Everything or Nothing

Ever heard of knocking?

Of course, just because they aren't hitting each other, doesn't mean that hostilities between the two have ceased.

Really, it's anything but.

First, comes the debate as old as time.

"Could you please," Dazai groans, pulling his blankets over his head as Chuuya's alarm blares at six a.m., the obnoxious screeching gating against his ears, "not set that to full volume?!"

Chuuya shrugs, pulling on his sneakers, letting it blare just a little longer than necessary before hitting the snooze button. "What can I say? I'm a deep sleeper."

Dazai, it turns out, has the delightful blessing of having a roommate who likes to go for morning runs.

And by morning, he means the absolute ass crack of dawn.

Then, like Dazai doesn't suffer enough, by the time he's actually starting to wake up again, it's to Chuuya striding back in, adam's apple bobbing as he takes a swig of water, pulling up the hem of his shirt to dab at the sweat on his forehead.

And that's just...

Dazai's eyes are darting around from under his pillow, anywhere but the redhead's toned stomach.

He remembers that. His hand sliding under unbuttoned flannel, palm sliding flat against Chuuya's ribs, surprised by the muscle he found there.

And now they're literally in Dazai's face (five feet away) in front of his (metaphorical) breakfast, like some sort of cosmic punishment for his past sins.

He pulls the pillow tighter over his face, groaning softly.

"You're such a fucking baby." Chuuya rolls his eyes "It's already eight."

Dazai peeks to see Chuuya sitting on the edge of his mattress, kicking off his shoes. "I saw a spider in your bed while you were gone." Chuuya's eyes widen as he looks around for it, and when he does see it, he shrieks, flailing and falling to the floor.

Ha. Dazai thinks to himself smugly. Not manly at all. Really. It's totally fine and normal that you'd feel confused—

"Why didn't you say something BEFORE I sat down you ASSHOLE—"

Dazai's smugness is snuffed out when a sneaker bounces off of his head and he groans again, burrowing deeper under his blankets. "Because I hate you."

"Not as much as I hate you—"

"HEY." A fist pounds into their door. "QUIET HOURS RUN

UNTIL 9 A.M."

"Tell that to Chuuya-chan!" Dazai calls out pleasantly, staring the redhead down like he's the actual devil. "He's been up since SIX!"

"Both of you, SHUT UP."

Chuuya stalks off to the shower, and Dazai tries to go back to sleep.

He hates him. Hates him.

There are moments. Brief. Unconvincing moments. When Chuuya convinces himself his roommate might not be that bad.

Like when he's dozing in the middle of the night, halfway between dream and sleep, and he overhears a muted phone conversation from their balcony.

"You're okay," he hasn't heard Dazai sound like that before. Well actually. He has.

"What's your name?"

"It's not a big one, is it?" He cranes his head a little, and he can see Dazai leaning back against the railing in the dim light, his phone pressed to his ear. "Did you try counting after the lighting?" There's a pause, and Dazai nods, "I know, okay—that was it? One...two...three...four...five...And there's the thunder. See? Not that close."