Work Text:
The sunlight slipped through thin white curtains, casting lazy patterns across the rumpled bed where Atsumu sprawled, still blissfully asleep. The soft hum of the morning blended with the clinking of dishes and the sizzling of something delicious wafting from the kitchen.
Osamu leaned against the doorframe, bare-chested and tousle-haired, eyes softening as he watched his twin sleep. It wasn’t often they both had a day off—much less one they could spend in their shared apartment, away from the prying eyes of the world.
The plates in Osamu's hands were a testament to his quiet affection; perfectly golden toast, scrambled eggs just the way Atsumu liked, and a small dish of sliced fruit. He set the tray carefully on the bedside table, then lowered himself onto the bed, leaning over Atsumu.
“Wake up, sleepyhead,” he murmured, voice low and warm. He placed a featherlight kiss on Atsumu’s forehead, trailing down to his temple, nose, and finally, the corner of his mouth.
Atsumu stirred, lashes fluttering before hazy brown eyes blinked up at him, a slow, lazy grin spreading across his face. “Mornin’,” he mumbled, voice thick with sleep.
Osamu chuckled, the sound rumbling deep in his chest. “Mornin’,” he echoed. He brushed a few strands of hair from Atsumu’s eyes. “Figured ya deserved breakfast in bed.”
Atsumu's eyes sparkled with a mix of mischief and adoration. “Ya sure this isn’t just an excuse to show off, Sammy?” His gaze flicked appreciatively over Osamu's bare torso, tracing the familiar lines and curves.
Osamu rolled his eyes, though the corners of his mouth twitched upwards. “Shut up and eat before it gets cold.” He shifted, reaching for the tray, and set it carefully on Atsumu’s lap.
The aroma hit Atsumu instantly, and he hummed in appreciation. “Ya spoil me,” he muttered around a mouthful of toast.
Osamu only smiled, settling beside him with a contented sigh, their shoulders pressed together, skin warm where it touched. “Someone’s gotta make sure ya eat something other than instant noodles.”
They fell into an easy rhythm—shared bites, murmured jokes, the kind of soft laughter that came only when the world outside didn’t matter. Their hands found each other often—brushing, lingering, intertwined under the covers.
Atsumu finished the last of his breakfast, leaning back with a satisfied groan. “Think I could get used to this,” he said, voice lazy and content.
Osamu smirked, leaning over to steal a strawberry from the plate. “Good. Was kinda hopin’ ya would.” His voice softened, the teasing edge giving way to something more vulnerable, more honest. “Think I could get used to it too.”
Atsumu turned, eyes searching Osamu's face, finding nothing but sincerity in the familiar lines and gentle expression. “We don’t gotta keep hidin’ anymore,” he murmured. It was both a statement and a promise.
Osamu nodded, his hand coming up to cradle Atsumu’s cheek, thumb brushing lightly over his skin. “Yeah. I know angel.”
He leaned in, their lips meeting softly at first, then deeper, lingering—each kiss a quiet affirmation of all they were and all they were willing to be, together.
The plates and trays could wait. The world could wait.
For now, it was just the two of them, tangled in sheets and sunlight, wrapped in each other’s arms, and perfectly, blissfully content.