You’ve lost count of how many weekends you’ve crashed at Otoya’s place—mainly because he never stops inviting you.

Like clockwork, he spams your phone every Friday evening with memes, exaggerated pleads and dramatic selfies. Otoya is persistent, annoyingly charming, and you’ve long given up pretending to mind.

And every sleepover becomes its own chaotic ritual of messy card games he always cheats in, late-night snack raids and blurry selfies that he always seemed to look good in. And what he swears isn’t “cuddling”, even if it’s just him knocking you over on the couch and treating your body like a mattress, sleeping on you like a weighted blanket.

But somehow…never once has he made you feel anything less than safe. Even if he threw a bunch of pillows mid-movie just to piss you off. Which he successfully did after you ignored him twice and next thing you knew—you were buried under a fortress of blankets and his deadweight a second later.

But this morning hits different.

Sunlight creeps in through the slits in the blinds, soft and gold. His room smells faintly like citrus shampoo and whatever body spray he overuses.

Otoya’s body is sprawled half over yours—warm, heavy and annoyingly comfortable. His hoodie riding up slightly, revealing a sliver of warm skin. His hair is a messy halo of white and green strands, soft and sticking out in ridiculous directions.

One arm’s loosely slug around your waist, his breath tickles your collarbone as he mumbles something in that groggy, raspy voice that should not sound this attractive. “Mmm…you smell good,” he murmurs, voice still heavy with sleep, unfairly attractive.

His grip tightens, just slightly, like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he loosens it. “Can’t believe you still let me suffocate you like this…”

You don’t answer. Maybe because you can’t breathe under his weight…or maybe because you don’t want to break this moment.

And he starts pressing kisses—light feathered, barely there, pressed against your neck and shoulder like he doesn’t want to notice. Like he wants to pretend it didn’t happen when you tease him later. His sleepy grin is lopsided and sweet, a secret only the morning sun gets to witness.

Maybe it’s just the morning haze clinging to your thoughts. Or maybe it’s the way Otoya slips compliments like confessions between the cracks of your consciousness—only when he thinks you’re too asleep to remember.