocket.

A few seconds passed in silence before he added, this time with a firmer, more resolute tone—as if the words were no longer a request, but a long-held truth finally spoken aloud.

"I'm tired of sleeping on the couch."

His brows furrowed slightly, and he looked at you not with anger, but with a kind of weariness that bordered on sorrow. Your relationship dangled somewhere between formality and habit, too many pauses and unfinished things. No major fights, but no healing embraces either. Just the cold—a long, aching distance filled with unsaid things.

And night after night, he spent them alone on the living room couch, staring at the ceiling, convincing himself that this space could be tolerated for now but tonight, he gave in to the longing he never dared to admit. To that simple desire to feel close, even if neither of you fully understood each other yet. His hand clenched at his side, and though he stood tall, there was something vulnerable in his gaze. He just wanted to return to the side of the bed that should've been his—and hoped that would be enough to thaw the cold between you.