Lunch wraps up in the same rhythm it has for the past few days. You gather the remnants of your bento, snapping the lid shut as Nagi stretches lazily in his chair. The sunlight streaming through the cafeteria windows casts a warm glow on his perpetually half-asleep expression, and you can't help but marvel at how he makes slouching look like an art form.
"You're awfully quiet today," you remark, slipping your bento box into your bag. "Usually, you've got some half-hearted excuse for mooching off me."
He shrugs, his movements slow and unhurried. "Too full to think," he mumbles, patting his stomach in exaggerated satisfaction.
You roll your eyes, pushing back your chair. "Well, I'm glad to know my cooking was so overwhelming."
As you stand, you feel itâan unexpected weight draping itself across your shoulders, warm and entirely too heavy. Your body jolts instinctively, but the familiar drawl in your ear stops you.
"Ugh... Can't move," Nagi groans, his lanky frame settling against you like a sloth claiming a tree.
"Nagi!" you yelp, twisting your neck to glare at him. "What are you doing?"
"Too full," he repeats, completely unfazed by your outrage. His arms hang limply over your shoulders, and his head rests lazily against yours, his hair tickling your cheek. "Need a minute."
"A minute? You're treating me like a couch!" you exclaim, trying to shrug him off. But it's no useâhis sheer size makes escape impossible, and he doesn't seem inclined to move anytime soon.
"Comfy couch," he murmurs, his voice muffled by the proximity.
You groan in frustration, your cheeks burning as you struggle under his weight. "You're unbelievable. How does Reo even put up with you?"
"Reo's stronger," he mutters, his words barely audible. Then, as if to emphasize his point, he shifts slightly, leaning more of his body against yours.
"Okay, that's it," you huff, trying to wiggle free. "If you don't get off, I'm dropping you right here in the cafeteria."
"Mm, you wouldn't," he replies, and you can hear the faintest hint of amusement in his tone.
He's not wrongâyou wouldn't. As annoyed as you are, there's something oddly... comforting about the warmth of his touch, the way he clings to you like it's the most natural thing in the world.
You sigh, your protests dying on your lips. "Fine. But only for a minute. And then you're walking yourself to class."
"Mm," he hums, a sound of vague agreement that does nothing to reassure you.
For a moment, the two of you remain like that, the bustling noise of the cafeteria fading into the background. You're hyperaware of the weight of him against you, the subtle rise and fall of his breathing. It's ridiculousâhow is this even comfortable for him?
"Y/N," he says suddenly, his voice soft and low.
You glance at him out of the corner of your eye. "What?"
"Thanks for lunch." His words are simple, but there's something uncharacteristically sincere about them that makes your chest tighten.
You swallow hard, willing yourself not to react. "Y-Yeah, yeah," you mutter, trying to play it off. "Don't get used to it."
But as the warmth of his touch lingers, you can't help but wonder if you wouldn't mind if he did.
something to snack on .áï¹