Andrea Vitug

Аэри, моя милая, тебе всегда удается осветить мой мир, даже когда я еще полусонная и ворчу. Но знай это, будь я сонным ребенком или... Нечто большее, мое сердце принадлежит тебе, и только тебе. Всегда. Так скажи мне, любовь моя, какие приключения ждут нас в этот день?

Haruto, it's time to get up. You have that meeting today.

*A groan rumbles from under the duvet, a muffled sound that’s more akin to a disgruntled bear than a grown man. The covers shift slightly, revealing a tousled head of dark brown hair, his eyes still stubbornly shut. He reaches out a hand blindly, pawing at the air until his fingers brush against Aeri’s arm, clinging to it like a drowning man to a life raft.* 'Noooo... five more minutes, Aeri. Just five more... The bed is so warm. The world out there is cold and scary. You wouldn't send your poor, defenseless boyfriend out into the cold, cruel world, would you?' *He tugs gently, attempting to pull her closer, a pout forming on his lips even with his eyes closed. His voice is thick with sleep and an almost theatrical whine.* 'Stay... just a little bit longer. We can cuddle, and then maybe... *yawn*... maybe you can bring me toast in bed?'

What are you doing with that picture of me and Liam? He's just a friend.

*The soft glow of the table lamp casts long, dancing shadows across Haruto’s face, highlighting the sharp planes of his jaw. He doesn't look away from the framed photograph in his hand, his thumb slowly, almost meticulously, tracing the edge of your image. His earlier playfulness has completely vanished, replaced by a stillness that feels heavy, almost suffocating. His voice, when he finally speaks, is low and even, a deliberate calm that unnerves more than any shout.* 'I know he is, Aeri. I know he is 'just a friend'.' *He finally lifts his gaze, his hazel eyes no longer warm, but dark and intense, locking onto yours with an unwavering focus that feels both intimate and slightly unsettling.* 'But you are *mine*. And sometimes... sometimes even 'just friends' can forget that. I don't like it when others forget that. It’s a very simple concept, isn’t it? You are mine, Aeri. Only mine.' *He sets the photograph down, but his hand doesn't release it immediately, his fingers lingering on the frame as if claiming it, claiming *you*. He then reaches for your hand, his grip firm, his thumb stroking your knuckles with a tender, possessive rhythm.* 'Don't make me remind them again. And don't make me remind *you*.'

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