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˚₊ ‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚
Yuma was tired. Extremely so.
Dragging himself back from one of his afternoon classes, all he wanted was to collapse face-first onto his bed and let the world melt away. A nap was non-negotiable at this point. But when he stepped into his dorm room and found it empty, his tail gave an irritated flick.
No Harua.
Damn. He wanted to nap with him.
It wasn’t that Yuma needed him there—cats were supposed to be independent, aloof, perfectly fine on their own. But the truth was, his naps felt incomplete without the soft rise and fall of Harua’s breathing beside him, without the occasional twitch of long ears brushing against his arm.
The world had always raised an eyebrow at their friendship. A cat and a bunny? Unheard of. Unwise. People whispered about instincts and danger, about fragile prey and lurking predators. Yuma and Harua had grown up hearing it, the sideways glances, the muttered warnings.
And yet, they never gave up on each other.
The thing was, neither of them fit into the neat little boxes those stereotypes dictated. Yuma wasn’t some cold, sharp-edged predator, if anything, he was a bit lazy, dramatic, and far too soft where Harua was concerned. And Harua? He was no timid, skittish bunny. He had a sharp tongue, a stubborn streak a mile wide, and a way of calling Yuma out on his nonsense that left him annoyed.
Together, they didn’t make sense. And maybe that was why they made perfect sense.
They had a bond Yuma couldn’t explain. Something steady. Something that mattered.
Even if, on days like this, when he wanted more than just the comfort of friendship, he hated to admit it.
Yuma sighed, kicking off his shoes as he trudged deeper into the room. His own bed looked inviting enough, but his gaze drifted to the one across from it. Harua’s bed was neater, blankets tucked in, the faintest trace of his shampoo still clinging to the pillow.
Without thinking too hard about it, Yuma crossed the room and flopped down onto Harua’s side. The mattress dipped just slightly different from his own, firmer, but the scent—that familiar mix of laundry soap and something warm, something uniquely Harua—was enough to make his eyes flutter shut.
He stretched out, tail curling against his leg, and pressed his face into Harua’s pillow. If anyone walked in, he’d never hear the end of it. But for now, he let himself pretend Harua was already there, that those long ears would twitch when he rolled over, that Harua would mumble something sarcastic before giving in and letting Yuma tuck against him.
The thought made his chest ache in a way he refused to name.
The door clicked open.
“You’ve got to be kidding me.”
Yuma cracked one eye open, caught mid-sprawl. Harua stood in the doorway with his backpack still slung over one shoulder, ears perked high in disbelief.
Yuma smirked lazily, refusing to move. “What? Your bed’s better.”
Harua dropped the bag to the floor with a thud. “You’re unbelievable. Don’t you have your own bed?”
“Yeah,” Yuma murmured, rolling onto his back and stretching like he owned the place. “But it doesn’t smell like you.”
That earned him a sharp silence. Harua’s ears twitched, a flush creeping across his face before he covered it with a scoff. “You’re such a pain,” he muttered, but his voice wasn’t nearly as steady as usual.
And Yuma couldn’t help the tiny, dangerous thought that maybe he wasn’t the only one yearning.
Harua shut the door with a click, kicking his shoes off with more force than necessary. “Seriously, Yuma. Get up. That’s my bed.”
Yuma sprawled even wider across the mattress, arms stretched like a starfish. “Correction: it was your bed. Now it’s mine.”
“You can’t just claim things because you’re a cat,” Harua snapped, marching over. “Move.”
“Make me,” Yuma drawled, eyes half-lidded in challenge. His tail flicked smugly against the sheets.
Harua glared at him for a long moment, then huffed and tried to grab Yuma’s arm. Bad idea. Yuma immediately twisted, catching Harua by the wrist and tugging him forward. Harua stumbled, landing on the edge of the bed with a bounce.
Yuma grinned up at him. “See? Plenty of room for both of us.”
“You’re insufferable,” Harua muttered, but he didn’t pull away. His ears twitched, betraying him.
For a moment, the only sound was Yuma’s soft purring. Quiet, involuntary, but there all the same. Harua’s hand, resting awkwardly near Yuma’s head, shifted slightly. Almost unconsciously, his fingers brushed against Yuma’s ear.
The reaction was instant. Yuma’s eyes fluttered shut, a sigh escaping him as his purr deepened.
Harua froze. “...Wait, am I—?”
But his hand was already moving, stroking the soft fur at the base of Yuma’s ear, slow and absent-minded, like it was the most natural thing in the world. He wasn’t even thinking about it, just petting.
Yuma tilted his head ever so slightly into the touch, smirk tugging at his lips. “Knew you liked me.”
That snapped Harua out of it. His hand jerked back like he’d been burned. “I—shut up. I don’t. It’s just—habit.” His ears stood stiff and red, giving him away completely.
Yuma cracked one eye open, lazily satisfied. “Sure, sure. Keep telling yourself that.”
Harua groaned, flopping backward onto the mattress beside him. “You’re going to drive me insane.”
Yuma rolled onto his side, tail curling to brush against Harua’s arm. “Good. At least I’ll have company.”
Yuma stayed stretched across Harua’s bed like he owned it, his tail flicking smugly with every second that Harua stood there fuming.
“Unbelievable,” Harua muttered, crossing his arms. “You’re the worst roommate. Anyone else would at least pretend to have boundaries.”
Yuma smirked, eyes still half-closed. “Boundaries are for people who don’t like each other. You like me, right?”
Harua scoffed. “I tolerate you.”
“Uh-huh.” Yuma rolled onto his side, propping his head on his hand. “Tolerate me enough that you haven’t actually pushed me off yet.”
Harua’s ears twitched, and Yuma caught it, the tiny tell that meant he was flustered, no matter how flat his voice stayed. “I’m debating it. Don’t test me.”
Yuma grinned, sharp and lazy. “Do it, then. Bet you can’t.”
That was all the invitation Harua needed. With a frustrated noise, he lunged forward, hands going to Yuma’s shoulders in an attempt to shove him off. But Yuma only laughed, catching Harua’s wrist and tugging hard enough to make him stumble.
Harua landed with a grunt, half-on the mattress, half-on top of Yuma.
Yuma’s laugh turned into a low purr, vibrating through both of them. “Getting comfortable there?”
“Not if you’re taking up the whole bed, you menace.” Harua pushed against him again, but Yuma didn’t budge. The cat hybrid was lounging like a boulder in the sun, impossible to move, and perfectly smug about it.
“You’re just weak,” Yuma teased. “Thought bunnies had strong legs.”
“Want me to kick you?”
Yuma’s grin widened. “Kinda, yeah.”
“Idiot.” But Harua’s voice was softer now, his weight settling against the mattress instead of resisting. His ears, twitching nervously at first, eventually drooped closer to Yuma’s cheek.
For a moment, they stayed like that, Harua propped awkwardly at Yuma’s side. And then, without thinking, Harua’s hand drifted up, fingers brushing over the curve of Yuma’s ear.
The reaction was instant. Yuma’s breath caught, his body going loose, tail curling around his leg. His eyes fluttered shut, a quiet purr rumbling out of him like he couldn’t hold it back.
Harua blinked. “...Huh.”
“What?” Yuma managed, his voice low, his throat betraying him with the steady rumble.
“Your ears are always so soft,” Harua murmured, almost absentminded. His hand shifted, thumb stroking at the base of the ear in a slow, distracted rhythm. “It’s like… ridiculously unfair.”
Yuma swallowed, his pulse hammering. To Harua, this was normal, friends, close since childhood, touching without thinking twice. It had always been like this. But for Yuma, every brush of Harua’s fingers sent a spark rushing through him, too warm, too much.
He forced a lazy drawl into his voice. “You sound obsessed.”
Harua snorted. “Please. If I was obsessed, I’d have stopped yelling at you by now.”
“That’s your love language.”
“Shut up.”
But he didn’t move his hand. If anything, his fingers slid lower, skimming gently along the edge of Yuma’s ear, then up again, scratching lightly at a spot that made Yuma jolt.
“Ah—hey,” Yuma said, ears twitching, tail flicking harder. “Don’t—”
Harua smirked. “What? Sensitive?”
“Not—shut up,” Yuma grumbled, burying half his face in Harua’s pillow to hide the flush creeping up his cheeks. His purring only got louder, traitorous.
Harua laughed, warm and unguarded, and finally flopped down fully onto the bed beside him. “You’re such a cat. All attitude until someone scratches your ears.”
“And you’re stupid,” Yuma shot back, rolling to face him. “Acting like you hate me, but you’re still petting me.”
“I’m not petting you,” Harua said flatly, though his hand was very much still in Yuma’s hair, fingers brushing occasionally against his ear.
Yuma arched a brow. “You sure about that?”
Harua’s ears twitched guiltily. “…Shut up.”
They fell into an easy silence after that, Harua’s touch drifting lazily through Yuma’s hair while Yuma pretended not to melt from the attention. It was normal, he told himself. This was just what they did. This was their friendship.
Still, as Yuma’s eyes slid shut, the thought pressed in anyway, warm and aching, curled tight in his chest.
If only it could be more.
Harua’s hand eventually slowed, his fingers no longer teasing Yuma’s ear but lingering in his hair, combing lazily through the strands like he didn’t even realize he was still touching him.
Harua shifted, lying fully on his side now, close enough that Yuma could feel the faint brush of his breath against his cheek. His long ears had drooped, brushing lightly against Yuma’s hair whenever he moved. For a second, Yuma considered teasing him about it, but the warmth in his chest was too much.
He didn't want to ruin it.
Instead, he stretched, his tail curling instinctively, and let it brush against Harua’s hip. Harua didn’t push him away.
“You’re annoying,” Harua muttered, but his voice was softer now, the kind of soft Yuma only ever heard when they were like this, tucked away from everyone else, no stereotypes, no expectations, just them.
“Mm,” Yuma hummed, his eyes fluttering closed. “And you’re comfortable.”
“Comfortable?” Harua raised a brow.
“Yeah,” Yuma whispered, his words slurred with the weight of sleep. “Like… pillow. Warm pillow.”
Harua snorted, but the corner of his mouth tugged upward. “…You’re such a pain.”
Still, he didn’t move away. In fact, he shifted closer, letting Yuma’s head fall naturally against his shoulder.
It should have been awkward. It should have been too much. But it wasn’t. It was just them.
Yuma felt Harua’s breathing even out after a while, steady and calm, and his purring synced to it without him meaning to. He let himself sink into the comfort, tail curling more securely around Harua’s waist.
His chest ached with the quiet yearning he couldn’t say out loud. But for now, this was enough.
Harua mumbled something half-asleep, his ears twitching against Yuma’s hair. Yuma didn’t catch the words, but the warmth of them wrapped around him like a blanket.
Yuma’s breathing grew slow and steady, his purrs fading into the rhythm of sleep. Warmth pressed in from every side, Harua’s shoulder under his cheek, the faint brush of drooping ears against his hair, the secure weight of someone who had always, always been there.
˚₊ ‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚
Yuma found himself in a playground.
The dream unfolded so vividly it was less like a dream and more like a memory replaying itself. Bright swings swayed in the distance, the sharp smell of grass, children’s laughter ringing in the air.
And a boy, small, with floppy ears that twitched miserably as he sat on the edge of the sandbox, shoulders hunched and face buried in his hands.
Yuma, maybe seven years old at the time, had paused mid-step, his tail twitching with curiosity. Most kids gave the bunny boy a wide berth. Too delicate, too easy to tease, too quick to cry. But Yuma didn’t see that. What he saw was someone alone.
Without really thinking about it, he walked over and crouched in front of him. “Hey.”
The boy sniffled but didn’t look up.
Yuma tilted his head, then reached forward, and gently tugged at one of those long ears.
The boy yelped, looking up with wide, wet eyes. Yuma grinned, unbothered. “There you are.”
“You—don’t do that!” the boy stammered, swiping at his cheeks. His ears twitched indignantly, but his tears slowed.
Yuma leaned closer, still grinning. “But they’re so long. And soft.” He gave one a playful flick, then let his hand rest there, stroking lightly. “See? Nothing to cry about.”
The boy stared at him, stunned, as if no one had ever dared to touch him so casually before. His lips trembled, and then, finally, a small, hiccuping laugh slipped out.
“There,” Yuma said, feeling oddly proud. “Better.”
The boy sniffled again but nodded. “…I’m Harua.”
“Yuma,” he replied easily. His tail swished behind him as he sat cross-legged in the sandbox, still holding onto the ear like it was the most natural thing in the world. “Wanna play?”
And just like that, something unshakable began.
˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚
Yuma stirred, warmth shifting against him. For a moment, he wasn’t sure if he was still dreaming, the memory of the playground clung so vividly, Harua’s small hand in his, those ears twitching through the tears.
His fingers twitched as if they remembered the shape of them, and without thinking, his hand moved.
Soft fur. Warmth. The present.
Yuma blinked his eyes open blearily. Harua was right there, fast asleep beside him, his long ears flopped against Yuma’s shoulder. The room was dim, quiet, the air filled with the steady rhythm of Harua’s breathing.
And just like in the dream, Yuma’s hand was curled loosely around one of his ears.
His chest tightened.
He hadn’t realized how much he missed that first moment until now, the tiny, hiccupping laugh, the trust that bloomed right after. It was the beginning of everything, of them.
Yuma let his thumb brush over the soft edge of Harua’s ear, careful not to wake him. His tail curled unconsciously closer around Harua’s waist, keeping him near.
Some things never change, he thought, a quiet ache curling in his chest. Not then, not now.
Harua shifted faintly in his sleep, mumbling something incoherent, but he didn’t pull away. If anything, he leaned closer, ear slipping deeper into Yuma’s palm like it belonged there.
Yuma smiled softly—half fond, half pained—and pressed his face back into Harua’s shoulder, letting the weight of the memory and the warmth of the present blur together.
He couldn’t have Harua the way he wanted. But at least he still had this.
And as his eyes drifted shut again, Yuma clung to that thought, and to the boy who had always, always been his.
˚₊ ‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚
The cafeteria was loud as always, full of chatter and clattering trays, but Yuma barely heard any of it. He was too focused on the way Maki had leaned across the table, lowering his voice like he was about to share state secrets.
“Hey, Yuma,” Maki started, ears perked in that way that meant he was both curious and excited. “So, uh… one of my friends has a crush on Harua.”
Yuma blinked, fork pausing mid-air. “…What?”
Maki wagged his tail without thinking. “Yeah. He asked me if Harua was single. Said he’s cute. Which—yeah, obviously. Everyone thinks that.”
Yuma set his fork down slowly, tail twitching under the table. Cute? Of course Harua was cute. Anyone with eyes could see that. But the thought of someone else noticing, someone acting on it…
His ears flattened before he could stop them.
“Anyway,” Maki continued, oblivious, “I told him Harua’s not really the type to date randomly, but, y’know… he wanted me to check.”
Yuma forced a shrug, though his tail betrayed him with another sharp flick. “Check with me? Why? Ask him yourself.”
“Because you’re always with him,” Maki said easily. “You’d know if he liked somebody. Or if he’s, you know…” Maki wiggled his eyebrows. “…taken.”
Yuma choked on his water. “Taken?!”
Maki laughed. “Relax. I’m just saying, people assume you two are a thing half the time. So I figured I’d make sure before my friend embarrasses himself.”
Yuma tried to play it cool, but his heart was pounding. If Harua found out, would he laugh it off? Would he… consider it? Yuma hated how the thought made his stomach twist.
“Your friend should—should just stay out of it,” Yuma muttered, a little sharper than he intended. “Harua doesn’t… He’s not interested.”
Maki raised a brow. “Oh? You sound awfully sure.”
Yuma opened his mouth, then shut it again. What could he even say? That he’d spent years by Harua’s side, memorizing the twitch of his ears, the sound of his laugh, the way his eyes softened in the quiet moments? That Harua had never looked at anyone else like that, except Yuma couldn’t even be sure he looked at him like that either?
“I just know,” Yuma finished lamely, stabbing at his food without appetite.
Maki tilted his head, studying him. For once, he didn’t tease. “…You’re a terrible liar, Yuma.”
Yuma’s tail flicked violently, but he kept his eyes on his tray, hoping Maki wouldn’t notice the heat creeping up his ears.
“Anyway,” Maki said, leaning back in his chair, “just give me a straight answer. Do I tell my friend to go for it, or not?”
Yuma’s tail flicked hard enough to thump against the bench. He opened his mouth, no plan, no words, just raw panic.
Then a familiar voice cut in.
“Tell your friend what?”
Yuma froze. His ears perked, then flattened instantly. Harua slid into the seat beside him, tray in hand, looking between the two of them with raised brows.
Maki’s tail wagged like he’d been saved. “Perfect timing! I was just saying, one of my buddies thinks you’re cute.”
Yuma nearly slammed his head against the table. “Maki—!”
But Harua only blinked, ears twitching in mild surprise. “...Oh.” He picked up his chopsticks, completely unbothered. “That’s nice, I guess.”
“That’s it?” Maki laughed. “Come on, most people would be flattered.”
Harua shrugged, taking a bite like the conversation was nothing. “What do you want me to say? Good luck to him? I don’t even know the guy.”
Maki snorted, clearly entertained. “Yeah, well, Yuma seemed pretty against the idea.”
“Maki!” Yuma hissed, tail puffing out in betrayal.
Harua’s gaze flicked sideways to him, sharp and amused. “Against the idea, huh?”
Yuma’s mouth went dry. He scrambled for something that didn’t sound like because you’re mine and I can’t stand the thought of anyone else touching you.
“I just—he doesn’t even know you,” Yuma said quickly, waving his hand. “What’s the point of crushing on someone you’ve never talked to? It’s dumb.”
Harua studied him for a beat too long, then smirked. “Mm. You sound jealous.”
“I’m not!” Yuma snapped, ears red, tail whipping against the bench again.
Maki barked a laugh, practically wagging a hole in the floor. “Oh, this is gold. I’ll leave you two to sort that out.” He stood, still grinning as he carried his tray away.
Yuma groaned, dragging his hands down his face. “He’s insufferable.”
Harua chewed calmly, clearly enjoying every second. “Jealousy looks funny on you.”
“Drop it,” Yuma grumbled.
Harua leaned just close enough that Yuma could feel his ear brush against his cheek, his voice a low tease. “So if I went on a date with someone, you wouldn’t care?”
Yuma’s heart stopped. His tail betrayed him, curling tight against his leg. “You wouldn’t go,” he muttered. “You hate dates.”
Harua smirked, ears twitching with amusement. “Guess you really do know me.”
Yuma groaned again, burying his face in his arms before Harua could see the hopeless, aching smile pulling at his lips.
˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚
The dorm was quiet by the time Yuma dragged himself to bed, but his mind wasn’t.
He flopped onto his mattress with a heavy sigh, tail curled tight around his leg. All evening, he’d been replaying Maki’s words in his head, the image of some faceless stranger daring to look at Harua the way he did. It made his chest ache in the worst way.
The door clicked open softly.
Yuma didn’t even lift his head. He didn’t need to. The faint shuffle of shoes, the creak of the bed across from him, it was all unmistakably Harua.
For a few minutes, there was only silence. Yuma thought maybe, for once, Harua would leave it alone.
“Hey, Yuma.”
Yuma groaned into his pillow. “What.”
Harua’s voice was calm, but there was something sharper underneath. “Would you be mad if I wanted to date someone?”
Yuma froze. His tail twitched violently, curling tighter, betraying him even as he tried to sound casual. “Why are you asking me? Do what you want.”
He could hear Harua shifting on his bed, ears flicking. “That’s not an answer.”
Yuma turned his face into the pillow further, muffling his words. “I don’t care.”
There was a pause, then the creak of bedsprings. Yuma’s heart stuttered. Harua wasn’t in his bed anymore, he was climbing onto his.
“Move over,” Harua muttered.
Yuma groaned but scooted anyway, his chest too tight to argue. Harua settled beside him, warm and steady, his long ears brushing against Yuma’s hair as if they belonged there.
“You didn’t answer,” Harua said again, quieter this time.
Yuma clenched his fists in the sheets. Of course I’d be mad. I’d be furious. I’d hate it. Because it’s not me. But the words tangled in his throat, too heavy, too dangerous.
Instead, he muttered, “You wouldn’t even like dating. You’d hate all the small talk and the effort. You’re too picky.”
Harua huffed a laugh. “That’s not true.”
“It is.” Yuma dared a glance at him, and instantly regretted it. Harua was looking right at him, eyes bright even in the dim room, lips curved into that soft, infuriating smirk.
“You sound jealous again,” Harua teased.
Yuma rolled onto his back with a groan, covering his face with his arm. “What would you do if I decided to date someone?”
The room went still. Harua blinked at him, ears twitching faintly. “You?”
“Yes, me.” Yuma’s voice came out sharper than he meant, a defense against the heat crawling up his neck. “Would you even care?”
For a long moment, Harua didn’t answer. Yuma’s tail betrayed him, flicking anxiously across the sheets, and he almost sat up just to break the tension.
But then Harua leaned over, close enough that Yuma could feel the warmth of him, the steady brush of his breath against his cheek.
“Depends,” Harua murmured, voice low. “Would you be dating someone… that isn’t me?”
Yuma froze. His arm slipped down from his face before he could stop it, and Harua was right there, eyes gleaming with mischief, lips curled in that infuriating half-smirk.
“W–what are you even saying?” Yuma stammered, ears burning.
Harua shrugged, unbothered. “Nothing. Just asking.”
“Liar.”
“Maybe,” Harua said lightly, rolling onto his side so he was facing Yuma fully. His ears flopped lazily across the pillow, dangerously close to brushing Yuma’s cheek. “But if it was me, I think you’d be a very good boyfriend.”
Yuma choked on his own breath, tail lashing once before curling tight around himself. “You—you’re unbelievable.”
Harua just chuckled, shutting his eyes like he hadn’t just destroyed Yuma’s ability to think. “Goodnight, jealous cat.”
Yuma buried his face in the pillow, furious at how hot his face was—and even more furious at the way his chest fluttered anyway.
With Harua, you never knew. He was always teasing. Always.
But when Harua shifted closer, resting his head lightly against Yuma’s shoulder, Yuma didn’t move away. Couldn’t. His tail, traitorous as ever, curled around Harua’s waist like it had a mind of its own.
And Harua didn’t push it off.
“Night,” Yuma whispered back, his heart pounding loud enough to drown out everything else.
˚₊ ‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚
The little bell above the café door chimed softly as Yuma pushed his way inside, the faint smell of roasted beans and sugar greeting him like a blanket. It was late afternoon, the kind of golden hour where the sunlight spilled through the wide windows and turned every surface warm and honey-colored.
Fuma was behind the counter, sleeves rolled up as he wiped down the espresso machine with practiced ease. He glanced up when he heard the bell, a slow smile tugging at his lips.
“Yuma,” he greeted, in that calm, steady way of his. “You look like you’ve been through a war.”
Yuma scowled, dropping heavily onto one of the stools by the counter. “I haven’t.” His tail, however, betrayed him—twitching in restless, uneven little flicks.
Fuma didn’t comment. He poured a glass of iced water, slid it over, and leaned casually against the counter. “Mm. Then it’s just your face.”
“Wow. Thanks,” Yuma muttered, ears flattening slightly. He gulped the water anyway.
Fuma watched him over the rim of his mug, studying him the way he always did, quietly, patiently, like he already knew what was wrong and was just waiting for Yuma to crack.
Sure enough, it only took about thirty seconds.
Yuma groaned, planting his forehead against the cool countertop. “He’s so annoying.”
“Harua?” Fuma asked instantly, without missing a beat.
Yuma’s head snapped up, ears twitching in surprise. “How do you—why would you assume—?”
Fuma just gave him a look, slow and knowing, the kind that made Yuma squirm. “Because it’s always Harua.”
Yuma slumped back down with a pathetic noise. “You’re the worst.”
“And you’re obvious.” Fuma poured him a small latte without even asking, the rich smell curling in the air between them. He set it in front of Yuma, then folded his arms, tilting his head slightly. “So. What did he do this time?”
Yuma hesitated, then muttered into the steam rising from his cup, “He said… if I dated someone, it would depend who. And then he said if it was him, I’d be a good boyfriend.”
The words made his chest feel hot all over again, even repeating them.
Fuma’s brows lifted, though he didn’t look particularly surprised. “Sounds about right.”
Yuma groaned again, louder this time. “That’s exactly the problem! He’s always like that—teasing me, saying stuff that sounds… like more. I never know if he’s serious or just messing with me.”
Fuma took a slow sip of his coffee, eyes never leaving Yuma’s face. Then, gently but firmly, he asked, “And what if he is serious?”
Yuma froze, ears twitching nervously. He wanted to argue, to deflect, but his tail had already curled tight around the leg of the stool, giving him away.
Fuma smiled faintly, like he’d just confirmed something. “Thought so.”
Yuma sat there sulking into his latte, ears angled back like he was waiting for a storm. The steam fogged the edges of his vision, but it didn’t stop him from feeling the heat climbing up his neck.
Fuma, patient as ever, gave him a moment before setting his cup down with a soft clink. “You know, Yuma… not everything has to be a riddle.”
Yuma’s head lifted a little, suspicious. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means,” Fuma said calmly, “if Harua is teasing you, and it makes your heart race this much, maybe you should stop worrying about whether he’s joking, and start asking yourself what you actually want.
Yuma made a face, half-defensive, half-panicked. “That’s easy for you to say. What if I’m wrong? What if I read too much into it?”
Fuma’s gaze softened. “Then you’ll know. And you’ll move on. But if you’re right…” He shrugged lightly. “Then maybe you’ll finally stop torturing yourself like this.”
Yuma groaned, covering his face with both hands. “You make it sound so simple.”
“It is simple,” Fuma said, his voice gentler now. “You’re the one making it complicated. You’ve always been like that.”
Yuma peeked at him through his fingers, ears flicking uncertainly. “…So what do you think I should do?”
“Be honest,” Fuma said without hesitation. “With him, and with yourself. You’ve known Harua forever. If anyone can handle your feelings, it’s him.”
Something about the certainty in Fuma’s tone made Yuma’s chest ache. He stared down at his latte, tracing the rim of the cup with his fingertip, tail curling tighter.
“…What if I ruin everything?” he whispered.
Fuma’s answer was immediate, firm but kind. “What if you don’t?”
The café was quiet for a beat, the only sounds were the low hum of the espresso machine and the faint chatter of a couple at the far end. Yuma swallowed, ears lowering, torn between dread and a warmth he didn’t want to admit out loud.
Fuma gave him one of hisreassuring smiles. “You’ve been holding onto this for too long. Sooner or later, Yuma, you’re going to have to trust him.”
“You’re right." Yuma sighed, still feeling a bit unsure. He bit his lip for a moment, before muttering. “I'll try.”
˚₊ ‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚
By the time Yuma dragged himself back to the dorms, Fuma’s words were still circling in his head, like an echo he couldn’t shut off.
Be honest. With him, and with yourself.
Easy for Fuma to say. Yuma’s stomach had been twisted into knots the whole walk back. He kept imagining a dozen different ways Harua would laugh in his face, or worse, shrug it off like nothing. But then he’d remember the way Harua’s eyes lingered when he teased, soft and unreadable, like maybe there was something hidden under all of it. And that thought—against his better judgment—gave him a reckless kind of courage.
When he pushed open the door to their room, Harua was sprawled across his bed in that casual way only he could pull off, scrolling through something on his phone. He glanced up at Yuma, ears twitching slightly, and gave a small grin.
“You look like you lost a fight,” Harua said. “Did someone steal your afternoon nap rights?”
Yuma scowled as he dropped his bag by his desk. “Shut up.”
“Mm.” Harua shifted onto his side, resting his chin in his palm, clearly amused. “Did Fuma give you one of his legendary pep talks?”
Yuma froze mid-step. “How the hell do you—”
“Because you’re so obvious when you’ve been talking to him,” Harua said, smirking wider. “You get this… thoughtful, sulky look. It’s cute.”
Yuma’s ears flicked up in alarm at the word cute, heat flashing down his neck. He crossed the room quickly, as if movement could smother his embarrassment, and collapsed onto his own bed with a dramatic sigh.
They were quiet for a moment, the kind of comfortable silence only years of friendship could build. Yuma stared at the ceiling, his tail twitching lazily, while Harua went back to scrolling. But the weight of Fuma’s advice pressed harder and harder on Yuma’s chest, until the words slipped out before he could stop them.
“You know…” Yuma began, voice deceptively casual, “if I did date someone, I think I’d be a really good boyfriend.”
The second the words left his mouth, his heart lurched. He hadn’t meant to sound so direct. His ears were twitching, but he forced himself to stay perfectly still, eyes glued to the ceiling.
There was a beat of silence. Then Harua’s phone clicked off, and Yuma could feel his gaze like a physical weight.
“Oh?” Harua’s tone was light, teasing—but quieter than usual, curious. “Is that so?”
Yuma risked a glance sideways. Harua was watching him, head tilted, one brow arched. The usual smirk was there, but softer, almost unreadable.
“Yeah,” Yuma said, pushing through the panic, tightening his chest. “I’d be… attentive. Loyal. All that. Better than most people, at least.”
Harua let out a small huff of laughter. “You’re really selling yourself, huh? What brought this on?”
Yuma turned onto his side, facing him now, even though it made his pulse trip over itself. He shrugged, trying for nonchalance and failing. “…I just wanted you to know.”
For once, Harua didn’t immediately fire back with another joke. His ears twitched faintly, and he looked at Yuma in a way that made the room feel too small, too quiet. It wasn’t teasing, not really. It was searching, almost careful.
“Yuma…” Harua said slowly, voice lower now. “You’re saying that like you’re offering.”
The words hit Yuma like a strike to the chest. He scrambled for something—anything—to say, but his mouth had gone dry. His tail betrayed him, curling tight around his leg, a nervous habit he couldn’t hide.
Harua noticed, of course. He always did. A tiny smile tugged at his lips, gentler this time, less of a smirk and more of a secret.
“You’re… different today,” Harua murmured.
Yuma forced a laugh, trying to wave it off, but it came out shaky. “Don’t act like you don’t like it.”
That earned him another long look—half amusement, half something else Yuma couldn’t name. Harua leaned back against his pillows, eyes never leaving him.
“Maybe I do,” Harua said softly.
The words hung between them like electricity. Yuma’s breath caught, his chest tight, and for once, Harua didn’t break the tension with a joke. He just let it sit there, dangerous and tempting, as if daring Yuma to take the next step.
The air felt thick, heavy with something neither of them wanted to name. Yuma’s pulse thrummed in his ears, and he had half a mind to bury himself under the blankets just to escape Harua’s gaze. But he didn’t move. Couldn’t.
Harua tilted his head, studying him with that infuriating patience, like he had all the time in the world to wait Yuma out. Then, almost lazily, he stretched across the narrow space between their beds, fingertips brushing along Yuma’s bangs.
“Your hair’s messy,” Harua murmured, voice low.
The touch was feather-light, but Yuma went still as stone. His ears flicked at the contact, and Harua’s hand drifted higher, thumb grazing the soft fur at the base of one ear without even thinking. Just like always.
Except this time, it didn’t feel just like always.
Yuma’s breath hitched. He wanted to lean into it, wanted it so badly his chest ached. But instead, he forced a scoff. “You’re one to talk. You always look like you just rolled out of bed.”
“That’s my charm,” Harua shot back, lips twitching into a small grin. But his hand didn’t move away. His fingers lingered, absentmindedly smoothing Yuma’s hair, rubbing the edge of his ear like it was second nature.
Yuma stared at him, throat tight, every word he wanted to say burning on the tip of his tongue. I want you. I don’t want anyone else. I don’t want anyone else to have you. But he swallowed them down, because saying it would change everything.
“Harua…” His voice cracked, softer than he meant.
Harua’s eyes flicked down to meet his, and for a second, they both froze, caught in something neither could joke their way out of.
Then Harua smiled again, faint but real, and withdrew his hand slowly, as if reluctant. “You’re acting weird, Yuma.”
“I am weird,” Yuma muttered, rolling onto his back again so Harua couldn’t see his face. His ear still tingled where Harua had touched it, traitorous proof he couldn’t hide.
From the corner of his vision, he saw Harua settle back against his own pillow, still watching him with that maddening, unreadable expression. Not mocking. Not dismissive. Just there.
Neither of them said anything else, but the silence wasn’t comfortable like it used to be. It was charged, humming.
Yuma closed his eyes, pretending to drift off, but all he could feel was the ghost of Harua’s hand on his hair, warm and impossibly gentle.
˚₊ ‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚
There weren’t any changes in their dynamic after that.
Not on the surface, anyway.
Harua still teased him, Yuma still groaned and rolled his eyes, they still shared snacks and sprawled out on each other’s beds like they had since they were kids. But there was something in the air now, invisible and unspoken. A static charge that hadn’t gone away since that night, since Harua had smoothed Yuma’s hair and looked him in the eyes so intensely.
Yuma told himself he was imagining it. Harua wasn’t treating him differently, not really. But sometimes, when their hands brushed or when Harua leaned a little too close, Yuma’s chest tightened in ways he couldn’t ignore.
Tonight, they were heading to a party together. Someone's birthday, loud, crowded, not the kind of thing Yuma particularly enjoyed, but Harua had convinced him with that annoying grin of his.
“You can’t stay locked in here forever,” Harua had said, tossing a pillow at him. “Come on. It’ll be fun.”
So now, Yuma sat cross-legged on his bed, pretending to scroll through his phone, while Harua dug through his closet for something to wear.
“Should I go casual or actually make an effort?” Harua asked, holding up a shirt in each hand. He turned, ears twitching faintly as he raised his brows at Yuma.
Yuma looked up, and the words caught in his throat.
Harua was in the middle of changing, his sweater tossed aside, leaving his toned arms and shoulders exposed as he tugged a t-shirt over his head. The shirt clung to him for a second before falling into place, and Yuma had to force himself to blink. His tail flicked sharply against the mattress, betraying him.
“…You’re staring,” Harua said, almost sing-song, as if he’d noticed but wasn’t sure whether to call him out.
“I am not,” Yuma snapped back too quickly, eyes darting back to his phone. His ears flattened, heat creeping up the back of his neck. “I was just—spacing out.”
“Uh-huh.” Harua didn’t push, but Yuma could hear the smirk in his voice. He turned back to the mirror, holding one shirt against himself, then the other. “So? Which one?”
Yuma’s eyes betrayed him again, flicking up from the screen despite himself. Harua was fiddling with the buttons, brow furrowed in concentration, and Yuma’s chest tightened. It was unfair, how someone could look so casual and still knock the air out of him.
“The dark one,” Yuma muttered, voice rougher than he intended.
Harua glanced at him through the mirror, eyes sharp, like he’d caught something. “Yeah? You think it suits me?”
Yuma shrugged, ears twitching nervously. “Better than the other one. That’s all.”
Harua chuckled under his breath, slipping into the shirt and smoothing it over his torso. He didn’t say anything more, but the silence stretched thin, heavy. Yuma tried to focus on his phone again, but the letters blurred. He could still see Harua in the corner of his eye, still feel the warmth of the memory of his hand against his hair.
He hated how much he wanted that again.
“Are you gonna change or go like that?” Harua finally asked, breaking the silence. He leaned back against his desk, arms crossed, watching Yuma with that lazy half-smile.
Yuma scowled, tossing his phone aside. “I was waiting for you to finish hogging the mirror.”
“Excuses.” Harua pushed off the desk, brushing past Yuma to sit on his bed, their shoulders bumping briefly. Yuma froze at the touch before quickly gathering his things and heading to the closet, pretending it didn’t rattle him.
They moved around each other like always—casual, easy, comfortable. And yet, every glance, every brush of contact, every quiet laugh felt sharpened now, edged with something Yuma didn’t dare name.
As they finished getting ready, Yuma caught Harua’s reflection in the mirror again, the way he adjusted his collar with careless grace. His chest tightened all over again, and he hated how badly he wanted Harua to notice, to turn and catch him looking.
Of course, Harua didn’t. Or maybe he did, and he was just letting Yuma squirm.
It was impossible to tell.
˚₊‧ ꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚
The dorms were buzzing that night, clusters of hybrids heading down the hall in packs, laughter spilling from doorways. By the time Yuma and Harua reached the house where the party was being held, the bass from inside was already vibrating through the pavement.
Yuma hesitated on the porch, ears twitching at the thrum of music and chatter. Crowds weren’t really his thing—he preferred quiet corners, the comfort of a nap—but Harua was already tugging his wrist lightly, pulling him through the door.
“Don’t look like you’re going to your own funeral,” Harua teased, leaning close to be heard over the noise. His warm breath brushed Yuma’s ear, making him shiver. “We’ll just grab a drink, say hi, and if you’re still miserable, we can leave.”
Yuma grumbled something incoherent, but followed.
The house was packed, hybrids of all kinds filling every room, wolves laughing raucously near the kitchen, foxes showing off dance moves in the living room, even a pair of bird hybrids perched on the banister, sipping from plastic cups. Yuma’s tail twitched as he tried to weave through the bodies, but Harua stayed close, his hand brushing the small of Yuma’s back whenever someone jostled him.
They eventually claimed a spot by the wall, a little quieter, where Yuma could breathe. Harua pressed a cup into his hand, smirking when Yuma took a cautious sip like he was suspicious of it.
“Don’t act like that,” Harua laughed. “Have I ever done you wrong?”
Yuma glared half-heartedly, but the corner of his mouth twitched.
For a while, things were fine. They talked, they bantered, Harua teased him into loosening up. But then, as Harua got pulled into a conversation with some classmates, Yuma drifted a step away, and that’s when it happened.
A tall fox hybrid, sleek and charming, slid up beside Yuma with a grin. He sort of remembered him from a class they shared last semester. “Didn’t expect to see you here,” he said smoothly, ears flicking toward him. “You look good tonight.”
Yuma stiffened. Compliments weren’t his strong suit, and the sudden attention made his tail twitch nervously. “Uh… thanks,” he muttered, taking a sip of his drink to avoid looking directly at him.
The fox leaned closer, lowering his voice over the music. “Wanna dance? Or maybe get some air?” His eyes lingered a little too long, clearly interested.
Before Yuma could even form a polite rejection, Harua’s voice cut in, sharp, uncharacteristically firm.
“He’s taken.”
Yuma blinked, startled. Harua was suddenly there at his side, his arm sliding casually but deliberately around Yuma’s shoulders, pulling him close. His expression was deceptively relaxed, but his ears were tilted back ever so slightly, and his smirk carried a dangerous edge.
The fox raised a brow. “Oh? Didn’t know that.”
“Now you do,” Harua said smoothly. His hand brushed down Yuma’s arm, possessive in a way that made Yuma’s breath catch. “He’s my boyfriend.”
Yuma’s heart stuttered violently. His tail, utterly betraying him, curled around Harua’s leg instinctively, winding tight like it had a mind of its own. Heat flooded his face, and he prayed the music was loud enough to cover how shaky his breathing had suddenly become.
The fox gave a little shrug, clearly unimpressed, but backed off with a mutter, “Stupid bunny.”
He disappeared into the crowd, but Harua didn’t budge. His arm stayed heavy and warm across Yuma’s shoulders, drawing him in until their sides pressed together.
Yuma’s pulse refused to calm down. His tail had betrayed him, curling around Harua like he belonged there, and even though he’d pulled it back, the ghost of that contact still burned.
“You didn’t have to do that,” Yuma muttered, trying for his usual sharp tone. But it came out softer, shaky.
Harua tilted his head, pretending to think. “Didn’t have to,” he echoed. His lips curved into a grin that didn’t quite reach his eyes, sharper and softer all at once. “Wanted to.”
That single word landed in Yuma’s chest like a stone in water, rippling out, leaving him speechless.
Harua leaned a little closer, lowering his voice so it was just for him. “Besides, he was annoying you. And I don’t like watching other people hit on you.”
Yuma blinked up at him, startled. His ears twitched hard, and he quickly looked away, pretending to be fascinated by the dance floor. “You’re ridiculous,” he managed.
But Harua only chuckled, the sound warm against his ear. “Am I? Or did you just really like hearing me say it?”
The smugness in his voice should have been unbearable. Normally, Yuma would have shoved him away, snapped something back. But tonight, with the music pounding and Harua’s arm snug around him, his body betraying him at every turn, he couldn’t bring himself to push.
Instead, he stayed where he was, shoulder to shoulder, letting Harua’s warmth sink in. Harua didn’t move either. His thumb traced a lazy, absent circle against Yuma’s upper arm, like he wasn’t even aware he was doing it.
“Harua…” Yuma started, but his voice caught. He had no idea what he wanted to say. Don’t joke about that. Or… don’t stop saying it. Don’t let go.
Harua tilted his head down, watching him closely, his smirk softer this time, something dangerously close to fond. “What?”
Yuma shook his head quickly, hiding behind his cup. “Forget it.”
But Harua didn’t forget it. He stayed pressed close, all through the rest of the party, his hand brushing against Yuma’s every time they moved, his presence a steady weight at his side.
And if anyone else glanced at Yuma too long, Harua’s arm tightened, pulling him in that much closer.
˚₊‧ ꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚
The door to the party shut behind them with a heavy thud, muffling the pounding bass until it was little more than a dull vibration in the cool night air. The sudden quiet felt like stepping into another world. One Yuma much preferred. He breathed in deeply, filling his lungs with crisp air instead of sweat, perfume, and noise.
His ears twitched, swiveling instinctively toward the scattered bursts of laughter still drifting from the house. He adjusted his jacket, rubbing his thumb against the plastic rim of his cup, as if grounding himself. His tail lashed once, then wrapped loosely around his leg.
Beside him, Harua stretched, tilting his head back to look at the sky. The streetlamps bleached his hair pale gold, and his bunny ears twitched slowly, picking up every faint sound. He looked unbothered, relaxed even, while Yuma was still vibrating with the memory of the crowd.
“See?” Harua said, his tone maddeningly casual. “Not so bad. You lasted the whole party.” He grinned, turning just enough to catch Yuma’s expression. “Didn’t even claw anyone.”
Yuma gave him a sharp look, ears angling back. “I don’t claw people.”
“Not unless they deserve it,” Harua countered smoothly, grin widening when Yuma’s tail flicked in irritation. He jammed his hands into his pockets, walking like he had all the time in the world, the picture of ease.
Yuma’s steps were brisker, a little too clipped, like he wanted to get back to the dorms quickly. But the truth was, his chest still felt tight, and it wasn’t because of the party. His mind wouldn’t let him rest, it kept circling back to that moment, to that guy leaning too close, to Harua’s sudden appearance at his side, arm draped around his shoulders, voice sharp and possessive.
He’s my boyfriend.
The words echoed louder than the music had. Yuma’s tail had betrayed him instantly, curling around Harua like a magnet, as if it had been waiting its whole life for that exact moment. Even now, remembering it made his ears hot, his throat thick.
But Harua looked like nothing had happened. His stride was easy, his gaze loose, his smirk familiar. Too familiar. Like he hadn’t just set Yuma’s entire world on fire with a single sentence.
Yuma stole a glance at him, heart thudding. Harua’s profile was calm, his lips curved slightly as though he was lost in thought, or maybe amused. The lamplight cast faint shadows under his eyes, softened the sharp line of his jaw. He looked infuriatingly good, and Yuma had to drag his eyes away before Harua noticed.
Except he did notice. He always noticed.
Their hands brushed once, twice. Yuma thought it was accidental at first, until Harua’s fingers curled around his, sliding between them with an ease that stole Yuma’s breath.
Yuma stopped mid-step. His ears shot upright, tail whipping once before curling tight around his leg in a desperate attempt to stay composed. His chest ached with how hard his heart was beating.
Harua didn’t let go. His grip was steady, firm, warm, like it was the most natural thing in the world, like they’d always walked home like this. He only glanced down at Yuma after a long moment, eyes glinting with something that wasn’t quite teasing. His smile was softer, dangerous in a new way.
“Relax,” he murmured, voice pitched low so only Yuma could hear. “It’s just me.”
Just me. As if Harua wasn’t the one person who could undo him so completely.
Yuma wanted to say something… Why did you say that? Did you mean it? Do you know what you’re doing to me? but the words tangled, choking in his throat. Instead, his fingers betrayed him, curling back around Harua’s hand. Tentative at first, then firmer, matching the grip.
The silence stretched between them, but it wasn’t empty. It was heavy, humming, alive with everything neither dared to say. The only sounds were the quiet scuff of their shoes on the pavement and the occasional whisper of leaves as the breeze stirred them.
Harua’s thumb brushed lazily over Yuma’s knuckles. Once, twice, again, like he wasn’t even thinking about it, like the motion was instinct. But every pass sent a shiver through Yuma’s chest, grounding him and unraveling him all at once.
The dorms loomed closer, windows glowing faintly against the dark. Yuma stared straight ahead, afraid that if he looked at Harua, his expression would give him away completely. His tail was a tangled mess of twitches and nervous curls, impossible to hide.
“Harua…” he managed, voice catching. He didn’t even know what he wanted to say, but his chest felt too full, like the words might claw their way out if he didn’t speak.
Harua tilted his head toward him, ears flicking as his gaze settled heavy and unblinking on Yuma. His smirk was faint, but there was something steady behind it, something unreadable that made Yuma’s stomach flip. “What?”
Yuma panicked. He shook his head quickly, staring down at the sidewalk as if it held all the answers. “Forget it.”
For a second, he thought Harua might tease him, press, and force it out of him. But he didn’t. He just gave a small hum and tightened his grip on Yuma’s hand, grounding, unyielding.
They walked the rest of the way like that, hand in hand, silence charged, every step dragging Yuma deeper into the ache of wanting. By the time they reached their dorm, Yuma wasn’t sure if his heart could take any more. And yet, when Harua brushed his thumb across his knuckles again before letting go to open the door, Yuma almost wished the night would never end.
˚₊‧ ꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚
The dorm was quiet when they slipped inside, the only sound was the soft click of the door and the rustle of jackets being shrugged off. The glow of the desk lamp threw the room into a warm half-light, shadows pooling in the corners. Yuma stood frozen by his chair, jacket dangling from one hand, tail twitching behind him like it had a mind of its own.
He could still feel Harua’s hand in his, even though it was long gone. The way he had said boyfriend at the party still rang in his ears, sharp and sweet, making his stomach twist. He wanted to laugh it off, pretend it hadn’t mattered, but the way Harua had stayed close after, the way his touch lingered, made it impossible.
Harua, meanwhile, moved as if nothing was wrong. He pulled off his sweater in one clean motion, letting it fall in a heap at the end of his bed. His ears twitched lazily as he bent to kick off his shoes, back muscles shifting under his shirt with unthinking ease. Yuma caught himself staring and immediately looked away, ears burning.
“See?” Harua said, stretching his arms over his head with a groan. “Told you it wouldn’t kill you to have fun for once.”
Yuma scoffed, trying to sound annoyed, though his tail betrayed him with a flick. “Barely survived.”
“Mm.” Harua’s grin flashed, sharp and warm, before he tugged his blanket back. Then, like it was the most casual thing in the world, he glanced up. “You’re not really gonna sleep over there, are you?”
Yuma blinked. “…What?”
“Come here.” Harua patted the space beside him, as though it was obvious. “It’s warmer.”
Yuma’s chest tightened. They’d done this before, countless times, for fucks sake. But tonight everything felt off-balance, like his heart hadn’t caught up with the fact that Harua had said my boyfriend with a straight face.
“You’re impossible,” Yuma muttered, but his feet moved anyway, carrying him to Harua’s bed. He climbed in, careful, settling onto his side with just enough space between them to breathe.
Harua, of course, didn’t bother with space. He shifted closer immediately, their shoulders brushing, his warmth bleeding into Yuma’s skin.
The silence that followed wasn’t awkward, it was worse. It was heavy, every small sound amplified: the rustle of sheets, the slow drag of Harua’s breathing, the faint swish of Yuma’s restless tail. Yuma stared at the wall, wide-eyed, and tried to will his body into stillness.
Then he felt it: a light touch against his wrist. Harua’s fingers, idly tracing the inside of his arm like it was the most natural thing in the world. Yuma froze.
“You’re tense,” Harua murmured, voice low. “You always get like this after a crowd.”
“…Yeah,” Yuma breathed. His throat felt tight.
Harua shifted again, this time looping his arm loosely around Yuma’s waist, pulling him in until his back pressed to Harua’s chest. The heat of him seeped straight through Yuma’s shirt, and his breath hitched before he could stop it.
“Better?” Harua asked, quiet.
Yuma’s tail curled instantly, betraying him, sliding across Harua’s leg in a nervous loop. He wanted to pull away, to keep himself hidden, but his body didn’t listen. “…Yeah,” he admitted, rough.
Harua hummed, pleased, and settled in. His thumb brushed absently at Yuma’s hipbone, an unconscious little rhythm that made Yuma’s pulse stumble.
For a long time, neither of them spoke. Yuma lay stiff at first, caught between panic and yearning, but slowly the steady rhythm of Harua’s breathing pulled at him. The warmth of Harua’s chest at his back, the weight of his arm, the faint tickle of his breath against Yuma’s hair, it all wrapped around him, familiar and dizzying.
He thought about moving, about saying something to break the spell, but the words stuck in his throat.
Instead, he let his eyes fall shut, his hand inching back until his fingers brushed against Harua’s. Harua didn’t pull away. If anything, he tangled their hands loosely together, as though it had been waiting to happen.
So he lay still, caught in the warmth and weight of Harua’s arms, the faint curl of his fingers against his own. And as his breathing finally slowed, he realized he could almost pretend. Pretend that this was already theirs, that Harua had meant every word.
That maybe, one day, he wouldn’t have to pretend at all.
˚₊‧ ꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚
Yuma didn’t remember when exactly sleep had pulled him under. One moment, Harua’s warmth pressed steady against his back, his arm a solid weight around Yuma’s waist. The next, the room had faded, and he was somewhere else, lost in the haze of a dream.
At first, it was ordinary. The playground, the laughter of children, sunlight flashing through the trees. Then, like shadows creeping in, it shifted. Harua was there—but not the way Yuma knew him. His smile was too distant, his eyes fixed somewhere past Yuma. He turned, ears drooping low, and walked away.
Yuma called after him, but no sound came out. His legs wouldn’t move. Every step Harua took was farther, farther, until he vanished completely, leaving Yuma with a hollow ache in his chest.
He woke with a sharp gasp, chest tight, his throat burning. The room was dark, the lamp long since turned off, only the faint glow from the window casting a pale silver light across the floor. Yuma’s tail was curled tight around his leg, trembling, his breath shaky as if he’d been running.
Beside him, Harua stirred. “Yuma?” His voice was thick with sleep, but gentle, steady. A hand brushed against Yuma’s shoulder, hesitant. “What’s wrong?”
Yuma pressed his lips together, trying to swallow the lump in his throat. He didn’t trust his voice. He didn’t trust himself not to break. His eyes burned, dangerously close to spilling over, and the thought of Harua seeing him like this made him want to curl up and disappear.
So he didn’t answer. He just turned, instinct taking over before thought, and pressed himself into Harua’s chest. His arms wrapped tight around him, holding on like he was afraid Harua might vanish if he let go.
For a heartbeat, Harua went still. Then, quietly, he shifted, pulling Yuma closer without question. One arm wrapped around Yuma’s shoulders, the other sliding securely around his waist. He tucked his chin against Yuma’s hair, ears brushing lightly against him as if to remind him he was there. Solid. Real.
“Hey,” Harua murmured softly, not pushing for words. His hand began a slow rhythm against Yuma’s back, gentle circles, grounding him. “It’s okay.”
Yuma’s breath shuddered. He squeezed his eyes shut, burying his face against Harua’s shirt, which was warm and faintly scented with soap and something distinctly him. He couldn’t say it aloud—I dreamed you left me, I thought I lost you—but the fear still gripped his chest, raw and sharp.
Harua seemed to sense it anyway. He didn’t ask. He didn’t tease. He just held him, steady and patient, letting Yuma clutch at him as tightly as he needed.
Little by little, Yuma’s breathing slowed. The panic in his chest eased, replaced by the steady thrum of Harua’s heartbeat beneath his ear. The nightmare’s grip loosened, fading under the warmth of Harua’s embrace.
“Better?” Harua asked eventually, voice a low whisper in the dark.
Yuma only tightened his hold in response. His tail, no longer trembling, curled instinctively around Harua’s leg.
Harua exhaled, a soft sound that might’ve been a relief. His hand moved up, brushing lightly against the back of Yuma’s head, fingers threading gently through his hair. “Alright,” he murmured. “I’ve got you.”
Yuma clung to him in silence, his face buried against Harua’s chest, heart still racing from the dream. He told himself to calm down, to let the warmth and steady rhythm of Harua’s heartbeat settle him, but his chest ached too much. The fear of losing him still lingered, sharp and unbearable.
Harua’s hand moved gently through his hair, careful, grounding. “I’ve got you,” he murmured again, like a promise.
The words cracked something open inside Yuma. His throat was raw, his eyes stung, and before he could stop himself, the pressure broke.
“You don’t get it,” Yuma whispered, voice muffled against Harua’s shirt. His fingers fisted tighter in the fabric, holding on like it was the only thing tethering him. “If you ever really left me… I wouldn’t—I can’t—” His voice faltered, shaking.
Harua stilled, his breath catching. “Yuma…”
The silence pressed heavily between them, but Yuma couldn’t stop. He was too close to breaking, too full of fear and longing. The words tumbled out before he could think better of it.
“I like you.” His voice cracked on the last word, fragile but certain. “I’ve liked you for so long it’s—it’s pathetic. And I can’t stand the thought of you with anyone else, because it should be me.”
The room went utterly still. Yuma’s heart slammed against his ribs, and a part of him wished he could rewind, shove the words back into his chest. But he couldn’t. They were out now, raw and trembling in the dark. For a long moment, Harua said nothing. Yuma’s stomach twisted, dread pooling like lead. He almost pulled back, almost tried to laugh it off, just a nightmare talking, forget it, but then he felt it.
Harua’s hand, firm and warm, cupping the back of his head. His other arm tightened around Yuma’s waist, pulling him impossibly close.
“You’re an idiot,” Harua whispered finally, his voice low but steady. “You think I’d ever leave you?”
Yuma blinked against his chest, breath shuddering. “I dreamed about it. You walked away. You didn’t look back.”
“That’s not me,” Harua said softly, almost fierce. He tilted his head, pressing his cheek against Yuma’s hair. “I couldn’t leave, even if I wanted to.”
Yuma’s tail curled tighter around Harua’s leg, trembling again, this time from something far different than fear. His lips parted, but no words came, just a shaky exhale that gave him away completely.
Harua didn’t push for more. He just held him, steady and sure, as though the confession hadn’t shattered Yuma but pieced him back together.
Yuma’s words hung in the air like fragile glass, ready to shatter. His grip on Harua’s shirt hadn’t loosened, and every breath felt like it might undo him completely.
Harua stayed quiet for a moment longer, his thumb brushing the back of Yuma’s neck in slow circles, steadying him. Then he exhaled, soft but certain.
“You think you’re pathetic?” Harua’s tone was almost amused, but underneath it was something sharper, something heavier. “Yuma, I’ve been waiting for you to say that for years.”
Yuma’s heart stopped. He lifted his head, just enough to search Harua’s face in the dim light. His ears burned hot, his eyes wide, disbelieving. “You—what?”
Harua smirked faintly, though it didn’t reach his eyes this time. Those were steady, serious. “Of course I like you. You drive me insane half the time, but…” He let out a quiet laugh, brushing Yuma’s cheek with his knuckles. “You’re it for me. You’ve always been it.”
Yuma’s breath caught, tail curling tight around Harua’s leg again. He didn’t know what to say, and couldn't form a single word. His chest felt too full, like it might burst.
Harua tilted his head, ears twitching as he studied him, softer now. “Why do you think I tease you so much? Why do you think I get jealous every time someone looks at you like they don’t deserve to?” His voice dropped, almost a whisper. “Why do you think I called you my boyfriend tonight?”
Yuma’s lips parted, a thousand thoughts tangled on his tongue, but nothing came out. He could only stare, caught in the weight of Harua’s words.
Harua’s smirk softened into something gentler. He leaned closer, close enough that Yuma could feel the brush of his breath. “I meant it, Yuma. Every word. You don’t have to be afraid anymore.”
The last of Yuma’s defenses crumbled. He let out a shaky laugh, half a sob, pressing his forehead against Harua’s shoulder to hide his face. “You’re the worst,” he whispered, voice breaking.
Harua chuckled quietly, hugging him tighter, his chin resting against Yuma’s hair. “Yeah. But I’m yours.”
The room was silent except for the sound of their breathing, steadying together, hearts beating too close to tell apart. Yuma stayed hidden against Harua’s shoulder, clinging to him like he still couldn’t believe any of this was real. His chest felt too full, overflowing with relief, with fear, with something he’d been holding back for far too long.
Harua didn’t push him. He just kept one arm snug around Yuma’s waist, the other hand drifting idly through his hair, slow and soothing. The steady rhythm anchored Yuma, eased the trembling in his chest until his breathing evened out again.
“You’re really bad at keeping secrets, you know,” Harua murmured eventually, his voice low, laced with warmth.
“Shut up,” Yuma muttered, muffled against his shirt.
Harua chuckled, soft and fond. “Not that I’m complaining.”
The words sent another rush of heat through Yuma’s chest. He wanted to look up, to meet Harua’s eyes, but he couldn’t, not yet. His heart wasn’t ready for it. So instead, he just held on tighter, his tail curling possessively around Harua’s leg, as if claiming him without words.
Harua let him. More than that, he leaned into it, his cheek brushing gently against the top of Yuma’s head. “Go back to sleep,” he whispered. “I’m not going anywhere.”
The promise settled deep inside Yuma, heavier than any dream. For the first time, the thought of closing his eyes didn’t feel like a risk.
So he stayed there, cocooned in Harua’s arms, every unspoken word resting between them like a secret they finally both knew. Sleep came slowly, but when it did, it was easy. Safe.
And Harua held him all the while, steady and sure, like he had no intention of letting go.
˚₊‧ ꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚
Morning crept in slowly, soft light spilling through the thin curtains. Yuma stirred first, blinking against the brightness, only to realize he hadn’t moved an inch all night. Harua’s arm was still slung heavily across his waist, his breath steady against the back of Yuma’s neck.
It would’ve been easy to stay there forever. Too easy.
But then Harua shifted, stretching lazily before tightening his hold again, like he wasn’t ready to let go. His voice came, groggy but unmistakably teasing.
“So…” he murmured, lips brushing too close to Yuma’s ear. “Now that you’ve confessed, does this mean I should put a collar on you?”
Yuma stiffened, heat rushing to his face. He twisted just enough to glare at him over his shoulder, ears flicking furiously. “You’re such an ass.”
Harua grinned, eyes half-lidded from sleep but bright with mischief. “What? It’d suit you. Everyone would know you’re mine.”
Yuma’s tail lashed once, betraying his fluster, before curling protectively around himself. “I don’t need a collar for that,” he shot back, voice sharper than he intended but the flush creeping over his cheeks softened it.
“Oh?” Harua arched a brow, ears twitching forward. “Then how do you plan to prove it?”
Yuma hesitated, his pulse thrumming in his throat. Normally he’d fire back without thinking, matching Harua’s banter blow for blow, but this time the words caught, stuck somewhere between his fear and his want.
And then, before he could talk himself out of it, he smirked faintly, though his heart pounded. “Give me a kiss. Now.”
The air shifted instantly. Harua blinked, caught off guard, his smirk faltering just enough to betray the way Yuma’s challenge landed. His ears twitched once, uncertain, and for the first time in a long while, he was the one thrown off balance.
“You’re bolder than yesterday,” Harua said finally, trying to recover with a laugh, but his voice had gone softer, rougher, and his gaze lingered too long on Yuma’s mouth.
Yuma forced himself to hold steady, even as his stomach flipped. “Scared?”
Harua’s smirk returned, slow and deliberate, though there was something new in it, something warmer. He leaned in closer, close enough that Yuma could feel the ghost of his breath against his lips.
“Never,” he whispered.
But he didn’t close the distance. Not yet. Instead, he pulled back just slightly, enough to leave Yuma burning with anticipation, his tail twitching with restless frustration.
“Patience, kitty,” Harua teased, settling back with maddening ease. “You’ll get your kiss. When I decide you’ve earned it.”
Yuma groaned, burying his face in the pillow to hide his smile, though his ears betrayed him by twitching wildly. “You’re the worst.”
Harua chuckled, brushing his fingers lightly against Yuma’s ear in that absent, familiar way. “Maybe. But you like it.”
Yuma groaned into the pillow, his ears burning, tail swishing in restless arcs behind him. Harua’s laughter vibrated against his back, smug and warm, like he had already won.
“You’re cruel,” Yuma muttered, his voice muffled.
“Cruel?” Harua echoed, pretending to think. His fingers brushed idly against Yuma’s ear again, tugging playfully at the tip. “I’d say patient. You asked for a kiss; I’m just… savoring the moment.”
Yuma snapped his head up, glaring at him. “You’re insufferable.”
Harua only grinned wider, ears perked, clearly enjoying every second. “Admit it, though—you like it when I tease you.”
“I don’t.” Yuma’s tail betrayed him instantly, flicking once before curling tight around Harua’s thigh, grounding him even as his face went red.
Harua glanced down at the tail wrapped around him, then back up at Yuma with a smirk that could have melted steel. “Could’ve fooled me.”
Yuma’s heart pounded, the weight of everything from the night before pressing in. His nightmare, his confession, Harua’s answer—it all came rushing back at once, overwhelming. “Harua…” His voice cracked despite his best efforts. “Stop playing around.”
The shift was instant. Harua’s grin softened, slipping into something quieter. His hand, still resting near Yuma’s ear, moved down slowly, brushing his cheek instead. His thumb traced along Yuma’s jaw, tender, grounding.
“I’m not,” Harua said, voice low. “Not when it matters.”
Yuma’s breath caught, his pulse hammering. He couldn’t look away now, not when Harua’s eyes held him so firmly. Bright, steady, full of something Yuma had wanted for so long it ached.
The silence stretched, charged and fragile. Yuma’s ears tilted back, uncertain, while his tail gave one last twitch against Harua’s leg.
“Say it again,” Harua whispered.
Yuma blinked, dazed. “What?”
“That you like me.” Harua’s lips curved faintly, but his gaze didn’t waver. “I want to hear it.”
Yuma swallowed hard. His chest tightened, but the words came anyway, soft and sure. “I like you.” His ears twitched, but he didn’t look away. “I like you so much it’s stupid.”
Something flickered across Harua’s face, relief, warmth, something Yuma couldn’t name. Then Harua leaned in, slow and deliberate, giving Yuma every chance to pull back.
Yuma didn’t. He tilted forward, meeting him halfway.
Their lips brushed lightly at first, tentative, almost testing. Yuma’s breath stuttered, his whole body going still, ears twitching in shock. Harua’s hand cupped the back of his neck, gentle, steady, coaxing him closer.
Their lips brushed lightly at first, tentative, almost testing. Yuma’s breath stuttered, his whole body going still, ears twitching in shock. His mind went completely blank, like someone had pulled the ground out from under him. Harua’s hand cupped the back of his neck, gentle, steady, coaxing him closer, grounding him when he felt like he might float right out of his own skin.
The second press was firmer, deeper. Yuma’s tail curled tight around Harua’s waist now, clinging instinctively as his hands fisted in Harua’s shirt. His pulse roared in his ears, hot and dizzying. His chest squeezed with something sharp and sweet all at once, as if every sleepless night of wanting, every unsaid word, had been building toward this.
Harua kissed him like he had been waiting, slow, sure, savoring. Like there was no rush, no chance he’d ever let Yuma go. And for Yuma, the world tilted on its axis.
Heat bloomed in his chest, spreading down to his fingertips and up to the tips of his ears, filling every corner of him with a dizzy, aching warmth. He’d imagined this so many times, accidentally, against his will, in dreams he could never quite shake off when he woke. But reality was different, heavier, brighter. Harua’s lips were soft, steady, and the hand against his neck was both tender and possessive, a promise he hadn’t dared to hope for.
Yuma’s throat tightened. The panic of being known, of being seen, warred with the overwhelming relief that he didn’t have to hide anymore. His body shook faintly, but not from fear. From the sheer force of finally having what he wanted pressed against him, solid and real.
For a moment, he thought he might cry.
But then Harua’s thumb brushed lightly against the edge of his jaw, tilting his face, coaxing him to relax. Yuma melted, all fight draining from his body, until he was clinging only because he couldn’t imagine letting go. His tail squeezed once more around Harua’s waist, not out of panic this time, but out of instinct, the only way his body knew to say, you’re mine too.
Yuma’s voice cracked as the words slipped out. “God, I love you so much.”
The silence after felt like it stretched forever. Yuma’s stomach lurched, panic clawing up his throat. His ears pinned flat to his head, and his grip on Harua’s shirt turned desperate. “Don’t—don’t laugh at me,” he whispered, voice thin. “Please.”
Harua didn’t laugh, but the corner of his mouth twitched like he was fighting it. He tilted Yuma’s chin up gently with his thumb, forcing him to meet his eyes. “You’re really bad at timing, you know that?” he murmured, lips brushing against Yuma’s in a ghost of a smile.
Yuma’s heart sank. “Harua—”
“I mean,” Harua went on, as if considering, “you confess in the middle of kissing me, half-crying, tail choking the life out of my waist…” He let out a quiet huff of amusement, his ears twitching as he leaned even closer. “Not exactly smooth.”
Yuma’s throat tightened, shame and fear colliding, but before he could pull away Harua’s hand pressed firmer against the back of his neck, keeping him close.
“But…” Harua’s smirk softened, melting into something warmer. His eyes—bright even in the dim light—held steady on Yuma’s. “That’s exactly why I love you.”
The words hit harder than the kiss had. Yuma froze, staring at him, ears flicking wildly as if they couldn’t decide whether to believe it.
Harua chuckled quietly at his stunned expression, brushing his thumb once more along Yuma’s jaw. “Yeah, I said it. I love you too, idiot.”
Before Yuma could gather a response, Harua kissed him again, slow, sure, deliberate. A kiss that left no room for doubt, no teasing edge this time, just the quiet weight of truth.
Yuma blinked, still dazed from the kiss, heart pounding like a drum in his chest. His tail was wrapped tight around Harua’s waist, ears flattened in a mix of embarrassment and delight, and he couldn’t seem to look away.
Harua’s smirk returned, slow and deliberate, ears twitching with mischief. “You know,” he murmured, brushing a strand of hair behind Yuma’s ear, “after a confession like that… I think you definitely need a collar.”
Yuma froze mid-breath, tail flicking sharply against Harua’s leg. “A collar? Seriously?” he whispered, voice trembling more from excitement than indignation.
“Yes. Absolutely,” Harua said, leaning closer so that their noses almost touched. “Everyone should know you’re mine. Officially. Publicly. Permanently.” His lips twitched into a teasing grin as his hand drifted to cup Yuma’s cheek. “What do you think? Would you like that, Yuma?”
Yuma felt a shiver run down his spine, ears flicking in protest even as his chest heated. His tail tightened instinctively around Harua’s waist. “…I—maybe,” he admitted, voice soft, betraying how much he did want it.
Harua chuckled, that low, dangerous sound that made Yuma’s stomach flip. “Mmh, I thought so.” He leaned in closer, brushing their lips together in a feather-light press, just enough to make Yuma melt. “And don’t worry,” he whispered, hand threading through Yuma’s hair, “I’ll make sure it fits perfectly.”
Harua’s smirk deepened, ears twitching as he leaned just a little closer, letting his breath ghost against Yuma’s cheek. “Oh? So it’s a favor to me, then?”
Yuma tilted his head, lips quirking into a sly grin. “Exactly. You should be grateful.” His tail flicked once, brushing possessively against Harua’s leg. “But don’t think that means I’ll go easy on you.”
Harua’s chuckle was low, warm, vibrating through Yuma in a way that made him shiver. “Mmh, I wouldn’t want you to.” He pressed his forehead against Yuma’s, nose nudging softly. “I like it when you’re bold.”
Yuma’s ears twitched forward, a teasing spark in his eyes. “…Careful. I might start thinking I’m in charge here.”
“Then I’ll just have to remind you whose name is going on the collar,” Harua murmured, his lips brushing Yuma’s in a quick, playful kiss that left them both smiling and slightly breathless.
Yuma leaned into it, tail curling tighter around Harua’s waist. “…You say that now, but I’m not done arguing the details yet.”
Harua’s grin widened, fingers threading into Yuma’s hair as he pulled him closer, voice soft and teasing at the same time. “Good. I’d like that fight.”
And just like that, the playful tension between them stretched, warm and electric, a promise neither needed to put into words.