Takes place after hoodie stealing video :)
David knows Angel is awake before they admit it.
Not because they move. Angel is very good at lying still when they’re half-asleep, clinging to that last fragile thread of rest, but because David feels the subtle shift in the bed. A familiar weight presses more firmly into his side. A knee nudges his thigh. Their toes curl under his calf like they’re anchoring themselves.
He doesn’t open his eyes. He never does at first. Mornings like this are something to be savored quietly.
Angel exhales, slow and content, then murmurs something incoherent into his chest. David hums in response, a low sound he doesn’t even realize he makes until Angel relaxes further against him.
It’s late. Late enough that the light slipping through the curtains is warm instead of sharp, dust motes drifting lazily in the air. Late enough that neither of them feels the urgency to move.
Angel shifts again, cheek dragging against his shoulder as they adjust. Their hand. Warm and familiar slides across his chest, fingers tracing absent-mindedly as if they’re mapping him out by memory. David’s breath catches, but he stays still, patient.
Angel does this sometimes. Touches him without quite waking up. As if even half-asleep, they need to know he’s there.
After a few moments, Angel lifts their head just enough to squint at him through heavy lashes.
A corner of his mouth twitches. “That’s usually how bodies work.”
Angel frowns at him, clearly offended by the logic, then burrows closer. Their leg slings over his hips, unapologetic. David’s hand moves automatically to their back, fingers spreading across fabric that is his.
Angel is wearing his shirt.
Not just any shirt, either. One of his favorites. Soft, worn-in, stretched just enough at the collar to sit comfortably against his neck. It hangs loosely on Angel, sleeves slipping past their wrists, hem brushing mid-thigh.
David closes his eye again, smiling faintly.
Angel shifts, yawning deeply, then props themself up on one elbow. They squint down at him, hair a mess, face still creased from sleep.
“You staring?” they ask, voice thick and drowsy.
“Maybe,” David replies calmly. “You planning on getting up anytime soon?”
Angel looks at the clock. Their face scrunches. “No.”
They flop back down dramatically, pressing their face into his neck. David exhales a quiet laugh, arm tightening around them.
“Did you steal my shirt again?” he asks, tone casual, like he doesn’t already know the answer.
Angel doesn’t respond immediately. Instead, they shift just enough to tug the fabric down over their hips, snuggling deeper into it. Their fingers hook into the hem possessively.
David raises an eyebrow. “Angel.”
They hum thoughtfully. “It was lonely.”
David lets out a breath through his nose. “The shirt.”
Angel’s hand slides up his chest again, thumb tracing a slow, lazy circle over his collarbone. They’re still mostly asleep, movements unguarded and soft.
David watches them quietly emphasized. The way his shirt hangs off their shoulder. The way the fabric bunches where their hand grips him. The way their breathing evens out again now that they’re settled.
He loves this part. Loves that they don’t ask. That his clothes have become theirs without discussion. That they reach for his things when they want comfort.
Angel shifts again, rolling halfway onto him, straddling his hips lazily. Not deliberately—just settling where it feels right. Their forehead rests against his jaw, eyes closed.
“Davey,” they murmur again.
“Do you mind if I keep it?”
He doesn’t ask which it they mean.
“No,” he says immediately.
Angel smiles against his skin.
They drift like that for a while, time stretching, unimportant. David’s fingers trace slow, steady patterns along Angel’s spine. Angel’s breathing syncs with his. The world feels very small, very safe.
Eventually, Angel stirs again, more awake this time.
“I’m hungry,” they announce.
“But also,” Angel continues, lifting their head to peer at him seriously, “I don’t want to move.”
Angel considers this dilemma deeply. “Can you bring food to the bed?”
David opens both eyes now. “You want me to get up so you don’t have to?”
“And you’re wearing my shirt.”
“And my sweatpants,” he adds mildly.
Angel glances down at themselves, then back up, unrepentant. “They’re comfy.”
David sighs theatrically. “I’m being robbed in my own home.”
Angel grins, wide and sleepy. “You love it.”
When he finally does move, it’s slow and careful, easing Angel off him without fully breaking contact. Angel whines softly remembering, arms tightening around his waist.
“To get food,” he says. “Remember?”
They release him reluctantly, flopping back into his spot the moment he’s gone. David watches from the doorway as Angel curls into the blankets, pulling his shirt tighter around themselves.
He shakes his head, amused, and heads to the kitchen.
When he returns with toast and fruit, Angel is half-asleep again, face buried in his pillow. David sets the tray down and sits on the edge of the bed, brushing hair out of their face.
They groan. “Don’t wanna be awake.”
David hands them a plate, watching as they take it with both hands, sleeves swallowing their fingers. They look ridiculous. And perfect.
Angel munches quietly for a few moments, then glances down at themselves.
“Did you know I’m wearing your clothes?”
He pretends to consider it. “Now that you mention it… yeah.”
They grin, chewing. “I like smelling like you.”
David’s chest tightens just a little. “You always do.”
Angel swallows, then reaches out, tugging lightly on his sleeve. “Come back to bed when you’re done being productive.”
He leans down, presses a kiss to their forehead. “I will.”
Angel beams, then leans into his chest again, plate balanced precariously.
David stays there longer than necessary, one hand resting on their back, the other steadying the plate. He thinks about how natural it feels. How domestic. How his clothes have become an extension of their comfort.
Angel finishes eating and sighs happily, handing the plate back.
“Keeping the shirt,” they announce.
“And the hoodie you took yesterday?”
Angel grins, innocent. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
David chuckles, settling back into bed beside them. Angel immediately curls into him again, tucking their face under his chin.
“You look good in my stuff,” he murmurs.
Angel’s voice is soft, pleased. “I know.”
They drift back into sleep like that, Angel wrapped in his clothes, David wrapped around Angel, both of them exactly where they want to be.
And David thinks, not for the first time, that there are worse things in the world than losing your wardrobe to the person you love most.
