Everything or Nothing

I Think Something Happened to Me

Content Warnings: past mental abuse, past sexual abuse, sexual abuse of a minor, post-traumatic stress episode, victim blaming, brief violation of consent, implied / referenced self-harm, and descriptions of suicidal thoughts / ideation
---

Dazai's eyes snap to the door, his arms folded behind his head from where he had previously been staring at the ceiling, aimlessly waiting for sleep to come. "Come in."

The door opens slowly, and a familiar face peeps through. "Hey," Chuuya glances around, noticing that the fact that the lights were already off. "Were you asleep?"

Dazai shakes his head, sitting up on his elbows. Chuuya is half in the shadows, the edges of his form illuminated by the light pouring in from the hallway. His hair is tousled, and while Dazai knows that he's likely wearing boxers, but he can't tell right now from the way his oversized sleep shirt hangs down to his thighs, slipping off of one shoulder. "No—but I thought you were."

Chuuya's eyes cut to the side, and there's this thing he does, when he forgets that he's trying to look impassive, where he reaches up to fiddle with the longer strands of his hair, curling the ends around his fingers in a way that always manages to capture Dazai's attention and make his chest pang with longing. "I was, but..." he bites the inside of his cheek.

"...But what?"

"You're gonna think I'm being a baby."

Dazai wants to protest and ask why Chuuya would accuse him of such a thing, except—he has called Chuuya a baby, countless times since they met, so he sticks with reassuring him. "I won't."

"Forget about it—"

"Chuuya."

He lets out a heavy sigh.

"I was gonna ask if I could sleep in here, but—" He hesitates when Dazai silently lifts up his comforter in invitation. "You don't have to—"

"Chuuya?" Dazai can't help it, just how endeared he sounds.

"Yeah?"

"We're dating."

Right.

The back of Chuuya's neck heats up, and he realizes how ridiculous he probably seems, but—he isn't really used to it yet, and in the last few months, they've both developed habits of trying to dance around intimacy, and...

"Come here."

There's something so comforting about Dazai's voice, not because he's overtly sappy or anything like that—aside from the other day, Dazai really isn't like that, but—the way he says it, it makes Chuuya feel...

Wanted.

That doesn't mean that his first two steps towards the bed aren't tentative, which Dazai finds somewhat hilarious, given everything they've already done and the fact that they've already confessed their undying love for one another—well, maybe not undying, but it happened in the rain, and Dazai is pretty sure that makes the entire thing more passionate.

But Chuuya's last four steps are an acceleration, like he's just ripping off the band-aid of embarrassment—how this is embarrassing, Dazai hasn't really grasped yet, but he's sure that he'll get there—and he jumps into bed next to him.

It isn't until Chuuya is pressed up against his side, tucked underneath his arm, that Dazai realizes—they haven't been in the same bed together like this since London.

And god, he knew that he had missed it—but he didn't realize until he had the familiar, comforting weight of Chuuya against his side, just how much. He turns his head to the side slowly, letting his nose press against Chuuya's hair, and then...