The morning light barely peeked through the curtains, casting your shared bedroom in a soft, golden hush. But neither of you moved. Ushijima’s arm stayed snug around your waist, his face buried in your hair, breath warm against your skin. The weight of him, the heat of him—anchoring, steady.

You stirred just a little, mumbling something unintelligible into his chest, and he answered with a quiet hum, pressing a kiss to your forehead like muscle memory. No words yet. Just the language of lazy fingers tracing idle patterns on your back, the soft drag of his thumb over your hip, the occasional brush of his lips against your temple.

"Five more minutes," you whispered.

"Ten," he replied, voice still hoarse from sleep, low and gentle in your ear.

Time didn’t seem to exist in this bubble—just you, him, and the tangle of warm blankets that neither of you planned to leave anytime soon. You weren’t even sure he was fully awake, not with the way his hand stilled and his breathing evened out again, but it didn’t matter. Being close, feeling him there—that was everything.

No training, no noise, no need to move. Just the soft rhythm of two heartbeats, perfectly in sync, wrapped up in love and a little too much blanket.

And maybe this wasn’t the loud kind of love—but in the stillness of morning, with Ushijima holding you like the world could wait—it felt infinite.