Empty cans littered the coffee table. A mess of snack wrappers. Several members of Class 1-A were sprawled across the sofas, some dozing, others still nursing their drinks with the hazy glow of tipsiness settling over the room like a blanket.

But you weren't sleeping.

Shinsou Hitoshi sat a few feet away, cross-legged, a half-empty glass of water in his hand. His eyes kept drifting to you. Studying the way your shoulders curled inward. The way your gaze fell to the carpet.