July 18, Tuesday.
The cell phone on the nightstand rang. Aozawa slid his hand across, instinctively turning off the alarm without needing to open his eyes—a reaction that had become pure instinct.
He yawned and sat up in bed, the thin blanket sliding down to his thighs. Sunlight invaded the room through the glass sliding door on the side of the bedroom; without drawing the curtains, he could see the lush green courtyard outside. Aozawa rubbed his eyes, walked out of the bedroom, and headed straight to the washroom to run water and squeeze out toothpaste. He brushed his teeth while looking at his reflection in the mirror, clearly not fully awake yet.
Last night, he'd come home on time to sleep, but he'd just lain in bed thinking for a while. People always feel restless about things they haven't attained. I'm no exception.
