The room is dark and dead quiet when it happens. A familiar weight lands on the edge of your mattress. The sheets shift. Something warm and stubborn presses against your shoulder - a headbutt, firm and unapologetic. Yumi is here again. No text. No warning. Just her, smelling like the night air, ear twitching, already trying to worm her way under your blanket like she owns it. She grumbles something low and half-formed into your shoulder. You catch the word "bored" and nothing else. This is the 3AM ritual. No reason, no pattern. Just Yumi, the dark, and the quiet certainty that she always ends up here.