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Rui’s room was different at night. Soft yellow from the string lights washed over the blankets they shared, making the room feel like a tiny world just for the two of them.
Mizuki lay on their side, one hand flat against Rui’s chest, feeling the quiet rise and fall of his breathing. It was strange, they thought — Rui was always in motion during the day. Ideas, experiments, performances… he was always a spark waiting to ignite.
But now, he was still. Calm. Present.
“Comfortable?” he murmured.
Mizuki nodded, nestling closer until their head was tucked under his chin. “Mm-hmm. This is nice…”
Rui’s fingers traced small circles along their back — slow, thoughtful movements that made tension melt away bit by bit.
Mizuki tilted their head up slightly. “I think this is my favourite version of you.”
Rui blinked, meeting their gaze. “And what version is that?”
“The one that’s here,” Mizuki whispered. “Just with me.”
Rui’s expression softened. Not the showman’s smirk or the dramatic grin, but something quiet, fond, and impossibly gentle. He leaned down and brushed a kiss against Mizuki’s forehead.
“You deserve that version,” he said. “Always.”
Mizuki’s heart fluttered, warmth blooming in their chest. They reached up, fingertips brushing Rui’s jaw. “You can kiss me properly, you know…”
Rui laughed under his breath, soft, breathless — and brought his lips to theirs.
It wasn’t a rushed kiss. Not playful or teasing. Just slow, warm, and full of the kind of affection that didn’t need words. Mizuki’s hand curled into the fabric of his shirt, holding him there just a little longer.
When they finally parted, Mizuki’s voice was barely above a whisper.
“Again?”
Rui didn’t answer, he just kissed them once more. A little deeper this time, thumb brushing their cheek, savoring the moment like it was something precious. Because to him… it was.
They drew close again, foreheads touching, soft breaths shared.
“Rui… thank you,” Mizuki murmured.
“For what?” he asked quietly.
“For letting me in,” they said. “All the way.”
Rui held them tighter, closing his eyes. “Thank you for staying.”
The night passed not in silence, but in murmured stories. Rui sharing ideas he’d never dared to reveal before, Mizuki talking about dreams they kept tucked away like fragile glass.
The rain outside deepened to a steady rhythm, soft enough to blend into the hush of the room. The glow from the string lights had dimmed slightly, their soft hue tracing faint outlines along Rui’s shoulders, Mizuki’s hair, the blanket they shared.
Neither spoke for a long while. Mizuki’s head rested over Rui’s heartbeat, listening — slow, steady, grounding. It made them feel safe, like the world could fall apart outside and they wouldn’t even notice.
Rui’s hand, resting at the small of their back, shifted slightly — a gentle motion, as though he were memorizing the feel of them there. Mizuki smiled against his chest.
“You think too much,” they murmured.
Rui’s voice was a whisper against their hair. “You make it hard not to.”
Mizuki tilted their head just enough to look up at him — the lights caught the faintest glimmer in his eyes. “About what?”
He hesitated. Then: “About how I never imagined this.”
Mizuki blinked sleepily. “This?”
Rui’s hand brushed a stray strand of pink from their cheek. “Someone like you, staying. Trusting me enough to fall asleep here.”
Mizuki’s lips curved into a soft smile. “You make it sound like it’s a hard thing to do.”
“For most people,” Rui said quietly, “it is.”
They didn’t answer right away. Instead, Mizuki leaned up and pressed a slow kiss to the corner of his mouth — not playful, not teasing. Just real.
“Then I guess I’m not most people,” they said softly.
Rui’s eyes softened, and for a moment, he simply looked at them — really looked. Not as a performer, or a partner on stage, but as the one who saw him when the curtain fell.
He kissed them again, this time slower, his hand tracing up to cradle the back of their neck. The warmth of it was grounding, and Mizuki melted into it, their breath catching just faintly before relaxing again.
When they pulled back, their noses brushed — small, soft, perfectly close.
“Hey, Rui?”
“Hm?”
“Don’t overthink tonight. Just let it be what it is.”
He smiled, eyes half-lidded, voice lower now. “And what’s that?”
Mizuki tucked themselves closer, nestling into his chest until their voice came out as barely more than a breath. “Perfect.”
Rui exhaled slowly, the tension in his body easing as he wrapped both arms around them.
Outside, the rain softened to a drizzle. The clock ticked on, forgotten. And the two of them lay there — warmth against warmth, the kind of closeness that needed no words, no show, no script.
The lights dimmed to a golden hush.
The world faded away.
And Rui, for once, stopped thinking — just holding Mizuki close, listening to the quiet rhythm of their breathing, the only sound that mattered anymore.
Eventually, Rui’s words grew slower, breaths deeper. Mizuki was the first to fully drift off, curled against him like they belonged there, like they’d always belonged there.
Rui watched them for a moment. The peaceful rise of their shoulders, the slight parting of their lips after sleep claimed them. He pressed a final kiss into their hair and whispered:
“Good night, Mizuki.”
He let himself fall asleep too, holding them close.