Ushijima Wakatoshi and Tendō Satori

Tendou was the first to wake up.

Not because he was a morning person—he wasn’t—but because he’d heard the tiniest shuffling sound from the kitchen. It wasn’t the kind of noise that screamed emergency, but it was the kind that made him peek around the corner, hair sticking out in every direction, sock halfway off his foot.

There you were.

Standing on your tiptoes in Ushijima’s too-big sweatshirt, trying to reach the strawberries from the top shelf of the fridge.

You didn’t notice him at first, not until he padded in quietly and dramatically gasped, “A breakfast heist without me? You wound me.”

You turned, face immediately softening at the sight of him. Still no words, just that small, shy smile that always hit him like a gut punch.

“Hang on,” he mumbled, voice still gravelly. He stepped behind you and effortlessly reached for the strawberries, placing them in your hands like he was bestowing a sacred treasure. “For my favorite silent strawberry thief.”

You grinned. Slightly. Barely. But Tendou caught it and melted all over again.

“Are you making something?” he asked, already peeking over your shoulder like a nosy cat.

“French toast?” he guessed.

You gave the tiniest nod.

Tendou gasped like you’d just told him you were proposing.

“Marry me.”

From behind you both, a deep voice rumbled. “I already asked.”

Tendou turned. Ushijima was standing in the doorway, hair sleep-mussed, wearing a simple black shirt and gray sweatpants, his expression unreadable except for the slight warmth in his eyes.

You walked up to him without a sound, handed him a single strawberry, and tapped it gently against his chest.

Ushijima accepted the offering solemnly. “Thank you.”

Then he kissed your forehead like it was a routine, and when Tendou held up his cheek expectantly, he kissed that too. No questions. No teasing. Just affection.

You moved around the kitchen with a quiet grace, dipping bread into the egg mixture, placing it in the pan, flipping it like you’d done it a hundred times. Tendou put the plates out. Ushijima brewed the coffee. No one asked anything. No one needed to.

There were no big words. No confessions.

Just warmth.

Tendou watching you spread jam on his toast like it was an art form. Ushijima brushing a crumb off your lip without even thinking. The quiet clink of forks and soft background hum of the city beyond your window.

At one point, you sat between them on the couch, your legs stretched over Tendou’s lap while Ushijima read a book beside you. Your head rested on Ushijima’s shoulder. Tendou drew little patterns on your shin with his finger, humming a tune under his breath.