You’d expect me to say that it is dark, and I want it to be, because it’s supposed to a few minutes after two AM, but it isn’t. Because Key always leaves is night light on, because he can’t sleep otherwise, he says, but I know that it’s only there to assure that he doesn’t fall, step on Onew, or hit his head, when he climbs out of his bed.

And into mine. I always know when he’ll come to me. He’s as punctual as our neighbor ahjumma wobbling downstairs to check her mailbox
.
It’s a quarter past two now. I don’t need to squint at my watch to know, Key’s fingers on my feet are more accurate than the hands of the clock.

What do I do, I wonder. He’s been doing this since a year, but it feels like we’ve started in grade school or about that time. Because we all weren’t more than kids then.

The pillow is so flat, he’s said to Taemin one day, and borrowed his arm as a substitute for it.
Your shoulder looks more comfortable than the bed, Onew has said to me.
We’ve all said variations of that sentence to each other.

Jonghyun! Key says now, or rather whispers, since this is reality and not my memories. Move over.

I don’t even know why Key only shows up after everyone’s asleep, I realize that only now. The others find us in one bed in the morning anyway.

But I’m not a pillow, and I’m not a missing mom, dad, or sibling even, because really, sleeping together has never actually been about physical comfort.
I’m nineteen, and he’s seventeen and that is the point. He is seventeen and has long stopped to use my arm as a pillow.

Go back, I whisper, and it comes out sharper than I intend it to.
I wait for a what?! but it never comes.
Key’s still there.

There’s no reason for you to say that. he mutters after a while.

There is, and you know that.

What makes tonight different from yesterday night?

He’s always been sharp, and as much as I usually adore it, I hate it right now. Let him be my dumb little dongsaeng, I think, I could take him to bed with me and tell everyone and myself that he was just lonely. Missing his parents.

He’s not, though.

I look at him for the first time tonight. The blond of his hair doesn’t shine in the almost-darkness. All cats are gray by night.

Nothing. I say. I should have addressed this a lot of nights ago.

My pillow is still as uncomfortable as a lot of nights ago.

Then I’ll give you mine, I don’t mind.

Screw his night light, a tad of brown is still visible in Key’s eyes; they are bitter like black coffee.

Why do you want to get rid of me so bad?
Looking down at me, he drops the question onto my chest.

I’m nineteen.

I know. I’m seventeen. What does that have to do with it?

This is getting ridiculous, why can’t I just say it?

We’re adults.

If you say so.

…Just go back.
I prefer being mean over continuing this conversation. He keeps prying information out of cracks even I think are too narrow to reach into. His fingers are nimbler than mine.

Not until you’ve given me a plausible reason to.

Here you go: We’re adults, so we don’t need to lean onto each other constantly, okay?

Is this about your manly pride? he asks.

This isn’t childish solidarity anymore.
I’m good at non-answers. But they are probably more than answer enough.

What is it then?

Friendship.

Good. Then why can’t I stay?
I think of the big bowl of cliché-answers I have in my head Men don’t do this together and The others are going to take this in the wrong way, but I find that none of them seem to apply to us.

You’re old enough to sleep alone.

I’m old enough to decide where I want to sleep.

And I can decide if I want you here.

Why do you want me to leave? he repeats and something clatters loudly.
Taemin groans, one of the other two shifts, probably Onew -- Minho sleeps like a corpse.
But overall, it’s suddenly pitch black. Key’s nightlight must have dropped to the ground and broken.
I can’t see anything.

Where are you? I ask blindly.

Where I was a minute ago, idiot.

It takes some time before I can see his outlines, wraithlike. He’s gray. All cats are gray by night.

It’s too dark to go back now. he points out.

Key, I shoot back, shout-whispering (another thing I’m good at), why on earth do you want to stay at all costs?
I am not going to take because my pillow is uncomfortable as an answer.

Because of you.

I choke. This is the cheesiest thing I’ve ever heard, and I’m startled. Cheesy is not what’s usually coming into my mind when thinking of Key. Does this word even work in our context?

What are you saying…

That you can’t sleep when I’m not here.

Slowly, I exhale, right in his face probably, but I don’t care, I brushed my teeth a few hours ago. I don’t know why I’m so relieved about his answer.
What makes you think that?

I just know.

I scoff.
And how do you know that. Key, this is silly. We’re both adults, we sleep in our own beds, like we’re supposed to, attend our schedules tomorrow. I‘m tired. Let’s discuss this some other time.

Key seems visibly displeased, but nods after a short time.
Okay. and then, and that surprises me. You’re right with what you’re saying.

I’m still lying on my back on the mattress, and he’s still on his side, weight propped up on his elbow. He’s still looking down at me, but now after he’s admitted that I’m correct, I feel weird.
I’m a mouse shivering under a cat’s stare.

So you’re right. he continues. We’re adults, we’re friends. The other members don’t sleep together anymore. Two men don’t sleep together. That’s what you’ve been wanting to say all along, isn’t it?

I…I, no.

No?

He’s prying again. He’s digging his fingers into those crack, I don’t want him there. It’s a strange feeling, having someone else’s fingers pushing into your mind.
I don’t like this talk about men. I don’t think it’s of any relevance right now.

What is it with you that you suddenly address something like ‘two men sleeping together.’

That’s what we’ve all been doing this past year.

Right.

Okay, one final question. Then I’ll go back. he sighs. Do you not want me here -- me as a person, or are you just freaked out about everything because you just discovered that you’ve been spending your nights with a man?

T-That’s gross, Key.

Good night.

He sits up, turns, moves towards the ladder.

For the first time since I-have-no-idea-when, I’m going to be late for our schedule. Because, and that’s what I’ve forgotten to mention, every morning I’m woken up by Key slapping my stomach. He can’t slap my stomach when he’ not on my bed. How on earth am I going to get up on time tomorrow?
I voice that last bit.

My god, Jjong, you’re going to… I…the alarm clock.

Okay. I pause. He has his legs on the ladder now. It’s pitch black. How are you going to get back?

I’ll manage.

You won’t.

Since the ladder is already occupied, I hop down off the rear end of the bed, almost disjointing my leg and breaking my foot in the process.

What the hell are you doing? he hisses.

Searching for your lamp.

Taemin kicked it down, it’s broken.

How are you going to find your bed then, huh?

I don’t even know myself, how we got from serious discussion to playful teasing.

I’m going to find it, I’m an adult, right?

No, you’re not, you--

.

It’s silent. Dead silent. I wish one of the others would at least be snoring or tossing and turning in their bed, but they‘re quiet.

At night, not only cats are gray, but sounds, too, and also feelings. Is this what you call a twilight zone?
I can sense him staring at me from the ladder.
Kneeling down, I search for the damned lamp, it must be somewhere around the nightstand. I feel around until my fingers hit the surface of a cool glass sphere.

Found it! I exclaim, but Key doesn’t react.

I try flipping the switch, and surprisingly, it works.
As I turn around to hand the lamp to him, he stares me down, stopping my movement, making my arm hover in mid-air.

You’re an .

I’m too startled to respond. Key yanks the sphere from my hand and holds it close to his face.

You’re an . he repeats.

The lamp’s light is soft and warm. He isn’t gray anymore, I can see all his colors. His hair looks unattractively yellow in the superficial light, but his skin and his dark eyes are far from that. If I were a girl, I’d find him intriguing.

Why did you say that? I’ve finally come to my senses.

Can’t you decide when you’ll call me what? I’m seventeen so I’m an adult, but you don’t suppose I can find the way through the dark room alone? I’m an adult, so I’m old enough to sleep in my own bed, even though being an adult means that I get decide, whose bed I sleep in!

I gasp. Like a carp gulping down air, probably.

Shut up. You don’t even know what you’re saying.

Then believe that if you want to. He stops and I wait for him to do something, because he‘s clearly about to.
The moment I think time has stopped, since he’s gone rigid, and want to open my mouth to test if that’s true, he flips the lamp’s switch, and throws it into the direction of my pillow.

I don’t care whose bed I sleep in. But it’s too dark to go alone. I might get lost.

you. you, Key, you…
I don’t finish that. Even though he deserves a lot more swear words.

We’re in the twilight zone again. He’s gray, but -- as I realize the first time tonight -- I am, too.
My feelings are melding; gray doesn’t have a complimentary color.

Key is still sitting on that ladder, at the level of my chest. I don’t know why I’m doing this, but it’s too dark to decide against it.

Forcefully, I hook my arms around his waist, and yank him off the step, throwing him onto my shoulder. The noise he makes should be loud enough to wake the others up, yet it doesn’t.
I grip him hard, probably too hard, hurting a little, but I know that he’s not a girl, that I don’t need to treat him like a porcelain sculpture.

What is this? he breathes while I stagger the few feet to his bed with him.

Making sure you don’t stumble and get hurt on the way. I grunt back.

Finally, I shove him onto the ladder of his own bed. Go sleep.

Key scoffs in response as lifts is one step upwards, keeping his eyes on me.
Before I forget it, I mutter hastily And sorry.

I gaze at him for a little while, wait for him to say dramatically that he’s sorry, too (I actually don’t, still I like the idea), but he only hums in approval.

You’re still my best friend, right? I whisper.

He laughs under his breath Of course! and pulls me in.

Hugging him around his middle, I squeeze my face into his tummy; he‘s sitting too high up. When he wraps his arms around my head and envelops me, I suddenly think that that’s supposed to have a meaning, perhaps I should take this metaphorically.

I’m stupid sometimes.

After some time, I let go.

Good night.

Good night. Even though I’ve complained about darkness swallowing all color before, he sparks a little as he grins. And since you won’t be able to sleep anyway, think about our conversation.

He’s probably right, even though I don’t let it show.
After turning on my heels without another word, plod back to my own bed.
But I think about something else, then, when I can’t sleep.

By night, all cats are gray, except for one.