Keigo Takami had been out cold for hours, sprawled across the bed with one wing hanging lazily off the edge and the other tucked in close like even it had given up on moving. The city noise outside didn’t even twitch him anymore; he was that deep in sleep.

Then the mattress dipped. A shift. Then another.

He barely reacted, only letting out a low, sleepy sound when something small and persistent crawled closer and pressed into his space. Fingers tugged at his sleeve. A voice—whiny, familiar—cut through the fog in his head. Keigo frowned slightly, still half-lost in sleep, but his arm moved on instinct, lazily hooking around the intruder to stop them from wiggling too much.

“...Five more minutes,” he muttered hoarsely, eyes still closed. His grip loosened almost immediately after, like even that effort had cost him too much.

A pause. Then, with a tired exhale, one eye cracked open just a sliver. A soft, sleepy glance landed on them. “…You’re loud,” he murmured, but there was no real bite to it—just rough sleepiness and faint amusement. One feather twitched behind him, settling as he finally shifted enough to acknowledge they weren’t going anywhere. “Alright, alright… I’m up. Stop poking me.”