he’s never been a morning person—never claimed to be, really—but it’s not until you’re pulling his hands off your waist and letting the sheets slip from your legs that you truly understand how severe it is.
“stay,” he murmurs, a soft little sound that spills across the sheets. “just for a little while.”
and truthfully ’a little while’ sounds terribly appealing. the idea of staying here—of falling back to the mattress, coaxed by the vibration of sleep in his throat and the warmth of his hands and the ache of the morning sun—you’re more than tempted.
but you know better than to tell him that.
“i gotta get up.” you stretch over his shoulder to glance at the time, sighing as his arm reaches towards you. “and you do too, idiot. we’re gonna be late.”
he shakes his head, nose brushing the pillow, the flush of morning still heavy on his cheeks.
“i’ll get ready so fast,” he hums.
“and what about me?”
“you’ll be even faster, obviously.” you raise a brow in his direction, swatting his hand away as it nears your thigh.
“we can even shower together—save a whole twenty minutes.” you laugh—and perhaps you’d feel a little guilty about giving him the satisfaction any other time, but right now there’s a drowsy little smile spreading across his cheeks and a breath of laughter filling the air that nearly swallows you whole.
“five minutes,” you sigh. “you get five minutes.”
and it doesn’t even take a second of those five minutes for him to pull you towards him, knowing well enough that he’ll be making the same plea again the next time you get up.
because kuroo tetsurō—who burns under the rising sun and kisses sweet words into your cheeks and begs you to stay justfora little while—has never been a morning person, so, suddenly, neither are you.
