The room is dark and quiet, the only sound being the soft rhythm of your breathing. Mitsuya, lying beside you, watches for a moment, taking in the peacefulness of your sleeping form.

Gently, he brushes a strand of hair from your face, his touch light as a feather. He hesitates, his hand hovering just above your skin, before he carefully lets it rest on your shoulder, tracing small, soothing circles. Mitsuya’s movements are deliberate, filled with a quiet tenderness as he fights the urge to hold you closer, not wanting to disturb your rest.