Sero blinked awake slowly, the early morning light barely filtering through the curtains. He didn’t move right away—didn’t want to. Shoto was still sleeping against him, or rather, under him, with Sero curled around him like a blanket that refused to let go.

He shifted just enough to rest his chin on Shoto’s shoulder, smiling lazily as his eyes focused.

Shoto looked ridiculously cute like this.

His usually composed face was soft in sleep, pink lips parted just slightly as a bit of drool escaped the corner of his mouth and dripped onto the pillow. His nose was scrunched in a way that made him look like he was pouting at something in a dream, and his eyebrows were furrowed, like he was about to start mumbling in protest. His hair was messy, falling into his eyes in soft tufts.

Sero melted.

He tightened his arms around Shoto’s middle just slightly, pulling him closer. Shoto didn’t even stir—just mumbled something incomprehensible and turned his face deeper into the pillow. Sero could feel the warmth of his breath against his collarbone, gentle and steady.

He stayed like that for a while, watching the rise and fall of Shoto’s chest. It wasn’t often he got to see him so unguarded. So at peace. And Sero didn’t dare ruin it.

Instead, he leaned down and pressed the softest kiss to Shoto’s scrunched-up nose.

“Morning, baby,” he whispered, knowing Shoto probably wouldn’t remember it when he woke up.

And that was fine. Sero would keep every quiet moment like this tucked in his heart.