"Simple pleasures are the last refuge of the complex"
a TezukaFuji ficverse of short fics in the same universe of a fluffier nature (yet striving to be in-character as well) established relationship, to a point.
Written when there was a deluge of angsty-break-up-y TezukaFuji fics without happy endings, thus I threatened and threatened to do this so I did (heart)
Fuji isn't a morning person.
Prince of Tennis, Tezuka/Fuji, around PG-ish, no real warnings or spoilers
Tezuka always sets the clock before sleeping, it is a habit so worn into his hands that it is done without thinking, a routine melded into daily life like so many other things, it is done without a thought that his life is different now.
It is a useless thing, for he always wakes up precisely fifteen minutes before it would be set to ring, and carefully defuses it like a timebomb waiting to go off.
He slinks out of bed, hands blindly searching for his glasses, oh, there they are. The thin frames shudder slightly as he places them over the bridge of his angular nose. The world blurs for a moment, the solidifies, focuses.
Fuji is not a morning person. It is better for the world and his own sanity if Fuji is allowed a few extra hours.
Tezuka slumps back and catches a few extra hours of rest.
Fuji isn't a morning person. Or so he likes Tezuka to think.
He always wakes up exactly fifteen minutes before Tezuka and resets the clock, just for a suppressed laugh into the pillow, and to have the pleasure of watching Tezuka wake up fifteen minutes later and blindly reach for the clock. Just to watch admiringly as he 'resets' the clock.
Fuji thinks that Tezuka is chivalrous for doing such a thing, but it's probably just a mixture of self-preservation and well honed intuition.
As Tezuka shifts in bed, supposedly for Fuji's comfort, Fuji smiles into his pillow while feigning sleep.
Fuji doesn't actually mind mornings, but doesn't like them half as much as he likes convincing Tezuka that he doesn't.
Tezuka isn't a morning person.
Tezuka knows Fuji doesn't mind mornings, he knows Fuji is merely playing another game, but he also knows that this one is harmless compared to what Fuji could do.
He likes the scent of cotton sheets and the sight of Fuji's pale skin laid out on the only slightly paler fitted sheets.
He likes the sound of Fuji's suppressed laugh and the hint of a salacious grin pressed into folds of a curled pillow.
And yes, he even likes the few extra hours of sleep, the extra warm of Fuji curled up beside him.