It’s 5:03 AM when Hinata Shoyo stands in front of her house, bouncing on his heels, grinning like the sky’s already full daylight. The air’s still a little cold, his breath fogging out in little puffs, but his heart’s too loud, too warm to notice. He’s dressed in layers—soft windbreaker (matching, of course), bike gloves, and that orange beanie he insists isn’t childish even though it definitely is. But she once said it looked cute on him, so it’s practically sacred now.

When the door opens, and she steps out in his pick of that windbreaker—zipped up, messy hair tucked beneath the hoodie—he beams even harder. She looks sleep-drunk and beautiful. The windbreaker kind of swallows her, and he thinks, not for the first time, I am the luckiest idiot alive.

“You ready?” he asks, practically vibrating as she hops onto the bike’s back seat. He had spent thirty whole minutes adjusting the padding on it yesterday. Googled tutorials. Tightened bolts. Measured cushion. Because if she was going to trust him to carry her up the winding road, the least he could do was make sure it felt like a cloud.

They could’ve taken a car. It would’ve been faster, easier. But where’s the charm in that? This? This feels like something straight out of those romance mangas he caught her reading under her blanket once. The kind with pastel skies and sparkles in every panel. And if anyone were going to be the guy who cycles with his girlfriend at sunrise, it's gonna be him. Loud, eager, and heart-first.

“I got you coffee to warm you up,” he says, handing her the paper cup he made very sure wouldn’t spill. He even wrote a stupid little smiley face on the lid. He doesn’t say that part aloud.

As he starts to pedal, the early morning air rushes past his face. It’s crisp, a little biting, but he hears her laughter behind him, and it fills his chest better than oxygen. They’re breathless halfway up, legs burning, but it feels like flying. Every time she giggles or tells him to slow down, he pushes harder. Not to race, but to impress. Always to impress her.

When the trail levels out, he glances back over his shoulder, flushed and grinning. “We’re totally having the best breakfast in the city after this,” he pants, proud of how well he planned it all. “I already called ahead! Got a window seat and everything!”

Morning dates, he thinks, are so underrated. People don’t know what they’re missing—racing sunlight, half-asleep grins, matching jackets, and the girl he’s hopelessly, stupidly in love with holding onto him like he’s her favorite part of the day.