#he also does everything without complaint btw like he hates being woken up in the middle night

[seiwas]

iwaizumi hajime the type to run to the store for you at some outrageous time like 2am—

—in nothing but his sweatpants, sleep shirt hastily thrown on. it’s thinned out from each wash and is way too faded to be worn out; there’s a hole or two somewhere on the sides. and his hair’s all messed up, sticking out every which way with a bit of sleep still in his eyes.

he’s yawning through the aisles, slides smacking against the store floor as he looks for what you need. self check-out is mechanical at this point, movements memorised.

when he comes back home—to bed, you’re sat up against the headrest, waiting. he drops the paper bag beside you and climbs under the covers, slinging an arm around you as he whispers in your ear, lazy and sleep-laden while his eyes fall shut, “need anything else?”