It’s a rare thing for Toji to wake up refreshed these days.

Waking up from the soft shine of the sun peeking in from the window above your bed or your work alarm rather than Megumi howling at the top of his lungs for someone—anyone—to wake up and play with and feed him is rare enough that Toji is tempted to play the numbers. He opens one lazy green eye and sees the late afternoon numbers flashing on the clock.

Maybe he’ll play the numbers twice.

With a stretch of his limbs and the subsequent popping of his back, Toji rolls over to see one of his favorite sights; a Megumi-less bed.

Don’t get him wrong, Toji adores the little rugrat, but it’s nice to wake up in the mornings without little feet digging into his back or drool that doesn’t belong to him on his cheek. Plus, the mornings that Megumi sleeps in his own crib Toji can ogle you as much as he likes without the judgmental stare of his kid.

You sleep in weird positions. Toji noticed that the first night he stayed over and was too on edge to sleep. Sometimes you sleep sitting up, sometimes you sleep on your back like a vampire, arms crossed loosely across your abdomen.

You’re in a normal position today, rolled over on your stomach with your arm tucked beneath your pillow. A puddle of drool is on your pillow and you snore—loudly. It makes Toji’s heart soften into pure mush.

You’ve made him so indescribably soft in the four years you’ve been together it makes his teeth ache. The Toji from before with scars on his hands and distrustful eyes would be appalled at how weak and pliant the current Toji has become, would spit that nothing good ever lasts for men like Toji.

Current Toji would spit right back that he’s going to enjoy this while it lasts.

“Missed you,” Toji grunts, pressing sloppy kisses to every inch of your face he can get to before your eyelashes flutter awake and you start pushing him away.