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The first few tries, Atsushi fails to push his keys through the keyhole, but the click that echoes as he finally manages to get it in and open the door to his dorm draws a relieved sigh out of him. He’s finally home, a day of running errands everywhere and nowhere for his workplace checked off the list and added to his salary.
He’s tired, and a yet days’ worth of catching up on studies awaits him, so he did himself the favour of having ochazuke for dinner from a teahouse that he sometimes passes by when walking home. He could afford to splash out a little, since Dazai would pay him for parading as his boyfriend. Atsushi shrugs the unease off and reminds himself that money is money, and technically he got it in a perfectly legal way.
He thinks back to his first meeting with Dazai’s friends. It comes to Atsushi now, how easily they had adapted, slipping smoothly in a sense of casualty despite barely knowing him. He’d come forward as Dazai’s boyfriend when he stepped into the room, and when the initial disbelief subdued, they seemed to have accepted it—accepted him.
He doubts tomorrow will have offer that same acceptance. He thinks of all of Dazai’s ‘heartbroken’ admirers, and cringes. What conversations those’ll be. He mentally steels himself for the avalanche of insults he’s sure to receive, although he’s fairly sure that the moment he’s alone he’ll cry.
He doesn’t realize he’s far already away with his thoughts by the time a knock on his door snaps him out of his bubble. Atsushi cranes his neck at the door, swallows the warmth of the time spent with people who don’t necessarily dislike him away, and hesitantly opens it up.
“Dazai-san?” He should’ve expected this, really. It feels a lifetime ago since he last saw Dazai. Whenever he’s close, Atsushi’s painfully aware of him, the first and foremost person on his mind for the time spent by his side.
Which is completely logical, because Atsushi is playing the part of his boyfriend. He should be most focused on him whenever they’re together in front of other people.
“Hi, Atsushi-kun, mind if I come in?” Dazai greets, pushing Atsushi’s door further open and just strolling in, which beats the purpose of asking, if Atsushi were asked.
Atsushi watches Dazai step in his apartment, sighing, and closes the door behind him. “Hello, Dazai-san. Mind me asking what you’re doing here?”
When he follows after Dazai to the about the middle of his room, he realizes how small the place is. Sooner, rather than later, would either of them backed into the wall if one wants to maintain personal space and the other doesn’t. His heart unwillingly speeds up and Atsushi has to will, no, pray the pictures that rise to his foremind away.
“Oh, I just thought I’d drop by at this hour. You know, to keep face?” Dazai answers, absentmindedly tugging at the cuffs of his sleeves. He sits down on the lone chair Atsushi has.
“What face?” Atsushi asks, for sake of saving his own. He turns his eyes away from Dazai’s arms and the slightly loosened bandages there—a gesture that shouldn’t be as attractive as it is.
“You know.” Dazai gestures between Atsushi and himself expressively. “Our face. Us, together, our relationship. That it all looks real, yeah?”
“Dazai-san, we saw each other yesterday—” Oh. Oh.
“I think I got it,” Atsushi remarks stiffly. He should’ve expected this, too. Heat crawls up his neck, and he pointedly looks away. “So, you decided to drop by at this hour so people would think we’re—?” He can’t help it, and side-eyes Dazai anyway.
“Hmm?” Dazai tilts his head to the side before realization sets in. He collects himself and he shakes his head. “Oh, no. No, not at all. I only had time at this time, so it’s absolutely not because I want people to think we’re necessarily…” there’s a pause, and then he says, slowly, licking his lips while Atsushi’s throat becomes very dry, “… sleeping with each other.”
Atsushi swallows. Add that to the list of matters Atsushi really doesn’t want to discuss with his fake boyfriend. He sighs and figures he can’t do much but to believe him. Besides, it’s not like he can change what people want to think about the two of them.
Dazai cracks a grin at him. “Bit of a dirty mind you’ve got there though, eh, Atsushi-kun?”
“Huh?” Atsushi says dumbly, frowning. He can still vividly remember the days when the mere mention of it, would have him coughing violently and tomato red in the face for the coming hour or so. You really do get used to the ongoing mentions and implications of it, all around. He’s so past the choking on air. “No, I’m not. It’s just—I just thought—”
Dazai raises his hands placatingly. “Relax, Atsushi-kun, I know you don’t. Or maybe you are and I’m going to be very surprised,” he smiles, lips curled in a way that Atsushi saw too many people swoon over. He supposes this one smile doesn’t actually make it look like he has any mischievous intentions and therefore someone you want to avoid, no matter how soft his hair looks.
There is no need to stare at the lips that have kissed you before, no matter how briefly, no matter how many times, so Atsushi doesn’t. “Yeah, I don’t think you’re going to be very surprised then,” he replies. His eyes glide to the clock hanging above his door, and then he meets Dazai’s gaze again. “How long are you staying?”
“Ouch. I just came here, and you’re already wondering when I’ll leave?” Dazai pouts, crossing his arms and wiggling himself further onto his seat, as if to show he’ll be staying for a while.
Atsushi is suddenly very much reminded of how exhausted he is, how much he just wants to crash on his bed and sleep and pretend he doesn’t have to study and then wake up in the morning, panicking because he really should’ve studied. “Yeah,” he answers simply.
“You’re so rude, Atsushi-kun.”
“And also, your boyfriend,” Atsushi adds tiredly.
Dazai stills, his back straightening as if a whip struck him, and he blinks at him.
Atsushi stares back, wondering what caught his attention when realization slaps him across his face. “Your fake boyfriend, that is!” He hastily corrects, flailing and finding himself quite flustered. “I—I didn’t actually mean it—not at all—like that.”
Dazai’s quiet for a horrifyingly long moment, until he laces his fingers together and nods. “Alright, I see how it is.”
Atsushi fidgets with his fingers. “How is it?” He asks, sounding smaller than he should be and more under scrutiny than he wants to.
Dazai leans back in his chair and looks at him, truly looks at him, from the top of his head to the tip of his toes. It feels undressing, and the fact that it’s working, that he feels nearly naked in front of him, causes a shiver to run down the length of his spine. Gold glimmers in his eyes, he’s frowning a little. It looks so unnecessarily handsome.
“You’re already in love with me,” Dazai says, solemnly.
Atsushi panics breaks him out of the bubble. “What? That’s idiotic,” he blurts out, his denial—he’s not, he’s absolutely not in love with Dazai—is out of his mouth before his brain caught up with Dazai’s words. Heat that shouldn’t be there settles in his cheeks.
He’s about to give more arguments as to why he is absolutely not in love with Dazai, a list comprised of naming their flaws, mostly Dazai’s, when he follows the quivering line of Dazai’s lips, the subtle indication of a joke.
A smile forms on Dazai’s lips, turns into a laughter and within no time, Dazai’s doubled over, slapping his knees and whatnot. “I really had you back there. You should’ve seen the look on your face!” He exclaims under Atsushi’s scandalized gaze.
Atsushi glowers, and he crosses his arms, unamused while Dazai wipes a non-existent tear from his eye. “Oh, I wouldn’t put past you to actually believe that. That’s a good reason for panic, you know, if you actually thought I was in love with you, I never would’ve heard the end of it!”
In the end, Atsushi finds himself perfectly content, laughing with Dazai at something so silly.