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It is a cold December night when he curls up on the bed beside his beloved, muscle and body completely at rest in his off-season days.
The breeze slips in through tiny gap of the window as he stirs awake, eyes still heavy with sleep. He shudders because it is cold, so very cold, where’s the damn blanket?
He blinks one eye open, squinting with the sole help of moonlight, hands roaming the bedsheet in hope of finding the blanket. His fingers brush the edge of the fabric. He cheers inwardly, then he tugs.
It won’t budge.
He tugs again. Twice, just to make sure. The blanket shifts away, widening the gap between the fabric and his fingers. He blinks both of his eyes open and sees.
One of many things he learns about Shinsuke, the expected and the unexpected—from the way he drinks his tea in the morning to his preferred pajamas to wear on nights he wants things to progress quickly—is that he gets cold easily.
And he hogs blankets. All of them.
Not that Atsumu minds, when most of the little time he can spend with Shinsuke he prefers to cling to him—sometimes bare chest pressing against warm back, his hands secure around Shinsuke’s waist, legs tangling with one another. Another time with his ear against Shinsuke’s chest, drifting to sleep with steady thump-thump-thump of his heartbeats, Shinsuke’s arms caging him in a loose hug.
But not this time, when the weather’s frigid and Shinsuke’s so far away from him, inching towards the edge of the bed, curling in on himself wrapped in blankets. Atsumu should be envious that he looks so, so very warm, and he laments the fondness coursing through his system instead.
Oh, oh no. I’m not going to die young from hypothermia in my own bedroom. ‘Samu won’t let me hear the end of it.
“Shin, ‘m cold,” his fingers chase the soft material and give it a tug again. “Shin, share th’ blanket.” He hears a muffled ‘Mmm’ from Shinsuke’s direction, the lump shifts until his body angled towards him again. Tufts of grey hair are visible from top of the opening, seemingly soft to the touch. He wriggles his way to him, chasing warmth. “Shin, ‘s cold, come ‘ere.”
“No, ‘Tsumu no,” he mumbles. “Go ‘way.”
It is probably his zero sense of self-preservation and non-existent survival skill that makes him think Shinsuke is cute like this— on their bed wrapped around a blanket, sleep softens his body.
“Shinsuke,” he whines, “I’m cold. If ya don’t wanna share the blanket I’m gonna die.” He nuzzles the crown of Shinsuke’s head. Melon with a hint of mint. It’s a nice smell on him. “And you’ll ‘ve to bury me, and answer all of ‘Samu’s questions.”
Shinsuke shifts once more, pushing his head out of the warm confine of the blanket and peering at him with sleepy eyes. “No. Don’t wanna,” he unwraps himself and beckons Atsumu to come closer, “count me out of yer thing with Osamu.”
“Yeah, no,” Atsumu grins, burying his face at the crook his shoulder when he feels Shinsuke hands pull him in under the blanket. Warm at last.
But not enough. The tips of his fingers are still freezing, his legs are still searching for the warmest part of the bed.
“Shinsuke, ‘m still cold,” he says, breathing in the smell of his skin. “Make me warm. This ‘s yer fault, after all.”
“I’m hugging you,” he feels arms around him hugging him tighter, palms splayed on the span of his back, rubbing up and down. He can’t help but shiver a little. “How come you still feel cold?”
“Says the one who’s been under the blanket for god knows how long.” Shinsuke’s neck is so warm, and his breath dampens the skin a little. It gives him an idea. “I know the fastest way to make me warm.” Without seeing his face, Atsumu knows Shinsuke must lift his eyebrows a little, waiting for an answer. He smiles.
“It is said that skin-to-skin contact is the fastest way to return body temperature to normal,” he lifts his eyes, glancing at Shinsuke, mouth curls in a cheeky smile. “So, shall we?”
He bops him on the head. Atsumu yelps and squeaks out, “ow! why did you do that? It’s science, Shin!”
The look Shinsuke gives him should not be possible coming from someone who just woken up. “We will be late tomorrow,” he squints at the clock on the bedside table, “no, this morning to yer brother’s place if we attempt that now.”
That answer stuns Atsumu a bit, so he lifts himself as to be face-to-face with Shinsuke, and is that a blush he’s seeing?
This man’s going to be the death of him one day.
He groans, pulling Shinsuke in an embrace. How come his life has come to this? This man beside him—soft but steely strong, a warm and safe presence—how come he deserve it all?
“Atsumu? Are you still cold?” Shinsuke returns his embrace, hands patting his back. “No, no ‘m not,” he shifts backward and looks at Shinsuke. “I’m good now, thanks to ya. Let’s go to sleep before I change my mind.”
He pulls him close once more, their bodies meet like two pieces of puzzle that fit each other, every nook and cranny. He sighs, Shinsuke’s breath warm against his neck. He noses his hair again. Melon with a hint of mint.
It smells like home.