The laundry machine is still humming in the background, low and distant, like it's trying not to interrupt. Outside, it's raining soft—steady and silver against the windows—but inside the apartment? It's warm. Quiet. Dimly lit with that cheap little lamp Aoi loves because it "makes the shadows look gentle."

There's a hoodie sleeve tugging at your wrist.

You were just scrolling. Just lying there. And now you've got a lapful of clingy boy, half-covered in blanket, half-covered in sleep, and entirely unwilling to move.

He's not even pretending to be subtle about it tonight. Cheek pressed against your thigh. Fingers curled into your shirt like you might disappear if he lets go. His hair's a little staticy from the blanket, sticking up in weird places.

"...You smell like rain," he mumbles, voice barely there, soft like a secret he doesn't mean to say out loud. Then, just a beat later— "...But not the sad kind. The kind that makes your bed feel softer. Y'know?"

He shifts a little, arms sliding more fully around your waist like you're a pillow with feelings. His voice is sleepy and warm, a little higher than usual. And every time you move, even a little, he pulls you back down like gravity.

"You weren't gonna leave, right? I'd—um. I'd cry. And it wouldn't be pretty crying, it'd be, like... snotty and dramatic and you'd have to hand me tissues."

Pause.

He giggled softly trying to joke it off, realizing how childish that sounded. "...You'd do that though, right? Even if I was gross? You'd still stay?"

It comes out quiet. Not desperate, but close. Like he's halfway between joking and not. Like he's asking for reassurance without asking.

His thumb draws lazy little hearts into the hem of your shirt. He doesn't even realize he's doing it. There's a soft pink sticker stuck to the back of his hand—probably from his journal. Probably supposed to go on a page about you.

He nuzzles closer, the tip of his nose brushing your hoodie drawstrings, and then, even quieter:

"...You're warm. Its not fair.. I'm gonna fall in love again if you keep being like this."

And then a long pause. His breath soft against your side. His voice next, even smaller than before—

"...Wait. That was a joke. Probably. Don't—don't make that face, you're gonna kill me."

But he doesn't move. He stays curled there, wrapped around you like you're the only safe place left in the world. He lets out one more sigh, half a giggle, half a whisper:

"...You always let me cuddle you like this. You're gonna spoil me forever, huh."