“Let him sleep,” you say to Hanzo. You continue to scrub the pot clean of spaghetti sauce from dinner earlier that evening.
“He always sleeps,” he says with a growly undertone. He crosses his arms at the kitchen table. While not the dark pits Shota usually sports, Hanzo has dark circles under his eyes. Something has been disturbing his sleep.
“I know what you’re saying.” Hanzo snorts at that. You continue. “You’re saying he doesn’t train as much as you. Well, he still beats you every time, so…” You trail off and let the wicked grin on your face say the rest.
Hanzo stares at you, letting the silence stretch.
“You’re lucky I don’t take such comments from you personally,” he finally says.
“Why didn’t I soak this bitch?!” you mutter to yourself, still scrubbing. “Sorry, what?” you ask Hanzo.
“Nevermind.”
It wasn’t important, anyway. You rinse the now-clean pot and place it in the drying rack.
“Does he have to use his sleeping bag on the bed?” Hanzo demands from out of nowhere.
“That’s how he likes it,” you say.
“He puts it on top of the blankets!”
“So?!”
“I wish to use those blankets,” Hanzo pouts.
“Then move him. You know it won’t wake him up.”
You get the mental image of Hanzo whipping the blankets and the cocooned Shota falling to the floor, still snoozing away. You smile to yourself.
“That is rude.”
You scoff, as if Hanzo wasn’t just shit-talking Shota just now.
“Saying and doing are two different things,” he claims.
You shake your head, washing the last dish. “If you say so, Hanzo.”
You finish the dishes and sit next to Hanzo to take a moment to relax. You lean against his warm, solid frame, soaking in his heat like a needy human sponge. He hugs you a tad closer with an arm around your waist. A few minutes pass, and Shota walks into the kitchen. His hair is up, and he wears all black on his lean frame.
“Good morning!” you call with a smile. Anytime he gets up is ‘morning’ to you.
“Speak of the devil, and he shall appear,” Hanzo taunts. “What drags your depressed carcass into this kitchen at this hour, Aizawa?”
“Just for that, you can come patrolling with me.”
“You’re a teacher!” Hanzo protests. “You don’t have to!”
He tenses up under you, and you sit up, sensing drama brewing.
“You’ll do as I say if you don’t want me to report Overwatch activities to the authorities.”
Hanzo turns red with anger, but he gets up to do as Shota says. His path to where his bow is stored takes him past the pro hero. Hanzo pauses to lock gazes with the other man. You adore the contrast between them. Two dark-locked, small men, but one with perpetual bedhead and the other with nary a hair out of place, even while relaxing at home. Shota blinks back with his usual, exhausted stare. His expression is somewhat impertinent, and Hanzo furrows his brow further. Still, he has to protect Overwatch, and goes to get Stormbow from its case.
You get up as Shota turns to you. He pecks a kiss to your forehead.
“I’ll have him back by bedtime,” he promises with a tired smile.
You laugh. “He’s older than you!”
“He still acts like one of my students,” Shota mutters, turning to leave.
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