Y/n was tucked into her four-poster bed, the velvet curtains half-drawn, her phone warm in her hands. The hum of her groupchat buzzed relentlessly in a way that only felt comforting.

Across the room, Cho was sprawled on her own bed, phone propped on her pillow, occasionally snorting at whatever Pansy was saying.

The tinny speakers of Y/n’s portable player filled the space with a soft, melancholic melody. The opening notes of “There Is a Light That Never Goes Out” bled through the air.

A beat of silence.

Then, from the wall to her left—Mattheo’s room—a loud, muffled thump. Like someone had thrown a pillow, maybe punched the wall. A low, indistinguishable curse followed, then a single, breathy laugh.

Y/n’s phone buzzed again. Not from the groupchat.

The notification flashed on her screen.

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