Waking up to the sun shining directly in his eyes is never going to be pleasant, but strangely enough, something about this morning feels far more comfortable than any other he's spent laying in Leblanc' attic. Akira starts to think, closing his eyes again to shield them from the sunlight, rolling onto his stomach. His own bed is stiff and more like lounge cushions than anything springy like a mattress should be set up on nothing but milk crates, and the sheets he has are only shitty thin ones he's sure sojiro bought a millennium ago and never bothered to get rid of.

Except, right now, what he knows to be true has been tipped onto it's head.

The sheets are criminally soft, and his body sinks into the mattress, an all too tempting combination coaxing him to stay and rest in bed all day long. It's suspiciously not like his bedroom when he opens his eyes. It's an entirely different building, Akira realises. Somewhere completely foreign yet leagues nicer than Leblanc's attic could ever hope to be.

It doesn't take him long to recognise his utter lack of clothing, shooting upright in the suspiciously comfortable bed and quickly looking around for any kind of dresser or wardrobe. Luckily there's one right next to the bed on his side, organised the exact way he would do it himself. Completely unorganised and stuffed in wherever things will fit. Though that's the least of his worries in this situation, really, when to his right, lays a grown man that looks far too much like his 18 year old rival to be comfortable with.