The initial sensation I felt upon waking was warmth. Not only the warmth from the plush, opulent comforter but also from the individual next to me. Camille remained there, curled up against her pillow, breathing gently. Her hair, typically arranged in flawless waves or smoothly pulled back with ease, was a chaotic tangle over the sheets. A soft whisper slipped from her mouth as she clenched the pillow more firmly, her forehead fluttering as if she was dreaming.
I thought about waking her for a brief moment but chose not to. It was apparent that Camille wasn't particularly a morning person and she deserves some rest from time to time.
Ridding myself of the persistent sleepiness, I sat upright and extended my limbs. The unusual dimensions of the bedroom continued to surprise me. Everything around was streamlined, refined, and crafted for optimal comfort. I doubted that I would ever adapt to it.
I heard a slight rustle of activity coming from the kitchen. it was Sienna, obviously.
I slowly got out of bed, gave Camille one final look, and walked out of the room. The main living space, where the hardwood floors were bathed in golden morning sunlight, was accessible from the hallway. The hum of appliances already filled the kitchen.
I saw Sienna standing over the stove with her auburn hair pulled back into a loose bun. She was flipping what seemed to be protein pancakes. She wore an oversized sweatshirt with its sleeves stretched to her elbows. Despite this, her muscles were visibly defined and the air smelled of something buttery and coffee.
"Morning," I said, running a hand through my hair.
She turned, eyes lighting up. "Hey, Rey. Sleep okay?"
"Yeah. Bed's too comfortable." I sat at the kitchen island, watching her work. "You're up earlier than usual."
She shrugged, flipping a pancake. "Further commute now. Construction site's across town, so I have to drive instead of walking. Figured I'd get a head start."
"Ah. Makes sense." I accepted the mug of coffee she slid toward me, taking a sip. It was strong, slightly bitter — just how I liked it. "Where's Camille's breakfast?"
Sienna snorted. "Camille? Awake before nine? Good luck with that."
I blinked. "Wait...what?"
She smiled, amused. "She's a night owl, Rey. Always has been. Usually sleeps until noon if no one's bothering her."
That...didn't track with the image I had of Camille. The confident, sharp-tongued designer who always seemed two steps ahead of me didn't strike me as someone who'd waste half the day asleep.
Huh. I guess even Camille isn't perfect though I found it more adorable than anything.
We ate together in comfortable silence. Sienna finished first, rinsing her plate and drying her hands. Then she disappeared down the hall to grab her work gear. I stayed behind, sipping my coffee and scrolling through the morning headlines on the apartment's holo-screen. The city's still abuzz about Cipher's takedown, though the official reports remained vague on who Mr. Dust was. Good. I preferred it that way.
Sienna reappeared, now dressed in her sleek work uniform: reinforced pants, durable gloves clipped to her belt, and her ID badge displayed prominently. She stopped by the door and shot me a smile.
"Yeah." I stood, walking over to her. "Be careful out there."
We kissed goodbye — soft and familiar — before she opened the door and left. The apartment felt noticeably emptier without her. I locked the door with a quiet beep and turned back toward the living room.
Camille still hadn't emerged.
I grabbed my phone from the kitchen counter and sat down on the couch before opening my system. The oversized screen lit up at my touch, and I navigated to the database for S-Rank records. My motion sickness hadn't disappeared, and my senses had been overloading more often lately. If this was tied to my newfound S-Rank status, I needed to figure out why.
I input a few keywords: S-Rank individuals, sensory overload, loss of control.
The results loaded instantly.
The first article detailed historical anomalies: Albert Einstein, Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, Leonardo da Vinci. All geniuses, sure, but more importantly, they'd struggled with heightened cognitive functions. Einstein reportedly complained of "thoughts racing beyond comprehension." Mozart often heard music even when no instruments were playing.
A few modern S-Ranks faced similar issues. One woman, a programmer named Kira Talenko, described her condition as "too many windows open in my mind at once." Her coping methods included everything from noise-canceling devices to...excessive alcohol consumption.
I scrolled further. One solution stood out: Meditation.
Studies showed that structured mindfulness slowed the mental acceleration. Another pattern emerged: S-Rank individuals who started quitting their high-demanding job often experienced less deterioration. The less strain on their minds, the better it got.
That tracked with me. Detective work pushed my senses into overdrive. Construction and Firefighting was more physical, less mentally draining. On the other hand, I assumed astronaut work involved long stretches of routine followed by bursts of precision. So, during my next job, I was guessing my mind would calm down naturally.
I closed the system and sat cross-legged on the living room's carpet before closing my eyes. I hadn't ever done breathing exercises, but the instructions were rather simple to follow: Inhale for five counts. Hold for three. Exhale for seven.
The minutes blurred. My mind still raced, but eventually, the noise softened. Thoughts moved slower. The overwhelming input of the world — distant car horns, the faint hum of electronics, even the rhythmic thrum of Camille's breathing down the hall — all faded into the background.
When I opened my eyes again, the smart clock on the wall read 10:04 a.m.
And Camille....was still sleeping in the bedroom.
I started walking towards the bedroom door while getting up from the floor. It opened with a soothing whisper of hydraulics, just for me to see the exact same thing as what I woke up to: Camille was sprawled on the bed while hugging her pillow with both arms. Her lips were still moving faintly as she muttered to herself.
I stepped closer, straining to hear.
"...Rey...stop running...idiot..."
I smirked. "You know I can hear you, right?"
Her eyes cracked open, hazy and unfocused. "Mmgh..."
"...So?" Her voice was rough with sleep, and her grip on the pillow didn't loosen.
"Ten a.m.," I repeated. "You're still in bed."
"Yeah. Early," she mumbled, eyes drooping shut again.
"Early? What time do you normally get up?"
"...eleven...noon...ish."
I blinked. "You're telling me that Miss Sophisticated Fashion Designer is actually a lazy, sleep-loving sloth?"
She groaned and turned away from me, dragging the pillow with her. "Don't judge me. Mornings are evil."
I laughed, the sound echoing off the walls. "I can't believe this. You had me fooled with the whole 'mysterious, polished designer' act."
"That's 'cause you're dumb and fell for it." She peeked at me through one half-lidded eye. "Now let me sleep."
"Not happening," I said. I sat on the edge of the bed and poked her arm. "You're officially moved in now. Welcome to the household schedule."
"Rey, if you don't leave me alone, I'm gonna design you the ugliest mask imaginable."
"That won't be possible! My facial structure is far to perfect."
That got a snort from her, muffled by the pillow.
I stood and crossed my arms. "Come on, Camille. It's past ten. Time to contribute to society."
I grinned. "Don't challenge me."
She gave me a thumbs-up without looking. "Do your worst."
I leaned down, slid one arm beneath her knees and the other under her shoulders, and lifted her in one smooth motion. She let out a startled yelp, legs kicking slightly.
"You said to drag you out."
"I didn't mean literally!" Her objections were at most half-hearted, but she writhed. Her hair tickled my neck as her head lolled against my shoulder.
I teased, "You're lighter than I expected," as Camille clung to me like a slumbering koala and I adjusted her in my arms.
Her hair continued to tickle my neck as her head get moving against my shoulder. "M'not light," she muttered in a sleep-heavy voice. "You're just...weirdly strong."
"Perks of having too many jobs," I said, starting toward her office. "And not skipping arm day."
She gave a sleepy snort. "Arm day? Rey, you're a firefighter and a construction worker. Every day is arm day for you."
I chuckled, adjusting her weight in my arms. "True. Still, you're lighter than I thought you'd be."
She grumbled something incoherent into my shoulder, then shifted slightly, her fingers curling into the fabric of my shirt.
"Take me to my office."
I arched an eyebrow, though she couldn't see it. "Your office? Why?"
Her grip tightened as she buried her face against my neck, voice low and drowsy. "To make your next mask."
I blinked. "You're half-asleep."
I smiled a little and shook my head. Naturally. Camille, although half-conscious, was making plans.
With an "Alright, boss," I adjusted my grip and made my way to the corridor. "Let's make some magic."
She relaxed against me, her breath warm on my skin, and her only reaction was a quiet hum of satisfaction.
And the day was underway in an instant.