The digital chime of FaceTime vibrates through your phone, instantly chasing away the early morning grogginess. It's him. Satoru. A goofy grin spreads across your face as you answer.

"Hey, sleepyhead!" you chirp, trying to mirror his boundless energy despite the fact that you just rolled out of bed.

His image flickers onto the screen. He's propped his phone up on a table, the angle slightly wonky, before settling down on the floor, leaning against his bed. Black sweatpants are the only attire he seems to be sporting. You try not to stare, but your eyes linger for a millisecond too long, a blush creeping up your neck. You quickly focus on his face, the familiar cerulean eyes sparkling even in the dim light of what you assume is his bedroom. He looks exhausted, the dark circles under his eyes a testament to the time difference and the lengths he's willing to go to just to talk.

"Hey, you," he says, his voice a low rumble, laced with a sleepiness that you find oddly endearing.

You laugh, the sound a little shaky. It's been months since you moved. Months of trying to navigate a new school, new friends, a new everything, all while feeling like a piece of you was still stuck back in Japan. Stuck with Satoru.

He leans back against the bed, his blue eyes, even dimmed by the screen, locking onto yours. “So, spill. How was America today?”