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The room was quiet.
Not the heavy kind of silence that came after arguments or missions gone wrong, but something softer—something warm that wrapped around the apartment like a blanket.
Chuuya Nakahara lay half sprawled across the bed, hair a mess against the pillow, the faintest flush still clinging to his cheeks. The sheets were tangled around his legs, and the air smelled faintly like laundry detergent and something warmer.
Beside him, Osamu Dazai was quiet for once.
Which, Chuuya thought irritably, was suspicious.
“…Why are you staring at me like that?” Chuuya muttered, not opening his eyes.
“I’m admiring my work,” Dazai said immediately.
Chuuya cracked one eye open.
“You’re about two seconds away from getting kicked off the bed.”
Dazai hummed thoughtfully. “Violence. After everything we’ve just been through together. I’m wounded, Chuuya.”
“You’ll survive.”
A pause.
Then the mattress shifted as Dazai rolled closer.
Before Chuuya could protest, arms slid around his waist and pulled him back against a warm chest. The movement was careful—much more careful than Dazai usually was—and Chuuya felt the faint brush of lips against the back of his shoulder.
“…You’re clingy,” Chuuya grumbled.
“You’re comfortable.”
“That’s not a compliment.”
“It absolutely is.”
Chuuya tried to twist away, mostly out of habit, but Dazai’s hold tightened just slightly—not trapping him, just enough that it felt… secure.
Annoyingly secure.
Dazai pressed another soft kiss into Chuuya’s hair.
“Warm enough?” he asked quietly.
Chuuya blinked.
It wasn’t the teasing voice Dazai usually used. It was softer.
“…Yeah,” Chuuya said after a second. “I’m fine.”
Still, Dazai reached for the blanket that had fallen half off the bed and tugged it over them. The fabric settled over Chuuya’s shoulders, and Dazai tucked it in like he was wrapping something fragile.
Chuuya snorted.
“What are you doing?”
“Aftercare.”
“You sound like you read a guidebook.”
Dazai gasped dramatically. “Chuuya, I’m offended. I would never read a guidebook.”
“…That wasn’t the part I was judging.”
Dazai ignored him.
Instead, he started gently running his fingers through Chuuya’s hair.
The motion was slow and repetitive, nails lightly scratching against his scalp.
Chuuya froze.
“…What.”
“Relaxation technique,” Dazai said.
“…You’re weird.”
But he didn’t stop him.
Minutes passed.
The apartment was quiet except for the soft rustle of blankets and the distant hum of the city outside.
Chuuya could feel Dazai’s breathing behind him—slow and steady.
For someone who spent most of his life pretending not to care about anything, Dazai was… strangely careful in moments like this.
Careful about where his hands rested.
Careful about how tightly he held him.
Careful about the soft kisses he kept pressing against Chuuya’s shoulder, his temple, the back of his neck.
“…Oi,” Chuuya murmured sleepily.
“Hm?”
“Why are you being nice.”
Dazai went quiet.
Then his arms tightened just a little.
“…Because I like you,” he said simply.
Chuuya huffed.
“You’re such a sap.”
“And you’re still here.”
“…Shut up.”
Dazai chuckled softly against his hair.
A moment later, Chuuya felt a kiss pressed gently against his temple.
Then another against his cheek.
“Dazai.”
“Yes?”
“If you keep kissing me every five seconds I’m going to throw you out the window.”
“Violence again.”
“You deserve it.”
“Probably.”
Dazai shifted, pulling Chuuya even closer until their legs tangled under the blanket.
The warmth was comfortable. Heavy in the best way.
Chuuya sighed quietly.
His eyes were already starting to close again when he felt Dazai brush his thumb along the inside of his wrist.
“…You sleepy?” Dazai asked.
“Maybe.”
“Good.”
“Why.”
“Because you look cute when you fall asleep.”
Chuuya opened one eye just enough to glare.
“…I hate you.”
“Sure you do.”
Another kiss.
Softer this time.
Right against the corner of Chuuya’s mouth.
Chuuya didn’t shove him away.
Instead, he shifted slightly, pressing back against Dazai’s chest, letting the warmth settle around him.
“…Don’t move,” he muttered.
Dazai smiled against his hair.
“Wouldn’t dream of it.”
And for once—
The two of them stayed exactly like that.
Quiet.
Warm.
Wrapped together under the blankets while the city lights of Yokohama flickered softly through the window.