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He’s not quite sure what exactly it is that wakes him.
There’s light pouring in through the open blinds beside the bed, the mix of metal and plastic clacking gently against the windowsill and frame as a breeze pulls through the open window and then out again, funnelling throughout the entire apartment. A lazy smile sits on his lips even before he opens his eyes, ears trained on the sounds he can pick out throughout the rest of the rooms that feel so far away.
He can tell he’s alone right now, the mattress sinking exclusively on his side and the lack of another set of lungs breathing behind him, but he can hear the gentle clink of dishes being lined up in a dish rack to dry in the kitchen, and the indecipherable murmur of the television in the living room (judging by the lack of commentary, it’s a documentary of some variety, lacking the drooling comments cooking shows garnered, or the excited cheering and yelling that came with televised sports matches).
There’s footsteps, as well. Bare feet padding almost silently along wood floors, and the only reason he can even pick them out is because he’s listening for them. They grow closer and then they stop entirely, and it’s only then that he finally moves. He rolls onto his back with a noise in the back of his throat and stretches out his limbs, joints creaking in protest at being shifted from his foetal position he had been so comfortably curled into.
“Good morning, sleepyhead,” Matsukawa’s voice carries through the silence of the room with a velvety feel and he moves from the door, feet carrying him to the bedside. He leans forward onto the mattress, weight on his knuckles as he leans down to brush lips against lips, and he’s quickly stopped from being able to pull away by a pale hand catching itself gently into dark curls. Not that he had any intention to pull away in the first place, but he says nothing and simply focuses on the lazy, lingering kiss and the way Hanamaki’s eyes fall closed where they had barely been open in the first place.
“What time is it..?” The question comes mumbled between their lips, words almost entirely lost as the still half-asleep Hanamaki tries his best to ask it without breaking the contact at all. It’s inevitable, though, because the question means Matsukawa has to pull away and a small whimper escapes from pursed lips at the breaking of the kiss.
“Almost two,” comes the answer.
The pout melts into something far less put out and far more confused. “You let me sleep so late?” Usually he’s kicked out of bed by ten at the latest, even on a Sunday. Especially on a Sunday like today. “But everyone’s actually home today—”
The lips return to Hanamaki’s and any other words he wanted to say melt on his tongue.
“You worked so hard this week with your presentation that we figured you deserved the rest,” Matsukawa explains with one last kiss before he pulls away entirely and straightens. “You can take your time still. We’re still setting up for movies.”
He leaves the room, then, leaving Hanamaki behind in bed to finish waking up and convince himself to move, and heads into the kitchen, lazy smile growing on his lips at the back the greets him from in front of the stove. Dark arms stretch out to wrap around a thin waist and Matsukawa leans his head down to first press a kiss to the bare skin on the back of Iwaizumi’s neck before he hooks his chin over a shoulder to watch him cook.
“I was starting to think you had gotten convinced to go back to bed with how long you were taking,” is the tease he’s rewarded with, followed by a press of lips to Matsukawa’s cheek and then warm eyes turn back to the pan on the stove top, carefully watching the frying dumplings. “Is he moving?”
Matsukawa offers a hum and turns his head, lips starting a lazy trail of butterfly kisses along the shorter man’s jaw and down the side of his neck and onto his back and then up the other side. “Probably,” he murmurs, thumbs rubbing gentle circles against Iwaizumi’s stomach. “If not, we’ll get him up when Tooru’s finished with the living room.”
“You think he’ll be awake enough for the movie?” Iwaizumi shifts his head with the moving lips, turning and leaning it to give the taller male the best possible access to the skin he was aiming for while not removing his attention entirely from the cooking food. “Ah. Could you grab a plate?”
There’s a hum in response and one final kiss pressed to the edge of lips before the arms drop and Matsukawa pulls away. “No,” he admits, pulling open one of the cupboards and retrieving a plate, placing it down on the counter next to the stovetop. “It’s fine. He’s been really stressed about that presentation so I think it’s just all catching up on him. We’ll put him between you and Tooru tonight, so he still gets some time with you two.” There’s an eyebrow raised in his direction and he responds with a quirk of his lips, watching the dumplings being transferred from the pan to the plate. “I had you guys to myself all morning. I am capable of sharing.”
“Iwa-chan~! Could you co— Oh, I thought I heard you in here, Mattsun.” Oikawa pauses for only a brief moment in the doorway, smile on his lips tugging wider, before he moves closer. He reaches up to place a kiss to Matsukawa’s cheek while one of his hands reaches out to rest against the small of Iwaizumi’s back. “I take it Makki doesn’t want to get up.”
“Unless he’s already out there, then no.”
“Hm. We’ll get him up later, before we start. Iwa-chan, can you come help? You’re better at this fort building thing than me.”
There’s a moment where Iwaizumi looks like he’s about to protest, but he gives a nod, eyes lifting to Matuskawa. “Can you do the popcorn?” he asks casually while the hand falls away from his back and Oikawa goes on ahead to return to the living room. Matsukawa nods and Iwaizumi soon follows, washing his hands first and drying them before leaving the kitchen.
“The blankets keep falling down, Iwa-chan.” Oikawa’s whining greets him, accompanied by a pout that looks far too childish to have a home on the National team’s starting setter (and yet would look so out of place were on anyone else). “Why can’t we just leave it up each time?”
“Because Takahiro has his friends over during the week to study,” Iwaizumi points out calmly, hands reaching to reposition the chairs that are placed on either side of the two large futons that are laid out on the ground, Oikawa having managed to get at least the mattress part of their fort finished by himself. “Got the books?”
A sound of confirmation comes from the other side of the living room, Oikawa lifting the large physics textbook (one of Matsukawa’s he had bought to read during his spare time) from one of the chairs on his side. Iwaizumi nods and they set to work, stretching the large blanket across the six dining room chairs lined either side and making sure it falls over the low table at the head of the mattresses in a way that won’t interfere with their food once the last of the snacks are finished. Their hands brush, but the contact isn’t pointed out even as their lips tug into smiles, and only once the blankets are properly secured and stable do they straighten and focus their attention on each other.
“I’ve missed doing this,” Oikawa admits with a whisper, voice almost completely covered by the sound of popping kernels in the kitchen. He presses a kiss to Iwaizumi’s lips, their foreheads resting together in the moment after. “I’ve missed all us being together.”
Iwaizumi hums in agreement, returns the kiss, closes his eyes for a moment.
They stay like that against the background sound of popcorn as the various pops slowly grow further and further spaced out until they finally come to a stop entirely, a silence filling the apartment. A brief lull that lasts barely a second or two before the sound of Matsukawa moving around in the kitchen breaks it and Oikawa follows it with a sigh.
“S’pose it’s time to get that lazy ass out of bed, hm?” His tone shifts to something more sing-songy, lips a little mischievous as they press one more kiss to the spiker’s lips and then pulls away, a skip in his step as he leaves the living room and slips into the main hallway of the apartment.
His footsteps lack the near-silence that Matsukawa’s had had earlier, much more resolve in each heavier placement of his feet to the hardwood floor. He doesn’t pause in the doorway like Matsukawa had, either, and instead speeds up so he can simply launch himself onto the unsuspecting, half-asleep victim still curled up under the blankets. His reward is a squawk of surprise and a struggled beneath his body, limbs tangling in blankets in surprise. Oikawa laughs and focuses his weight down and the two spend a few seconds simply struggling against each other. Eventually, though, he eases up and rolls off of Hanamaki to give the strawberry-blond a chance to finally surface his head from under the blankets, face red and breath uneven as he tries to recover from having the wind knocked out of him.
“Hanger-san, you jerk!” Hanamaki protests the moment he has enough breath in his lungs to do so without losing any of the impact, but he’s still met with a laugh and an apologetic kiss which he accepts (but it totally doesn’t mean that’s forgiven Oikawa that easily). “I was trying to sleep.”
“And now you need to wake up because it’s movie time,” the setter spoke in a cheery tone, planting more kisses against Hanamaki’s lips between each word (totally not an attempt to try and get that forgiveness that he knows is being held away from him). “We’re watching B-grade cliche horror movies to make fun of the teenagers in them, and you get the spot between me and Iwa-chan today.”
There’s a moment of silence that follows where they simply just stare at each other, Hanamaki’s grey eyes boring into Oikawa’s brown ones as though he’s looking for any signs of deception or trickery (Oikawa is only slightly offended by the unspoken accusation that it carries). Eventually, his expression softens and long, pale arms emerge from the blankets to reach out over Oikawa’s shoulders, the weight of the other’s body leaning into him.
“Carry me, Hanger-san.”
The near-silent calm in the apartment is broken seconds later by a mix of protests and laughter, and when Oikawa emerges into the living room, he’s greeted by two rather wide-eyed faces (or about as wide-eyed as Matsukawa ever really gets, because even all these years later, the default for his eyes always seems to be half-closed). The setter simply grins and his free hand lifts to pat Hanamaki’s rear, the now wide awake man still struggling against the hold he had been thrown into with the whole being thrown unceremoniously over Oikawa’s shoulder thing that had happened against his approval.
“Movie time,” Oikawa declares as he ducks under the blanket roof of their fort and lowers Hanamaki down onto the mattress as gently as he can. He shifts his head to reach for a kiss, but Hanamaki shoves him away with a pout and a childish tongue poking out in his direction. “Mean!”
“Says you!”
Laughter echoes around them and one of the chairs holding the roof up shifts as Iwaizumi crawls in on Hanamaki’s other side. It’s a good enough distraction and the strawberry-blond busies himself with the shorter man instead, purposely turning his back on Oikawa while he fusses over Iwaizumi instead and gets his last good morning kiss of the day (ignoring the fact that it was almost mid-afternoon; good morning kisses were still good morning kisses regardless of the time of day that he was waking up).
Iwaizumi indulges him and Oikawa pouts and Matsukawa simply chuckles as he tugs the last of the curtains closed and puts on the first of the DVDs and crawls into the fort as well. He lies down on his side behind Oikawa, large, dark hands traveling up his sides and tugging him closer to distract from his briefly hurt feelings with a kiss to the back of his neck then his jaw then his lips.
(Hanamaki forgives Oikawa a couple of minutes later when a cream puff is hand delivered to his mouth.)
The remote is tossed to one side once the movie is started and they shift in closer together, adjusting themselves on the plush futon mattresses and the comfy pillows, trying to find the best way to be able to touch each other all at once while still being to watch the movie as comfortably as possible.
Matsukawa ends up with his arm on the very bottom, a pillow for everyone, and Oikawa’s back against his chest. Hanamaki lies on his back, one hand toying with Oikawa’s and his other lost in Iwaizumi’s hair while the shorter man’s arm slings over the strawberry-blond’s stomach. Their feet end up tangled together in a mess where no one can figure out whose feet are whose without looking, and it becomes Matsukawa’s job to retrieve snacks from the small table at their head because his arms are the longest.
They poke fun and laugh and mock the scenes as they play on the large screen, and only move when one movie finishes so that Matsukawa can put the next on, and time simply isn’t important because it never is when it’s the four of them together.
(They all fall asleep before the end of the fourth movie, except for Oikawa who reaches for a cellphone from the table (Matsukawa’s, but it’s not important whose) so he can take a photo of his boyfriends all sleeping so peacefully together before setting an early alarm so he and Iwaizumi don’t miss their morning training the next day.)