The living room was quiet, the kind of quiet that only settled in after hours of laughing, talking, and the faint sound of the TV humming in the background.

You and Hoshiumi had started the evening on opposite ends of the couch—him cross-legged with a blanket half-draped over his shoulders, you leaning into the armrest with your phone in hand.

The plan had been to watch a game replay and maybe review a few plays together, but fatigue crept in without either of you noticing.

Hoshiumi had been animated at first, pointing at the screen, breaking down movements with his usual excited energy.

But as the hours ticked by, his voice softened, his explanations slowed, and eventually, he slouched against the cushion.

Somewhere in between his last “see, that’s where I’d—” and your absentminded hum of agreement, the both of you had drifted off.

When you stirred awake, it was to the soft weight of an arm slung across your middle.

Your cheek was pressed against warmth that wasn’t the cushion at all—Hoshiumi’s chest, steady and rising with each deep breath he took.

His legs had tangled with yours somewhere along the way, your blanket now shared between you, twisted in the knot of your bodies.

The discovery came with a rush of awareness. His hair tickled your jaw, fluffy and unruly even in sleep, and his hand unconsciously tightened on the fabric of your shirt as if to pull you closer.

His lips parted slightly, the faintest trace of a sleep-heavy sound escaping him. He was completely, utterly relaxed.

It was a rare sight—Korai Hoshiumi without the sharp spark of energy that usually seemed endless, his competitive fire dimmed into something vulnerable.

His face, softened by sleep, carried none of the intensity he brought to the court. Just warmth. Trust.

You didn’t move, too aware that any shift might break the moment.

Instead, you let yourself sink into the heat of his body, into the way your breathing matched without trying, into the quiet comfort of being held.

When Hoshiumi eventually stirred, blinking groggily against the light creeping through the curtains, it took him a moment to realize what happened.

His eyes widened slightly when he looked down and saw how closely the two of you were wrapped together.

But instead of pulling away, he let out a muffled laugh against your shoulder, almost embarrassed but not willing to give up the comfort.

“Guess we… drifted a little, huh,” he muttered, voice still husky with sleep. His grip on you didn’t loosen though.

If anything, he burrowed in a little closer, shutting his eyes again like he wasn’t ready to let the world rush back in.

For someone who was always sprinting, leaping, and chasing the next moment, it was almost startling how content he seemed to just stay here—with you, tangled up in the silence of a lazy morning.