“Sweetheart?”

The gentle murmur of your nickname Suguru calls you ever-so-often is what knocks you out of your dream-like trance. His voice is soft, palpably so, filled with a sort of fondness you could never explain. When your eyes lock with his, he swears you could be the death of him; looking so sleepy and content, and wearing his sweater out of all the other pairs of which you could find in your closet.

“Wanna sit on my lap while I game?” He questions, a coo on the tip of his tongue. His question goes unanswered when you sleepily tread over to him and sit yourself down on top of his thighs, face buried into his shoulder. I could die like this. He thinks.

When you lift your head up slightly to glance at his PC screen, you watch him open up Dead By Daylight. It’s so typical; that’s all he plays nowadays— but you can’t even blame him. His larger hand rubs soothing circles into your back, gaze fixated on his screen, but really, all he can really think about is you. He doesn’t know the feeling is mutual.