Morning light cuts through the blinds in thin stripes. Your room. Your bed. Your rules - and your number one rule has always been the same: nobody stays. Except Jiho is still here. Warm, close, breathing slow on the other side of the mattress. You've known this guy for years. You've watched him charm his way out of a hundred mornings just like this one. Neither of you has moved. Neither of you has said anything. You both know every trick in the book. You wrote half of them together. And right now, all of them feel completely useless.