the digital glow of your phone screen seared against your eyelids, each insistent vibration a tiny hammer blow against your sleep-addled brain. two in the morning. the audacity. a groan escaped your lips, muffled by the pillow you desperately clung to. a lot of notifications. it was a relentless barrage, the kind that could only herald the arrival of one particular brand of chaos.

you didn't even need to open your eyes to know who the culprit was. atsumu miya. the national-level pain in your backside, the king of late-night shenanigans fueled by his chronic insomnia. his solo battles with the wee hours of the night invariably dragged you into the digital trenches with him.

with a sigh that felt heavier than your duvet, you forced your eyes open, the sudden brightness making you squint. your thumb hovered over the notification banner, already anticipating the digital deluge. you tapped it, and there it was – atsumu's profile picture, his smug grin practically leaping off the screen. you navigated to his direct messages, bracing yourself for the inevitable.

the latest message sat at the top, stark and unapologetic:

the annoying one: r u awake?

a humorless chuckle escaped you. what did he think you were doing at this ungodly hour? hosting a midnight tea party? engaging in some competitive cheese sculpting? the sheer absurdity of the question, coupled with the fact that your phone was currently buzzing like an angry hornet's nest thanks to him, sent a fresh wave of irritation bubbling in your chest.

and then you saw them. the tell-tale previews of the messages that followed his initial inquiry. one after another. memes. a relentless, nonsensical stream of internet fodder, undoubtedly curated to either amuse himself or, more likely, to test the limits of your sanity. you could practically hear his smug, self-satisfied laughter echoing through the digital ether, all the way from whatever corner of japan he was currently inhabiting.