Satoru has never gotten into your bed gently; has never sunk into the mattress without a bounce, without jostling the plush surface with an audible oof and pulling you from the depths of sleep. Never. Not once.
And tonight is no different.
It’s an impossible task for him, it seems. Like trying to breathe underwater or pick something to watch on TV. And the worst part of it all is that you know he’s doing it on purpose. No matter how hard you may try to will yourself to sleep through it or how much you may complain when he finally settles beside you, the man is unrelenting. A pain in the ass, even at one in the morning. It’d be impressive if it wasn’t so damn annoying.
“Satoru,” you warn, though it’s not as threatening as you hope it would be. You blink over at him with heavy lids, tone dripping with exhaustion. “Must you do that every time you get into bed late?”
He has the audacity to think about it. “Mm, well I suppose I don’t have to,” he coos, voice low like he’s trying to lull you back to sleep. “But what kind of man would I be if I didn’t wake up my little sweetheart to give them a goodnight kiss when I got home?”
“A better one?”
Your eyes slip closed as if shutting them will make him disappear (or shut up). It doesn’t. Instead, it only serves to spur the sorcerer on. Now, Satoru crowds your space, wrapping you into a tight bundle and pulling you so close your nose squishes against his cheek.
He’s entirely scandalized by your rebuttal, gasping in your ear as if you’ve just told him the most offensive insult imaginable. “I can’t believe you’d say that about your dashing boyfriend.” As if to prove his point, Satoru pulls you away only to drag you back in to plant multiple exaggerated pecks against your cheek, a sappy muah sound accompanying each one.
They leave wet lip prints in their wake that you’re too tired to rub away. Eyes still closed, you furrow your brows, accepting your fate as you cuddle into the curve of his throat – right beneath his chin.
“My dashing boyfriend who can’t do anything quietly to save his life.”
“Hey,” he whines into your hair. “I can be quiet!”
“Oh yeah? Then let’s play the quiet game.”
You can feel him hum somewhere deep in his chest as he thinks it over. “What do I get if I win?”
Your limbs feel heavy as you rest your arm across his stomach, curling your hand around the hem of his shirt. You can only muster enough energy to mumble, “Winner gets breakfast in bed tomorrow.”
“Ooo, okay,” Satoru presses a kiss to the top of your head. “Be prepared to make me a huge stack of pancakes tomorrow, baby.”
“Mhm, fine.
“With extra chocolate chips.”
“’kay.”
“And,” A hand ruffles your hair. “A lil extra love, maybe?”
“I’ll see what I can do.” Without opening your eyes, you can tell there’s a retort brewing in Satoru’s, and you stop it before it has the chance to fill the air. “Quiet game starts now.”
The room immediately falls into silence, only broken by the soft sound of your combined breathing. Satoru’s warmth and the steady movement of his chest as he breathes — up, down, up, down — bring you right back to sleep’s door, as if Satoru hadn’t woken you up at all. Maybe the quiet game had been the answer this whole time. You kick yourself for not thinking of it sooner.
You nuzzle closer, nose brushing against his collar bone as you feel yourself drift off, but right before you completely fall into the clutches of exhaustion, you hear a tiny voice mumble, “Love you.”
It’s punctuated with another kiss to the crown of your head and a warm palm gliding up and down your back, and you can only bring yourself to tighten your hold on his shirt before you fall asleep.
The next morning, you awake to an empty bed and the sweet smell of pancakes and freshly brewed coffee wafting through the air.