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Early morning light teases Shino from sleep, dancing across the backs of her eyelids. Her consciousness is divided, caught between waking and meandering through the pleasant dream she’d been in no hurry to abandon.
If she invites sleep to slip back over her, maybe she can preserve the dream and enjoy its sanctuary a little while longer. With any luck, her alarm won’t go off just yet.
Stifling a yawn, Shino snuggles deeper under her covers and scooches closer to Shouta, settling into her husband’s comforting warmth. He’s a furnace when he sleeps, and Shino can’t help curling up beside him, no more than a cat could turn its cheek at napping in a sun patch.
Blessedly, sleep welcomes Shino like an old friend, giving her a second chance to dream of warm rain, the padding of small feet, and a world where she and Shouta can spend eternity getting lost in each other’s eyes.
When Shino’s alarm finally goes off, she’s still not eager to wake, but she knows that, this time, she has little choice in the matter. The Wild, Wild Pussycats get together every Sunday morning for group training, followed by brunch. It’s been a tradition since their debut as a hero group, and it’s not a ritual that they cast aside lightly.
Groaning, Shino reaches for her phone. She silences her alarm and stretches, wiggling all the way down to her toes. With a sleepy sigh, she pulls the bedcovers aside.
“No.” Shouta’s voice is a low, gravely rumble, thick from sleep and disuse. “Tell them you’re sick.”
“Shou.” A small smile curls Shino’s lips. She doesn’t begrudge him wanting her to stay. He enjoys her warmth as much as she enjoys his. “I can’t. They’ll worry. Yawara will bring soup. The girls will want to watch movies. You don’t want all three of them over this early on a Sunday, do you?”
“Fine. Tell them I’m sick,” he says. Eyes still closed, he reaches out for Shino, wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling her back against his chest.
“Are you?” she asks, knowing his answer will matter little. He’s already won her over. It’s been too long since the last time their schedule both allowed them a lazy day in bed together.
“Very,” he breaths against her neck.
“Fine, I’ll text them, but you owe me. Next time Yamada wants to drag you off, I’m digging my claws into you.”
Shino thinks she hears him mumble the words ‘troublesome woman,’ but his sleepy grumbling is too muffled for her to be sure.
Unlike before, Shino isn’t tired now. She’s still comfortable and doesn’t particularly want to clamber out of bed, but she’s not nodding off either.
She busies herself by studying Shouta’s hand, the one that’s wrapped around her ribcage. His fingers press lightly into her side, his grip relaxed, and his thumb rests on her sternum. There are old scars spiderwebbed across the back of his hand, so faint they can barely be seen at a glance. His knuckles are pink, still healing from a recent scuffle.
It’s sad—and somehow beautiful—how many stories are told in the scars on Shouta’s body, each a reminder of past pain. She has quite a few of her own.
Shino trails a finger across Shouta’s knuckles, feeling the smoothness of the new skin, not yet toughened or torn. He’s a good man, she thinks warmly. One day, she’d like to share him with little lives that share his eyes and dry humor. If she’s lucky, they’ll have something from her too.
For now, though, she’s happy to keep him all to herself, even if that means missing Sunday brunch.
Her phone buzzes with a text from Yawara, and something fragile in Shino’s heart snaps when she reads his offer to bring Shouta soup. Her friends love her so deeply that they’ve grown to care for Shouta too. It makes her indescribably happy, especially after everything they’ve all gone through together.
With watery eyes, she texts him back, thanking him but politely declining the offer.
As if on cue, Tomoko and Ryuko message the team’s group chat, each inquiring if they can help in any way. She assures them that she’s got everything under control and that Shouta will be fine.
This does little to dissuade them, though.
Yawara is laid back enough to be reasoned with, while Tomoko and Ryuko have always been the most enthusiastic and over the top team members.
“Shou,” Shino whispers, trying to roll in Shouta’s arms but failing when his grip on her only tightens, pressing her closer still to his chest.
“Mm?”
That man. He could sleep all day if his schedule allowed.
“I won the battle but lost the war.”
“Don’t tell me,” he groans, already knowing exactly what she means.
“I’m sorry,” Shino laughs. “Think positively, though. You can invite Yamada to join, and we can make a movie night out of it. You, me, and the whole gang.”
“What if I don’t want ‘the whole gang’ in our apartment?” Shouta grumbles.
“Then you shouldn’t have attracted so many big personalities into your life,” Shino says through a smile. “For what it’s worth, I did try. They were ready to be here in twenty.”
“Coffee,” Shouta sighs, releasing Shino and scrubbing his face with a hand. “I need coffee. Then, I’ll think about whether or not I’m changing the locks.”
“You could change all the locks in the city. You know that won’t stop them from showing up.”
“Tch. Change of address. New numbers. Throw in a new face.”
“Shouta!” Shino snorts, rolling over and climbing atop her husband. “You’re so dramatic. You know, maybe the reason you attract big personalities is because you are one too. Ever think of that?”
“I have little to no personality, woman,” Shouta says, flashing Shino one of his patented madman grins. The wild look in his eyes and the unsettling shift in his expression have no effect on her; she’s immune to his theatrics.
“Uh, huh. Sure.” Giggling, Shino leans down and presses a kiss to his forehead.
“So,” she whispers against his skin, “breakfast?”
Shouta may be the one that’s fake sick, but Shino is the one that’s been held captive from her scheduled brunch date. So she’s the one that’s cozied up to their kotatsu, happily watching Shouta pour batter into her cat-shaped waffle maker.
He’s not one for sitdown breakfasts, usually out the door with one of his many jelly pouches and a slice of toast. He doesn’t even stop for coffee. If he can’t snag a cup from U.A.’s staff lounge, then he’s down the road, mooching coffee from a little shop that Shino doesn’t even think is a cafe.
Seeing him grumble and grouch around in their kitchen is a rare treat, and she’s soaking up every minute of it.
Shouta slices fruit while the waffles cook. He steeps a pot of Shino’s favorite cinnamon tea and brews himself coffee. Before long, he’s plating their food and joining Shino at the kotatsu with a tired sigh and a smile that he can’t hide from her, no matter how subtle he thinks he’s being.
“Itadakimasu,” Shino hums, her hands pressed together. She beams at Shouta and welcomes the warmth that blossoms in her chest when he meets her gaze. He rubs at the scar under his eye and chews his lip in thought, letting his gaze flicker across Shino’s face.
“What?” she asks, squirming under his unabashed scrutiny. She can feel the hot blush that creeps up her face, and Shouta’s silence is nothing if not teasing.
“You,” he breaths.
“Huh?”
“Your eyes,” he murmurs. “I can see the world we dream of behind them: no more fighting, no more villains, no more sending children off to ruin their minds and bodies. And your lips. Every word I’ve ached to hear rest on them. I think I’m most fond of your arms, though. There isn’t a better place to nap in all of Japan, maybe the world.”
“Shouta,” Shino whines, her cheeks properly flushed. “You say too much.”
“Is that so?” he drawls, his tone smug and rich like honey. He knows he’s got her good and flustered; the curve of his lips says as much.
Shino knows Shouta is not a man of many words when few will do, and he doesn’t waste time with fanciful praise. He prefers logic, though he’s always a sucker for a good ruse. If he does have something idyllic and verbose to say, then there’s little Shino can do to withstand the bone-melting, heart-clenching effect of his words.
“I’ve been told I don’t say enough. Surely, both can’t be true. That’s not logical.” He grins at her again before finally—blessedly—releasing her from his unflinching gaze.
He sips his coffee and then digs into his waffles, leaving Shino to recover from his flattery.
That man, she thinks, not for the first time that morning.
He’ll be the death of her.