His eyes would shoot right through mine. Sharp and honey-like, they'd made my pulse multiply. The melodic tune of his voice would make my ears dance.
"Misa," he'd call out my name.
"Yes, dear?" I'd shoot up from the warm engulfment of his arms around me.
"Move over, you're suffocating me," his statement dry and deadpan.
I'd scoot over and lay back down, although I'd still be facing him. At that point, I wouldn't be sure if I was awake or in a dream; some sort of fantasy. His eyes would be closed shut and his chest would rise, subtly lower itself and rise once again as he took short breaths. His hands, as delicate as they were, would be just inches away from me under our chestnut-coloured quilt. I'd stay as mute as a mouse, so as not to vex his peaceful sleep. His velvety hair would be messy, yet somehow perfectly in place. The way he would sleep reflected his personality in some ways; he would cover his entire body with the warm blanket, with not a single part of him in sight other than his head. Light didn't like balance, and I knew that very well. A warm, dozy smile would creep its way into his dream.
"Mother, your soup tastes great," he'd mumble.
I'd quietly giggle and slyly entwine my small fingers with his masculine ones. The warmth emitted from his body would be enough for me to slowly drift into a light sleep, and the ticklish feeling of his breath on my neck would somehow find its way into my ataractic nightmare.