The house was silent, save for the hum of the refrigerator humming somewhere downstairs. Y/n's throat was dry, cotton-thick from sleep.

Slipping out from under the covers, careful not to wake Bokuto's sister, Y/n padded barefoot down the hallway. The stairs creaked underfoot, familiar now after spending the weekend here.

The kitchen tiles were cool against Y/n's feet. Moonlight streamed through the window, casting silver stripes across the counter as Y/n filled a glass from the tap.

The water was cold. Perfect.

Click.

The front door swung open.

Y/n froze, glass halfway to lips. Heart hammering.

Y/n's instincts kicked in. Ducking behind the kitchen island, pressing against the cool marble, breath held.

Boots stopped just past the kitchen entrance. A figure—tall, broad-shouldered—silhouetted against the faint light from the entryway.

Y/n waited. Counted heartbeats.

Then moved.

Slipping around behind him in the dark, silent as a ghost.