Work Text:
It’s a quiet night, special as they come. The hum of the heater and the snoring of three of the puppies in the room is like the perfect background noise to the moonlight streaming through the windows.
Tooru checks his phone and winces at the brightness of it. He takes a second to smile at the lock-screen background, taken a few years back when Tooru come back home to Japan. By a stroke of luck (or something of the sort) Iwa-chan had managed to come home too, just months away from his graduation. The two of them were crowded in the backseat of Miya’s car— Miya Osamu that is. His twin was in the backseat too, hands under Tooru’s shirt and his forehead against Tooru’s cheek while Iwa-chan held the phone. The photo itself is shaky, taken midlaugh after Tooru had said something or another that made the collective people in the small hand-me-down car cackle and groan. It’s not the kind of thing he’d post on his insta, far from it, but there’s something about the two idiots’ expressions in it that made it important enough to look at every second of the day.
The picture warms Tooru’s heart, and then the arms wrapped around him bring the temperature up high enough to melt the muscles pumping the blood through his veins.
“Mm... Shittykawa turn that off,” Iwa-chan mumbles. He buries his face deeper into Tooru’s neck, bites at the skin in a half-warning and presses a kiss to it right after.
It makes Tooru giggle, and they mumble a soft “mmkay,” before kissing Iwa’s forehead in retaliation and pulling him closer.
From behind Tooru a second pair of lips mouth at his jaw. “Me next,” a sleep-worn husky voice breathes out.
Tooru’s face softens even more, malleable in the hands of the people he loves as he turns his head to kiss his Atsu-kun better. It’s sloppy but the big setter sighs and tangles their legs with Tooru’s further like a puppy.
It’s soft and gentle, too-warm and a little sweaty. Every now and again one of them adjusts position and the other two complain, or a cat gets lonely and decides it wants to sleep directly in someone’s mouth, or god fucking forbid one of the idiots decides to let one rip. Yet through it all Tooru can only tangentially complain, cause when his sweethearts laugh against his hair and bully him into gentle submission, all he can do is lay there and let himself be loved. And it feels good, it feels right.
Tooru raises his phone and takes a photo, full-flash. It’s ugly. Iwa-chan nearly strangles him and Atsu-kun tickles him so he never attempts to disrupt their sleep again.
Tooru makes it his homescreen for the next five years.