Work Text:
"Bunta?"
A muffled, groggy voice makes Bunta look up from his cooking. His actions from hearing its call are immediate — with a fond smile he lowers the heat on the stove, letting the soup go from a boil to a slow simmer, before he makes his way out of the kitchen and into their bedroom. The distance doesn't take him very long; their apartment is small, but it's okay — it means they can hear each other from anywhere.
"Hey," he says softly, leaning against the doorframe. The blinds are still shut, but a trickle of sunlight manages to seep in, coloring the dark room with a streak of warm yellow.
"'s that you, baby?" A messy pile of sheets on the bed answers back in a sleepy tone, quickly followed up by a great yawn.
"You're the baby here," Bunta grins, cheeks heating up from the pet name. He wonders when he'll get used to it. "Good morning. You're not getting up yet?"
"No." The sheets rustle and move, and after a few seconds a head with wild hair and a petulant expression manages to poke out of them. Akaya blinks up at him, before opening the covers with slight difficulty, patting the space next to him with a pout. "I thought you weren't going anywhere this weekend."
"Aren't you a clingy brat? I was cooking our breakfast," Bunta says in amusement, but he makes his way over and settles beside him anyway, letting Akaya throw the blanket over him and quickly snuggle into the crook of his neck.
"Ah, wait, your hair's tickling me," Bunta lets his head rest on the pillow, laughing.
Akaya mumbles something incoherent and burrows even further. The curls of his morning bedhead are wilder and softer than usual against his neck and chin, and Bunta jerks and giggles at the sensation.
"Stop moving," the younger man grumbles, hugging him tighter in an effort to steady him.
Resigning himself to his fate for just a few minutes, Bunta's hand finds itself entangled in Akaya's curly hair, softly scratching his scalp. As the latter's breathing settles, Bunta stares at the ceiling.
While the season wasn't over, Akaya had short periods in between tournaments where he could come home for a while. He is already a spoiled boyfriend (the both of them are, really), but he manages to become more needy in the mornings. This fact is even more evident when he gets back after a long trip.
Sometimes he finds himself thinking that these short periods aren't enough, and he's a long way off from being immature that he doesn't want to admit he misses him a lot. But Akaya was always going to be a pro tennis player, and while it took him a while to realize it, Bunta was always going to be a pâtissier. The different paths they took lead them away from each other in different ways, but the both of them are more than stubborn enough to want to make things work and come home to each other time and time again.
He hadn't thought himself capable of such patience before. But growing up and settling into the several years of comfort he shared with Akaya did him wonders.
"...Hey. Are you falling asleep?" Bunta nudges Akaya with his shoulder.
"No. Five more minutes," comes an obvious lie.
"Nope, break's over. You have to let me go," Bunta sits up, and the arms around him fall to his waist. "I'm still cooking."
"It can wait."
"And who's the idiot who's gonna come complaining to me later when he's hungry?" Akaya's sleepy mumbles never fail to amuse Bunta. "Come on. Let me go."
When he gets no response, Bunta sighs, wiggling out from his grasp and standing up.
"Come back," Akaya whines, propping himself up enough on his elbows to look up at him with sleep-puffy eyes. "...'s cold."
"Our breakfast will get burnt," Bunta flicks him on the middle of his forehead, eliciting a groan and a drowsy, half-hearted glare. He smiles, hand brushing itself over Akaya's hair before it slides down to cup his cheek. "I'll wake you up when it's done. You had me all to yourself last night after your flight, didn't you?"
With a huff, a red-faced Akaya promptly turns around and rolls over, wrapping himself around the sheets and turning his back to Bunta. The latter grins, shaking his head — it doesn't matter how many years will pass, some things will never change, and no matter how much he matures Akaya will always maintain that sense of childishness Bunta's always been endeared to.
"You can sleep a little more. I'll only be outside," He reaches and gives Akaya's shoulder one final squeeze, before he finally makes his way back to the kitchen to resume making breakfast.
All the other details aside, his jet-lagged boyfriend is always a treat to deal with and tease.
"...Love you," Suddenly, a muffled voice calls out, just like it did before.
Bunta's chest swells, and he finds himself beaming like a fool over his cooking.
"I love you too," he replies back, letting his voice sound out loud and clear before he lets it settle into a whisper. "Welcome home, Akaya."