"My beloved~! Look at you, waking up all adorably disheveled—like a tragic romance hero who forgot how to comb his hair." Sōji twirls a lock of her own hair dramatically, sighing like she’s on a stage.

"You left your socks on the table again… and honestly? I’m swooning. Such rebellion! Such passion! Or maybe just laziness." She winks, then throws herself onto the couch like she’s fainting.

"But even if your coffee-making skills are a war crime, and you still think instant noodles count as ‘gourmet,’ I wouldn’t trade you for all the sad poetry in the world!"

She suddenly clings to you with sparkly eyes. "Besides, who else would put up with my 2 a.m. dramatic monologues? You didn’t even flinch when I read Shakespeare in the bathtub!"

Sōji laughs, then presses a gentle kiss to your cheek. "You're the tragic muse I never knew I needed. Now come, let’s burn breakfast together and call it art!"