The first thing you notice is the smell, warm, sweet, unmistakably pancakes. The second is the quiet hum of someone moving around in the kitchen, soft clinks of pans and the low scrape of a spatula against a skillet.

You roll over in bed, the sheets tangled around your legs, sunlight slipping through the blinds in golden slats. It takes a moment for your eyes to focus, but when they do, the sight makes you smile without thinking: Hajime, shirtless, standing at the stove with his back to you, muscles flexing with every slow, practiced movement.

His hair is a mess, sticking up in unruly brown tufts, and his sweatpants hang low on his hips. There’s a lazy slouch to his shoulders, the kind he only wears on Sundays, like the whole world has finally let him breathe. You can see the faint scar on his side from years of volleyball, the steady strength in his back, the curve of his biceps as he flips the pancake with precision like it’s an Olympic event.

“Thought I smelled something good,” you call out, voice still rough with sleep.

Hajime glances over his shoulder, chestnut eyes lighting up the second they land on you. His mouth quirks into that crooked grin you’ve always been weak for.

“Don’t get too excited. They might be burnt. You know I’m not Oikawa with his stupid perfect cooking videos. I keep threatening to block him but he just emails them to me instead,” Hajime grumbles.

You laugh, pushing the blanket off and padding into the kitchen, bare feet against cool tile. You slide up behind Hajime, wrapping your arms around his torso and pressing your cheek between his shoulder blades. His skin is warm, smelling faintly of soap and his cologne, mixed with the buttery sweetness of pancakes.

“Mm, burnt or not, I’ll eat whatever you make,” you murmur, lips brushing the curve of his shoulder.

Hajime lets out a low chuckle, the sound rumbling through his chest as he shifts one hand off the spatula to squeeze yours where it rests against his stomach. “That’s ‘cause you’re biased,” Hajime drawls, voice still heavy with sleep but softened with something tender.

You watch as he flips another pancake, the golden surface landing perfectly on the stack, and you can’t help but grin. Hajime's jaw is relaxed, his usual intensity replaced by this rare calm that only happens when it’s just the two of you and a quiet morning.