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Josuke can’t sleep.
It’s past 3AM, and even though he’s been staring at the digital clock on his nightstand, the red numbers burning into his eyes, he doesn’t know how long he’s been laying here in this exact position, too scared to move. Five minutes? Ten? Thirty? Or maybe it’s been an hour? It feels like it’s been multiple hours, like time itself has stopped and suspended this very moment to last forever and never continue forward.
But then the numbers on the clock shift, jumping to the next minute, and that illusion is shattered.
It’s quiet. Josuke can hear Okuyasu’s breathing from beside him, can hear the ruffling of the sheets as he shifts, but otherwise, there’s no other sound in the room. Normally the quiet is supposed to feel tranquil and relaxing, helping carry him off to sleep’s warm embrace. But right now, it’s only making Josuke tense. Anxious. And since when did he ever feel nervous to be around his best friend?
It’s not like he and Okuyasu are never close to each other. In fact, they almost always are, like they’re a pair of magnets that need to be glued to one another’s sides at all times in order to properly function. An arm slung around the other’s shoulders, brushes of their hands, half-hugs of excitement that press every inch of their sides close together until there’s no space left between them. Physical touches like that are things Josuke’s gotten used to and grown to outright expect from his best friend, who’s been flinging himself onto Josuke since the day they first met.
But this — the two of them laying back-to-back in Josuke’s twin size bed, so close he can feel the heat from Okuyasu’s body bleeding over into his — feels different from all of those other touches. It feels closer, more personal… more intimate . And Josuke’s pretty sure that’s not a word that friends should be using to describe something they’re doing together.
Because friends don’t usually do this, right? The few times Josuke had friends over to spend the night as a little kid, they would always sleep on a spare futon his mom pulled out from the hallway closet. They’d never climb into bed with him, even though they would have been much smaller back then and would have had so much more room between them in the bed. It just isn’t a line that friends are supposed to cross. Josuke can’t even see himself sharing a bed with Koichi, so what makes doing this with Okuyasu so much different?
Josuke knows the answer. He knows it every time Okuyasu smiles at him and his heart leaps, every time their bodies touch and his skin tingles where the other just was, every time they get close like this and his mind screams at him to get closer, closer, even closer still, until there really is no more distance left between them.
And he knew it earlier tonight, too.
Josuke had come back from his shower already working a hairbrush into his damp hair to finish brushing out the last bits of his hairstyle. And Okuyasu had been staring right at him with wide eyes as Josuke came over and sat down on the edge of his bed, suddenly feeling more self conscious under that intense gaze. Because that was the first time he’d ever had his hair down in front of Okuyasu, and he couldn’t tell what exactly he was thinking. And for some reason, he also cared way too much about whether or not Okuyasu liked it.
“What?” he finally asked, a little more defensively than he meant for it to come out. When Okuyasu didn’t immediately respond, he pressed, “Dude, why’re you staring at me like that? You wanna say something?”
Okuyasu kept staring at him for a moment longer, apparently not fazed whatsoever by the relatively harsh reaction. “It’s… kinda long.”
Josuke couldn’t tell if he meant it in a positive or a negative way as he bit back, “And?”
“And…” Okuyasu shrugged, a tiny smile playing at his lips. He scooted even closer then, until their knees bumped and their shoulders brushed. “I dunno. It looks pretty.”
Josuke’s been called pretty plenty of times before. By his mom, on the days she feels like being obnoxiously doting, and by girls who giggle at him as they approach and shove love letters into his hands that he knows he’ll probably never read. He’s heard it plenty of times, yet has never thought much of it, never really felt affected by it.
But hearing that word come from Okuyasu drew a reaction from Josuke he’d never experienced before. His heart stuttered like an engine failing to start up the first time, the breath instantly drawn from his lungs as he sat there and gaped at his best friend like a fish out of water. The word replayed over and over in his mind — pretty, pretty, pretty , each echo making something in his chest flutter. His whole body tingled, and he was suddenly ultra aware of how close they were sitting, how their knees were still pressed together and he could feel the warmth of Okuyasu’s skin seeping into his own. “Butterflies in your stomach” was a phrase that Josuke had heard and thought about countless times before, but he’d never actually experienced it.
Until that moment.
And now, he thinks, maybe that’s why he’s currently laying here staring at nothing in the dark, too wound up to fall asleep when he can’t stop the word from echoing in his mind. Pretty . Okuyasu thinks he’s pretty . Fuck the entire reason he’s worn and defended it so long, Josuke thinks he might just have to forgo the pompadour entirely from now on if Okuyasu thinks he’s pretty with his hair down.
…Not really. He’s being dramatic, he knows he is. It’s crazy that he even had the thought in the first place, but something about Okuyasu just makes his brain skid completely off the tracks like that. And that’s something he really doesn’t feel like unpacking right now.
He doesn’t know how much longer he lays there. The numbers on the clock change again, over and over, and Josuke’s staring right at them, but he doesn’t process them at all. He wonders, for the second time that night, if it’s only been five minutes, or ten, or thirty, or an hour. But then, he feels movement from beside him, and manages to swallow the lump in his throat enough to speak.
“Okuyasu?” he whispers.
There’s silence for a moment too long until, finally, Josuke hears the other reply with a “Hm?”
“Are you still awake?” Josuke asks, and wants to kick himself the moment the words leave his mouth. Stupid question . Of course Okuyasu’s still awake if he answered him the first time.
But Okuyasu just gives a muttered “Yeah,” in reply. They roll over at the same time then, so little room between them that they end up mere inches from one another’s face, noses nearly touching. Immediately, they both scoot back a little to give the other space, muttering flustered apologies, yet Josuke’s heart won’t stop racing. They’re still close — too close. Because his bed is a little too small, and they’re both a little too big, and there’s not enough room for them to lay here without knocking knees or invading each other’s personal space with even just the slightest movement.
Josuke can feel Okuyasu’s breath mixing with his, warm against his skin in the minimal space between them. His eyes trace over the contours of his best friend's face in the dim light — the sharp line of his jaw, the soft curve of his lips. He swallows hard, a nervous fluttering building in his stomach under the watch of those dark eyes.
“S-Sorry, did I wake you up?” Josuke asks, silently cursing himself for how shaky his voice comes out.
Okuyasu gives a small shake of his head. Josuke wonders if he can hear how hard his heart is beating in the stillness between them. He hopes not, too embarrassed by his body's reactions to their closeness.
"Nah, couldn't sleep," Okuyasu murmurs after a moment, warm breath ghosting over Josuke's face in a way that makes him shiver despite the heat burning on his cheeks.
An awkward silence falls. Neither boy moves, both of them apparently too scared that they’ll get a little too close, and Josuke's mind races, heart thudding loudly in his ears. He knows he should say something, anything, to break this sudden tension, but no words come. The air feels charged, like a cord pulled taut and vibrating, waiting to snap.
"Um, do you… do you want me to scoot over some more?" Josuke manages to murmur.
Another stupid question. Where would he even scoot to in this tiny bed, when there’s already barely any room between them? But the words are already out there, spilled carelessly from his lips before he could stop them in desperate hopes of easing this sudden strained atmosphere.
“Nah, s’okay,” Okuyasu finally mumbles back, not meeting Josuke’s eyes. “Not really anywhere for ya to go anyways.”
He gives an awkward little laugh and Josuke forces out a weak chuckle in return, the sound dying quickly on his lips. His palms feel clammy, heart racing as their eyes meet fleetingly once more before skittering away again. God, why is this so hard all of a sudden? They're best friends, this shouldn't feel so… strange. But laying here, faces mere inches apart, bodies aligned and radiating warmth under the blankets… it's intimacy like Josuke has never experienced before. And judging by Okuyasu's reactions, he feels the shift between them too.
Josuke wets his lips again and, before he can second-guess himself, blurts out, “Well, do you maybe wanna, um… cuddle?”
He can see Okuyasu’s eyes widen at the sudden suggestion, cheeks darkening with a blush that's visible even in the dim lighting. He seems caught completely off guard, mouth opening and closing wordlessly for a few seconds before he finally manages to stammer out, "C-Cuddle?"
Josuke feels his own face flood with heat, heart thudding against his ribs. Stupid. He’s really fucking stupid, he thinks. Did he really just ask his best friend to cuddle with him, after… whatever this is that’s currently going on between them? As if that won’t be awkward as hell? The silence stretches between them, thick and tense. Josuke's heart hammers against his ribs, throat tight. He shouldn't have said that. What was he thinking? Friends don't ask to cuddle. And Okuyasu definitely won’t want to.
"Y-Yeah, uh... I just thought maybe if we, y'know, got a bit closer, there'd be more room and we could finally get some sleep," he rambles nervously, fully aware of how see-through the excuse sounds but unable to stop the stream of nonsense babbling from his lips.
Okuyasu continues to stare at him wordlessly, eyes wide and cheeks practically glowing, visible even in the darkness. After a few agonizing seconds of silence, Josuke can't take it anymore and hurriedly tacks on, "B-But we totally don't have to if you don't want, I was just kinda thinking out loud, sorry forget I said anyth—"
"Okay."
Josuke's spiraling apology cuts off abruptly as Okuyasu's soft agreement registers. Blinking rapidly, Josuke searches his best friend's face uncertainly. "O-Okay?"
Okuyasu gives a small, jerky nod of his own. Even in the low light Josuke can see how flustered he looks, cheeks dusted dark pink, eyes shyly downcast. But despite the clear embarrassment coloring his features, Okuyasu scoots himself closer until their bodies are nearly flush, chests just shy of touching. "Yeah. We can uh, y'know… cuddle, if ya want."
So Josuke just nods mutely, still reeling from the fact that he actually agreed. Slowly, nervously, he reaches out, gingerly laying an arm over Okuyasu's waist. Okuyasu inches closer in response, until their chests are entirely pressed together now, legs tangling under the sheets. Josuke’s heart is beating so fast he can feel it in his neck and the tips of his fingers, and he’s sure Okuyasu can definitely hear it now.
"Is… is this okay?" he whispers after a moment, unable to handle the tension.
Okuyasu nods, arms winding more snugly around Josuke's waist. His breath tickles Josuke’s collarbone as he speaks. “Yeah. Feels nice.” A pause, then even quieter, “You’re really warm, Josuke.”
The simple compliment makes Josuke’s face burn brighter. Swallowing thickly, trying desperately to steady his racing pulse, he smooths a hand slowly up and down Okuyasu's spine. He can feel the muscles in Okuyasu’s back and shoulder blades even through the thick fabric of his shirt, can feel how warm his skin is beneath the smoothness of his palm. It’s awkward at first, the touch barely there, yet Josuke keeps going regardless, too attached to the contact now to fully let up. Okuyasu tenses initially, clearly not used to this either, but he soon relaxes into the touch and tucks his head into the crook of Josuke’s neck. Heart fluttering wildly in response, Josuke continues the gentle caresses, reveling in Okuyasu's warmth, his solidness, the feeling of holding him in his arms.
Friends definitely aren’t supposed to do this. But it feels right. More right than anything ever has before, and Josuke starts to think that he could get addicted to this, could crave it every single day for the rest of his life until it’s the only thing he’ll ever need. It’s a scary thought, and he doesn’t want to think about what it means right now.
He still knows the answer. Friends aren’t supposed to do this, but he doesn’t give a damn anymore. This feels safe, comfortable, right .
Josuke’s mind flashes back to earlier. Okuyasu had called him pretty . Said he was really warm. Things that friends probably aren’t supposed to say to each other, but things that Josuke decides he really doesn’t mind hearing, as long as they’re from Okuyasu. Maybe he’s losing his mind a little bit — he definitely feels like he is. But as Okuyasu’s arms wrap tighter around his waist and his lips gently brush his collarbone, Josuke decides that, even if he is losing it a bit, that’s okay. He wants to hear those words every single day.
And he wants to hold Okuyasu like this every night.