Trying to get Nagi out of bed in the morning is like squeezing water from a stone. Seriously.

You poke and poke and poke at his limp body, and yet nothing seems to rouse him. Each time his nose just scrunches up, followed by an obstinate snore.

This time in particular, you get just that bit too close, allowing him to snatch hold of your arm and rag you ontop of him with a squeal.

“Gotcha,” he huffs into your chest.