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Chuuya’s fingers paused over the screen of his phone for only a heartbeat before resuming their lazy scrolling.
The room was quiet in the comfortable sort of way that only came after hours spent together. Rain tapped softly against the bedroom window, muffled beneath the hum of an old box fan turning lazily in the corner. His bedroom wasn’t particularly large—just enough space for an unmade bed shoved against the wall, a battered desk buried beneath schoolbooks and motorcycle magazines, and shelves cluttered with old records, trophies, and things he’d collected over the years. It wasn’t fancy.
It was simply his.
Dazai, meanwhile, had made himself entirely at home. He lay stretched comfortably beside him beneath the blankets as though he’d lived there for years instead of having climbed through the bedroom window in the middle of the night. One arm rested loosely around Chuuya’s waist while the other occupied itself with absent-mindedly combing through strands of ginger hair. His movements were slow and gentle, almost absent. Every now and then he’d twist a strand around one finger before letting it slip free again, only to start over seconds later.
Chuuya would never admit it aloud…but it was soothing. He leaned into the touch without realizing he was doing it, shoulders relaxing another inch against Dazai’s chest. His eyelids felt heavier than before, and for several minutes neither of them spoke. The silence between them wasn’t awkward, it rarely was anymore. The only sounds came from the occasional swipe of Chuuya’s thumb across his phone screen, the rustling blankets every time Dazai shifted, and the steady rhythm of both their breathing.
Eventually Chuuya locked his phone with a sigh, there wasn’t anything interesting anyway. He tossed it carelessly toward the pillows, where it landed with a muted thud before disappearing beneath the blankets and then rolling onto one elbow, he turned to face Dazai. “…” Their noses were almost touching.
Dazai blinked at him with that infuriatingly relaxed expression—as though personal space had never existed in his vocabulary. Chuuya’s gaze drifted downward and his eyes landed on the oversized shirt Dazai was wearing. His shirt. Not just any shirt either, his favorite one.
He frowned immediately. “…Hey.” Dazai hummed innocently. “That’s my favorite shirt.”
The brunette looked down at himself as though he’d only just noticed. “Oh?” He pinched the hem between two fingers, examining it with exaggerated interest before looking back up. “I think it looks much better on me.”
Chuuya stared. “…Excuse me?”
“I mean…” Dazai continued thoughtfully, smoothing imaginary wrinkles from the fabric. “You certainly looked nice in it.” A pause. “But I elevate it.”
“You elevate—”
“It finally found someone handsome enough.”
“Dazai.”
“Hm?”
“Take it off.” The words left his mouth before he could think.
Dazai’s eyes lit up instantly. Slowly, very slowly, a grin spread across his face. “Oh?” His voice became dangerously amused. “You want me to take my clothes off?”
Chuuya froze. “…That’s not what I—”
“So impatient.”
“I wasn’t—”
“My, my…” Dazai covered his mouth dramatically. “I had no idea Chuuya was such a pervert.” His voice carried that obnoxiously sing-song lilt reserved exclusively for getting under Chuuya’s skin. “You sneak me into your bedroom…”
“Dazai.”
“You cuddle me all night…”
“Dazai.”
“And now you’re demanding I strip?”
“Dazai!”
“What would your brother think?”
“I AM TALKING ABOUT THE SHIRT!”
Dazai’s shoulders shook with poorly contained laughter. “I don’t know…” He tilted his head. “It sounded pretty suspicious to me.”
Chuuya’s face erupted into color. “You absolute—” Before Dazai could finish another sentence, Chuuya shoved him square in the chest.
The brunette let out an undignified yelp as he toppled backward onto the mattress, bouncing slightly against the pillows. “What violence!”
“You deserve worse.”
“You wound me.”
“I haven’t even started.” In one smooth movement, Chuuya climbed over him, planting a knee on either side of Dazai’s hips before grabbing both of his wrists and with more determination than actual force, he pinned them above Dazai’s head against the mattress. “There.” He huffed triumphantly. “Now who’s talking?”
Dazai looked entirely too comfortable, if anything he looked amused. His eyebrows lifted just slightly. “Oh?” His gaze flickered from their joined hands to Chuuya’s face. “So you’re pinning me to your bed now.”
Chuuya blinked, then his eye twitched. “I swear to God—”
“And after asking me to remove my shirt…”
“Dazai.”
“You really are bold today.”
“I AM NOT—”
“So forceful.”
“Dazai.”
“I didn’t realize this was where tonight was heading.”
“You—” Words failed him completely. His mouth opened, then closed, then pened again. Nothing. Not a single coherent sentence survived the trip from his brain to his mouth.
Dazai smiled sweetly and it was the smile of someone who knew they’d won. “…You done?” Silence. “…Thought so.”
Something inside Chuuya snapped. Not in anger—Well… mostly anger. Without giving himself even half a second to reconsider, he leaned forward. Instead of arguing, instead of yelling, he bit Dazai’s shoulder through the fabric of the stolen shirt. Not hard enough to hurt, just enough to surprise him.
“Mmph—” Dazai jolted beneath him. “Chuuya!” A tiny, distinctly canine-sounding growl escaped the redhead before he bit down just a fraction harder. “Ow!”
“You earned it.”
“You’re biting me!”
“You earned that too.”
“You’re actually unbelievable.”
Satisfied, Chuuya finally let go. He sat back with a smug little huff, crossing his arms over his chest. “There.” A beat passed, then another. Dazai reached up to rub dramatically at his shoulder, pouting with theatrical misery. “Owww…”
Chuuya rolled his eyes. “…Drama queen.”
“It hurts.”
“I barely touched you.”
“You’ve mortally wounded me.”
“Oh, shut up.”
“I think I’m fading…”
“You are so full of—”
Another pitiful whine escaped Dazai. This one sounded… different, smaller. Chuuya frowned and his irritation faltered. “…Hey.” No answer, Dazai simply continued staring mournfully at the ceiling. “…Dazai?” Still nothing. A knot formed in Chuuya’s stomach. “…Did I…” He shifted awkwardly, his earlier confidence evaporating. “…Actually hurt you?” The question came much quieter this time. He released Dazai’s wrists immediately, his hands instead moved to the brunette’s shoulder, carefully brushing over the place he’d bitten through the fabric. “…Shit.” His brows knitted together. “I’m sorry.” He looked genuinely distressed. “I wasn’t trying to—”
A laugh escaped Dazai, small at first but then followed another, and another, until he dissolved completely into uncontrollable giggles. Chuuya blinked. “…What?”
Dazai pointed directly at him, laughing so hard tears threatened to form at the corners of his eyes. “You…” Another fit of laughter interrupted him. “…You should’ve seen your face!”
Chuuya stared. “What?”
“You looked like someone kicked a puppy.”
“I did not.”
“You panicked.”
“I—”
“You panicked so fast.”
“I was making sure you were okay!”
“You were so worried.” Dazai wiped at the corner of one eye. “You’re seriously just like a dog.” Silence, dead silence.
Chuuya’s eye twitched. “Dog?” Another twitch. “…Dog?” One more, then— “WHAT?!” He lunged, again, but his time not bothering with dramatic pinning or wrestling holds. Instead, he grabbed Dazai’s face with both hands, squishing his cheeks together until his lips puckered into the most ridiculous expression imaginable. “You little liar!” His voice cracked from sheer indignation. “I WAS APOLOGIZING!”
Muffled beneath Chuuya’s grip, Dazai attempted to respond. “Mffph.”
“What?”
“Mmf!”
“I can’t understand your stupid face!” He gave Dazai’s head a few exaggerated shakes for emphasis. “I THOUGHT I HURT YOU!”
“Mff!”
“I WAS WORRIED!”
“Mmph!”
“I FELT BAD!”
Dazai dissolved into another helpless fit of laughter despite having both cheeks thoroughly squished. His shoulders shook beneath Chuuya’s hands, his laughter echoed through the room. Not the quiet little chuckle he used whenever Chuuya inevitably said something ridiculous or the smug laugh that usually followed one of his own terrible jokes. This was different. It burst out of him without restraint, bright and uncontrollable, filling the bedroom until it seemed to bounce off every wall. His shoulders shook beneath Chuuya, his eyes squeezed completely shut as another laugh escaped him, breathless and genuine. For a few seconds he couldn’t seem to stop. Every time the laughter began dying down, another glance at Chuuya’s thoroughly offended expression would send him right back into another fit of helpless giggles. It was loud, unrestrained, real.
Chuuya stopped moving. His hands, still cupping either side of Dazai’s face after thoroughly squishing his cheeks, gradually loosened and the mock shaking ceased. He simply stared. The anger that had been burning only moments ago fizzled away so quickly it almost startled him. Because Dazai… Dazai was actually laughing. Not pretending, not forcing a smile because everyone expected one, and not wearing that practiced grin Chuuya had become painfully familiar with over the past few months—the one that never quite reached his eyes anymore. This laugh reached everywhere. His cheeks flushed a rosy pink from laughing so hard, his eyes disappeared into crescents, and the corners of his mouth stretched into such an open smile it looked almost unfamiliar.
Alive.
That was the only word Chuuya’s mind could settle on. He looked… Alive.
Something tightened painfully in Chuuya’s chest. Ever since Oda had died, laughter like this had become painfully rare. There were still jokes, still sarcasm, still that infuriating habit of making light of absolutely everything. But those had always felt… different. Like Dazai was acting, like every smile had to be carefully chosen before he wore it.
This…
This one had slipped out before he could stop it and Chuuya realized, with a strange ache in his chest, that he couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen him this happy. His thumbs brushed absentmindedly across Dazai’s flushed cheeks. He wasn’t even thinking anymore, just… looking, taking in every tiny detail as though he were afraid the moment would disappear if he blinked.
Eventually the laughter dwindled into smaller giggles. Dazai rubbed one hand over his face, trying—and failing—to compose himself. His breathing was still uneven, yet his smile refused to leave. When he finally looked back up, he caught Chuuya staring. “…What?” His voice came out lighter than usual, almost teasing, but softer. “Why’re you looking at me like that?”
Chuuya didn’t answer because he wasn’t entirely sure himself. He’d seen Dazai smile hundreds of times, maybe thousands. But somehow… This felt different. For one impossibly long moment, Chuuya forgot about everything else. Forgot about school, about homework waiting on his desk, about how Dazai had climbed through his bedroom window in the middle of the night, about how they’d spent the last ten minutes wrestling over a stupid joke.
There was only Dazai.
His hair was a mess from being shaken around, his cheeks were still warm with color, and there was the tiniest crinkle at the corners of his eyes that hadn’t been there a minute ago.
He looked happy.
It hit Chuuya with surprising force just how much he’d missed seeing that expression. His chest tightened and his thoughts became strangely quiet. Without really deciding to, he leaned forward and the distance between them disappeared almost effortlessly.
Their lips met softly. Not because they were arguing or because one of them was trying to prove a point or because either of them had invented another ridiculous excuse. Just… softly. It was familiar. They’d kissed enough times that neither of them questioned it anymore. At first there had always been a reason.
“We’re just curious.”
“Practice.”
“Truth or dare.”
“You looked like you needed one.”
“I was bored.”
The excuses had grown flimsier over time and eventually they had stopped making them altogether. The kiss lingered, gentle and unhurried. Chuuya’s hands slipped from Dazai’s cheeks, settling there almost instinctively as though he were afraid to let go too quickly.
Dazai answered the kiss after only the briefest pause. There wasn’t any hesitation, only a small, content hum that Chuuya felt more than heard. His hands found Chuuya’s shoulders, resting there lightly.
The room fell completely silent. Outside, rain continued tapping against the window. The fan hummed lazily and blankets shifted quietly beneath them as they leaned closer. Everything else disappeared. For those few seconds there wasn’t anyone else.
No memories that hurt too much to say aloud.
No expectations.
No pretending.
Just the quiet warmth of being close. When they finally drew apart, neither of them moved very far. Their foreheads nearly touched, breaths mingled in the narrow space between them.
Dazai looked at him, really looked. The teasing smile had faded into something quieter, curious and searching. “…Chuuya?” His voice was almost careful.
That single word pulled Chuuya back to reality and his heartbeat stumbled. Why… Why had that kiss felt different? They’d done this before plenty of times. Enough that neither of them got embarrassed anymore, so much so that it had become strangely normal. So why did this one make his chest feel so tight? Why couldn’t he look away?
His eyes wandered across Dazai’s face almost involuntarily. Messy brown hair, warm brown eyes that had the tiniest hint of red in them, a tiny mole beneath one eye, and the familiar shape of his smile. Details he’d seen countless times before. Only now he wasn’t looking at his best friend. He was looking at… Dazai.
Not the class clown or the sarcastic idiot who stole his clothes and climbed through windows or the guy everyone assumed was always fine because he laughed the loudest.
Just…
Dazai.
His stomach twisted unexpectedly. The thought arrived so suddenly it almost knocked the breath out of him. Someone else could kiss him some day. Someone else might be the one making him laugh like this and hear that laugh every morning. The idea hit far harder than it should have. It wasn’t irritation or competitiveness. It wasn’t even jealousy in the childish sense he’d always dismissed.
It was fear.
A quiet, uncomfortable fear that settled heavily in his chest. He didn’t want to picture it and didn't want to imagine someone else stealing moments like this. Someone else wearing that smile. Someone else reaching for Dazai first. The realization settled over him with startling clarity. Maybe… Maybe that was why he’d always been the one to close the distance first. Why every harmless excuse somehow ended with another kiss. Why every time Dazai flirted with someone else—even jokingly—it annoyed him far more than it should have. Because somewhere along the way this had stopped being practice.
“…Chuuya?” Dazai asked again, quieter this time. There was uncertainty in his voice now, something fragile. He searched Chuuya’s face as though waiting for an answer that refused to come. The silence stretched, far too long to be comfortable. Dazai’s expression softened into a small, uncertain frown. “…Did I…” He hesitated. “…Do something wrong?”
That question broke something inside Chuuya. He couldn’t bear hearing that uncertainty, couldn’t stand the thought that Dazai might believe he’d crossed a line. Without another moment to overthink it, Chuuya reached forward. His fingers caught in the front of Dazai’s shirt. His shirt, yhe one Dazai had stolen, and gave the fabric one firm tug.
Dazai barely had time to react before Chuuya closed the distance again. The second kiss wasn’t hesitant, it wasn’t accidental, and it wasn’t born from teasing or another ridiculous excuse. It was chosen, slow and deliberate and certain. Chuuya kissed him with all the words he couldn’t seem to say aloud. His hand slipped from the fabric at Dazai’s chest to rest gently behind his neck, fingertips disappearing into soft brown hair. The other remained curled loosely in the front of the oversized shirt.
For several long, impossibly quiet seconds neither of them moved. The kiss lingered in the space between them long after their lips had separated, as though the room itself hadn’t quite realized it was over. Chuuya’s hand remained at the back of Dazai’s neck. His fingers were tangled lightly in soft brown hair, almost absentmindedly. He hadn’t even realized he was still holding him there until his thumb brushed against the warm skin beneath Dazai’s ear. He froze. His heartbeat was deafening. The kind that settled somewhere behind his ribs and refused to slow no matter how many times he reminded himself to breathe.
Dazai hadn’t pulled away. He simply looked back at him. Brown eyes, usually so full of mischief or impossible-to-read amusement, searched Chuuya’s face with an unfamiliar openness. There wasn’t a joke waiting on the tip of his tongue, no smug grin or teasing remark about Chuuya secretly being clingy. He was… waiting. Waiting for Chuuya to explain something that Chuuya himself didn’t understand.
The silence stretched. Outside, rain continued to patter softly against the windowpane. Somewhere downstairs, the refrigerator hummed while the rest of the house remained asleep. It felt strangely as though the entire world had narrowed until it consisted of nothing more than the two of them and the quiet space they shared.
Dazai was the first to move. Very slowly, careful not to startle him, he lifted one hand and his fingertips rested lightly against Chuuya’s wrist. Not to pull it away or to stop him, just simply there. A quiet reminder that he was present, that he hadn’t disappeared and that this was real. “You’re thinking awfully hard,” Dazai murmured, his voice almost a whisper. The familiar humor was there, but quieter, gentler. “…Your brain might overheat.”
Chuuya let out a breath that sounded suspiciously like a laugh despite himself. “…Shut up.”
“There it is.”
“What?”
“My favorite response.”
“I have plenty of responses.”
“You do.” Dazai’s lips curved into the smallest smile. “But that one’s the classic.”
Chuuya rolled his eyes automatically. “…Idiot.”
“See?” Another tiny smile. “I was worried for a second.”
“Worried?”
“You got all quiet.” Dazai’s gaze drifted upward toward the ceiling. “I started wondering if maybe I’d accidentally broken my Chuuya.”
“You don’t own a Chuuya.”
“Hm.”
“No.”
“I’d certainly like to file a complaint, then.” Chuuya snorted before he could stop himself. The sound escaped unexpectedly, earning a brighter smile from Dazai. “There you are.”
“I never went anywhere.”
“You kind of did.”
“I was literally sitting on top of you.”
“I meant emotionally.”
“…You’re insufferable.”
“I’ve been told.”
“You tell yourself.”
“I have excellent taste.”
Chuuya shook his head with an exasperated sigh. Somehow… this was easier. Trading insults, rolling his eyes and pretending everything was normal. It was familiar territory, safe. The alternative—Actually talking about what had just happened—Felt infinitely more terrifying. His hand finally slipped from the back of Dazai’s neck, not because he wanted to let go, it was mostly because he suddenly became painfully aware of how long he’d been touching him. He shifted slightly, sitting back on his heels.
Immediately the room felt colder. The space between them, though only a few inches wider than before, suddenly seemed enormous. Dazai noticed. Of course he did. His expression flickered almost imperceptibly, not disappointment, at least not quite, but something quieter that Chuuya couldn’t name.
“…So.” Dazai folded his hands over his stomach, staring thoughtfully at the ceiling now. “I think…” He paused dramatically. “…we’ve officially exceeded the recommended number of ‘practice kisses.’”
Chuuya blinked. “…There’s a recommended number?”
“I assume so.”
“By who?”
“I don’t know.” Dazai shrugged. “The Department of Practice Kisses.”
“The what?”
“They probably have pamphlets.”
“You’re making things up again.”
“I would never.”
“You absolutely would.”
“I absolutely would.”
They both laughed, not loudly like the uncontrollable laughter from earlier, just soft and tired chuckles that seemed to loosen some of the tension still lingering between them. After a while, the laughter faded naturally and another comfortable silence settled over the room.
Dazai glanced sideways. “…Can I ask you something?”
Chuuya hesitated. “…Depends.”
“On?”
“What you’re asking.”
“Hm.” Dazai thought for a moment. “Fair.” Another pause. Then, much quieter— “…Were those two kisses different?” The question hung in the air. Simple and honest, dangerously honest.
Chuuya’s throat tightened. He opened his mouth only to close it again. His first instinct was denial. “No.” The second was deflection. “You’re overthinking.” The third was to throw a pillow at Dazai and climb out the window himself. Instead…
“…Yeah.”
The word barely rose above a whisper. Dazai looked at him, he didn’t smile or tease. Chuuya rubbed the back of his neck, refusing to meet Dazai’s eyes. “Yeah… They were.” Another long silence. “I don’t know why.” That part, at least, was honest. “I just…” He searched for words that refused to cooperate. “I saw you laughing.” A pause. “And…” Another pause. “You looked…” He groaned quietly. “This is embarrassing.” Dazai waited. “You looked…” Chuuya sighed through his nose. “…Happy.”
The room became very still.
“You haven’t…” He swallowed. “You haven’t looked that happy in a while.” Finally, he forced himself to look over.
Dazai’s expression had softened completely. The joking mask was gone and he looked almost startled. “…Oh.” Just one word, quiet and thoughtful, as though he hadn’t expected that answer.
“I missed it.” Chuuya admitted. “I guess.”
Neither of them spoke for several moments, but then Dazai smiled. Not his loud, theatrical grin or the mischievous one. Something smaller and warmer. “…Thank you.”
Chuuya blinked. “For what?”
“For noticing.” The answer landed softly between them.
Chuuya looked away again almost immediately, rubbing at the back of his neck. “…Don’t make it weird.”
“I’m trying not to.”
“You’re failing.”
“I usually do.”
“You really do.”
Dazai laughed under his breath. “…Good.”
“What?”
“I’m glad you can still tell me that.”
Chuuya frowned. “…Why wouldn’t I?”
Dazai looked toward the rain-speckled window for a moment before answering. “I don’t know.” His voice was thoughtful rather than sad. “I guess…” He shrugged one shoulder. “…Sometimes after something important happens, people start treating each other differently.”
Chuuya considered that then he reached over without much ceremony and flicked Dazai square in the forehead.
“Ow.”
“You deserved that.”
“For what?”
“For saying something that dramatic.”
“I was being sincere.”
“I know.”
“That’s rude.”
“It keeps you humble.”
Dazai rubbed his forehead with exaggerated offense. “…You’re impossible.”
“And yet…” Chuuya settled back against the headboard beside him, shoulder bumping lightly against Dazai’s. “…You’re still here.”
Dazai looked at him for a long moment. Then, with an easy familiarity born of countless nights spent together, he leaned sideways until their shoulders rested comfortably against one another beneath the blanket. “…Yeah.” His answer came quietly. “I’m still here.”
Neither of them knew exactly what had changed and they weren’t quite ready to put a name to it, but neither of them moved away, either. For now, that was more than enough.