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Shouto murmurs sleepily at him. Izuku can't help but smile in wordless response, pressing his happiness into his partner's warm shoulder, delighted by Shouto's comfort and drowsiness. It's beyond lovely to both witness and share in.
Even if he really does need to get up soon.
His bladder isn't exactly impressed with him right now, and it's a suitably annoying contrast to his very dry throat, the only main downside to cuddling exclusively to Shouto's warm side. It tends to make him thirsty after a few hours, or a full night.
So he reluctantly pulls himself out of bed, wriggling out of Shouto's limpet-tight grip. Somehow he seems to hold on even tighter when he's asleep. (It really shouldn't make Izuku's chest so very warm, but it does every single time all the same, the wonderful feeling of being wanted and loved by someone who is so brilliant, his best friend and life partner all in one, by an unconscious affirmation that Shouto adores him too.) He's tired, still, legs halfway numb in a way that has him stumbling as he leaves their room in favour of going to the bathroom, followed by getting a glass of water from the kitchen that he chugs down in all of a few seconds, or so it feels. He really was thirsty.
Before leaving the kitchen, Izuku decides that it’s worth the risk of waking himself up too much in order to wash a decent quantity of rice as quickly and quietly as possible so that he can put the rice cooker on, low and slow. This way they’ll have something they can make into a decent meal come… come lunch time, actually, as that's roughly when they're due to wake up.
The schedule of a full-time hero, let alone two of them, definitely isn’t the prettiest thing ever.
But that’s okay. Because there’s rice in the cooker and two water bottles in his hand and Shouto in their bed, looking sleep-rumpled and oh-so content as he blinks at Izuku, barely even half-awake, if that.
It’s precious, and inviting, and Izuku can do nothing but smile as he walks over to join his best friend. Shouto, even though he’s so blatantly drowsy, droopy-eyed, does at least make an attempt to lift the covers in welcome. It’s enough to have Izuku murmuring a thank you, one that Shouto just blinks in response to. He happily pretends that he isn’t having to lift the blankets higher himself just to be able to get under, because Shouto is clearly trying very hard to keep the covers up despite his sleep-weak arm, and promptly snuggles in close, curling their legs together, ankles crossing, bony yet not a bother at all, draping an arm over his partner’s stomach.
For now, Izuku just snuggles closer. Shouto's arm ends up splayed over him as well, cool fingertips threatening to tickle but Izuku is mostly used to them by now, so it's not too bad, even as they trail over his ribs, light and affectionate and thoughtless.
"You're a softie," Izuku murmurs, already close enough to sleep that the words are a barely-intelligible slur. Shouto doesn't return anything coherent, and Izuku doesn't mind. Not one bit all. (He knows his best friend more than well enough to understand what the arm around his waist tightening slightly means, or the way that Shouto shifts just enough to breathe directly against Izuku's temple, lips brushing freckles. It's a greeting, a gratitude. It's more than enough for Izuku.)
They wake up a few hours later to Shouto's phone alarm, fortunately not too grating and silenced quickly, and it's already almost noon, their curtains, despite being big, thick, black-out things, letting light creep in around their very edges, bright and white-golden. If Izuku wasn't feeling so content right now, he'd probably begrudge it.
"Awake?"
"Mm, mostly," he returns, all felt-folded fond. His nose is kind of squashed with how his face is pressed to his partner's shoulder, but that's okay. Who needs to breathe properly, right?
"Same." Izuku raises his head just enough to share a smile with Shouto.
For a little while, they stay like that, Izuku's chin propped up on Shouto's chest in a way that must surely dig in a bit, but the taller man hasn't asked Izuku to move, so he's content to stay, enjoying the simple closeness as they both begin to wake up.
Later, they'll get up, will make a lunch with the rice that Izuku cooked, maybe omurice that Izuku would draw All Might's face on with ketchup, and they'll take turns to shower, and they'll get to settle into a rare free afternoon, the sort of thing where Izuku gets to sprawl over their sofa with a notebook or novel in hand, his head in Shouto's lap, mostly on the warm side. Shouto, for his part, will scroll through something on his phone, undoubtedly some forums and chat threads for various conspiracy theories or hero facts, occasionally reading out the most interesting or realistic or hilarious to Izuku. They might put some soft music on in the background, the radio or classical or just instrumentals. It's noise without need for attention, but it fills in the gaps that, whilst often pleasant, are sometimes disconcerting in and of themselves.
(Their lives, their traumas and triggers, are a complicated thing, doubly so when combining their different experiences. But they have grown together for almost an entire decade already. They know each other as well as they know themselves, at this point in their lives, and so whilst it isn't always easy to work around their own triggers, it's something that they can carefully try to make room for, something that neither of them will falter to do their best in.
They make room and time for each other and their problems and their celebrations alike, the happy times and the difficult moments. They are there for each other through it all. )
But, for now, they get to lounge around in bed together. There are no troubles, no rush, no hassle. No, Izuku just gets to plaster himself over Shouto, his partner contentedly squeezing his arms just that little bit tighter around Izuku's waist, palms flat against his ribs, warm and cool and wonderful.
Together, like this, they're utterly and purely content. There's nothing better.