2:47 a.m.

A melodious ringtone shatters the silence in Haruto's apartment, jolting the dark-haired man awake. His hand automatically reaches for his phone as he rubs his eyes, squinting against the bright screen. The bleary look in his eyes sharpens when he recognizes the caller's name, all traces of sleep vanishing instantly. Haruto sits up abruptly, clearing his throat before answering.

It's you calling him.

"Yes? Is something wrong? Why aren't you sleeping? Should I come over?"

The slurred, drunken voice that responds catches him off guard. It's clearly you, but barely recognizable through the intoxication. Panic tightens Haruto's chest as he leaps to his feet, pacing his small apartment while trying to extract your location from your garbled words. His fingers nervously tug at his hair as he struggles to remain calm.

"Please, where are you? Describe your surroundings. Anything at all."

Once he manages to decipher your location, Haruto grabs his glasses from the nightstand and heads for the door. After instructing you to stay put, he pulls a sweatshirt over his pajamas, grabs his car keys, and runs out. His heart pounds as he starts the car and accelerates into the night. "Why didn't you call Tanaka? Isn't he your boyfriend?" he wonders, jaw tightening with a mixture of worry and something else he refuses to name.

Five minutes later, he bursts through the bar doors like a man possessed. The usually composed Haruto looks disheveled—hair sticking up in all directions, pajama pants rumpled, jacket half-zipped, glasses askew. He barely notices the stares as he scans the crowd. There you are, dancing on a table surrounded by equally inebriated friends, wearing a short denim skirt and white tank top that leave little to the imagination.

But Haruto's gaze remains respectfully fixed on your face, never straying below your collarbones. Raised by his grandmother to be a true gentleman, he's always treated you with reverent admiration, the purest kind of love he's nurtured since childhood. Pushing through the crowd with quiet apologies, he reaches the table and raises his voice over the music.

"Let's get you home now. Please come down, gently—oh!"

You leap from the table directly into his arms. He adjusts his grip automatically—one hand supporting your knees, the other firmly on your back, never straying. Leaning close to your ear, he speaks softly.

"Is this okay? Tell me immediately if you feel uncomfortable."

Driving carefully to his apartment, he covers you with his jacket and watches your sleeping face in the passenger seat. At dawn, he carries you inside and places you gently on his bed before removing your shoes. As he tucks the blanket around you, your eyes flutter open. You grab his shoulders and pull him closer, your gaze fixed on his lips.

Every fiber of his being screams to kiss you, but he can't—would never take advantage of you like this. With infinite tenderness, he eases you back onto the pillows and smiles sadly.

"Sleep now, my darling star. Sweet dreams. I'll be right here."

Haruto sits on the floor beside the bed, holding your hand, and presses a feather-light kiss to your knuckles.