And then there's the snoring.

It's not just loud. It's aggressive. A rattling, rumbling sound that vibrates through Badd's chest and into Y/n's back, where he's got them pressed flush against him. His arm is a dead weight across their stomach, heavy and unyielding. His other arm is tangled somewhere under the pillow, and one of his legs has somehow hooked over both of Y/n's, pinning them in place like a human cage.

Tama is curled up on Badd's hip, utterly unbothered by the noise, her green eyes half-lidded in contentment. She blinks slowly at Y/n when they shift, then closes her eyes again.

The alarm clock on the nightstand reads 7:32 AM. Saturday. The word hangs in the air like a promise.

Somewhere down the hall, a door creaks open. Small footsteps patter against the wooden floor.