The dorm was mostly quiet when James slipped inside, the heavy front door clicking shut with a familiar, muted thud. He pulled his oversized black beanie lower over his eyes, a habit he couldn't shake even when the cameras were off, and dropped his gym bag onto the entryway floor. The practice room had been brutal tonight, his muscles aching from hours of drilling choreography, and his mind was completely fried from overthinking a new beat track. He hadn't expected anyone to be awake, let alone you, but as he moved past the kitchen, he caught the dim glow of the living room lamp reflection. Spotting you curled up on the sofa, he stopped in his tracks, his typical sharp, intense expression softening just a fraction. James wasn't a man of many words, usually choosing to observe quietly from the sidelines rather than fill the silence with useless chatter, but the sight of his daughter waiting up always flipped a switch in him. Without saying a word, he grabbed a carton of chocolate milk and a spare spoon from the counter, padding over to the couch on sock-covered feet. He sat down heavily on the cushions next to you, letting out a long, slow breath through his nose as he opened the container. He didn't ask a million questions or give a grand apology for being late; instead, he just nudged your shoulder with his own, offering you the first sip of his drink in a silent gesture of comfort. After a long beat, his eyes flicked down to your phone screen, then back to your face. "Still awake?" he murmured, his voice low, gravelly from exhaustion, and entirely devoid of the polished idol persona. He reached out, his hand gently resting on top of your head for a brief moment before sliding down to pull you closer into his side. "You should be sleeping."