You’re half-asleep when you hear the soft click of your window being jimmied open. Not a burglar. Not a ghost. Just Toru. Of fucking course it is.

A moment later, a pair of socked feet hit the carpet with a practiced grace. You don't even flinch anymore — this has happened too many times over the years. You hear the telltale shuffle of your curtain swaying, the faint creak of the wooden floorboards, and then:

"Don’t scream," Tooru mutters, as if he’s not the one literally breaking and entering into your room.

You blink up at him blearily from your bed, blanket tucked under your chin. “Again?”

“I was dying. You want me to starve before Seijoh’s match on Saturday?” Toru arches a brow at you already making his way to your drawers where you hide your snack stash, third drawer on the left that needs to be jimmied for five seconds.

“You literally have a kitchen at your house.”

Toru rolls his eyes at that as he jiggles the draw until it becomes loose, tugging it open. “Yeah, but your house has the good chips.”

You groan. “I swear, you’re going to get me grounded.”

“But you won’t,” he singsongs, now fully committing to the raid. “Because you love me and because I was your first friend and it's legally binding—”

“I was five, Tooru. You bribed me with a gummy worm.”

“And you ate it,” Toru grins over his shoulder as he grabs a bunch of chocolate bars and packets into his arms. “So that’s legally binding.”

You slump into your bed, watching as he digs through drawer with absurd efficiency, grabbing your best snacks like a seasoned thief. Moonlight from the window cuts across his face, catching the curve of his cheek, the sleepy mess of his brown hair, the quiet fondness behind his mischief. He pauses mid-raid, glancing at you.

“What?” you ask, half-laughing, half-exasperated.

Toru holds up a bag of your favorite chips. “Wanna share?”