Yeon Yujun did not sleep.
He lay on top of his covers with his phone on the pillow beside him, watching the guild chat for movement, and told himself he would close his eyes in twenty minutes. Then told himself the same thing forty minutes after that.
Pouch, curled against his side, did sleep — that immediate, boneless unconsciousness it fell into whenever the day had been long enough. Its small ribcage rose and fell against his arm. He kept one hand resting near it without quite touching, the way you kept a hand near something you didn't want to lose track of.
The house was quiet.
Downstairs, he could hear the refrigerator cycling. Through the wall, Lee Seolji's phone alarm was set for seven, he knew because she'd mentioned it at dinner and because he'd been listening to the silence carefully enough to map it.
He was doing that. Mapping the silence. Cataloguing which sounds belonged.
The guild chatroom stayed quiet until just after two in the morning.
