Chapter Text
“Have you seen my—”
Ino freezes mid-step when he realizes what he is looking at. It feels weirdly…inappropriate to see you like this, wearing nothing but the hoodie he’s been looking for. He’s like an intruder amid your little morning serenity, with a cup of warm drink in your hand and bread in a toaster. Your hair is disheveled and face you turn to him: as sleepy as it can be at six in the morning in the narrow kitchen, under the dim light of an old ceiling lamp.
Then, a shame scratches at the back of his head. It’s not a fresh hoodie; he returned home late and found power to only hang it on a chair to “air it out” instead of running a quick laundry. Fate knows how much he had been running that day, sweating buckets and soaking in the city’s stench. It just…can’t smell good—and you’re wearing it, snuggled cozy, balancing on one foot to warm the other against your calf, your favorite mug enveloped by your hands…
“Seen what?” Your voice is raspy and louder than a whisper only just a little. You squint your eyes and tilt your head to the side to avoid the direct light—and Ino’s heart melts at how cute you look right now. All his qualms fade when his chest fills with mushy warmth; he doesn’t feel awkward or ashamed anymore, just sweetened and weak, and weirdly needy of your touch.
He wants to have you in his arms again, the same way as he cradled you in your shared bed, so happy and relieved to live through another day, to yet again be blessed with sneaking to rest by your side and listen to your calm breath.
“Mmm, nothing.” He approaches close and wraps his arms around you, waiting just a moment for you to put the mug on the counter and climb next to it.
Ino likes to cuddle with your head resting on his chest—but never misses on an opportunity for the opposite. He brushes lips against your neck and lingers for longer in its crook, to breathe the intimate smell of sheets and your skin before the morning shower. But soon enough he trails lower and nuzzles to your chest, into your warmth and the steady sound of your heartbeat.
You run fingers through his hair, gathering it to the back and exposing his scar, which you soon trace with a thumb, “We need to get you to a hairdresser.”
He nearly purrs, then giggles when you wrap legs around him, your cold feet brushing against his bare calves, “Thought you liked me with longer hair?”
“You can barely see.”
When you let his strands fall free again, they indeed block the majority of Ino’s vision, or rather of its field already restricted by your chest and folds of the hoodie. But he sees your half-lidded eyes and warm love in them, a little droplet of drool dried at the corner of your lips, and all the wrinkles and nooks that make your face so familiar and special.
He has never felt more in love before than in this split moment of early and dark autumn morning in the middle of the kitchen of a little rented apartment on the outskirts of Tokyo, “I have everything I need to see right here."