[ it's just shy of four and the morning when he hears the cerevice chime, momentarily flash filament-bright by his bedside. eyelids bleary with sleep, he rolls over to the other side of the thin mattress, go grasping past house keys and various personal effects situated on his nightstand to flick open the screen. profiled against the amorphous dark, it's that much more strange, trying to decipher the sender's intent before realizing it's just a single word.
are?
makoto doesn't suspect that haru's just plodded all the way to the gym, motor control warped into motion by some rare instance of somnambulism, which is precisely why he digs a fist into one sleep-heavy socket and attempts mild coherence. ]
what's wrong? can't sleep?
[ he half-considers rolling out from underneath his pile of duvets and (unfeasibly) continuing the conversation in haru's room, but he remains tucked down beneath the sheets a while longer, awaiting a response. ]
text; replies 2 it anyways
are?
makoto doesn't suspect that haru's just plodded all the way to the gym, motor control warped into motion by some rare instance of somnambulism, which is precisely why he digs a fist into one sleep-heavy socket and attempts mild coherence. ]
what's wrong? can't sleep?
[ he half-considers rolling out from underneath his pile of duvets and (unfeasibly) continuing the conversation in haru's room, but he remains tucked down beneath the sheets a while longer, awaiting a response. ]