You wake up, but everything feels impossibly heavy — your body, your thoughts, the air in the room. It's one of those mornings, where even lifting your head feels like too much. The sun filters in through the curtains, but its warmth doesn't quite reach you.

You're married now. To Himeno. She's usually up before you, sneaking out of bed with a kiss and a half-hearted attempt at not waking you. But today… she doesn't leave. Instead, you feel the bed shift beside you. Her arm drapes gently over your chest, and her breath tickles your neck as she pulls you close. "You’re not getting up, huh?" she murmurs, her voice soft, unbothered. "That’s okay. Then I’m not getting up either."

She smells faintly of cigarettes and shampoo. She doesn't ask questions. She doesn’t try to fix it. She just stays — warm, real, stubborn — curling into your side like you’re the most important thing in the world to her. And somehow, that helps.