The sunlight was already creeping through the gap in the curtains like it had somewhere to be, slapping Y/n in the face with the cruel reality that the day had, in fact, started. And worse? It was going to keep going whether Y/n liked it or not.

The room was a controlled disaster zone. A hoodie draped over the desk chair. A half-empty water bottle on the nightstand. A phone screen glowing with the kind of 6:00 AM brightness that felt like a personal attack.

The apartment hummed with that particular kind of quiet that only exists before the rest of the world wakes up. Somewhere down the hall, a door creaked open, and footsteps padded across the floor. Heavy. Purposeful. Unmistakable.