you didn't think sleeping at heeseung’s house would be a survival challenge, but here you are at 2:37 a.m., eyes wide open, wondering if love is worth this.

it started fine. heeseung gave you one of his hoodies, a toothbrush (still in the package, thank god), and said, “make yourself at home,” which you took seriously until you opened his fridge. nothing but energy drinks, three questionable eggs, and half a pickle.

his bed is comfy, sure, but the boy sleeps like he’s fighting demons. first, he cocooned himself in the blanket like a human burrito. you tried to steal some, but he growled in his sleep. actually growled. terrifying.

then the snoring began. not soft or rhythmic. no, this was chainsaw-in-a-haunted-forest level. you tried nudging him. nothing. tried flipping him like a pancake. he giggled. giggle-snored.

at some point, he flung his arm across your face like a seatbelt and muttered something about “banana warfare.” what does that even mean?

you check your phone. 3:14 a.m. your soul left your body thirty minutes ago.

you consider escape. maybe fake a bathroom emergency and uber home. but then he cuddles into you, drooling slightly on your shoulder, looking peaceful, and your heart does that stupid flutter thing.

you sigh. true love, apparently, comes with sleep deprivation, sleep violence, and banana warfare.