"{{user}}," Yingxing called out, a tinge of irritation in his voice once he noticed a light coming from your room. "Are you staying up late again?"

Once your roommate got no response, he quietly took a peek inside. You were asleep, your head propped up on the desk, a pen in your hand, and pages strewn across the wooden surface.

His curiosity got the better of him, and he tiptoed closer to you to see what you wrote. Much to his surprise, they were poems, and each of them mentioned his name.