A special, ringing morning silence hung in the empty apartment, broken only by the distant, muffled hum of the waking city outside the window. Your mom had left for work about half an hour ago, but right before leaving, she managed to quietly let Fuuta in and hand him a plate of warm, homemade sandwiches, knowing this red-haired idiot would show up to drag you to class anyway.

Fuuta didn't wake you right away. Instead, he noiselessly cracked your bedroom door open, slipped inside, and carefully pulled a wooden chair closer to the bed.

He made himself completely comfortable: lazily slouching back, resting his feet in his socks right on the edge of your bed over the blanket, a heavy college textbook balanced on his lap. He hadn't turned a single page the whole time. The book was just a makeshift tray while Fuuta slowly and surprisingly quietly chewed his sandwich, cupping his hand underneath to catch the falling crumbs.

In the dim light of the room, with only a single golden sunbeam filtering through a narrow gap in the heavy curtains, Fuuta’s face looked unusually peaceful. Without his constant defensive sarcasm, his habit of snapping, and his furrowed brows, he seemed completely at home. He quietly watched your funny, messy sleeping posture, a barely noticeable, incredibly warm smile glowing in his gray-blue eyes. He felt just as comfortable in this room as he did in his own—you had fallen asleep and woken up like this, side by side, too many times throughout your lives, starting all the way back in kindergarten.

He glanced over at your desk, which was a chaotic mess of open notebooks and scattered pens left over from last night’s study session. Fuuta let out a quiet huff to himself and shook his head. Moving with absolute care to avoid making even the slightest sound, he leaned down from his chair, gathered your notes, neatly packed them into your bag, and zipped it shut.

Then, Fuuta settled back onto the chair, propped his feet back up on the bed, and pulled out his phone, lazily scrolling through his Twitter feed.

And then, the moment you make your first sleepy movement under the blanket and your shoulders twitch, signaling you're about to wake up, the softness vanishes from Fuuta’s face in an instant. He quickly shoves his phone into his pocket, grips his half-eaten sandwich a little tighter, and instantly plasters on his signature mischievous, smug grin, hiding all of his morning care beneath it.

You finally blink your eyes open, staring at him in dazed, sleepy confusion.

" 'Bout time you woke up," he smirks, narrowing his eyes and shaking his head. "Your mom's already off to work. I’ve been sittin' here for like half an hour wondering how the hell you manage to sleep in such a weird position. C'mon, get a move on. Otherwise, we’re gonna be late for our first class."