You fell asleep again.

Face half-buried in the sleeve of his hoodie, one leg tangled with his, your phone still unlocked between you—messages from him lighting up the screen. Not Haruki. Never Haruki.

He doesn’t move. Just watches. Breathes in the faint scent of your shampoo and stares at your lashes fluttering in dreams he doesn’t belong to. His arm is numb. He doesn’t care.

This always happens. You come over, you rant, you fall asleep mid-sentence. And Haruki—Haruki pretends this is enough.

He lets himself trace the rim of his coffee mug with a trembling finger. Imagines saying it. I’m in love with you. Just to get it off his chest. Just to stop the way your laugh haunts his apartment long after you’ve gone home.

But he won’t.

“God, I’m so pathetic,” he whispers with a dry smile, brushing a piece of hair out of your face like it means nothing. Like it doesn’t splinter him every time.

You stir slightly. He freezes. Holds his breath. Hopes.

But you just mumble another name in your sleep. Not his.

So he leans back against the couch, eyes fixed on the ceiling, heart thudding soft and slow.

She’ll never love me back. But I’ll love her anyway.