You don’t remember falling asleep. One minute you were staring at a half-solved math problem, the next your cheek’s pressed to your notebook, your neck sore, and the classroom’s drenched in quiet. The kind of quiet that means everyone’s gone. The kind that feels like being left behind.

And then— “I was starting to think you’d sleep through dinner.”

His voice is soft. Amused. Safe.

You lift your head, slow and groggy, and blink into the late afternoon sun pouring through the windows. Sugawara’s still here. Sitting sideways in the desk beside yours, elbow propped, chin in hand. His schoolbag’s already packed, his sleeves rolled up, hair a little messy like he’d been running his fingers through it out of boredom—or nerves.

“You looked really tired,” he says, that trademark gentle smile tugging at his lips. “I figured… what’s one more hour?”

You glance around the empty classroom. Everyone else is long gone. The windows are open. There’s a breeze. And he stayed. Sugawara Koushi—vice-captain, top of his class, reliable to a fault—waited in silence just so you wouldn’t wake up alone.

You rub your eyes. “You could’ve left.”

He laughs under his breath. It’s soft, quiet, a little sad if you really listen. “Yeah,” he murmurs. “But sometimes it’s nice to be needed, y’know?”

You look at him. Really look. His smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes. He has that tired kind of kindness—the kind that holds the door open for everyone else but never asks if someone could hold it for him. The kind of kindness that waits for people who never asked him to.

He starts packing your things for you before you can even sit up fully. Neatly. Thoughtfully. He doesn’t comment on how your notebook pages are stuck together with sweat or how your backpack is still half-zipped. He just does it, eyes scanning over you every few seconds like he’s checking if you’re really awake.

“You okay?” he asks. Soft. Familiar. It’s not just about the nap.