#toshinori in his full lulu fit standing outside of tomura's apartment 25 mins later like: :D where is my beautiful son

[heich0e]

tomura tries to sneak out of your apartment one morning before you wake up, because he has to get all the way back to his apartment before his dad shows up to take him to a 9AM yoga class.

god forbid he be forced to explain:

a) why he slept over at an apartment that was not his own to his father (toshinori would be calling wedding venues and asking his assistant to look into your ring size before they'd even made it to the yoga studio)

nor b) the fact that he was going to a fucking yoga class at 9 o'clock in god damn the morning with his dad, to you.

he slips out of your bed soundlessly, moving as carefully as possible not to wake you. it pains him to do it. really, it does. your sheets are warm, and soft, and smell like you. and you're still there resting so peacefully, tucked under them, breathing soundly with your face burrowed into the collar of his hoodie that you'd worn to bed the night before. you look so pretty like this, tomura had spent at least half an hour just staring at you while he was laying next to you in your treacherously comfortable bed, and would have happily spent another hour more doing it.

there are very few forces on earth that could tear tomura out of bed like this, but the mortifying prospect of having to explain to his over-enthusiastic father that he has a girlfriend is certainly one of them.

he creeps out of your room and into the bathroom, splashing some cool water on his face and using the lotion that you keep next to the sink that makes his skin feel so nice. you started buying a bigger bottle lately, now that the two of you are both using it, and you never mentioned it but tomura still noticed when the little tube was replaced by a larger version of the same product. next he reaches for the toothbrush that he's started keeping next to yours, double checking the hour on his phone to make sure he wasn't running out of time.

he contemplates stealing one last peek at you in bed before he leaves, but he knows that if he doesn't leave now he won't have time to change his clothes before his dad shows up outside his place, so he heads straight to your front door once he's done in the washroom.

you're standing in his path before he can get to it.

you've got a blanket wrapped around your shoulders, but he can still see the soft skin of your thighs where the hem of his hoodie hangs peeking out from underneath the edges of it. there's a little frown tugging the corners of your mouth down.

tomura freezes in his tracks.

"going somewhere?" you ask him, your voice quiet and a little bit hoarse from sleep.

oh, fuck.

"morning," he mumbles, a bit nervously, as you pin him in your stare.

"it is," you reply, as though agreeing with him. "early, even. so why are you sneaking out of my apartment like a burglar?"

tomura rakes a hand through his sleep-mussed hair. "i, uh, gotta be somewhere."

"you have to be somewhere?" you repeat, a bit incredulously—like the words don't quite compute. you don't seem mad at all, just thoroughly bewildered by the whole strange situation. "tomu, we went three rounds last night and you're awake before two PM on a weekend. are you okay?"

"'course i'm okay," he rushes to get out, tripping over his words.

"did I like... do something? or is there someone el—"

"are you kidding?" tomura's voice cracks and he wishes the ground would open up and swallow him whole. he reaches out and grabs the edge of the blanket you have wrapped around you, his fingers twisting into it desperately. he knows you can't possibly—can't reasonably—think that he's seeing anybody else when the fact that he even landed someone like you is an honest to god miracle. the kind of underdog success story they make multi-part docuseries on.

tomura groans, shuffling forward and resting his forehead against your shoulder as he snakes his arms underneath the blanket around your frame to hold you close.

"you're being weird, tomu," you say quietly, brushing your fingers through his hair and letting your nails drag lightly against his scalp in that way that makes him want to shiver.

"fuck, I know, I know,"—he buries his face further into the crook of your neck, breathing in shakily—"'m not being sketchy or anything."

"you are," you remark lightly. "it's not that I don't trust you, I'm just confused."

tomura mumbles something, but the words are lost to the skin of your throat.

"what was that?" you ask.

tomura steels his nerve and takes one last long breath buried against your warmth. he pulls away and faces you.

"I have to go to a yoga class with my dad."

he loses his nerve about halfway through his admission, his eyes flickering away from yours to a point on the wall just above your front door, as a violent heat surges through his cheeks.

"a yoga class?"

he knows it sounds ridiculous. it is ridiculous. it may have been more believable to tell you he was going to hook up with someone el—

"why didn't you just say that?" your laughter cuts through his spiralling thoughts like a morning alarm.

his gaze snaps back to you, only to find you smiling softly.

"you... you're not...?" tomura isn't even sure what he's going to say. mad? surprised? convinced he's lying?

"i mean, i've noticed you've been looking kind of toned lately, but honestly i thought it's because we've been fucking so much," you scrunch your nose up a little. "yoga makes sense on both counts, though."

you turn and look across your apartment to the clock hanging on the wall.

"what time's your class?" you ask him, suddenly worried that this impromptu interrogation may have made him late. "i didn't mean to—"

tomura grabs either side of the blanket wrapped around your shoulders and tugs you forward, pressing his mouth to yours while your lips are still parted in speech.

(he doesn't make it to class that morning after all.)