The quiet hum of the TV filled Iwaizumi’s living room, its flickering glow casting a soft light across the space. The night felt calm — the kind of calm that settles in only when you’re tucked away somewhere safe, with no real plans and nowhere to be. Outside, the faint rustle of wind through the trees whispered against the windows, but inside, everything felt warm and still.

Iwaizumi sat on the floor, leaning back against the couch with one arm resting lazily along the cushions. His phone was in his hand, but he barely seemed to be paying attention to it, instead flicking his gaze to the TV every now and then — not really invested in what was playing, just content to exist in the quiet.

Oikawa, on the other hand, had claimed you as his personal pillow. He lay sprawled across the couch with his head resting in your lap, one arm slung loosely across your waist. His breathing had slowed, not quite asleep but dangerously close, his fingers twitching occasionally as if his mind was still half-awake. You ran your fingers through his hair absentmindedly, letting the strands slip between your fingers. He sighed, the sound soft and satisfied, like he could stay like this forever.

“Don’t let him drool on you,” Iwaizumi muttered, his voice low and dry.

“I don’t drool,” Oikawa grumbled without even opening his eyes. His fingers gave your waist a lazy squeeze as if that would somehow defend his honor.

Iwaizumi chuckled under his breath, then leaned his head back against the couch, closing his eyes like he could finally let his guard down. The room settled again — the TV murmuring softly in the background, Oikawa’s breathing steady against your lap, and Iwaizumi just a few feet away, relaxed in a way he rarely let himself be.