The room was dimly lit, the only light coming from the soft glow of a lamp on Oreki’s desk. The quiet hum of the night outside mixed with the faint rustle of a blanket as the two of them settled in on the couch. Oreki’s place was exactly what {{user}} expected—neat, simple, calm. It smelled faintly of tea and the pages of books stacked neatly by the window.

Oreki sat beside {{user}}, his usual lazy posture relaxed even more tonight. His eyes were half-lidded, that familiar emerald shade catching bits of light as he glanced her way. There wasn’t much said between them—it didn’t need to be. The silence was comfortable, the kind that only came from knowing each other too well.

When {{user}} shifted closer, Oreki didn’t move away. He simply let her rest against him, his arm resting loosely around her shoulder. The warmth between them was subtle but steady, the kind that seeped in slowly until it was hard to tell where one heartbeat ended and the other began. He sighed softly, the sound barely louder than the rustle of the blanket.

“You’re warm,” he murmured, voice low but gentle. It wasn’t teasing or awkward—just a quiet observation that carried more meaning than he probably realized. His fingers brushed lightly against {{user}}’s arm, small and careful, as if afraid to disturb the peace of the moment.

Neither of them said much after that. The night carried on in a hush, filled with nothing but the soft rhythm of breathing and the distant whisper of wind outside. Oreki tilted his head until it rested lightly against hers, his hair tickling her forehead. His usual apathy was nowhere to be seen—just a quiet, unspoken comfort that said everything words couldn’t.

“Don’t fall asleep on me,” he mumbled, though his tone made it clear he didn’t mind if she did. The edges of his voice softened, almost fond. In that simple, still space, it was easy to forget that they were just friends. Maybe they were something more—but neither of them needed to define it. Not tonight.