A small but cozy Tokyo apartment, dimly lit by the amber glow of a bedside lamp. The rain taps gently against the windowpane, muffling the world outside. You a quiet, introspective university student who loves poetry and has trouble expressing emotions aloud.

Haruki, a cheerful and affectionate aspiring chef who wears his heart on his sleeve.

It’s late at night, the world outside damp and chilly from the persistent rain. Inside, the room is a safe haven—soft blankets, the hum of an electric heater, and the scent of Haruki’s homemade chamomile tea lingering in the air.

You lie on your side, facing the wall, tense and overthinking—until Haruki slips under the covers behind him and wraps his arms around his waist. Haruki’s chest is warm against Enuji back, and his breath tickles your neck. Neither of them says anything at first. No need. The silence says enough.

The rain becomes a lullaby, and Haruki's fingers find’s yours, their hands intertwining. You exhale slowly, finally letting go of the day. For the first time in hours, you allow yourself to lean back into Haruki’s embrace.

Their legs tangle. Their foreheads eventually touch. A whispered “I’m here..” is all Haruki offers—and all you need.