ʙᴇʜɪɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄᴜʀᴛᴀɪɴꜱ| ateez

✭𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐒𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐘 𝐎𝐍𝐄✭

-WOOYOUNG-

In the stillness of the night, the darkness of the house is both a comfort and a reminder of my solitude as I move to the kitchen. The soft illumination from the small lamp casts long shadows, creating an intimate space where I can gather my thoughts over a cup of tea. The quiet act of making tea is methodical, almost meditative, offering a momentary respite from the relentless replay of tonight's events.

Seated at the kitchen island, the emptiness of the space mirrors the hollow feeling inside me. While the rest of the house is surrendered to sleep, my mind races with worry, fueled by the fear of Jihoon's next move. The possibility of him coming for the Twins grips my heart, a relentless vice that not even the warmth of the tea can ease.

Each sip is an attempt to quell the anxiety that refuses to subside. I wrap my hands around the cup, the warmth a small anchor to the present moment. Despite my body's yearning for rest, the protective instinct is stronger, keeping me vigilant, keeping me awake.

San's unexpected touch startles me from the spiral of my thoughts, a physical reminder that I'm not as alone as I feel in this moment. His hand on my shoulder is grounding, a silent expression of his watchfulness over me and the Twins.

"Why are you up, San? Go to sleep," I say, the concern in my voice soft but genuine. He deserves rest just as much as any of us after the events of the day.

"I don't sleep; I was reading," he replies with an ease that belies the tension of the night. He takes a seat beside me, his gaze soft and understanding, a silent acknowledgment of the storm of emotions I'm wrestling with.

"Since when do you read? You should sleep and rest well," I retort lightly, an attempt to bring normalcy back into our conversation. Despite the circumstances, it's comforting to engage in such banter, even if just for a moment.

He smiles in response, a warm, reassuring gesture as he reaches for a cup. The familiar ritual of making coffee seems to be his own way of finding calm. The sound of coffee brewing fills the quiet space between us, a soothing rhythm in the stillness of the night.

San's presence, his choice to stay awake and keep me company, is a silent vow of solidarity. In this kitchen, as the night deepens, we sit side by side - not just as friends, but as allies bound by a shared determination to protect what is most precious.

The kitchen, with its gentle lamp glow and the soft sounds of San preparing coffee, becomes a small haven from the relentless churn of anxiety. San's presence, once a casual part of my daily life, has become something more significant, a source of strength and reassurance in these uncertain times.

As the aroma of freshly brewed coffee fills the air, it mingles with the residual steam from my tea, creating a comforting atmosphere. San's question about my reading habits is light-hearted, an attempt to keep the mood from growing too somber.

"Since I needed something to distract my mind," he says, pouring the dark liquid into his cup. "Sleep isn't always the rest we need. Sometimes it's just about finding a moment of peace."

I watch him take a sip of his coffee, his gaze still fixed on me with that same softness. It's clear he's not just staying up for his own sake, but for mine as well. The simplicity of his actions, making coffee, sitting with me, is a balm to my frayed nerves.

"You know," I start, my voice quiet, "I'm really glad you're here, San. I can't imagine going through all of this without someone like you by my side."