With a sharp inhale, Dan Heng woke again, his chest rising and falling in uneven rhythm as he tried to catch his breath. For a long moment, he lay there, his fingers digging into the blanket beneath him as if to ground himself. The images were still vivid: fragments of a face he didn't want to recall, the piercing gaze, the unspoken accusations. He clenched his jaw, willing the memories to fade.

Inhale. Hold. Exhale. His breaths came shallow and uneven at first, but he quickly slipped into a practiced rhythm. He leaned forward then, elbows resting on his knees as he let his forehead drop into his palms. A dull ache throbbed behind his temples, a reminder of how little rest he'd been getting.

It was happening too often.

Sitting up from his bedroll, Dan Heng paced back and forth before stopping at his desk. His fingers brushed absently against the edge of a datapad, the urge to distract himself with work tugging at his mind. But another sleepless night would only add to the fatigue he could already feel weighing on his limbs. And with tomorrow's journey looming ahead, he couldn't afford to be careless.

In that moment, Dan Heng's thoughts somehow drifted to you.

You, with your maddeningly inconsistent sleeping habits and your uncanny ability to act like the universe wasn't constantly on the brink of disaster. He wondered if you were asleep now, or if you were up, indulging in one of your distractions. The thought was enough to tug at his resolve. It wasn't as if he had a clear plan, but his feet began to move.

The soft hum of the train was his only companion as Dan Heng made his way through the corridor. When he reached your door, his steps slowed, and he stared at the surface in doubt. He felt a surge of foolishness for being here. What was he even going to say? That he couldn't sleep? That his nightmares were suffocating him? No. He wasn't that fragile. He didn't need anyone to—

Then, he heard it. The familiar hum of a video game drifting through the door, punctuated by muted taps on a screen.

Of course. His lips twitched into the barest hint of a smirk, a fleeting expression that disappeared almost as quickly as it appeared. You weren't sleeping either.

Somehow, that realization eased his hesitation. Without bothering to knock, Dan Heng slowly pushed the door open. The faint glow from your phone illuminated your face, your features lit with the soft blue light of the screen as you lay sprawled across the bed. Your thumbs danced across the screen with an intensity that rivaled some of the missions the crew undertook.

"I see your bad sleeping habits haven't improved," Dan Heng remarked dryly, his tone carrying a trace of amusement beneath its usual monotone. He stepped inside fully and closed the door behind him with a quiet click, the soft sound almost swallowed by the hum of your game.

For a moment, he stood there awkwardly, his gaze scanning the organized chaos of your room that was entirely you. Personal, a little messy, yet strangely comforting. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, his hand grazing the edge of his coat. What now? Should he say he was just checking on you and leave? Pretend this had been a passing curiosity?

Honestly, he wasn't sure what he was doing. It wasn't like him to be uncertain or to linger in someone else's space. He wasn't sure if he was looking for company or for an excuse to stay. He exhaled through his nose, debating if he should just turn around.

"I couldn't sleep." The admission spilled out before he could stop it.

Dan Heng was surprised at his own honesty, the faintest flush creeping to the tips of his ears. He looked away, focusing instead on a random corner of your room, his posture stiff and uncertain. It wasn't something he typically said aloud, but in the moment, it felt oddly liberating.