Alisa woke slowly, her consciousness drifting up from the deepest, most comfortable sleep she'd had in months.
She was warm. Safe. Wrapped in something that felt like security itself.
Then she became aware of several things simultaneously:
One: She was still in Sora's arms, his chest against her back, one arm draped over her waist.
Two: She was wearing his clothes, in his room, in his bed.
Three: The morning sunlight was streaming through the window, meaning it was no longer night, meaning this was real and had actually happened.
Four: She could feel his heartbeat against her shoulder blade, steady and strong.
Her face immediately burned crimson.
Oh god. Oh god oh god oh god. I slept in his arms. All night. We fell asleep holding each other. What was I thinking? What do I do? How do I—
In Russian, barely a whisper: "Я должна умереть от смущения. Тысячу раз. Как это произошло? Как я позволила этому случиться?" (I should die of embarrassment. A thousand times. How did this happen? How did I let this happen?)
She should move. She should get up. She should put distance between them before he woke up and made this even more awkward.
But she didn't move.
Because despite the embarrassment, despite the confusion, despite everything—this felt right. His arms around her felt right. The warmth of his body felt right. The way they fit together felt right.
She risked a glance over her shoulder. Sora was still deeply asleep, his face peaceful, his breathing even. His hair was messy, falling across his forehead. His expression was completely relaxed, vulnerable in a way he never was when awake.
He looked... beautiful.
No. Not beautiful. Boys aren't beautiful. Handsome? Cute? Whatever. Stop staring at him.
But she couldn't stop staring.
And then, emboldened by the alcohol still faintly in her system, by the intimacy of the situation, by a curiosity she'd been suppressing for weeks—she made a decision.
He's asleep. He won't know. Just... just once. Just to satisfy my curiosity.
Slowly, carefully, Alisa shifted in his embrace. His arm was still around her waist, but loose enough that she could move slightly.
Her hand, trembling, moved to the hem of his shirt.
This is insane. This is inappropriate. This is—
Her fingers slipped under the fabric.
The first touch of his skin made her breath catch. He was warm, his skin smooth over firm muscle.
She'd known he was athletic—you couldn't watch someone play basketball at his level without understanding they were in incredible shape. But knowing and feeling were very different things.
Her palm moved slowly upward, exploring. His abs weren't the exaggerated six-pack of bodybuilders just yet, but they were defined, firm, the result of countless hours of training. She could feel them tense slightly under her touch even in sleep.
He's so... solid. Strong. I never realized...
Her hand moved higher, to his chest. She could feel his heartbeat under her palm, strong and steady. Could feel the rise and fall of his breathing.
In Russian, breathless: "Это безумие. Но я не могу остановиться..." (This is crazy. But I can't stop...)
She was so focused on the sensation, on the feel of him, that she didn't notice when his breathing changed slightly.
Her curiosity growing bolder, her face burning with embarrassment but unable to stop herself, Alisa's eyes drifted downward.
Should I...? No. That's too far. But maybe just a look...
She shifted her gaze lower, to where the blanket had fallen away slightly—
"A goddess...?"
The sleepy, groggy voice made Alisa freeze completely.
She looked up to find Sora's eyes half-open, unfocused, still clearly half-asleep. He was looking at her with a dreamy, confused expression.
"Kurumatani-kun, I—"
But before she could finish, before she could pull her hand away, before she could explain or apologize or die of embarrassment—
Sora's arms tightened around her, pulling her fully into his embrace.
"Goddess," he mumbled again, his voice thick with sleep. "Pretty goddess in my room..."
He buried his face in her silver hair, holding her close against his chest.
Alisa's heart was threatening to beat out of her chest. Her hand was still trapped under his shirt, pressed against his abs, her entire body now flush against his.
"K-Kurumatani-kun," she managed, her voice strangled. "You need to—"
"Warm," he murmured, still clearly not fully awake. "Soft. Smells good..."
His grip tightened possessively, one hand moving to cradle the back of her head, the other around her waist, holding her like something precious.
In Russian, panicked: "Он все еще спит. Он не знает, что делает. Но почему это так хорошо? Почему я не хочу, чтобы он отпустил меня?" (He's still asleep. He doesn't know what he's doing. But why does this feel so good? Why don't I want him to let go?)
"Kurumatani-kun," she tried again, her face pressed against his chest now, her voice muffled. "Wake up!"
"Mm... five more minutes..." he mumbled, his arms not loosening at all. "Dream is too good..."
"This isn't a dream!"
"Best dream ever," he contradicted sleepily, nuzzling against her hair. "Goddess stayed. Didn't leave."
Despite everything—the embarrassment, the awkwardness, the absolute insanity of the situation—Alisa felt her heart melt slightly.
He thinks I'm a goddess. Even half-asleep, he called me a goddess.
She could feel his heartbeat against her cheek, steady and strong. Could feel the warmth of his body surrounding her. Could feel his breath in her hair.
And she realized, with startling clarity, that she didn't want this to end.
I'm in so much trouble, she thought. I've fallen completely for this oblivious idiot.
"Kurumatani-kun," she said softly, giving up on escape. "You really need to wake up."
"Mm... why? Goddess is here. Everything's perfect."
"Because your grandmother is probably going to come check on us soon."
That penetrated his sleep-fogged brain enough to make him stir slightly.
"Grandma...?" His eyes opened a bit more, starting to focus. "Wait. Kujou-san?"
"Yes."
"You're... you're really here? In my arms?" He seemed to be processing this slowly.
"Yes."
"And you stayed all night?"
"...yes."
His arms loosened slightly, enough that she could pull back to look at his face. His eyes were clearer now, awareness returning, and with it, the realization of their position.
His face turned bright red.
"I— we— did we—?" he stammered.
"We fell asleep," Alisa said, her own face burning. "You said you wanted to hold me. Then you immediately fell asleep."
"I fell asleep?!" Sora looked mortified. "But I wanted to— I mean, we were— and I just—"
"Fell asleep. Like a light. Instantly."
In Russian, amused despite herself: "Самый невинный, романтический момент, разрушенный тем, что он заснул. Только он мог сделать это." (The most romantic moment, ruined by him falling asleep. Only he could do this.)
"What did you say?" Sora asked.
"I said you're an idiot," Alisa translated, though that wasn't quite what she'd said.
"I'm sorry! I didn't mean to fall asleep! I wanted to—" He cut himself off, seemingly realizing he didn't know how to finish that sentence.
They stared at each other, both blushing furiously, both acutely aware that they were still tangled together on his futon, her hand still under his shirt against his abs.
"Kujou-san," Sora said quietly, his voice serious now. "Your hand is—"
"I KNOW!" Alisa yanked her hand away as if burned. "I was just— you were asleep and I was curious and—"
"Curious?" Sora's eyes widened.
"About your physical conditioning! For basketball! Purely academic interest!" The lies tumbled out desperately.
"Oh." Sora looked oddly disappointed. "Academic."
"Yes. Academic. What else would it be?"
They continued staring at each other, the tension thick enough to cut.
Then, from downstairs: "SORA! KUJOU-SAN! BREAKFAST IS READY! I HOPE YOU TWO SLEPT WELL!"
Yone's voice was full of knowing amusement.
Both of them scrambled apart as if electrocuted.
"We should— I should—" Alisa gestured helplessly at herself, still wearing his clothes.
"Your uniform should be dry now," Sora managed. "I'll go downstairs and—"
"Yes. Good. I'll change and—"
"Right. Breakfast. We should—"
"Definitely."
Neither of them moved.
In Russian, so quietly: "Я не хочу, чтобы этот момент закончился. Даже если это смущает. Даже если это безумие." (I don't want this moment to end. Even though it's embarrassing. Even though it's crazy.)
"Kujou-san," Sora said softly. "Last night... and this morning... I know it was probably just the situation, and the storm, and we fell asleep by accident, but—"
"But?"
"I'm glad you stayed."
Alisa's heart skipped. "I'm... glad too."
They shared one more long look, both of them acutely aware that something had shifted between them, that there was no going back to simply being deskmates or tutor and student.
Then Sora stood up, offering his hand to help her up.
When their fingers touched, both felt that same electric connection from the night before.
"I'll see you downstairs," Sora said, reluctantly releasing her hand.
After he left, Alisa collapsed back onto the futon, her heart racing.
In Russian, to herself: "Что я делаю? Я влюбилась в него. Полностью, безнадежно влюбилась. И я не знаю, что делать с этими чувствами..." (What am I doing? I've fallen for him. Completely, hopelessly fallen. And I don't know what to do with these feelings...)
But as she changed back into her uniform, as she prepared to face his grandmother's knowing smiles and teasing, she couldn't stop herself from smiling.
Because she remembered the feel of his arms around her. The sound of his sleepy voice calling her a goddess. The warmth of his embrace.
And she knew, with absolute certainty, that she wanted more mornings like this.
-----
Meanwhile - Training Camp Gymnasium, 6:30 AM
The rest of the team was already awake and stretching for morning practice when Kenji noticed something.
"Where are Nabe and Chucky?" he asked.
Yasuhara looked around, then checked the gym floor where they'd all slept. "Their stuff is gone."
"Gone?" Momoharu checked as well. "Their bags, their futons—everything's gone."
Chiaki, who'd been doing half-hearted stretches, stood up with a serious expression. "They left."
"What do you mean they left?" Kenji demanded.
"After last night's argument," Chiaki said, his usual lazy demeanor completely absent, "they probably decided they'd had enough."
----
Flashback - Previous Night, Boys' Locker Room
After Sora had left for his tutoring session, Kenji had entered the locker room to find Chiaki, Nabe, and Chucky playing video games on Yasuhara's console.
"What are you doing?" Kenji asked, his tone sharp. "Nao specifically instructed us to do individual training during our free time."
"It's called leisure time for a reason," Chucky responded without looking up from the screen. "Everyone's entitled to do what they want."
"Not when we have Inter-High Preliminaries in less than a month," Kenji said coldly. "Your non-serious behavior is dragging the team down."
Chiaki's hands tightened on his controller, but he said nothing.
"That's not fair!" Nabe protested. "We've been practicing hard all day! Our feet hurt from all those shuttle runs! We're just taking a break!"
"Yasuhara's feet hurt too," Kenji pointed out. "But he's out there doing additional dribbling work with Sora instead of playing games."
"Natsume," Chiaki's voice was low, warning. "Drop it."
"Why should I drop the truth? Out of the three beginners, only Yasuhara is taking this seriously. The rest of you are just—"
"ENOUGH!" Chiaki stood up, his expression furious. "You don't get to judge how seriously people take this!"
Sora and Yasuhara had arrived just then, drawn by the raised voices.
"What's going on?" Sora asked.
"Natsume thinks we're not serious enough," Chucky said bitterly.
"I didn't say anything that wasn't true," Kenji said flatly. "We aim to reach Inter-High. Anyone not willing to give everything is holding us back."
"Kenji," Sora started, but Chiaki cut him off.
"You want to know what's true, Natsume?" Chiaki's voice was cold. "Reaching Inter-High doesn't mean the same thing to everybody. For you, it's about proving yourself. For Sora, it's about a promise to his mother. But for Nabe and Chucky? They just started playing basketball. They're at a place where they're finding it fun and interesting."
He stepped closer to Kenji, his height advantage evident.
"You're too self-aware. Too focused on the goal. You forget what it's like to just enjoy the game. And I'm telling you now—if I ever see you treating my teammates like they're dragging you down again, we're going to have a serious problem."
"Chiaki-senpai—" Nabe started.
"I can understand where Nabe and Chucky are coming from," Chiaki continued, "because I was there once. Discouraged. Ready to quit. Thinking basketball wasn't for me. So never—and I mean NEVER—tell someone they're dragging you down. Not on my team."
The silence that followed was heavy.
Nao had appeared in the doorway, witnessed the tail end of the argument, but said nothing before leaving.
----
Present
"So they just left?" Yasuhara asked, his voice small. "Because of what Kenji said?"
"They left because they felt unwelcome," Chiaki said. "Because someone made them feel like burdens instead of teammates."
Kenji's jaw clenched. "I was stating facts."
"You were being an ass," Momoharu said bluntly. "Chiaki's right. Not everyone has your obsessive drive, Kenji. Some people just want to play basketball and have fun."
"And if we don't reach Inter-High because they're not good enough—"
"Then we don't reach it," Chiaki interrupted. "But we do it as a team, or not at all."
Kenji turned away, his fists clenched.
At that moment, Sora arrived, looking slightly disheveled and distracted.
"Sorry I'm late! I stayed at my grandmother's place last night because of the storm and—" He stopped, noticing the tension. "What's wrong?"
"Nabe and Chucky left," Yasuhara explained quietly. "After last night's fight."
Sora's expression shifted immediately. "We need to go find them."
"They left on their own," Kenji said. "Anyone who lacks true passion for basketball won't get better no matter how much they practice."
"That's not true," Sora said firmly. "Passion can grow. It takes time. I remember what Chiaki-senpai said last night—Nabe and Chucky are at a place where they're finding basketball interesting. We can't give up on them just because they're not as obsessed as we are."
He looked at each of his teammates.
"I'm going to find them. I'm going to bring them back. Anyone who wants to help is welcome. But I'm not giving up on them."
Chiaki smiled slightly. "I'll help look."
"Me too," Yasuhara said immediately.
Momoharu nodded. "Count me in."
Everyone looked at Kenji.
He stood silent for a long moment, then: "Do what you want. I'm staying here to train."
As the others prepared to search, Chiaki walked past Kenji.
"You're talented, Natsume," he said quietly. "But talent without empathy makes you a solo player, not a teammate. Think about that."
-----
Meanwhile - Kawasaki Streets,
Nabe and Chucky walked through the morning streets, feeling liberated.
"This is great!" Chucky said, stretching. "No more brutal training! No more shuttle runs! No more being told we're not good enough!"
"Right?" Nabe agreed. "We've been doing nothing but basketball for days. This feels like an actual vacation!"
They passed by an arcade, and their eyes lit up.
"Want to spend the day here?" Chucky suggested.
"Definitely!"
Several hours later, as they were leaving the arcade, they heard shouting.
A group of middle school kids were arguing with some elementary school children near an outdoor basketball court.
"You lost fair and square!" one of the middle schoolers was saying. "The court is ours for the day!"
"But we were here first!" one of the elementary kids protested.
Chucky, his sense of justice activated, walked over. "Hey! Why are you bullying little kids?"
The middle schooler—a tall kid who looked about 14—turned to face him. "We're not bullying anyone. They challenged us to a wager game. If they win, they get the court. If we win, we get it. They lost."
"A wager game? That's not fair when you're obviously better!"
"It was their idea," the middle schooler shrugged. "There's only one court in this area. Wager games are how we decide who uses it."
Nabe stepped forward. "That's a terrible system."
"You got a better idea?"
"Yeah. My friend and I will play you. If we win, the kids get the court."
The middle schooler looked them up and down. "You any good?"
"We're on a high school basketball team," Chucky said proudly.
"Then let's play."
-----
Thirty Minutes Later
Nabe and Chucky were getting destroyed.
The final score: 21-7.
They sat on the ground, completely demoralized, as the middle school kids prepared to leave.
"You guys said you were on a high school team?" the tall kid asked skeptically.
"We are!" Chucky insisted.
"Then your team must be terrible." The kid wasn't trying to be mean—just stating facts. "We've been playing since first grade. We practice every day. We plan to go to a basketball high school and keep improving."
He looked at them seriously.
"Don't underestimate basketball. It's not something you can just pick up and be good at. It takes years of work."
After they left, Nabe and Chucky sat in silence.
"We're that bad?" Nabe asked quietly.
"We lost to middle schoolers," Chucky said. "We couldn't even make it competitive."
"Maybe... maybe Kenji was right. Maybe we are dragging the team down."