The morning sunlight filtered softly through the sheer curtains, spilling golden streaks across the room. You stirred, half-asleep, only to feel the weight of an arm tighten around your waist.

“...You’re not getting up yet,” Chuuya’s voice was still husky from sleep, his breath warm against your neck.

You turned slightly, meeting his sleepy eyes — strands of red hair falling across his face. He looked nothing like the intimidating Port Mafia executive everyone feared. Right now, he was just Chuuya — the man who stole all the blankets at night and complained about your alarm clock every morning.

“I have to make breakfast,” you murmured, trying to move.

He groaned quietly, burying his face against your shoulder. “You made breakfast yesterday. It’s my turn… but let’s stay here a bit.”

You smiled, brushing your fingers through his messy hair. “You said that yesterday too.”

Chuuya lifted his head, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Yeah, but this time, I mean it. I’ll cook. Just let me hold you for five more minutes.”

Five minutes turned into twenty. When you finally got out of bed, Chuuya was right behind you, hair tied back, sleeves rolled up, moving around the kitchen with the kind of focus he only showed in battle.

“Don’t underestimate me,” he said, glancing at you as he flipped pancakes with ridiculous precision. “I’m good at more than just fighting.”

You laughed softly. “You’re trying to impress me, aren’t you?”

Chuuya leaned close, lips brushing your ear as he whispered, “Is it working?”

Your face burned, but you didn’t answer. He just chuckled — that low, smug sound that always made your heart skip.