.
Ryul sat with one leg drawn up, chin resting in his palm, eyes fixed quietly on Jihoon. The soft golden lamplight cast shadows over the younger man's face—his lashes resting delicately against flushed cheeks, breath faint and uneven as he slept, arms curled limply around the mug.
A slow, weary sigh left Ryul. He pushed himself up from the sofa and walked over, each step measured and quiet. The mug in Jihoon's hands had already gone cold. Ryul gently pried it loose from his pale fingers, careful not to disturb him more than necessary.
"Jihoon-ah," he said softly, crouching beside him. "Why don't you sleep properly in bed?"
He laid a hand on Jihoon's shoulder and gave a gentle shake.
The young man stirred faintly, a small wince flitting across his brow. His eyes opened just a sliver—glassy and unfocused, blinking as if trying to anchor himself to the world around him.
"Do you want me to take you to your bed?"
Ryul asked again, his voice low, almost coaxing.
