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The first part of the night goes as expected.
Megumi lingers near the kitchen island, his arms folded loosely over his chest in that habitual posture of quiet vigilance that has become second nature to him. The house party surges around him like a living, breathing entity of its own, thrown by one of his classmates whose name flickers just out of reach at the edge of his mind. Bodies weave and collide in the strobing glow of the lights, reds and blues slicing through the hazy air that hangs heavy with the mingling scents of spilled beer and the salt-sweat tang of dancers lost in their own rhythms.
It’s been well over two hours since Yuuji and Nobara had dragged him here in the exhausting aftermath of finals week, their insistence of a much-needed release ringing out with such infectious enthusiasm that Megumi had inevitably caved. It certainly had nothing to do with the way Yuuji’s warm brown eyes had locked onto him with that particularly endearing mix of pleading mischief and unwavering trust, as if Megumi alone had held the key to their night’s success.
Now, from his peripheral vantage, Megumi watches as Yuuji stands within the throbbing heart of the chaos in the adjacent living room. His face is flushed a deep rose beneath the damp, tousled strands of pink hair that cling to his forehead, and his laughter cuts through the cacophony surrounding him, a golden thread woven into shadow, drawing strangers and friends alike into his radiant orbit with effortless magnetism.
The hem of Yuuji’s shirt rides up with every exuberant throw of his arms to emphasize whatever joke he seems to be telling, revealing teasing slivers of toned abdomen that glisten faintly under the lights; and Megumi’s gaze lingers despite himself, tracing the easy power behind every movement, the way Yuuji exists so wholly and unapologetically in the moment, like a flame that refuses to be dimmed by the surrounding chaos. Beside him, Nobara matches his energy shot for shot – her own voice rising sharp and triumphant over the pounding bass, gestures wide and confident, the two of them a whirlwind of color and unrestrained sound amidst the party’s swirling vortex.
Megumi tries to tell himself the intensity of his watchfulness stems merely from protective friendship, but he knows better. The detached calm of his expression serves as a fragile veil over the painful undercurrents that ripple throughout his chest – worry laced with something more profound, an ache that deepens whenever Yuuji stumbles over his own two feet or leans too close to a stranger in the crowd. His fingers twitch involuntarily at his sides with the need to cross that distance, to steady what has undeniably become the brightest part of his world.
But he doesn’t. Mostly, he just watches.
The minutes pass in that same rhythm of movement and sound, an endless unfolding of events that Megumi observes from the periphery like a guardian tethered by invisible threads of loyalty, of affection, of something much deeper – something that secretly blooms in the quiet spaces of his heart whenever Yuuji’s gaze drifts across the room to find his own, heavy and warm, lingering a beat too long.
Eventually, Megumi makes his way back through the throng, dodging a particularly enthusiastic couple whose limbs flail with drunken abandon, weaving past clusters of conversation and impromptu games until he reaches the corner of the living room where Nobara and Yuuji have claimed a section of the worn, sagging couch. They’re both clutching fresh drinks that slosh perilously with every animated shift, their faces alight with the glassy sheen of intoxication.
“You two are gonna regret this tomorrow,” Megumi says as he comes to a stop beside the couch, his voice cutting through the noise with that signature dry precision, yet laced with an exasperated fondness that only they would recognize.
Yuuji spins his head to face him, spilling a bit of his drink down his pant leg in the process, those bright eyes –now unfocused and shining with liquid warmth– locking onto Megumi as if he is the most welcome, most longed-for sight in the entire universe. “There he is!” he exclaims far too loudly, words tumbling out with slurred affection; his grin spreads wide and inviting, body leaning forward in a way that makes Megumi’s heart stutter and clench painfully in his chest. “C’mon, Megumi! One drink won’t kill you.”
Megumi snorts in response, offering a light shake of his head. “Pass,” he replies smoothly, leaning over the coffee table to grab a couple napkins, and then tossing them onto Yuuji’s lap for him to clean up with. Yuuji doesn’t seem to notice.
“See!” Nobara cackles triumphantly from her seat. She slings an arm around Yuuji’s shoulders with such forceful camaraderie that they both teeter precariously for a moment, her laughter bright and unrestrained. “Told you he’d say that. Daddy Tsundere over here knows he’s one drink away from a good time.” She removes her arm just to playfully elbow Yuuji in the ribs, and then takes a large swig from her cup, her eyes sparkling with irrepressible mischief even through the haze of liquor. “That wouldn’t be very brooding emo heartthrob of him.”
With the alcohol in his system only fueling him, Yuuji bursts into laughter – the sound rich and rolling, bubbling up from his chest and shaking his whole frame as he clutches desperately at Nobara’s arm to steady himself. “Oh my god,” he manages to get out between bouts of laughter, eyes crinkling at the corners in pure, unfiltered delight. “That’s so good. Wait, we should–”
“Do not call me that,” Megumi interjects with a huff. “Either of you.”
Decidedly ignoring the warning, Yuuji turns and leans in close to whisper something into Nobara’s ear, his voice a conspiratorial murmur lost beneath the blare of the music; and she cackles wildly in response, doubling over her knees and nearly losing her entire drink as she gasps out, “Stop! I’m gonna piss myself!”
Megumi pretends not to notice for the sake of his own sanity.
And so the next hour passes in a tapestry of indulgent chaos that Megumi navigates with a profound mixture of exasperated amusement, bone-deep fondness, and that ever-present protective instinct that coils tighter in his gut every time Yuuji ventures too close to recklessness. He watches, absolutely transfixed, as Yuuji makes his way back to the open floor and dances with a rotating cast of half the house, a blur of loose limbs and infectious laughter that leaves his hair even more disheveled and his cheeks perpetually flushed with exertion.
And he continues to watch, even when Nobara eventually drags Yuuji over to the makeshift karaoke corner, where their voices clash gloriously off-key against the thumping playlist, bodies pressed back-to-back in shared theatrical delight – hands gesturing wildly, lyrics belted out incorrectly, laughter interrupting verses until the whole performance devolves into breathless hilarity, a sight that leaves Megumi’s chest tight with a tenderness so fierce it hurts.
Throughout it all, Megumi’s gaze never once leaves them.
Never leaves Yuuji.
His eyes trace the lines of Yuuji’s form like a man parched in the center of a vast desert, committing to memory the way the flashing lights play across Yuuji’s skin, the curve of that genuine smile that reaches those warm eyes and transforms the ordinary into something sacred, the easy way Yuuji inhabits his own body and the world around him – a living metaphor for everything Megumi secretly wishes he himself could claim.
Much later, when exhaustion finally begins to temper the frenzy, the three of them collapse back onto the couch together in a warm tangle of limbs and familiar shared space. Nobara claims one corner while Megumi tucks himself against the opposite armrest; and Yuuji quickly settles in between them, leaning heavily against Megumi’s side, far closer than mere friendship would ever dictate.
They talk for a while in that loose, meandering way only old friends can manage – first recounting the absurdity of their final exams with exaggerated groans and laughter that shakes the couch, then veering into half-remembered campus gossip that Nobara delivers with theatrical flair, while Yuuji interjects with delighted, slurred corrections that only make the stories funnier. Soon enough the conversation dissolves into lazy dreams of post-graduation travel plans, their voices layering over each other in comfortable harmony.
As usual, Megumi listens more than he speaks, only tossing in dry remarks on occasion – far more content to simply let their warmth bleed into the spaces between his ribs where something terrifyingly tender keeps expanding.
“You’re the best, you know that?” Yuuji murmurs at one point after a brief lull, the words slurring together in a soft, earnest drawl as he nuzzles subtly closer into Megumi’s side; his breath is warm and faintly sweet where it brushes against the sensitive skin of Megumi’s neck, stirring fine hairs and deeper longings. “Always looking out for us. Don’t know what we’d do without you.”
“Yeah!” Nobara quickly agrees, nodding sagely from Yuuji’s other side. “The absolute best. Our emotional support Da–”
“I’m going to the bathroom,” Megumi cuts in with a roll of his eyes. He carefully extracts himself from Yuuji’s warm, anchoring weight, standing with a reluctance that tugs at his heartstrings. “Try not to die while I’m gone, you two.”
“We’ll be good.” Yuuji offers a lazy salute as he resettles on the cushions, mouth quirking into that typical lopsided smile. “Always are.”
Megumi bites his tongue. Just barely.
The hallway offers a blessed reprieve from the main chaos of the party, less crowded and cooler without the invading press of bodies. Megumi waits in the short line for the bathroom, shoe tapping absentmindedly against the scuffed floor as his mind wanders through the labyrinth of his feelings: the way Yuuji’s proximity ignites every dormant nerve ending in his body, the protective surge that feels increasingly like possession wrapped in care, the terrifying depth of how much he has come to rely on nights just like these, as much as he might claim the opposite.
When it’s finally his turn, he’s quick to relieve himself in the cramped bathroom; then he washes his hands and splashes cool water on his face, pausing afterward to stare at his own reflection in the smudged mirror for a long, searching moment. To his own gaze, he looks the same as always: neutral expression masking vast depths of unseen emotion, shadowed eyes hiding a longing that grows heavier with every shared glance and incidental touch. Then he pushes it all down once more, steeling himself to return to the fray where Yuuji’s presence awaits like gravity pulling him home.
When Megumi exits the bathroom and re-enters the main room, the crowd has shifted yet again. Nobara is still perched on the far couch, engaged in animated conversation with a girl sporting dark green hair and sharp features; while Yuuji seems to have wandered toward the attached kitchen, his back turned to Megumi, swaying gently on his unsteady feet amidst a small group of partygoers. His posture is loose and unguarded in that vulnerable, trusting manner born of deep inebriation, and Megumi feels his stomach twist just slightly.
He begins to cross the distance with purposeful strides, and just as he draws up behind him, Yuuji loses his balance once more, tipping precariously to the side. Without thought or hesitation, Megumi reaches out, sliding a steadying arm around Yuuji’s waist with firm, instinctive surety, his palm settling against the curve of Yuuji’s hip. The fabric there clings damply to Yuuji’s heated skin, wicked through with sweat – and the contact sends a quiet thrill racing up Megumi’s arm and into his core, a spark that he masks beneath layers of practiced, detached calm, even as his fingers register every subtle shift of muscle and breath beneath them.
Yuuji immediately stiffens beneath the careful span of Megumi’s palm, the muscles along his side twitching with startled tension that travels up his spine in a visible shiver. “Don’t touch me,” he spits out, voice thick with irritation and liquor; he doesn’t even bother to turn his head, stubborn in his drunken conviction that some stranger has dared lay hands on him, shoulders hunching defensively.
Megumi’s lips curve in the barest hint of a smile, a soft exhale of amusement escaping him. “Easy. You were about to fall,” he says, his tone low and laced with gentle teasing – but Yuuji still doesn’t quite seem to recognize who’s behind him.
“Was not,” Yuuji huffs indignantly, twisting his torso in Megumi’s hold with all the grace of someone whose limbs have long gone heavy and uncoordinated, one hand coming up to half-heartedly bat at the air near Megumi’s arm. “Seriously, dude. My boyfriend’s gonna kick your ass if you don’t fuck off.”
Boyfriend.
“Oh, yeah?” Megumi asks, unable to resist the opportunity unfolding so perfectly before him. He leans in so his breath ghosts against the shell of Yuuji’s ear, letting his grin bleed fully into his voice with honeyed warmth. “Is he strong?”
“Yeah, very,” Yuuji snaps. “And he just went to the bathroom, so you–” The words cut off abruptly as recognition finally pierces the thick fog of alcohol; Megumi feels the precise instant it happens: the tension in Yuuji’s body shifts from being defensively rigid to something else – surprise laced with embarrassed heat and clear, flooding relief. He turns his head at last. “Megumi?”
Megumi raises an eyebrow, maintaining his supportive hold without faltering for even a breath. “Took you long enough,” he says, his thumb lightly sweeping over Yuuji’s hip in a slow, reassuring caress that speaks of tenderness he so rarely allows to surface.
“Shit,” Yuuji breathes out, his face flushing an even deeper shade of crimson that spreads down his neck in a beautiful cascade. Yet he makes no move to pull away; instead, he leans heavier into the secure circle of Megumi’s arm, a sheepish laugh bubbling up from his chest, one hand lifting to awkwardly scratch at the back of his neck. “I thought – Fuck, I thought some random guy was – Sorry.”
“All good,” Megumi says with a casual shrug that belies the thunderous beating of his heart, a wild drum echoing in his ears. His thumb traces another small, soothing circle against the jut of Yuuji’s hip bone through the thin fabric of his shirt – savoring the heat and solidity there, the way their bodies seem to fit together so naturally. “So,” he continues, tilting his head slightly, fighting the urge to smile into Yuuji’s hair, “when do I get to meet this boyfriend?”
“Um, I–” Yuuji starts, then stops, teeth worrying at his lower lip. “Okay, so, listen. I was just–”
Absurdly loud and impossible to ignore, Nobara’s voice abruptly slices across the room like a lifeline thrown through the fog. “You good, Yuuji?” she calls over from her spot on the couch, her tone carrying a genuine note of concerned inquiry. “Almost ready to go?”
“Fine, yeah! One – one minute!” Yuuji replies with a quick, nervous glance in her direction. Then he turns around fully in Megumi’s embrace so that they face each other properly; Megumi’s arm slides naturally to the opposite hip to accommodate the movement, keeping him steady and anchored close. After only a split second of hesitation, Yuuji buries his face against Megumi’s shoulder in a gesture so tender and revealing it steals the breath directly from Megumi’s lungs, leaving him dizzy with the scent of Yuuji’s skin and hair and the faint remnants of whatever cologne he had applied hours earlier. “God, don’t tell her,” he groans softly. “She’ll never shut up about it.”
Megumi hums in acknowledgment. “But you called me your boyfriend,” he says, low and teasing, the words laced with playful affection and a deeper undercurrent of hope that he dares not fully voice, lest it shatter the moment like glass.
“Yeah, well,” Yuuji protests weakly, all conviction lost as he remains nestled close, body relaxing further into the support. “I was drunk.”
“You still are,” Megumi corrects, mouth twitching as he loses the fight to suppress his smile. His free hand lifts briefly to brush a stray lock of hair from Yuuji’s forehead, fingers lingering against warm skin. “It was like five seconds ago.”
“And your hand’s still on me,” Yuuji counters with a huff, voice muffled against the fabric of Megumi’s shirt, a note of accusation softened by undeniable contentment. “So, like, checkmate. Or whatever.”
Megumi rolls his eyes but offers no argument, content instead to support more of Yuuji’s weight than is strictly necessary, savoring the close press of their bodies in this stolen interlude amidst the party’s dying embers. For a few moments, they stay just like that – the world narrowing to the rhythm of Yuuji’s breathing, the subtle rise and fall of his chest as he continues to sway on his feet, the quiet thunder of two hearts finding temporary harmony in the middle of chaos.
Nobara approaches soon after, her steps slightly unsteady yet characteristically purposeful. When she comes to a stop next to them, her sharp gaze briefly flicks down to where Megumi’s hand still rests possessively at Yuuji’s waist, then up at Yuuji’s cheek where it’s pressed against Megumi’s shoulder, her expression flickering with knowing amusement before smoothing into practicality.
“Alright, boys,” she announces. “I’m ninety-percent sure I’m gonna start regretting this soon, so we need to go. Now, preferably.” She sighs heavily, already turning toward the front door with a vague wave of her hand. “God, I hope your car has snacks in it.”
“It has working air conditioning and plastic bags in case you throw up,” Megumi replies dryly.
“Even better,” Nobara says, words ringing out bright and chipper as she heads for the exit with determined, if wobbly, energy. “I call the backseat!”
As Nobara’s voice fades toward the door, Yuuji pulls back just enough to meet Megumi’s gaze directly, half-stumbling with the motion in a way that sends him tilting backward – and Megumi is quick to steady him again, both palms moving to curl around his sides. A sudden, mischievous grin splits across Yuuji’s face as he regains his balance, bright and boyish and hopelessly charming.
“Carry me?” Yuuji asks, using those same exaggerated puppy-dog eyes that always seem to tug mercilessly at Megumi’s heartstrings, unraveling almost every single defense he has left.
Almost.
“Absolutely not.” The words are delivered firmly, but the effect is utterly ruined by the smile Megumi can no longer keep under control – a soft, betraying curve that reveals far too much.
“Please?” Yuuji groans, long and low and whiny, his entire face scrunching up in a desperate plea as he sways closer. “C’mon. That’s, like, basic designated driver duties.”
But Megumi only smirks. “I dunno,” he says lightly, quirking his eyebrow and giving Yuuji’s hip a light squeeze. “Sounds more like boyfriend duties to me.”
Yuuji’s face goes even redder if such a thing is possible, the color blooming across his features in a fresh wave of vivid embarrassment. His mouth parts as if to protest or deflect, words forming on his tongue only to dissolve into a soft, flustered exhale. Seemingly accepting his fate, he ends up only rolling his eyes instead of replying. Then he finally pulls out of Megumi’s hold with reluctant slowness, and turns to head for the door after Nobara with that loose, stumbling gait – leaving in his wake the ghost of warmth that still clings to Megumi’s palms like a promise.
When the three of them finally make it to the car parked down the street, Nobara takes it upon herself to sprawl across the backseat with dramatic abandon, claiming the entire row as her own temporary mattress and curling up beneath the jacket Yuuji had discarded at the beginning of the night. Megumi settles into the driver’s seat with quiet efficiency while Yuuji claims the passenger seat beside him, fumbling with the seatbelt for a prolonged, endearing stretch of time before it finally locks into place with a sharp click.
Megumi keeps his eyes fixed on the road as he pulls away from the house; the streetlamps blur past in alternating streaks of amber and shadow, the city unfolding around them in quiet contrast to the party’s prior frenzy. Around halfway back to their shared apartment, Nobara’s soft snoring fills the backseat like a gentle metronome, leaving Megumi and Yuuji alone in a cocoon of comfortable intimacy.
“Thanks,” Yuuji eventually mumbles, his head lolling toward Megumi, voice heavy with growing sleepiness and raw sincerity. “For, y’know, dealing with us. Means a lot.”
“You don’t have to thank me,” Megumi replies, his gaze briefly flicking away from the road to steal a glance at Yuuji’s profile, illuminated so softly by the blue dashboard lights it feels sacred. One of his hands drops away from the steering wheel, drifting across the console to brush against Yuuji’s in a feather-light touch that speaks volumes – years of quiet devotion, of wanting more, of fearing the loss of even this. “I had fun with you. I always do.”
Yuuji’s answering smile is warm and gentle. “You’re going soft on me,” he teases, fingertips tracing along Megumi’s knuckles.
The corner of Megumi’s mouth twitches upward in response. “Only because you won’t remember it tomorrow,” he replies easily; and the lie tastes beautifully sweet on his tongue, like forbidden nectar – because he knows, deep in the quiet chambers of his soul, that this ridiculous night has somehow etched itself permanently into the fabric of them, into the evolving potential of their relationship, a turning point veiled in alcohol and laughter yet profound all the same.
“We’ll see about that,” Yuuji huffs out, soft and stubborn as ever.
For a few minutes, another stretch of comfortable silence settles over them, broken only by the hum of the engine and Nobara’s distant breathing, the road ahead unwinding like a path toward uncertain futures. Megumi’s fingers loosely intertwine with Yuuji’s across the console, thumb moving in slow circles along his skin.
“Y’know,” Yuuji continues at last, his voice quieter now, contemplative and vulnerable in the hushed sanctuary of the car. “I could be down for the boyfriend thing. Like, hypothetically.”
The admission hangs in the air between them like something fragile and luminous, trembling in the blue glow of the dashboard. Megumi’s heart stutters violently in response – shadows of doubt chased away in an instant and replaced by visions of mornings shared, of quiet touches, of a future where he no longer lingers on the periphery but instead stands fully within Yuuji’s light. The sensation is dizzying, overwhelming in its sweetness, a blooming of possibility within his chest that leaves him breathless yet more alive than he has felt in years.
“We’ll talk about it when you’re sober,” Megumi manages to get out around the sudden lump in his throat; though his heart races onward with a fierce, hopeful rhythm that refuses to be silenced, each beat an affirmation of the depth of his feelings. “When you can–”
“God, you two are gonna make me sick,” Nobara groans abruptly from the backseat, her voice thick with sleep and mock disgust. “Where are those plastic bags?”
-----
Megumi drifts in the shallow, liminal waters between true sleep and restless wakefulness, the kind of fractured repose that has often plagued his nights – especially ones where the echoes of Yuuji’s laughter still cling to the air like the fading notes of a half-remembered song, and the phantom press of his body lingers as a warm imprint on Megumi’s skin that no amount of shifting beneath the sheets can erase.
His body lies heavy on the mattress in the dark blue-gray haze of his bedroom, clad in only a loose black t-shirt and some sweatpants he had changed into after coaxing a stumbling Nobara into her room – and then guided a far more pliable, giggling Yuuji toward his bed, every incidental brush of fingers against Yuuji’s hip or shoulder during those careful navigations now replaying in his mind as charged memories that refuse to go unacknowledged.
A soft thud fractures the stillness, followed immediately by the unmistakable clatter of objects as they topple to the floor over near the door – perhaps a pen holder or a stack of notebooks sent scattering across the hardwood in a cascade of sudden disruption that sends an instinctive jolt racing through Megumi’s veins. His eyes snap open, heart kicking up into a quicker, more alert rhythm as he pushes himself up onto one elbow, the sheets falling to pool loosely around his waist; and he blinks rapidly against the accompanying intrusion of hallway light spilling in through the now-ajar door.
And there, framed in the open doorway like a vision summoned directly from the restless edges of Megumi’s thoughts, stands Yuuji – swaying ever so gently on his feet with that loose, liquid unsteadiness of someone still riding the tail end of too many drinks. His broad shoulders are outlined softly against the dim corridor glow, one hand outstretched toward the desk by the door, where he had clearly misjudged the distance in his tipsy navigation through the dark. His pink hair is even wilder now than it had been during the party’s frenzy, sticking up in chaotic tufts on one side and flattened on the other from where he must have been laying down; and his cheeks still carry a faint flush, his eyes half-lidded and glossy with sleep-hazed intoxication.
“Yuuji?” Megumi asks, mildly rough and dazed; he sits back against the headboard, blinking a few more times to ensure his vision isn’t playing tricks on him in the darkness of the night.
From across the room, Yuuji at least has the grace to look guilty; he winces, expression crumpling into something boyishly apologetic as he shifts his weight from one foot to the other. “Shit, sorry,” he says; his voice comes out thick with the lingering heaviness of drink, syllables softened at the edges. He bites down on his lower lip for a moment before releasing it, eyes darting between the mess scattered on the floor and Megumi’s face with a kind of pitiful earnestness that tugs at something deep in Megumi’s chest. “You – uh, you awake?”
Without quite waiting for a full response, Yuuji takes one more shuffling step into the room, his entire body listing just slightly to the right, as if the floor itself keeps tilting dangerously beneath him. He reaches up to rub his left eye with the back of his wrist, then runs that same hand through his hair, a clumsy motion that leaves the strands even more disheveled. Even so, Megumi cannot help but trace the familiar lines of him as he moves closer, full of drowsy awe: the subtle play of muscle beneath his clean shirt, every detail of his face illuminated only by the soft interplay of moonlight and the hallway glow – as if the universe itself conspires to render Yuuji impossibly vivid anywhere, even wading through the ordinary shadows of Megumi’s bedroom.
“Clearly,” Megumi grumbles, the words laced with a fond exasperation that bleeds through despite his best efforts to ignore the sudden warmth spreading throughout his chest. He turns his head briefly to glance at the alarm clock on his nightstand, squinting slightly as the red numbers blur. “God, it’s – it’s not even 6 a.m. What’re you doing in here? We’ve barely been home for–”
“Couldn’t sleep,” Yuuji cuts in with a sheepish half-shrug, continuing to pad closer on those unsteady feet until his knees bump against the edge of the mattress, the contact sending a faint vibration through the bedframe that Megumi feels in the small of his back. He braces one hand on the bed to steady himself, fingers drumming a restless, absent pattern over the duvet in a way that betrays his nervous energy even through the haze of tipsiness; his other hand fiddles with the hem of his shirt, twisting the cotton between his thumb and forefinger like it might ground him. His cheeks puff out and then release in a tired, exaggerated exhale before he continues, “Kept thinking about.. y’know, stuff. Hoping I didn’t say anything too, like, weird.”
“You didn’t,” Megumi assures him without thought. “And you – you were drunk, anyway. People say weird things when they’re drunk.”
“Well, yeah, but I wasn’t that drunk,” Yuuji counters, his voice dipping into a more insistent, almost pleading tone, a sound that carries the thickness of someone fighting exhaustion and nerves but somehow finding the stubborn courage to push forward anyway. He finally sits down on the very edge of the bed, one knee drawn up onto the mattress so that his leg rests near Megumi’s beneath the sheets. His hand rises from the hem of his shirt to rub at his temple instead as if soothing the faint throb of an oncoming headache, his glassy eyes searching Megumi’s face with such an intensity that it somehow feels piercing even through the fog. “I just – I wanted to, like, talk about it. Like you said. About, um–”
“Yuuji,” Megumi starts, a quiet warning that comes out embarrassingly tender.
But Yuuji presses on anyway, leaning in just a fraction more, the mattress dipping under his shifting weight in a way that brings them subtly closer. “Y’know, the thing. I – I meant it, is what I’m trying to say. The boyfriend thing. Hypothetically. Or – or not hypothetically. You know what I mean.” He lets out a soft, self-deprecating laugh, and shakes his head just slightly. “God, I sound like an idiot. But I just keep thinking about it and I – I didn’t wanna wake up tomorrow and have you acting like everything’s normal if it could be.. like, different. If we could be different.”
Megumi feels the words settle somewhere deep in his chest, sending ripples outward through every hidden chamber of longing he has guarded so fiercely – the ache of watching Yuuji shine unreservedly in crowded rooms, the quiet terror of imagining a world where those honey brown eyes turn elsewhere, the profound relief of every incidental touch that has always felt like more. His heart hammers steadily against his ribs, a wild, insistent rhythm that echoes almost painfully in his ears.
“You’re still tipsy, Yuuji,” he murmurs after a long moment, low and gentle. His own fingertips twitch where they rest atop the bedsheets, resisting the urge to reach out and reassure the other man with touch. “Go back to your own bed before you knock over half my room and wake the entire building.”
“No,” Yuuji says stubbornly. He pulls his other leg fully onto the bed and scoots closer with tipsy determination, one hand planted firmly on the mattress for balance near Megumi’s thigh while the other gestures vaguely in the air between them. Nervous energy thrums throughout him visibly despite the persistence: the slight tremor in his shoulders, the way he keeps glancing down at their proximity only to look back up with renewed resolve. “I know what I’m saying. I swear. And – fuck, I like you. A lot. And I think you like me back, or – or else you would’ve kicked me out already. Probably.”
“I still can,” Megumi deadpans, shooting Yuuji a pointed look that lacks any real heat while simultaneously fighting the smile threatening yet again to curve his lips – every shared breath and subtle shift of weight drawing them inexorably nearer.
“I bet you won’t.” Yuuji’s challenge lands playful and breathless, laced with that sleepy confidence that makes his voice dip lower, huskier around the edges. He moves forward again, close enough now that Megumi can feel the radiant warmth pouring off of him in waves – the same heat that had seared against his palm earlier when he had steadied Yuuji’s swaying form at the party, fingers remembering the firm jut of hip and the subtle flex of muscle beneath damp fabric.
Megumi lets out a deep, heavy sigh, one that carries all the weight of admission. “You’re impossible when you’re like this,” he murmurs after a beat, his fingers flexing once more as he battles the deepening pull to close the remaining distance between them. He watches with rapt attention the way Yuuji’s chest rises and falls with each breath, how his own hand keeps smoothing over the bedsheets in restless circles before clenching lightly, the glazed sheen in those warm eyes somehow making Yuuji look both slightly wrecked and heartbreakingly sincere.
“Yeah, but you like it,” Yuuji presses, his tone dipping into something softer and more intimate, yet no less wobbly. His hand finally reaches out to brush tentatively against Megumi’s knuckles, the touch light and warm and electric as his fingertip traces a small circle before pulling back just an inch in uncertainty. His gaze searches Megumi’s face more intently now, the most focused and sober he’s looked all night – hope and fear and longing tangled together in the vulnerable lines of his expression. “Don’t you?”
The moment stretches between them, filled with the memories of countless sidelong glances and protective instincts – the quiet terror of losing this irreplaceable bond warring against the fierce, blooming certainty that has taken up residency within Megumi’s chest. He feels the careful architecture of his restraint crumbling like stone beneath relentless waves, the room itself narrowing to the intimate circle of their shared warmth, the soft rustle of sheets, and the thundering of his own pulse.
“Yeah,” Megumi admits softly, the single word escaping him on a slow, trembling exhale. He turns his hand palm-up beneath Yuuji’s questioning touch, fingers curling gently around the other man’s in a reassuring hold. “I do.”
Yuuji’s face immediately lights up with surprised delight, eyes widening until they catch the light like polished amber, the grin spreading so wide across his face that his cheeks must ache with it. His entire body leans closer in sleepy eagerness, fingers squeezing Megumi’s in response. “Really?” he asks, hushed and wondrous.
“Yes,” Megumi replies simply. His free hand lifts to brush an errant lock of pink hair from Yuuji’s forehead, fingers lingering against the warm, flushed skin; then his voice drops, just slightly, more firm: “Now go. I told you we’ll talk when your head’s clear.”
“But–” Yuuji starts, the soft protest of someone riding the high of mutual confession.
Megumi doesn’t let Yuuji finish. He cuts him off with sudden decisiveness, hand dropping to curl into the front of Yuuji’s shirt to pull him close, the fabric bunching within his grasp. Their lips meet in that first sweet, tentative kiss – one that Megumi has envisioned countless times, in infinite different ways. His other hand disentangles itself from Yuuji’s, rising to cup the side of his face instead, thumb stroking along the sharp line of his jaw.
In response, Yuuji makes a beautifully soft, surprised sound against him – lips parting readily as he melts into the kiss, his own hand sliding up to the nape of Megumi’s neck, fingers threading through the dark strands there with a possessiveness softened by sleepy wonder, nails grazing lightly and sending a shiver racing down Megumi’s spine. Their bodies shift together on the mattress, knees and thighs pressing against each other as Megumi tilts his head to deepen the kiss, tasting the faint remnants of the night’s drinks on Yuuji’s tongue and the warm, living essence that is just undeniably Yuuji.
The world fades to just those overwhelming sensations: the plush give of Yuuji’s bottom lip as Megumi gently catches it between his teeth, the way their noses brush in awkward tenderness before aligning perfectly. Time loses its meaning in the press and retreat, their shared breaths growing heavier – Megumi’s hand eventually sliding back into Yuuji’s hair, cradling the back of his head as if he’s something precious and breakable and infinitely strong all at once. Yuuji responds to every movement with equal fervor, tempered only slightly by his drowsy haze, body pressing closer until they’re nearly chest to chest, heartbeats syncing in a rhythm as ancient and inevitable as the tides.
When Megumi finally pulls back, it’s only just far enough to murmur against Yuuji’s now-swollen lips. “Will that hold you until tomorrow?” he asks as he presses their foreheads together, breaths mingling in warm, uneven puffs; another one of those small, rare smiles curves his mouth as he drinks in the dazed, blissful expression painting Yuuji’s features. His hand finally releases its iron grip on Yuuji’s shirt, leaving the fabric bunched and wrinkled below his collar; then his arm loops around Yuuji’s waist, fingers splaying wide against the small of his back beneath the hem, savoring the direct heat of skin on skin. “So we can both get some sleep first?”
“Yeah, that’s–” Yuuji lets out on shaky, contented breath, nodding weakly as his eyes flutter half-closed, body still leaning heavily into Megumi’s hold. “That’s good. For sure. More than good, yeah.”
Megumi lets out the tiniest laugh. “Good,” he echoes, pressing one last lingering kiss to the corner of Yuuji’s mouth before pulling back fully. “Do you think you can make it back to your room without breaking something else?”
Yuuji’s answering grin spreads slow and mischievous. “Do I get another kiss if I do?”
“Yes,” Megumi agrees with a fond roll of his eyes, fingers tracing along Yuuji’s lower back for another brief moment before reluctantly withdrawing entirely. “Tomorrow.”
The promise stretches between them like a golden thread woven into the fabric of the night, and Yuuji finally pushes himself up from the bed with exaggerated care. As he heads for the door, feet swaying only slightly now, he casts one last glance over his shoulder filled with sleepy affection and budding hope; and even after he leaves, the bedroom somehow feels warmer, fuller, the first hints of dawn just beginning to creep in through the blinds.
Megumi doesn’t end up getting any more sleep.
But he finds himself perfectly content with that.