After a couple boxes of artisan cookies, a tub of ice cream, and two strawberry milkshakes, August finally calmed down.
Then promptly knocked the fuck out.
Those who'd only known August for the past few months stared in disbelief—absolutely baffled by how someone could inhale that much sugar and fall asleep like a tranquilized kitten.
But the ones who'd known August the longest?
They finally let out a breath they'd been holding.
Crisis averted.
His hyungs tucked him into bed carefully, blankets pulled up just right, making him look equally adorable and heartbreakingly pitiful.
With that, everyone decided to call it a night. One by one, they dispersed, retreating to their rooms.
Lili stayed in Bobby's suite, freshened up, and slipped into his clothes—oversized, warm, unmistakably his. They crawled into Bobby's queen-sized bed and fell asleep tangled together, limbs loose, breaths synced.
And before anyone gets stupid—no. Nothing happened.
Yes. You read that right.
A guy and a girl who are in love can, in fact, sleep in the same bed without anything sexual happening. It does occur. Miracles are real.
And so, the day finally drew to a close.
—
At around 2 a.m., Jordan jolted awake from a nightmare.
Jordan suffers from nightmare disorder—a type of parasomnia. While the occasional nightmare is normal, frequent ones often stem from deeper issues: stress, trauma, PTSD.
In Jordan's case, it was trauma.
Years of relentless bullying for being on the spectrum had carved something sharp and lingering into his sleep. He'd dealt with it for a long time.
Recently, though… it had gotten better.
The reason?
Eli.
During their time at LEAVEN, Eli first learned about Jordan's condition one night when Jordan woke up screaming. Luca had been there for midweek check-ins, and the nightmare had been particularly severe—triggered by what had happened earlier that day.
Thankfully, Eli was his roommate.
Jordan never wanted anyone to know about this. Being on the spectrum already felt like too much exposure—he didn't want to be pitied. Didn't want another thing added to the list of reasons people might look at him differently.
But Eli had this presence.
The kind that made walls come down without force. The kind that made honesty feel safe.
And eventually—after some gentle prodding—Jordan broke and told him everything.
Eli didn't interrupt. Didn't judge. Just listened.
Really listened.
For the first time in a long time, Jordan felt seen.
That night, without a word, Eli got out of his bed and walked over to Jordan's.
Jordan watched him, confused, as Eli climbed in beside him.
When Jordan still didn't move, Eli just smiled and patted the pillow, silently telling him to lie down.
Too exhausted to argue, Jordan complied.
The moment his head hit the pillow, Eli pulled him back against his chest, spooning him from behind and wrapping him in warmth.
Jordan could feel the solid press of Eli's muscles at his back. Strong arms holding him—not tight, not trapping—just… there. Protective. Steady.
And softly, Eli whispered,
"Sleep. I'll chase the nightmares away."
That was all it took.
Jordan closed his eyes.
That night was the first time in a very long while that sleep came without fear. No shadows. No terror. Just rest.
Peace.
And after that?
Jordan and Eli started sleeping together.
No big discussion. No labels. Just a quiet, mutual understanding that formed naturally—like gravity.
No one complained.
And no one dared to disturb it.
****
But on that particular night, Jordan had his first nightmare since then.
Ironically, it wasn't about him.
It was August.
The image of August crying—breaking down, completely undone—played over and over in his mind. It wasn't frightening in the traditional sense, but it hurt. And that heartbreak was enough to jolt Jordan awake.
He wasn't even sure if it could be called a nightmare. Still, once he was awake, the thought of August wouldn't let him go. No matter how hard he tried, sleep refused to return.
Jordan became aware of Eli's strong arms still wrapped securely around him, his breathing slow and even. He shifted slightly, turning just enough to see Eli's face—peaceful, relaxed, unaware.
Jordan smiled softly.
After staring at the ceiling for a minute, he accepted the truth: he wasn't going back to sleep anytime soon.
As gently as possible, he slipped out of Eli's hold, careful not to disturb him. Thankfully, Eli was a heavy sleeper—blessedly so—and didn't stir as Jordan eased out of bed.
Jordan hadn't done this in a while, but in moments like these, he knew exactly what to do.
In the past, he'd stretch. Then jog. Then find a place—any place—where he could dance. It didn't matter where, as long as his body could move.
Dancing had always been his lifeline.
It was the one thing that soothed his mind, his heart, his soul.
Quietly, Jordan changed his clothes and headed toward the hotel's dance studio—one specially made for Bread Music artists.
But as he neared the studio, his steps slowed.
Music.
His brows furrowed.
No one ever used the studio this late. Curiosity tugged at him as he approached, the sound growing louder with each step.
And then he saw him.
August.
In the center of the studio, drenched in sweat, dancing like his life depended on it.
Every movement was desperate. Raw. Almost frantic.
Jordan's chest tightened.
August moved like someone trying to outrun something invisible—like someone fighting to stay upright. It was painfully clear that whatever had happened earlier that day was still clawing at him.
The difference was this: earlier, August had looked helpless.
Now?
Now he looked like he was fighting.
Fighting what, Jordan couldn't say. But it was there—in every sharp turn, every reach, every breath dragged from his lungs.
August was the youngest. Always handled with care. Babied, even.
But what Jordan saw in front of him wasn't a boy.
It was a man who had endured something and survived it.
Jordan felt a quiet kinship bloom in his chest.
He understood this kind of dancing—the kind born from desperation. From needing escape. From not being okay and moving anyway.
August was so deep in it that he didn't notice Jordan at first.
Then, in the mirror, movement caught his peripheral vision.
August froze.
He turned swiftly.
Jordan instinctively stepped back, suddenly feeling like he'd witnessed something too vulnerable—something private.
But what stopped him cold was August's face.
No smile.
No sunshine.
Just raw, swirling emotion laid bare.
It was only a moment—but it was the most honest version of August Jordan had ever seen.
And then the walls snapped back up.
"J-Jordan hyung?" August asked, startled. "What are you doing here?"
"Had a nightmare," Jordan answered simply as he stepped inside, placing his small duffel beside August's. "Couldn't go back to sleep. You?"
August let out a quiet sigh.
"Same."
There was no point pretending otherwise.
Jordan offered a gentle smile. "Well… since we're both awake, wanna dance together?"
He didn't ask what was wrong. Didn't pry. He just knew—this was what August needed right now.
August's smile came back instantly. Bright. Familiar. Like the sun breaking through clouds.
"Yes!"
Seeing that smile again made something in Jordan's chest settle. Like the world had tilted back into place.
And so they danced.
The whole night.
Jordan taught August ballet fundamentals—posture, control, breath—before easing them into contemporary, letting emotion lead where technique ended.
Time slipped by unnoticed.
And somewhere between movements, Jordan realized something.
What woke him hadn't been a nightmare.
It felt more like a nudge.
A pull.
God. An angel. His gut. Whatever it was—it had woken him so he could find August.
So he could be there.
And for that, Jordan was endlessly grateful.
.