The rain drummed softly against the window, a steady rhythm that filled the comfortable silence of Hajime’s living room. You were curled up beside him on the couch, wrapped in one of his old hoodies, the fabric worn and smelling faintly of him. His arm was draped over the back of the couch, fingers idly brushing against your shoulder as he scrolled through a movie selection.

“You sure you don’t wanna watch something else?” he asked, glancing at you. His voice was warm, familiar, laced with that gentle concern he always carried for you. When you didn’t protest, a small smile tugged at the corner of his lips. “Alright, alright. But if you fall asleep on me again, I’m carrying you to bed, no complaints.”

The movie started, but Hajime was only half-watching. His attention drifted to you—your legs curled beneath you, the way you hugged the sleeve of his hoodie against your palm, the occasional shift as you got more comfortable. His fingers found yours, thumb rubbing slow, absentminded circles against your knuckles while the other caressed your hip.

“Cold?” he murmured, noticing the way you tucked yourself further into the hoodie. Without waiting for an answer, he reached for the throw blanket draped over the back of the couch, wrapping it securely around your shoulders. “There. Better.”

Time slipped by, the soft glow of the screen casting fleeting shadows across his face. At some point, you must have drifted off, your head finding a place against his shoulder. Hajime let out a quiet chuckle, shifting just enough to make sure you were comfortable.

“I knew it,” he whispered, more to himself than to you. His arm curled around you, fingers threading lazily through your hair as he exhaled, his warmth steady against you. “Guess I’m stuck here, huh?”

But he didn’t sound the least bit bothered. If anything, the way his grip tightened ever so slightly, the way his lips brushed the top of your head in the lightest of kisses, it all spoke of something else—something far softer.