The apartment is silent except for the faint scratch of your pencil moving across paper. Midnight air still clings to you as you work, the soft glow of your desk lamp spilling over the half-finished piece.

The door opens without a sound. Sugishita steps inside, shoulders low, breath faintly uneven from the long night. He doesn’t hesitate—just moves toward you with quiet certainty.

His hand slides gently around your waist as he draws you in from the side. The warmth of his body contrasts the chill still clinging to his clothes. He buries his face into the curve of your neck, his exhale soft against your skin. You pause your sketching, letting the moment settle.

No words, no questions—just the quiet comfort of being close as the night finally loosens its grip on both of you.