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It’s well past midnight when Ao stumbles through the threshold on his third day of no sleep, exhaustion tugging at his limbs and the last dregs of the food pill he’d eaten half a day ago nearing the end of its efficacy. Still, he’s silent as ever; nearly trips over a discarded article of clothing on the floor but he catches himself, attempts to remain cool-headed though he feels as though he can pass out at any moment.
Now that he’s back in familiar territory, maybe he will.
He slips into the room quietly, removes his mask and his weapons pouch, wraps them in his discarded haori for easy access come morning. He’s back hours earlier than was expected and isn’t needed in the Mizukage’s office for debriefing until morning.
He’s got time. He’ll make time.
The next thing he knows is he’s waking up with gentle arms holding him in place, scratching lazily, delicately at his scalp. He’s got half a mind to fall back asleep but despite the exhaustion he’s just too alert to allow himself the luxury; he shouldn’t have fallen asleep in the first place. Ao knows this. A shinobi should never be off his guard.
And yet.
And yet here he is, her fingers carefully weaved into his hair, his face nestled into her chest, and now that he realizes, in her apartment and her bed. And he feels comfortable enough leaving his senses dull with sleep, keeping his body in a contented state of rest.
Ao can’t fully recall what brought him here but his feet had just moved and his brain had simply told his feet where to move and how fast, and he's not even sure if this was a conscious decision or one made in haste at an obscene hour of the night. He's still admittedly groggy from the short rest hours as he feels himself come to, fully, realizing that the body he's cuddling is not a pillow, but rather an entirely familiar, wholly comforting presence that he would recognize with both eyes plucked out and all senses dulled.
“Ao,” she greets, cheerful but quiet; careful not to rouse him from his relaxed state. It’s not often that he allows himself to be totally at ease, unbothered by responsibility and unbound by duty. So as he stirs, he receives a shush and a kiss on the head.
“Mei…," he grumbles, picks his head up to look at her and she steals his lips in a quick little kiss. Self indulgence in her part, yes, but something about Ao's sleep-mussed hair and the half-lidded stare of a man running on only a few hours of sleep makes her insatiable, she supposes.
"It's still early," she tells him, and as he rests his head down against her again – his cheek rests gently against her bosom and she resumes petting his hair and he swears he could sleep for days on end – he realizes she's right.
There's no soft, morning glow peeking through her blinds or easing its way in through the gaps in the curtains, and he can’t sense any birds awake enough for their morning birdsong. It's decidedly too early even for the seagulls that routinely jolt him awake before any alarm ever could; he can't remember the last time he's woken before the seagulls.
"What time is it?" he asks, though it comes out slightly muffled against the fabric of Mei's nightgown.
"Early."
"How long was I out?"
Mei hums and slows her hand, lets her fingers ghost along the back of his neck and trail along the top of his spine. “I’m not sure,” she tells him, “but not long enough. Rest.”
"I've got to meet with Lord Fourth–"
“Yagura is dead asleep, guaranteed.”
She looks down at him and he, up at her; her face is soft yet stern, a gentle frown tugging at the corners of her mouth. She purses her lips and Ao knows already that he’s lost this argument.
Mei’s got a point.
Silently waving the little white flag of surrender, he relaxes once more, and Mei hopes that it’s for the final time this evening. They’re silent for a time, letting only the sounds of their breathing fill the room; neither realize when their breaths begin to sync, or if they do notice, neither bring it to light.
It’s a comfort that he hasn’t felt in many years, and a tenderness he didn’t expect to feel again. He’s warm from the inside out – the lava release that runs through Mei’s blood is a heat to her chakra, and sensor-type shinobi as he is, Ao doesn’t let that go unnoticed. He feels it deep inside himself, twisting and curling around his own chakra network, allowing the warmth to bloom from the deepest parts of himself.
Mei’s the first one to break the silence, and Ao is all but slipping away again into slumber.
“This was the first place you decided to come?”
“Mmhm.
“Not to your place?”
“Couldn’t sleep there.”
“Did you try?”
“No.”
His own apartment hadn’t even crossed his mind.
He wakes again hours later to a sliver of sunlight just-so-perfectly shining through the blinds and into his eye. He lifts his head, glances around the room and up at Mei’s face – takes in the serenity that she displays in her sleep, the gentle rise and fall of her chest with each easy, restful breath. He considers getting up, considers what small disturbance he’ll cause for Mei if he does; and he considers what not appearing before Lord Fourth immediately as soon as the sun rises may cause him.
He was the captain of the operation, he thinks; his team won’t report in without him. They’d be turned away before they could enter the main office in the first place.
Ao rests his head against Mei’s breast once more, and his eyes shut.
Perhaps Lord Fourth can wait a little longer.