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When the name "Chuuya Nakahara" is heard, most would imagine this high-class, elegantly dressed mafia executive. This man with fiery red hair and cerulean eyes, hypnotizing in their beauty. He carries himself with poise, intimidating in his presence, with a tinge of expensive wine and perfume that turns heads in awe.
The personification of godly power in its human form.
Well...Dazai can only snort, seeing him like this.
His sleeping beau's hair splays out in all kinds of directions—in his mouth, on the pillow he's lying on, and some even tangled with his own dark locks. Some are sticking to his face—by sweat or saliva, Dazai doesn't know (or maybe he does, but chooses not to elaborate further). His mouth is awfully wide open that Dazai has thought of dropping something in it as a prank on more than one occasion. He ends up just stupidly giggling to himself every time, though. Choking to death isn't fun if he's not the one experiencing it.
Leaning on his side, resting on his bandaged knuckle, he tucks a stray strand clouding the sleeping form's face. Disgusting, Dazai thinks, and he finds it hard to fight back a smile at the thought.
The room is dark, and they're alone—plus, it'll take an earthquake to wake Chuuya up, if anything. So just this once (a "once" he's been repeating a lot lately), he lets his emotions override and take control.
There's a certain warmth that blooms in his chest as he brushes hair out of the redhead's face, caressing it in the process. Dazai feels his cheeks hurt a little, his eyes crinkle, but just this once, he pays no mind to it. He feels like he can't hold it back even if he wanted to, anyway. Chuuya is just too dangerous even in his sleep—he isn't doing anything, yet he makes Dazai falter. Makes him feel all fuzzy and full of emotions he still can't completely understand.
"You're so ugly, chibi..."
He lets out a soft chuckle when Chuuya snores as if in response.
He puts his hand under the other's chin, gently closing his mouth. After a while, it opens again, and Dazai giggles to himself. He does it again, waiting with a childlike giddiness before it falls back open, so he can close it again.
It's so stupid—he's so stupid—but he lets himself be, relishing in this sudden nonsensical surge of happiness. Then after some time, he moves to poking his cheek, pinching the soft skin every now and then.
Chuuya looks less muscular and chubbier lying like this. He's a mess, a lump of sweat and drool and the natural scents of man. The scene is so ridiculous that Dazai can't look away.
Overwhelmed with fondness, he doesn't think twice before squeezing his nose for no reason.
A snore is cut off harshly, and Chuuya chokes on his saliva as his eyes blow wide open faster than lightning.
Giggling, Dazai grips their shared blanket, burying his innocent self under the pillows and sheets. He shuts his eyes as if he's been sleeping the entire time, willing himself to not look at Chuuya, who's probably confused and pouting cutely like how he does whenever he wakes.
There's the sound of fabrics shuffling, Chuuya turning to his side, then a pillow rising.
It smacks Dazai hard in the face.
"Don't fuck with me, asshole, you're literally smiling...wake up..."
Still dazed off sleep, he clumsily shakes the bandaged bastard off his senses. Soft laughter erupts in the room as the other won't budge.
Dazai wouldn't want to wake up any other way.