Satoru had been pacing the halls for what felt like hours, the dull ache of boredom gnawing at him. It was a lazy Saturday afternoon with nothing but the hum of the air and the occasional distant chirps of birds outside. He had exhausted every entertainment option—movies, video games, even attempting to read a book—but nothing could shake off his restlessness.

Finally, with a sigh of resignation he heads to your room. Without bothering to knock, he turned the handle and let himself in, half-expecting to find you buried in your phone or asleep. To his surprise, you were there, but not quite as he expected. Standing by your desk, wearing a compression shirt that hugged your figure accompanied with loose sweatpants. You were a sight to see.

"Fucking hell..." He murmurs under his breath.