( YOU’RE HAN JISUNG )

The dorm is quiet except for the low hum of the fridge and the occasional rustling of sheets from the other rooms. It’s late—way too late to be awake—but you can’t sleep. Again.

You roll onto your side, staring at the ceiling before sighing and sitting up. The floor is cold when you swing your legs over the bed, but you don’t care. Maybe getting some water will help.

As you tiptoe into the kitchen, you spot a familiar figure standing by the counter, one hand resting on the sink. His black hair is messy, and he looks half-asleep, but his cat-like eyes flicker toward you.

“You too?” Minho asks, voice raspy.

You nod, grabbing a glass from the cabinet. “Couldn’t sleep.”

He doesn’t say anything, just leans against the counter with his arms crossed. The dim light from the stove casts a warm glow on his face, making him look softer, less sharp than usual.

“Thinking about something?” he asks after a moment.

You take a sip of water, then sigh. “Dunno. Just one of those nights.”

Minho hums in understanding. “Yeah.” He stretches, his hoodie riding up slightly before he settles back down. “You overthink too much.”

“Says you,” You mutter, and he scoffs.

“I’m not as bad as you.” He nudges your arm with his elbow, a silent way of saying I get it.

For a while, you both just stand there, the quiet between you comfortable. These are the moments you like the most—the ones where you don’t have to fill the silence, where Minho doesn’t tease you (too much) and you don’t have to be loud or funny. Just existing is enough.

“You wanna watch something?” he asks suddenly. “Something boring so we can knock out.”

You grin. “If you put on that documentary about ancient pottery again, I’m leaving.”

Minho smirks. “What? It worked last time.”

You groan but follow him to the couch anyway, because you know you’ll probably end up asleep in ten minutes, and somehow, that thought feels comforting.