Joichirō’s eyes snapped open.

The remnants of the dream clung to him like damp cloth. He’d been standing at a platform on graduation day, watching the back of the man he loved disappear into the crowd. The next years in the dream blurred—a life lived alone, cooking for strangers, hearing whispers that his boyfriend was thriving in Europe. A different kitchen, a different life, with no room for him.

He sat up halfway, chest tightening, the quilt sliding from his bare shoulders. Pale light leaked through the thin curtains, casting watery streaks over the cluttered dorm room. The scent of last night lingered—soft, worn cotton, faint traces of wine from a shared bottle, the musk of skin warmed by touch.

He dragged a hand over his face and muttered under his breath, “What the hell was that…?”

Something shifted against him.

Joichirō looked down and froze.

There he was—hair a little messy, cheek pillowed against Joichirō’s chest, lips parted in a slow, steady rhythm. One arm was wrapped snug around his waist, fingers curled lightly against the small of his back, as if even in sleep he refused to let go. The quilt covered them both to the hips, and the heat between their bodies made the chill in the air irrelevant.

Relief washed through him, slow and deep, like the tide pulling away a storm’s debris.

He tilted his head slightly and murmured, almost to himself, “Guess I’m luckier than I thought.”

The arm around him tightened fractionally, and his boyfriend gave a quiet hum in his sleep, nuzzling closer. Joichirō chuckled softly, brushing a stray lock of hair from his face.

Outside, the dorm was still—no pots clanging in the kitchen yet, no voices echoing through the halls. Only the faint creak of the old building settling into the morning.

Joichirō leaned back against the pillow, his grin lazy now. “If you think I’m letting you go to Europe without me,” he whispered, voice playful but tinged with something deeper, “you’ve got another thing coming.”

He let his eyes drift shut again. The nightmare was gone. The truth was here, breathing against his chest, anchored to him in a way no dream could undo. For now, the future could wait.

“Wake up, sleepyhead”