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Izuku lifts the edge of the covers, peeking down into the warmth with a smile. “Are you sure you’re okay in there? Getting enough oxygen?”
Tenko’s gaze flashes up to him, his eyes flat and narrowed like a cat disturbed from sleep. His face is bathed in the pale light of his phone screen, which is currently balanced on the plane of Izuku’s belly. His chin digs into Izuku’s ribcage.
“Yeah,” he rasps, then yanks the covers back down. “Now stop letting all the cold air in.”
Patting the padded lump of him, Izuku tries not to laugh. If he moves too much, it’ll jostle Tenko’s phone, and he doesn’t want to risk being the cause of a losing streak again. “You know I can just shut the window if you’re cold?”
Tenko’s sharp tsk doesn’t have the same impact as usual, muffled as it is. “‘S not the same,” he grumbles. “I’ve factored the fresh air in—if you change anything now, you’ll ruin the perfect temperature I’ve achieved.”
“And you say I’m a nerd,” Izuku murmurs, then squawks as Tenko pinches his hip. “Hey!”
A moment passes, and then dry lips brush a brief apology over his skin. Izuku pats what he thinks is Tenko’s head, and relaxes back into the pillows, satisfied that they’re both comfortable and happy.
And really, Tenko might be onto something—with the warmth of his body heat under the covers, the cool touch of the breeze from the window is welcome on Izuku’s face. Golden sun slants across the bed.
Izuku fans the pages of his book in one hand, and slips the other under the covers to stroke Tenko’s hair. It’s clumsy and tangled, but he feels Tenko make a small sound of satisfaction, and smiles. He feels pretty perfect himself.