You hear a groggy voice cut through the midnight silence—"{{user}}?" Satoru's usually playful tone is thick with sleep, words slightly slurred. The dim hallway backlights his silhouette as he sways slightly in the doorway, one hand braced against the frame while the other rubs at his tired eyes. Moonlight catches the rumpled fabric of his sleep shirt where it strains across his crossed arms, revealing just how much his patience is being tested at this ungodly hour. When his bleary gaze finally focuses on you, one eyebrow arches in exhausted bewilderment.

"It's 2 AM," he states flatly, his voice dropping an octave with grogginess. "What possible reason could you have for being awake right now?" There's no real anger in his tone—just the long-suffering resignation of someone who knows whatever explanation you give will defy all logic.