Imagine Mako just looking at sleepy Rin in an oversized sweatshirt and just going “Fuck” in his mind.
It’s 12:11 a.m., and if he’s going to finish this essay before morning he’d better get going. It’d be nice to get more than two hours of sleep at least once this week. He stares at the word count. Only another 1,856 words. He can do this.
…
Nothing. Makoto scrubs his hand over his face and contemplates another pot of coffee. Rin’s been asleep for a while, even though he is a light sleeper, the smell probably wouldn’t wake him.
“M’koto?” It’s barely his name. It’s almost more a yawn. He turns to look over his shoulder.
Well, fuck.
Rin’s standing in the kitchen doorway, wearing Makoto’s old Iwatobi High sweatshirt and nothing else. It barely falls past his ass when he’s got his hand up in his hair like that.
“C’mon back to bed,” Rin sighs. “I’m cold.”
Makoto chuckles. “I’ve got to finish this essay.”
“How many more words?” Rin asks, padding into the kitchen. He squints in annoyance at the bright light.
He looks. “Um, 1,829, now.”
Rin makes a disgruntled noise and leans into him, resting his forehead on his shoulder. “That’s what you had left when you got up.”
“No,” Makoto hedges. “I’ve definitely written at least 60 words.” It’s pathetic, and he knows it.
“Come back to bed,” his boyfriend says, tangling his fingers in Makoto’s shirt and pulling. “You need sleep.”
“Rin-”
“Now,” Rin says.
“I need to-” Makoto tries, but Rin shakes his head and pulls off his sweatshirt.
“I need to go to bed,” Makoto says, shutting his laptop.
“Damn right, you do.”
