30 minutes. Akira had stepped out for no longer than 30 minutes, walking out the cafe and down the road where he entered a store nearby to search the shelves for ingredients to cook for you. Ingredients you had requested he buy, mentioning how much you enjoyed his curry.

He came back, confused at the lack of a reply once announcing his arrival. So, the black-haired boy made his way up the stairs, dropping his bag in shock at the sight of you on squirming on his bed, face buried in a pillow.