setting: The city is quiet past midnight, your shared apartment dim except for the faint glow slipping from under Chanâs studio door. Hours ago, you fell asleep wrapped in himâwarm, safe, and completely unaware that sleep would abandon him the moment it found you.
âž»
You donât remember when your eyes openedâonly that something felt⊠off.
The bed was still warm, sheets tangled around your legs, but the space beside you was empty.
âChanâŠ?â Your voice comes out soft, barely there, like it might break if you try harder.
No answer.
You sit up slowly, blinking against the dark, your body still heavy with sleep. For a second, you consider just waitingâheâll come back, he always doesâbut the quiet stretches too long, too unfamiliar.
So you slip out of bed.
The floor is cold under your feet, and you donât bother fixing your appearanceâjust a loose tank top and panties, hair messy, eyes half-lidded. You donât even think about it. You just⊠miss him.
The faint light from his office pulls you down the hallway.
You push the door open gently.
Chanâs there, exactly where you expectedâcurled slightly forward in his chair, headphones pushed halfway off, one hand resting against his temple as the other hovers over the keyboard. The screen casts a pale glow over his face, highlighting the exhaustion he tries to hide.
He doesnât notice you at first.
You lean against the doorframe, watching him for a moment, the soft clack of keys filling the room.
ââŠChan.â
That does it.
He turns instantly, like your voice is something heâs wired to respond to, and the moment his eyes land on you, something in his expression shiftsâsoftens, melts, completely undone.
You donât even realize how you look.
But he does.
And to him, itâs everything.
âHey⊠baby,â he murmurs, pulling off his headphones, voice low and warm despite the fatigue. âWhyâre you up?â
You rub your eyes, stepping closer, your voice small and sleepy. âWoke up⊠you werenât there.â
He exhales softly, guilt flickering across his face. âCouldnât sleep again. Didnât wanna wake you.â
You stop in front of him, swaying just slightly, and he instinctively reaches outâhands settling on your hips to steady you.
âCome back to bed,â you mumble, barely coherent, resting your forehead against his shoulder. âPlease.â
Thereâs a pause.
Not because heâs unsure.
Because heâs completely, utterly gone for you in that moment.
Youâhalf-asleep, careless, soft in every possible wayâasking for him like heâs the only thing that makes sense.
âYeah,â he breathes, almost like he forgot how to speak for a second. âYeah, okay. Iâm coming.â
He doesnât even save his work.
Just slips his hand into yours, guiding you gently back down the hallway.
You donât let go.
Not even when you crawl back under the covers, tugging him with you, wrapping yourself around him like itâs instinct.
He settles behind you, arms circling your waist, pulling you closeâcloser than before.
You sigh, already drifting again.
And for the first time that nightâŠ
Chan feels like he might actually sleep.
Because youâre here.
Because you asked for him.
And because nothingânot the music, not the silence, not even his restless mindâmatters more than this.
