#urghhh

"Y/N-aaaaah... Come inside..."

A heavy weight dropped onto your shoulder. Two long arms wrapped around your waist from behind, locking you in a sticky back-hug while you were sitting at the dining table.

"No" you said firmly, eyes glued to your laptop screen which was displaying a complex diagram of 'Pharmacokinetics of Fluoroquinolones in Canines'.

"The lighting out here is better. And I need to memorize the adverse effects of antibiotics on cartilage development before midnight."

"But my room is cozier!" Jaehyun whined, resting his heavy chin on top of your head, messing up your hair. "And my battery is at 2%. If you don't come lie down with me, I’ll shut down."

"Go recharge yourself. Go bother your roommates."

Jaehyun gasped as if you had just suggested he jump off a cliff.

"I can't! It's a war zone in there!"

He tightened his grip, shivering dramatically.

"That land axolotl is in 'Deadline Mode'. She is building a model and threatened to stab me with an X-acto knife if I breathe too loud. And the other one..."

Click.

The door to the far right bedroom opened.

The owner of that room (and also Taesan’s girlfriend) stepped out. She froze, staring at the scene: You trying to study the molecular structure of drugs, and Jaehyun practically draping himself over you like a heavy, whining blanket.

She didn't look surprised. She just looked... analytical.

"I'm observing a classic case of Dependent Personality Disorder" she muttered to her empty water glass. "Subject J displays extreme distress when the attachment figure is focused on academic tasks instead of him."

"I am NOT a subject!" Jaehyun yelled, turning his head to glare at her.

She ignored him and walked to the fridge.

"By the way, Taesan is coming over in ten minutes” she said flatly. "We need the living room. So..."

She pointed a finger at Jaehyun’s bedroom door.

"Clear the area. Take your PDA somewhere else."

Jaehyun’s eyes lit up. He looked like he had just won the lottery.

"You heard her!" He gasped, turning to you with a triumphant grin. "We are being evicted! It’s an emergency!"

"We are not— I have to finish this chapter—"

"Taesan and her? Watching a movie?" Jaehyun whispered loudly. "Do you want to witness that? It’s going to be gross and sentimental. We have to flee."

"Excuse me," the roommate interrupted, pushing her glasses up her nose with a look of disdain. "We are not watching some cheesy romance. He needs to deconstruct the narrative structure of a neo-noir film for his Literature class. It is a strictly intellectual activity."

Jaehyun looked at you with wide eyes, whispering frantically.

"See? 'Intellectual activity'. That's code for them staring at each other in the dark while pretending to critique the script! Even worse! Run!"

Before you could argue, Jaehyun slammed your laptop shut (gently), grabbed your mouse, and pulled you up from the chair.

"Evacuate to Sector B (My Room)! Go, go, go!"

He practically dragged you into his bedroom and kicked the door shut behind him.

The sudden quiet was deafening. His room smelled like him—clean laundry and citrus.

Jaehyun didn't waste a second. He flopped onto his bed, patting the empty space beside him eagerly.

"Safe at last," he beamed, looking at you with those sparkling puppy eyes.

The world outside—with its deadlines, land axolotls, and intellectual movie critiques—disappeared.

Jaehyun’s room was dimly lit, the only light coming from his monitor screen saver.

you sighed, placing your laptop on his desk. "Now let me sit here and—"

"No."

Jaehyun grabbed your wrist. He was already sitting on the edge of his bed, looking up at you with a pout that could melt steel.

"You are not sitting at the desk. That’s too far."

"It's literally one meter away."

"Too. Far."

He tugged your hand, pulling you to stand between his knees. He wrapped his arms around your waist and rested his forehead against your stomach.

"Recharge time. Initiating now."

You looked down at the top of his head. You could feel his breathing slowing down, his shoulders relaxing.

"You know" you said softly, your fingers instinctively finding their way into his hair (it was soft, freshly washed). "For a guy who just fled a 'neo-noir narrative deconstruction', you are very dramatic."

"I had a long day..." he mumbled against your hoodie. "The script for final project was hard. And I missed you."

The last part was whispered so quietly you almost missed it.

Your heart did that stupid little flip.

You sighed—a long, defeated sigh of someone who knew they had lost the battle.

"Okay. Fine."

You reached over, grabbed your laptop, and sat down on the bed, leaning your back against the headboard.

"Come here, you big baby."

Jaehyun didn't need to be told twice.

He immediately crawled up, laid his head on your lap, and curled his long legs up to fit on the mattress. He grabbed your left hand (the one not using the mouse) and pressed it to his cheek.

"Is this comfortable?" you asked, balancing the laptop on your knees above his head.

"Perfect" he closed his eyes, a contented smile playing on his lips. "Best pillow ever."

You opened your file again.

‘Pharmacokinetics of Fluoroquinolones...’

The room was quiet. You typed with one hand, while your other hand absentmindedly stroked his cheek with your thumb.

Occasionally, Jaehyun would make a small, happy noise—like a purr—and nuzzle closer to your stomach.

Ten minutes passed by.

"Jaehyun-ah."

"Mmm?"

"I'm reading about canine heart rates right now."

You moved your hand from his cheek to his chest, feeling the steady, rhythmic thumping underneath.

"Yours is pretty steady. I think the battery is full."

No answer.

"Jaehyun?"

You looked down.

His breathing had evened out. His lips were slightly parted. The grip on your hand had loosened.

The "Myung-puppy" was fast asleep.

You looked at the sleeping face of the boy who drove you crazy, the boy who dragged you away from your work only to use you as a human pillow.

You smiled, leaning down to press a soft kiss on his forehead.

"Goodnight, my clingy patient."

You didn't move your leg, even though it was starting to go numb.

You just kept typing, one-handed, in the quiet of his room.