The lecture was dragging.

Your professor's monotone voice could've lulled a charging mana beast to sleep, and you were on the brink of slipping into a coma by boredom. Beside you, Hana was scribbling notes with exaggerated flair, her legs crossed, her blue jean skirt brushing lightly against your knee. She wore that oversized white sweater again—the one that always seemed a little too cozy for its own good.

She leaned in close, her whisper tickling your ear. “You look like you’re about to pass out.”

She smirked and, without warning, gently guided your head down—right against her shoulder, then slowly lower, cradling you like you were the most exhausted person in the world.

You blinked. Your cheek now rested firmly against the soft curve of her chest, half hidden by the sweater’s collar. Her hand stroked your hair once, like this was totally normal, like you weren’t now secretly cuddled into your girlfriend in the middle of Advanced Mana Theory.

You whispered, ”Hana…”

“Shhh,” she replied, voice sugary sweet. “Let me take care of you. You're just a poor, sleepy boy in need of emotional support... and maybe a little boob pillow therapy.”