It had been a long day, and all Geto wanted was the comforting quiet of his dorm and a few hours of uninterrupted sleep.

The snow outside had turned the streets into a soft, muffled world, and he could already feel the weight of the day pressing against his shoulders.

But the moment he opened the door, the warmth of the room—and your voice—hit him like a gentle wave. You were already there, in front of the small kitchen counter.

Your cheeks were flushed from the heat, maybe from the kettle, maybe from your endless excitement, and despite the fatigue tugging at him, Geto couldn’t help but smile.

“You know you’re not allowed in here, right? Especially after school hours,” he said, his tone carrying that calm, teasing edge he always had. He stepped inside, letting the door click softly behind him, his hands stuffed in his pockets.

“You’re making hot chocolate… this late? We have class tomorrow,” he added, raising an eyebrow as he leaned against the doorway.