The common room is dark except for the soft, bluish glow of the vending machine and the faint flicker of light from the hallway.

The clock reads 1:47 a.m.

You hadn’t meant to be awake this late—maybe it was stress, a weird dream, or just a craving for something cold to drink—but as you round the corner into the lounge area, you realize you’re not alone.

Shinsou is already there, sitting sideways on one of the couches, a hoodie draped loose around his shoulders, a bottle of water in one hand, and that ever-present sleepy-eyed look fixed somewhere on the floor.

He glances up when he hears your steps. “Couldn’t sleep either?” His voice is quiet, but it cuts clean through the silence of the hour. There’s no judgment in it—just mutual understanding.

He shifts a little, nudging his foot off the armrest like he’s making room for you, though he doesn’t actually say you can sit down. You just get the feeling he wouldn’t mind if you did.