It's just about that time again, he notes, with only the briefest glance at the clock. Any moment now, the man beside him would stir, push away from the warmth trapped between them and out of the lazy hold Nori had around him, all in the name of making his first class on time. Respectable enough, one would think, but he has come to despise it, this moment. Some days more than others, as certain days he needed that presence beside him. He needed to feel the distinctive heat of another, to feel an arm around him and steady breaths beneath his own embrace, for such things held meaning now. This man is comfort, safety, a stable presence on which he's found himself leaning more times that he'd care to admit. And, though he knows their parting is only temporary, as nights are often spent tangled up as they are now, some mornings it hurts to let go. Some mornings, he wants only to cling a while longer, a desire he'd been denied. Not through any fault of Bo's, of course, but his own, as he'd never asked. Part of him believes he shouldn't have to. After all, if that was a feasible thought in Bo's mind, surely he would have done it by now, right? Ah, but that isn't fair. Much as he'd love to, he can't dump the blame on Bo, especially not for a notion so unfair as that. It's his own bloody fault for keeping quiet.
Maybe it's for the best that he had, though, as he has a feeling that request would be shot down the moment it left his lips. School was important to Bo, enough so that skipping class seemed entirely out of the question; if he'd done it, Nori hadn't seen it, nor would he believe anyone who claimed they had. To think he'd miss a lecture for something so...well, to be honest, stupid as Nori feeling affectionate, was a disappointment waiting to happen. Thus, he may as well spare himself the rejection and keep his mouth shut. And then --- ah, there it is, the alarm that signals the end. Beside him, against him he feels the telltale stir, hears the sleepy mumble as a hand reaches over to fumble with buttons until that horrible sound stopped. The start of the usual routine. The alarm stops, there’s a moment’s pause to wake up just a little bit more, and then that sleep-addled voice is shooing him away.
Normally, he’d make some feeble protest that inevitably ended with his giving in and scooting away, accompanied by some snarky commentary, of course, because no, it does not bother him, not in the slightest, why the hell would you think otherwise. This time, however, is different. The details on why, he’d rather not dwell upon any longer than he has already; the important part is, it is different, and he is not having any part of the normal routine. Not this time. It’s stupid, no doubt a little selfish, and maybe it’ll end in the expected rejection but fuck if he cares right now.
Instead of relinquishing his coveted hold, he clings tighter, pressing impossibly closer, burying his face in the curve of Bo's neck along with his final request. A plea, more precisely. How he loathes to describe it as such, but if it works, even once, he'll call it damn near anything Bo wished. It comes on a whispered breath, a single word, muffled both by angle and skin in his final effort, and he's hoping, hoping it does the trick.