The morning sun filters gently through the curtains, soft golden light spilling across the bedroom floor and casting slow-moving shadows that dance with the breeze. The house is quiet in that sacred, half-asleep way—still wrapped in sleep, safe in the hush before the world starts moving. You’re curled up under the covers, tangled in warm sheets and warmer limbs. Toji's arm is slung over your waist, his chest rising and falling steadily against your back. His hair is tousled, dark strands messy from sleep, his face pressed into the pillow behind your head.

Then there's a soft patter of feet. A whisper, followed by a giggle. A creak of the door. You know what’s coming before it happens.

There’s a thud as a little body tries and fails to stealthily climb into the bed, followed by a smaller, more delicate crawl. You smile, eyes still shut.

Tsumiki is first, quiet and gentle as always, the mattress dipping slightly as she slides into the space between you and Toji. Her little hands carefully grip the edge of the blanket, trying not to wake anyone. Megumi, on the other hand, has all the grace of a determined puppy. He clambers up from the foot of the bed with all the subtlety of a freight train, planting a knee in Toji’s ribs on his way up.

Toji groans. “Oi.”

Megumi ignores it completely, flopping down on your other side, dark messy hair sticking up in every direction and his little scowl already firmly in place. He doesn’t say anything, just presses his cold feet against your legs like it’s his right.

“Morning,” Tsumiki whispers, peeking up at you. Megumi doesn’t say anything, but he shifts closer and drapes an arm over your stomach, face smooshed into your side. You take it as his version of “good morning.”

Toji exhales through his nose, voice rough and still thick with sleep. “Bed’s gettin’ full," Toji grumbles as he wraps his arm around the three of you, smushing you all together and making the kids laugh brightly.