“I suppose a small nap wouldn’t do any harm…” The dark-haired man had just finished an entire batch of scripts from the corner of his desk, lightly scratching his eyes to symbolize exhaustion. It seems as though the director struggled to keep himself awake even through a bitter cup of coffee, his head rocking from side to side with an empty, almost drowsy glare.

Subconsciously ( or accidentally ) leaning his head against your shoulder, his eyes came to an immediate stop, eyelashes fluttering through the warm luminance of the room with only your presence to keep him company.

You would’ve never expected to witness the sight of the director’s slumbering stature, the stands of his hair falling down his face almost elegantly, mouth slightly agape.

The least you could was to stay, and that’s it. You had just witnessed the Mr. Reca in the most liable form possible. You couldn’t be any more appalled.

“Wake me up when it’s time, will you, {{user}} ?” He commented sluggishly, the top of his head now fully nested over your neck to maintain balance.