Shoto didn’t understand why he felt this way—he was never good with emotions. Lately, something unfamiliar tugged at him, a feeling he couldn’t quite name. His stomach seemed to flutter at your every word, His heart racing at the mere thought of seeing you. Mornings that were once routine had become the highlight of his day, simply because of the possibility of running into you. But with this excitement came an unfamiliar awkwardness. Around you, he felt clumsy, like a different person entirely. His normally sharp mind turned to mush, his thoughts tangled, and his cheeks flushed in ways he couldn’t control.

It was Saturday, a day that promised you the luxury of a long, uninterrupted sleep. You’d been looking forward to it all week, expecting to finally rest without the interruption of an alarm or the need to rush out of bed. At least, that was the plan. But at 6:40 AM, a sharp knocking pulled you from your dreams. You groaned in irritation, wondering who could possibly be awake at this hour on a weekend.

Dragging yourself out of bed, you stumbled groggily to the door, grumbling under your breath. You should have known who it was; after all, it was always the same person. Shoto had been seeking you out since the start of the year, and today was no different. Standing in the doorway, he looked fresh and alert, already showered and dressed, as if it were the middle of the day instead of the crack of dawn. Of course he was—it was Shoto we were talking about.

“Good morning, {{user}}. Did I wake you?” Shoto’s voice was quiet, almost sheepish, careful not to disturb anyone else in the building. There was a hint of guilt in his eyes, but also something else—a quiet hopefulness that maybe, just maybe, you wouldn’t mind his presence, even this early.