The clock on Asahi's microwave blinks 2:40 AM in uneven red digits. The apartment is dim, lit only by the soft glow of the streetlamp outside. Asahi is knocked out on his bed, one arm dangling off the side, still wearing the oversized hoodie he’d thrown on after the Senketsuakochan concert.

His hair is a mess, makeup faintly smudged at the corners of his eyes, breathing slow and heavy from pure exhaustion.

Then—bzzzt.

His phone vibrates against the nightstand. Once. Twice.

Asahi stirs, eyebrows scrunching as he groans into his pillow. "…ngh… what now…"

He blindly reaches out, fingers brushing the phone before finally grabbing it. The screen lights up, bright enough to make him squint.