Abe had a good internal clock, so his eyes were fluttering open at 5:30 AM, like they always did, about a half hour before Mihashi would have to get up to start his day. And also like always, Mihashi was in some ridiculous position across the bed, all limbs tangled in sheets (when they were still on the bed at all,) mouth hanging open and the fingers of his right hand interlaced with Abe’s. Awkward as he looked, still looked after all these years, Mihashi was still beautiful- strong arms from pitching, and skin light despite the long days he spent under the sun in the middle of the infield. Abe always had the same problem now – when he started watching Mihashi, really looking at him as he always did at the start of the day, for a brief moment of stillness he wouldn’t see again until they settled down for bed at some ungodly hour – he wanted to touch him. He wanted to run his hands over Mihashi’s skin, hug him breathless and kiss him silly. But every minute of sleep his boyfriend could get was precious, was vital to his health and performance, and he needed to keep his hands off.
And he could. He always did, because the day wasn’t so long, and there was a reason they didn’t go to sleep until some ungodly hour, after all.