After what feels like hours of trying to get Ledger and Claire to sleep with Minho in the same room and Thomas on the couch, Sander and I are lying in bed.

While I'm comfortably on my side, Sander's pretty much hanging on the edge.

"Do you always sleep like that?"

"Like what?"

"Like you'll wake up on the floor."

"Ehm, I guess not? Just didn't want to make you uncomfortable," he whispers back.

"You're making me uncomfortable by dangling off the edge like that."

"Aw," he manages, "are you afraid I'll fall?"

"No, it makes me feel like I stink."

"Oh. That's also... thoughtful."

I can't stop the chuckle that leaves my mouth as Sander turns around, moving closer to the middle—but just a little bit.

"By the way, when I thanked you for not bringing any girls in, I meant it."

"Yeah, I assume that's the purpose of thanking me."

"No, but, like," he laughs awkwardly, "I'm really grateful. And it's not just that, it's also the way you have completely changed. In a good way."

"Thanks."

"I mean it."

"I know."

"I really do."

"Yes, I caught that. You don't have to tell me ten times."

"I'm waiting for you to show a little more... proudness," he says questioningly. "Be proud of yourself."

"It's the bare minimum."

"Not exactly. You changed so much in just a few weeks—it's amazing and surprising at once."

"Shut up. Please."

"Okay, you haven't completely changed—"

"Go to sleep."

"Okay, okay."

I turn onto my back, staring at the ceiling in the dark. A few moments pass in silence, apart from the faint sound of Ledger's snores in the other room and the rustle whenever Sander shifts.

Then, of course, he ruins it.

"Did you know one in eighteen people have a third nipple?"

"I didn't and I also didn't want to."

"Sorry. I'm subscribed to—"

"—the fact of the day, I know. Now sleep."

"One last question: do you prefer quokkas or pangolins?"

"What?"

"It says a lot about your personality. Quokkas or pangolins?"

"Usually, the question is 'cats or dogs'. I don't even know what a pangolin is."

"It's the only mammal with scales. They eat ants and they're quite adorable, but so are quokkas."

"Right... just go to sleep."

Sander hums thoughtfully at my refusal to answer, shifting again. "You can't just dodge the question like that," he says after a moment.

"I absolutely can."

"You don't understand the depth of it, Newt. Quokkas symbolize carefree optimism, and pangolins are resilient, shy, but deeply protective. Your answer could reveal the inner workings of your soul."

"My soul is telling me I need to sleep."

Sander sighs dramatically, flopping onto his back. The bed creaks under the motion, and I glare at the ceiling as though it'll stop him from talking. Spoiler: it doesn't.

"I think you're a pangolin guy," he announces confidently.

"Stop assigning me animals," I groan.

"Resilient, protective, and a little prickly. It fits."

The dim light from the window catches the faint grin on his face. "You spend way too much time thinking about this nonsense."

"Better nonsense than the serious stuff," he says lightly, but the tone beneath it makes me pause. I could press him about it—ask what exactly he means by 'serious stuff'—but I don't.

You're definitely a quokka," I add. "Carefree, optimistic, and annoyingly cheerful," I explain dryly.

"Annoyingly? That feels like a dagger in the heart."

"Good."

He chuckles softly, and the sound is almost nice. For a moment, I forget to be annoyed by his presence.

"You know," he says, "this is nice."

I raise an eyebrow. "What is?"

"Being here. With you. Like this."

I roll onto my side to look at him. He's staring up at the ceiling now. "Don't make it weird," I say.

"Not trying to. Just... I don't know. Feels different, in a good way. Less lonely."

I glance away, unsure how to respond. "Yeah," I finally say. "I guess it's not so bad."

"Aw, look at you, admitting you don't hate my company. Personal growth."

"Don't push it."

He chuckles again, the sound fading into a yawn. "Okay, okay. I'll let you sleep."

"Thank you."

A few moments pass in silence, and I start to think he's actually done talking. But just as I'm about to drift off, his voice cuts through the darkness again.

"Hey, Newt?"

"What now, Sander?"

"If you had to pick a third animal—"

I grab my pillow and smack him with it. He bursts out laughing, and I can't help the faint smile tugging at my lips.

"Goodnight, Sander," I mutter, rolling over for the last time.

"Goodnight."

The silence stretches for a while, and I think—hope—Sander is finally asleep. His breathing has evened out, and for once, he's not fidgeting like a restless toddler. I close my eyes, but not long after, the mattress shifts.

"Sander." My voice is flat.

"Hmm?" he hums.

"What are you doing?"

"Nothing."

"Stop moving around all the time."

"I just... shifted a bit. It's normal human behavior."

I roll onto my side to glare at him. He looks sheepish. "You're the worst person to share a bed with. Ever."

"That's rude," he replies. "I could be a blanket thief, or I could snore, or, I don't know, kick you in my sleep. But I'm none of those things. I'm a polite bedmate."

"Polite bedmates don't stay up sharing their every thought."

"Okay, that's fair, but in my defense, you're kind of fun to annoy."

"Noted. Now stop talking."

Another pause. Then: "Did you know some people can train themselves to control their dreams?"

I grunt audibly. "Why do you know these things?"

"I'm subscribed to—"

"The fact of the day. I know. But why are the facts so weird?"

"You wouldn't hate my fun facts so much if you tried lucid dreaming. You could do something cool, like fly or fight a dragon."

"I'd dream about you not talking."

"That's creative."

"Sander."

"Alright, I'm done."

It's another lie, of course. I don't even have time to close my eyes again before he speaks up.

"You didn't answer my question earlier."

"What question?" I snap.

"Quokkas or pangolins?"

"You cannot be serious right now."

"I'm just curious! It's important."

"Why is it important? It really won't say that much about who I am as a person.

"Yes, it does."

"You're insane."

"I'm still waiting for an answer."

I rub a hand over my face, already regretting every decision that led to this moment. "Fine. Quokkas. Because I don't know what pangolins looks like."

"Interesting choice," he says, sounding thoughtful.

"Why? What does it mean?"

"Probably that you're friendly but secretly chaotic. Also, you might like selfies."

"Selfies?"

"Quokkas are known for looking adorable in selfies," he explains as if this is common knowledge. "They're friendly, approachable— which you're not. But here it comes: they're prickly on the outside, but soft on the inside and—"

"Stop."

"—squishy," he finishes.

"You're the weirdest person I've ever met," I mutter, turning away from him again.

"And yet you tolerate me," he quips.

"Barely."

"You let me share your bed."

"That was a mistake."

"You didn't kick me out."

"Not yet."

He chuckles quietly, and finally— finally, he stops talking.

Or so I think.

"Newt?" he whispers.

"What."

"Do you think I'd survive in the wild?"

"What the hell kind of question is that?"

"I just think I'd be really resourceful, you know? Like, I could build a shelter out of sticks and leaves, and I'd probably befriend some animals. Like a raccoon or something."

"Sander, if we were stranded in the wild, you'd last three seconds before ending up in a fight with a bear."

"You underestimate me."

"No, I estimate you exactly right. Now go to sleep."

"Fine," he says with a dramatic sigh, and this time, I hear him settle into the mattress properly.

I lie there, waiting for him to start up again, but the room finally falls quiet.

"Do you think I snore?" he whispers suddenly.

"What?"

"Like, be honest. Do you think I'm one of those people who snores? Not like obnoxiously, just... a little."

"Sander, you don't snore because you don't sleep, apparently."

"Sorry. I'm a tad nervous and I can't stop talking when I'm nervous. It's just... you never really know, right? What if I'm the kind of guy who snores and nobody tells me?"

"I'd tell you."

"Would you?"

"Yes, and then I'd suffocate you with a pillow."

He laughs again. "I'm serious, though," he continues after a minute. "You'd definitely tell me if I did something annoying, right?"

"I've told you at least fifteen times tonight alone that you're annoying. What more do you want from me?"

"Good point. Still, I like to think I'm not all bad."

"Don't push it."

"You ever think about how weird it is to sleep next to someone?"

"I don't know. But clearly, you do."

"Well, yeah. You're just lying there, unconscious, totally vulnerable... It's kind of intimate, don't you think?"

"Stop saying words."

"I'm just saying, it's kind of—"

"Sander," I interrupt.

"Yeah?"

"Sleep."

"But—"

"Good night, Sander," I repeat for the millionth time.

"Good night, Squishy."

"Never say that again."

"Sorry, Squishy."

I kick his shin with my heel, and he yelps, laughing quietly. "I'll stop!"

✧

I wake up to the sound of birds chirping just outside the window, the soft light of morning spilling across the room. It takes me a few seconds to get my thoughts together, my body still heavy with sleep. Then, I feel the warm, almost too-close presence beside me, and I immediately tense up.

His head is tilted against my shoulder, his breathing slow and steady, his hair a messy pile of waves. I don't know how long he's been like that, but it's clear he's totally out of it. For a moment, I just stare at him.

This is the same guy who doesn't know when to stop talking, who drives me insane every chance he gets, and yet...

He looks peaceful like this, no sign of his usual endless stream of nonsense he's always throwing at me.

A soft groan escapes him as he moves, stretching in that way people do when they're still half asleep, and then he's pressing against me more. My body freezes at the sensation.

"Morning," he mumbles.

"Mm," I grunt, not really trusting myself to say more.

He shifts again, this time fully lifting his head off my shoulder to look at me with sleepy eyes. "You look like you've been awake for hours."

I raise an eyebrow. "I haven't."

"Right." He sits up fully, rubbing his eyes. "Well, no time to waste. Minho's probably burning the kitchen down already. Better get up."

I blink at him. "Minho? What makes you think Minho's even up?"

"I don't know, but if he is, you're definitely not getting the nice food."

"I'll take my chances."

He stands up, stretching. I try not to watch as his body shifts. Muscles rippling under his shirt as he reaches up. I immediately look away, my cheeks heating.

"Come on, get up," he says, pulling the blanket off me with zero warning.

I lunge to grab it back, but he's quicker. "Sander," I warn. I throw a pillow at him, which he catches with ease.

"Alright, alright. I'm up," I grumble, sitting up slowly.

"Great!" He walks over to the door, glancing back over his shoulder with a grin that makes my stomach do something weird. "Hurry up. I'm already starving."

I throw the blanket off me and stand up, stretching out my stiff limbs. Sander's already halfway out the door, his back to me, and I take the moment to collect myself.

Again, his voice floats back through the doorway. "Oh, and by the way," he says. "You snore."

I freeze, horrified. "What?"

"Just a little. But it's awesome. Like a little squishy quokka."

I don't even bother responding.