Maruki’s eyes followed the boy’s line of sight, landing on the board. Maruki Akira. The name hit him like a freight train, but the nickname scrawled beside it was worse: Morning. His breath hitched, and for a moment, the room spun.

Morning... No, this has to be a dream, he thought desperately, a shaky laugh bubbling up as he gripped the desk for balance. Forcing his gaze back to the boy’s bright, eager smile, Maruki swallowed hard. “That’s...my name alongside yours alright,” he managed, his voice unsteady. If this is a dream, why does it hurt so much?

A small, broken laugh escaped him, unbidden. He clamped his hand over his mouth to stifle it, his mind racing. What next? Rumi walks through that door and tells me she’s been waiting for breakfast?

"...God how much did I drink last night-?" he asks himself.