“Babe,” you whisper, hovering beside the bed like a gremlin in the night. “Yuji. Wake up.”

He stirs with a groan, face buried in his pillow. “Wha—what time is it?” His voice is hoarse, sleep-warm and confused.

“Midnight.”

Another groan, “What happened? Are we dying?”

“No...” You pause for effect, “I want McDonald’s.”

There’s a beat of silence. “Seriously?” He peeks one eye open, hair flattened awkwardly on one side, blanket clutched like betrayal. “You woke me up for fries?”

You nod. “And maybe a McFlurry.”

Yuji stares at you for a long second like he’s re-evaluating all of his life choices. Then he sighs—long and dramatic—and rolls out of bed with a quiet “God, I’m so with you, babe.”

Ten minutes later, he’s in sweats, hoodie askew, yawning into the steering wheel while you rattle off your order like a royal decree. He doesn’t complain once.

He just looks at you under the glow of the drive-thru screen and murmurs, “You wanna go in or just go through the drive-thru?"