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Atsushi scrambles to put his DSLR inside the camera bag, almost tripping over a pair of slippers that are not supposed to be on that particular area on the floor. The phone in his pocket rings incessantly, which does nothing but increase his panic.
“Shit,” he hisses, balancing on one foot as he tries to wear his socks. He glances at his watch like it could make a difference, heart jumping to his throat. Who the hell oversleeps before an important event? Him, that’s who. What an idiot. “Akutagawa!”
His roommate glances at him from his spot on the couch, eyes narrowed in suspicion behind his reading glasses. Atsushi would feel offended if he has time to spare. “Forgot something?”
“Yeah, I—woah.” Steadying himself against the wall, Atsushi lets out a defeated sigh. Dammit, he’ll accept being late if it would mean avoiding a head injury or, worse, broken wrists. “My tripod? Please?”
Akutagawa closes the book he’s reading and walks into Atsushi’s room, coming out not a while later with the photographer’s tripod. “You should’ve woken up when I called you.”
“I know that.” Atsushi sniffs, slipping on his shoes and clutching the tripod to his chest. It’s not like he did it on purpose—he was awake for 36 hours . Not his fault that his body refused to leave the bed. “How do I look?” he asks expectantly with a tight smile.
Akutagawa purses his lips. “Like usual.” Reaching a hand out, he pats Atsushi’s hair, probably to calm it down as best as he could. “Now get your ass out of here.”
“Okay.” With one last sigh, Atsushi pulls in Akutagawa for a brief one-armed hug, laughing when his roommate grunts as the tripod almost hits him in the face. “I’ll see you later,” he says, turning towards the door. “What do you want for dinner?”
A shrug. “I’ll let you decide.”
Ah, Atsushi knows that look. “Let’s eat outside, then.”
Akutagawa nods, a small smile tugging on the corner of his lips. Atsushi doubts his roommate even realizes he’s doing it, but there is no way in hell Atsushi will comment on it. “Have a good shoot.”
“Will do!” With that, Atsushi rushes outside, realizing he forgot how behind he is. Kunikida will kill him. God.
“Where are you?” Kunikida screams into the phone when Atsushi answers. The young photographer winces. Who even told him to call 14 times?
Atsushi weaves through the crowd, bowing to anyone he accidentally bumps into. “I’m on my way, Kunikida-san.”
“The clients are wondering if you ditched them!”
“I’m sorry, I’m running right now. I’ll be there in a few minutes!”
Kunikida clicks his tongue. “Travel safe.”
Atsushi breathes in relief when Kunikida hangs up. The senior photographer is kind and considerate most of the time, but everyone is well aware not to bring out his temper by being late for anything, especially Atsushi, who practically grew up with the man, being financially supported by a college dean named Fukuzawa and all.
Way to go, Atsushi.
Pocketing his phone, Atsushi sprints to the train station, not looking forward to the scolding that will welcome him at the venue.
At least he’ll eat dinner with Akutagawa tonight.
"Um," Atsushi says, lingering by the doorway even as the host beckons him inside with a nod. "Good day, I'm Nakajima Atsushi. I'm here to check out the apartment?"
Piercing gray eyes meet his. "Akutagawa."
Atsushi holds out a hand. "Nice to meet you, Akutagawa-san!"
His future housemate accepts the gesture, pulling away not a second later.
Atsushi tries not to blush.
(Akutagawa has nice fingers.)
Okay, here’s the thing—Atsushi has feelings for his roommate.
(It is definitely more than a crush, but not something he wouldn’t be able to move on from.)
Fine, that’s a lie. It’s been three years. If there is a way out of this, Atsushi has probably already missed it.
“Why are you so quiet?” Akutagawa asks, hand poised over his glass of water.
Atsushi shakes his head.
He’s in love with Akutagawa.
Surprise, surprise.
“Just tired,” he answers, wolfing down on his meal in a not-so-subtle way of avoiding a conversation. It’s not that he doesn’t want to talk—God knows how much he’s willing to pay just to hear Akutagawa’s low and rough voice all day, but not tonight.
He doesn’t know if he would be able to take it.
Dramatic, as his friend, Sigma, would say. Atsushi is admittedly exaggerating a bit, but who could blame him when he spent the whole afternoon photographing a prenup? He’s not as mature as people might think in that department.
Akutagawa seems to think something is wrong with the way he frowns. “Let’s go home when you’re done eating.”
Nonplussed, Atsushi swallows his food. “You said you’re going to buy ink for the printer.”
“I don’t need it right away.”
What a bold-faced liar. “No, I’m fine. You have a paper due tomorrow, don’t you? We can go now so you’ll have plenty of time.”
“How did you even know about my paper?” Akutagawa says as they rise from their seats and walk to the cashier to pay for their meals. Atsushi hands half of the price to his roommate, which Akutagawa accepts without a glance.
“You were reading a lot.”
“I’m always reading a lot.”
“You were reading more than usual,” Atsushi says, sidling to Akutagawa’s side when they leave the restaurant. “Why does it matter anyway? I was right.”
A snort. “You think you’re right all the time.”
Excuse him— “Hey, when did I say that?” Atsushi places a hand over his chest, feigning offense. They smoothly step aside from other people as they maneuver through the streets, the cold autumn air biting against Atsushi’s nose.
“I didn’t say you—”
“Are you a mind reader?” Pursing his lips in faux suspicion, Atsushi pretends to survey Akutagawa from head to toe. (Okay, maybe he really does check him out. Akutagawa looks so effortlessly comfortable and gorgeous in hoodies and trenchcoats that it’s hard not to stare.)
Did Atsushi forget to say he’s a little shameless?
Akutagawa rubs somewhere around his mouth, his free hand hovering over the small of Atsushi’s back while they cross the street. “Was I wrong, though?”
No, no, he isn’t. “You make it sound like I never take criticisms!”
“You don’t take criticisms from me.” Akutagawa leads them in the direction of their shared apartment, gloved hands hugging himself. “It’s not that bad.” A shrug. “I think.”
“Hey!” Atsushi whines because everyone but Akutagawa calls him childish when he does that. Grumbling under his breath, he takes his coat off and places it over Akutagawa’s shoulders. “I always tell you to wear thicker clothes, but you never listen.”
“You never listen to me either,” Akutagawa points out, slinging an arm around Atsushi so they could share the coat. They probably paint an odd picture, judging from the few weird stares they received, but Atsushi could only smile.
“Remind me not to argue with you again.”
Akutagawa chuckles, a low rumble that makes Atsushi’s stomach flip. It always feels nice to hear Akutagawa laugh. “That sounds just like the right recipe for an argument."
Atsushi groans, sagging against him. “I hate you, please shut up.”
The first year they lived together, Atsushi was a freshman, Akutagawa a sophomore. Atsushi had answered that minimalist ad posted on one of the university’s bulletin boards. Nobody would’ve found it (why did Akutagawa even think it’s effective to paste a boring rent advertisement beside a wholeass movie poster?) if Atsushi weren’t so desperate at the time.
Akutagawa had barely looked at him during the first six months, always going out of his way to avoid Atsushi. He wasn’t so successful though, not when he obviously liked reading in the living room, the same space Atsushi would frequent in whenever he ate (and he ate a lot ) since they didn’t have a proper dining area.
The latter part of the same year was a little better. Atsushi continued to pester his roommate about the smallest things —Does he like beans? Does he have allergies? Does he want anything from the market? Is it okay to play songs when he’s reading?— until Akutagawa has no choice but to answer. It’s not like Akutagawa is rude. Sure, he might have glared at Atsushi more times than the photographer deserved, might have purposely crowded the sofa with books so Atsushi couldn’t sit, but he’s not all that bad.
Yes, Atsushi can say that without bias.
In fact, Akutagawa is so thoughtful he even offered to turn the small storage room into a dark room upon seeing Atsushi’s photography equipment (and that was when Atsushi had just moved in!) and he doesn’t judge the appalling amount of meat in Atsushi’s side of the fridge.
Really, he's the perfect housemate. Atsushi could not ask for a better person.
“We’re home,” Atsushi says, stretching his arms. Akutagawa wordlessly hangs their coat and aligns their shoes before walking into his room.
The photographer takes a brief moment to calm his heart. One of these days, either Akutagawa’s kindness or visuals will kill Atsushi. Of all people, why does he have to fall for someone he lives with?
Atsushi plops on the couch with a sigh, ignoring the warmth in his cheeks and snatching the remote on the table instead. This is what he has to endure to hang out with Akutagawa.
It does feel a little good inside.
“Wash up before you go on your drama marathon,” Akutagawa says from his room, voice muffled from the distance.
A soft laugh escapes Atsushi, getting up from his seat.
It’s been three years since he realized he has feelings for Akutagawa.
Every day, Atsushi finds a reason to like him even more.
“Listen, I don’t get why she wouldn’t give me a perfect grade,” Lucy says with a roll of her eyes, slumping on the table. Beside her, Sigma merely shakes his head, sipping on his blueberry frappe.
Atsushi tries to give Lucy a comforting smile, although he doubts its effectivity. Even he got a low score on the same performance task. “I think she just liked tormenting students.”
“Right? It’s not like she takes phenomenal photos. She can’t even hold a candle to Kunikida-san, who’s only a senior.”
“Well, Kunikida-san is really good. Thank you, Chuuya-san,” Atsushi says as the barista places their food on the table, sliding in the seat beside the photographer not a second later. To Lucy, he says, "At least she won't be our professor next year."
Sigma nods quite vigorously. "Thank God for that."
"The secret is to punch them in the face," Chuuya pipes in, wiping his face with a handkerchief. "If words don't work, fists will."
Deciding to humor his friend, Atsushi raises his brows in question. "Have you ever punched any professor?"
Chuuya pauses mid-bite of his sandwich. "That's. . . classified information."
"That's okay," Sigma says with a knowing smile. "We all know you kick ass, Chuuya-san."
Lucy laughs. "Imagine Chuuya-san trying to reach everyone's ass."
"This is why I dropped out of college. You’re all bullies," the barista grumbles under his breath, popping open a few buttons of his uniform. "When are you guys available? We can't keep meeting just a few minutes after my shift. I want to treat you all."
"I'm okay whenever," Atsushi answers with a shrug. "I finish all my work early anyway. Besides—" The chime of the bell over the café's door steals his attention, his eyes widening upon seeing the new customer.
Chuuya, of course, doesn't miss this slip and immediately follows Atsushi's gaze. "Ah, here comes lover boy."
On cue, Lucy and Sigma turn to glance at Akutagawa, who's already watching them with discomfort written all over his face.
Maybe Atsushi is the only one who notices that bit, but whatever. Living with someone for three years teaches you a thing or two.
Atsushi waves, flashing his best reassuring smile. He would have walked to Akutagawa, but Chuuya is blocking his way. Atsushi knows how much Akutagawa dislikes socializing with strangers, and although Sigma and Lucy aren't exactly new people, Atsushi doesn't remember the last time Akutagawa hung out with them, if at all. Chuuya is a different matter—he was Akutagawa’s friend first, after all, being a former senpai from high school.
His roommate walks to their table, albeit with begrudging steps. He nods at the others, mumbling a low greeting to Chuuya, but only looks at Atsushi. "Hi."
Atsushi suppresses a fond laugh. Only Akutagawa can make shyness this cute and stoic. "Hello."
"Don't wait for me later. I'll come home late."
Atsushi hands his frappe to Akutagawa, which the latter takes a sip of without hesitation before setting it back on the table. "Sure. Why didn't you just text me?"
"Your phone is on silent."
"Ah, yeah." Pulling out his phone from his pocket, Atsushi sets the volume on maximum, belatedly seeing Akutagawa's message. "Sorry, I was in class."
"I know. I just wanted to tell you in person in case you forgot to check your phone before you do your photographer things." With a final nod, Akutagawa turns to leave. "See you. Chuuya-san."
The barista grunts. “You finally remembered me, huh. Jerk.”
“I almost didn’t see you.”
Atsushi lifts a hand before Chuuya could yell in protest and disturb other customers. "Stay safe!"
It's when Akutagawa is well out of hearing distance that Chuuya snorts into his drink, losing all his usual finesse. "Just marry each other already."
"Yeah, he literally has eyes just for you," Lucy adds, stabbing at her ordered slice of cake. "It's sickening to watch your mating ritual. Like, spare us singles, hello?"
Sigma raises a brow. "Isn't that Tachihara courting you or something?"
"Don't. Let me be miserable in peace. Let's focus on Atsushi."
"I'll tell him soon," says Atsushi. "Everything's alright, guys."
"We didn't say it isn't," Chuuya points out. "You've been hiding this for three years, Atsushi. Just tell him. You can't keep on pining forever."
"He can," Sigma says. "But Akutagawa-san can do it even longer so Atsushi will really have to be one who confesses."
"I will," Atsushi repeats, a small smile stretching his lips.
His friends are right.
It’s about time he stops loving Akutagawa from a distance.
That night, Atsushi tries to wait for his roommate despite being told not to, heart beating a hundred times per minute.
He ends up passing out on the couch just before midnight, tired from college and cleaning up around the apartment when he gets home.
When he wakes up the next day, he's still on the couch, but a blanket that wasn't there the previous night is wrapped around him.
Akutagawa scolds him half-heartedly, inviting Atsushi to eat breakfast with him.
A barely audible curse spills out of Atsushi’s mouth when he almost drops the new camera lens he bought. Relieved that nothing is damaged, he fits it into his DSLR without issue, clicking through the settings to try it out.
“You’re so clumsy,” Akutagawa says from his spot beside Atsushi, eyes steady on the novel he’s reading.
The photographer gives a tight smile, standing to test the new lens. “I know.” It’s not often that Akutagawa initiates a conversation even though they’ve been living together for almost three months already, but can he not do it by commenting on Atsushi’s shortcomings?
Silence fills them as Atsushi takes several experimental shots around the apartment, not quite happy with the autofocus. Frowning, he pulls the camera away from his face to disable said feature, pointing it yet again at somewhere eye level after.
He twists the focus ring a few times before it settles properly. On Akutagawa.
Atsushi almost drops the camera, eyes wide as he looks at his roommate through the LCD display, pale skin almost glowing because of the filter.
As if on cue, Akutagawa glances up from his book, dark eyes sharp and intense even on a screen.
Atsushi’s heart skips.
Oh, no.
So. . . Atsushi has a little bit of a problem.
Over the next few days, he tries to find the most appropriate timing to confess to Akutagawa (and he’s not just saying this to have an excuse, okay; he doesn’t want to profess his three-year pining over a freaking couch— Akutagawa deserves more finesse), but for some reason, his roommate keeps disappearing from late afternoon to midnight. Atsushi wouldn’t normally think much of this occurrence, as they never monitored each other’s comings and goings even in the past, but it is becoming a little suspicious.
Atsushi is a curious person, but he doesn’t think he could ask Akutagawa about this, not because his roommate would be angry, but because Atsushi doesn’t want to seem needy. Akutagawa has a life outside this apartment, after all.
Between Atsushi’s classes and freelance photography commissions, it’s impossible to do anything about his predicament, let alone wait for Akutagawa every single night.
Of course, he had considered blurting out his feelings during breakfast out of desperation, but Akutagawa would always be either typing on his phone or downright unresponsive from lack of sleep.
Maybe this is his sign to pack it up and stay in the friendzone.
“You’re being stupid,” Chuuya says as he passes the plate of chicken around the table. Sigma and Lucy take turns on serving themselves, the latter not forgetting to take a photo of the whole table.
Sigma raises a peace sign when the phone settles on him. “I agree. Also, Chuuya-san, why didn’t you invite Akutagawa-san?”
Spreading his arms, the barista nods towards the table. “Because I want you all to let loose tonight and we need to listen to Atsushi.”
“What should I do, then?” Atsushi asks after doing their table courtesies, heartily digging into his food despite the heaviness in his chest. He isn’t that disheartened to confess to his roommate, but he doesn’t know how long this courage would last, especially when Akutagawa would graduate soon.
Just thinking about the high chance that they would need to part ways soon sends Atsushi’s stomach in a twist.
Lucy pours their drinks. “Just wait, I guess? You can even do it tonight. I’m sure he’ll be back before you are.”
“He’s been coming home late for days, Lucy-chan. I don’t know where he’s going.”
“Aren’t you close?” Sigma says. “I thought you guys talk about wetting the bed when you were kids or something.”
“Ha! That’s a good one.” A hearty laugh escapes Chuuya, cheeks already pink from the sake. “Atsushi, just ask Akutagawa what he’s been up to. It’s not that hard.”
“Okay, I’ll do that.” If his friends think it’s not a big deal to stick his nose into Akutagawa’s business, then he should be fine as well.
He takes a sip of his drink, choosing to forget his worries for the time being.
Besides, it’s not like Akutagawa will go anywhere.
One of the things Atsushi treasures about his relationship with Akutagawa is consistency.
He cannot, for the life of him, remember a time when Akutagawa did not show up on planned appointments, cannot recall an instance where either of them fell short of the other's expectation.
They're not perfect—their friendly banter sometimes turns into a real argument, they get irritated when someone forgets to stock up the fridge, Akutagawa broods when Atsushi accidentally folds a page of one of his books—but at the end of the day, they find their way back to harmony.
Living with Akutagawa is consistent. There's a routine.
Until now.
Atsushi glances at the clock yet again, frowning. The fries on the table have gone cold for a while, the ice inside the two glasses of cola already melted.
For the first time, Akutagawa didn't show up for their Saturday hangout.
Atsushi wakes up the next day with the mental agenda of ending his paranoia.
He just has to ask Akutagawa what he’s been up to lately. Should be easy, right?
Taking a breath too deep for someone who could barely keep his eyes open this early, Atsushi makes his way to the living room, giving up on any attempts at smoothing down his hair and wrinkled clothes. He’s positive there is a huge bed crease on his cheek, but whatever. Usual wreck Nakajima Atsushi, at your service.
Akutagawa is seated on the couch when Atsushi walks in, bespectacled eyes focused on the laptop as he furiously types. “Good morning, I already brewed your coffee,” Akutagawa says without pausing on his work.
“Good morning. . .” For the first time in a long while, Atsushi feels awkward being in the same room with him. “Um, Akutagawa?”
“Yeah?” Akutagawa takes his glasses off and pinches the bridge of his nose, something he always does whenever he’s been exposed to reading for far too long. “I need to get my eyes checked again. What did you want to say again?”
“Oh, nothing.” Shaking his head, Atsushi finds himself staring at the lines on Akutagawa’s face. Being a college student leaves permanent marks of exhaustion, but Akutagawa looks way too beat up compared to his usual state, the bags under his eyes more prominent than ever. “Have you eaten breakfast?”
Akutagawa closes his laptop, striding to the kitchen. “No, I was waiting for you.”
Atsushi follows after him, trying not to let his concern show too much.
He can definitely wait a little more.
I won’t make it to dinner tonight, reads the text message.
Atsushi places his phone face down on the kitchen counter, turning to put the steak he cooked inside the fridge.
He sighs.
(Not again.)
Maybe letting it go would be better than waiting. Akutagawa just started his little nightly activities when Atsushi decided to confess to him—maybe this is really the sign he’s been looking out for.
Okay, he replies back a few minutes later, when his urge to send a question subsides.
Akutagawa doesn’t need him prying.
It’s fine. This isn’t such as big of a deal as he makes it out to be. Things happen.
(Atsushi had thought, hoped, he could hold on for a while longer.)
Atsushi knows he might go to hell for this.
No, really—he’s doing something bad.
“Shit,” he hisses out, almost tripping on a road hump, He keeps his gaze forward, scared to lose sight of Akutagawa. God, he doesn’t even know where he is at this point, too frazzled with nerves and guilt to focus on anything but his roommate.
Yes, he’s tailing Akutagawa instead of asking him like a normal person. Fuck.
After about a week of stupidly waiting for Akutagawa and ending up either asleep or, well, a coward, Atsushi finally acts on his burst of courage, following Akutagawa a few moments after he left the apartment.
What happened to letting go? Well, Atsushi would rather die than never try, albeit through some questionable means.
He feels like shit.
“He’s not doing something illegal,” he mumbles to himself, careful to be as casual as he could to not catch Akutagawa’s attention. He’ll just take a look at what he’s been doing for days, that’s all. Atsushi trusts that his roommate’s criminal record is clean (the only unlawful thing they have both done for the last three years was forgetting to pay a tab that one time they had been too drunk), but it doesn’t mean he’s not curious as hell.
Akutagawa rings the doorbell on one of those simple two-story houses with a small front yard. The writing on the nameplate on the gate is too minute for Atsushi to read from this distance, but he could tell whoever lived in that place knows how to take care of things.
Come on, he thinks, foot-tapping incessantly in anticipation. He hopes nobody passes by and sees him hiding behind a car because that would be. . . extremely humiliating.
A beautiful woman with scarlet hair opens the gate (at least, Atsushi thinks she’s pretty—with that regal posture and fancy kimono, he doubts anybody would look ugly). Akutagawa leans in to kiss her hand, and if that isn’t surprising enough for someone as passive as him, a laugh escapes him as the woman drops a kiss on Akutagawa’s cheek.
Oh.
A woman.
Akutagawa is meeting a woman in the middle of the night.
Atsushi takes an instinctive step back, heart dropping right in the middle of the empty street.
Shit.
"Chuuya-san," Atsushi whines as he plops on the floor like the mess he is, phone pressed against his ear. "Chuuya-saaaaaan."
Something like a groan emanates from the other line, although Atsushi couldn't be sure from the pounding in his head. "Atsushi," Chuuya answers, breathless.
The photographer hiccups, spilling vodka all over his clothes when he moves to drink again. "Hi," he slurs, head lolling against one of the cupboards. He's in the kitchen because he got hungry, but why isn't there any food?
"Are you—are you drunk? " Ah, why does Chuuya sound so surprised? Atsushi is of legal age! He can drink!
"No." A giggle escapes Atsushi. Nothing is even funny. Tears roll down his cheeks. Again. Atsushi doesn't want to cry anymore. Chuuya will scold him if he keeps sobbing like this. "Chuuya-san," he calls again, voice shaky and somber.
"What happened, Atsushi? Do you need me?"
Atsushi shakes his head, which he quickly regrets. Crap, he's so dizzy. "Akutagawa. . .” His breath hitches, throat seizing up as he tries to stop his tears. It hurts. Everything aches and nothing is working. “He-He's seeing a woman.”
Chuuya is quiet for a long time. Or maybe it just feels like an eternity, with Atsushi’s vision swimming so badly that he couldn’t even figure out how much of the vodka is left, with his skull pulsing and numb at the same time.
He shouldn’t have ran to the nearest convenience store when he saw Akutagawa and that pretty lady. He shouldn’t have left like a coward, but it had always been easier for Atsushi to blame himself and wallow in misery rather than face his losses for what they are—mere reflections of what he couldn’t be.
“Atsushi, that’s impossible,” Chuuya is saying. Atsushi wants to listen because if anybody’s the best at comforting, it’s Chuuya, but the rush of adrenaline is leaving Atsushi, his body catching up to the hours of running and stumbling and drinking and crying.
It’s pathetic. Furthermore, he feels like puking all over the floor.
“Shit,” Chuuya hisses. Atsushi takes another swig of vodka, coughing violently when the alcohol catches in his throat. “Dazai, stop for a mo—Atsushi! Are you okay?”
“I’m sorry for ruining sex night,” the photographer says with a sniffle. “I’m okay, Chuuya-san. I’m not drunk, I’m just. . .” He presses his fist against his mouth hard enough to block another pained cry. I’m an idiot. I’m the biggest idiot to have graced this world. “I just need some sleep.”
He hangs up before his friend could reply, guilt filling him as he lets his phone clatter on the floor. He shouldn’t have called Chuuya. He’s Akutagawa’s friend. . . Atsushi shouldn’t have followed his roommate at all—and what the hell is he so hurt for? It’s not like Akutagawa ever showed anything that suggested more than a platonic relationship; it’s all in Atsushi’s head. Always has been.
“Fuck,” he sobs, pulling his knees to his chest. The apartment is bathed in darkness, a result of Atsushi’s carelessness. He’s sure he broke some things on the way. Akutagawa will be mad in the morning when he comes back.
If he comes back.
“Stupid.” He reaches out for the bottle but ends up sliding down and hitting his cheek on the floor. He doesn’t get up, the fight leaving his body completely. “Stupid Atsushi.”
He should laugh it off. It’s not the end of the world. So what if Akutagawa has a girlfriend? Atsushi can get a boyfriend! It’s not a big deal. That’s just how life works, and it isn’t right that he immediately retreated at the first sign of defeat. It isn’t right that he wants to stop Akutagawa from going, that Atsushi wants to stay with him, that he got used to always seeing Akutagawa and taking his presence for granted.
Atsushi has never wanted something as much as he wants to be with Akutagawa.
That’s a fact.
And Atsushi has to live knowing that he’ll never have that.
(He shouldn’t have looked, shouldn’t have stared . He shouldn’t have stayed long enough to admire Akutagawa in every way he’s allowed to.)
He should have been more careful.
“I’m ho—Atsushi?”
Silent tears pour out from the photographer’s eyes, pooling on the floor. He barely registers when Akutagawa slowly pulls him up to a sitting position, long fingers caressing Atsushi’s face.
Even in distress, Akutagawa looks so beautiful.
“Hey, roommate,” Atsushi says, voice rough. He hardly feels the taste of salt and alcohol mingling on his lips. “How’s your date?”
“Date? Why are you on the floor? Why did you drink so much?” Akutagawa raises Atsushi’s left hand. “Why are you bleeding?”
“Oh.” Atsushi blinks down at his arm where dried blood coats quite a large gash. Huh. When did he get that? “That’s why everything hurt.”
“You're bleeding all over the apartment.”
“Don’t be mad.” Atsushi averts his eyes from his roommate because he’s starting to see two Akutagawas and that’s never a good thing. “I like your girlfriend,” he drawls, beyond sanity at this point. Mmm, Akutagawa’s shoulder looks so comfortable. “She’s pretty.”
Akutagawa stills from his attempt at carrying Atsushi. “Girlfriend? What girlfriend?”
Atsushi hums, snuggling into Akutagawa’s neck. Citrus and flowers. Only Akutagawa could smell so good at any time of the day.
“Don’t move.”
“You need first-aid.”
“When I’m asleep,” says Atsushi, eyes already falling close.
So what if Akutagawa has a girlfriend?
Gentle fingers run through his hair. “Okay.”
Atsushi is happy just having Akutagawa with him like this.
Atsushi pretends he doesn’t see Akutagawa shooting glances at him the entire time Atsushi is fiddling with his camera.
“Atsushi.”
He fights back a smile. “Yes?”
Akutagawa crosses his legs, leaning back against the couch. “Can I see the photos you took?”
“Sure.” Shrugging, Atsushi clicks the preview to his gallery and hands the camera to his roommate.
Akutagawa takes it without a word, long and pale fingers gentle around the DSLR. “You take a lot of landscape photography.”
Atsushi leans in for a better look. “Is that bad?”
“No, you have very good photos.” Akutagawa browses for a few more minutes, face a perfect mask. Atsushi is surprised to find himself not nervous, but anticipating. Akutagawa eventually returns the camera with a nod. “Will you ever experiment with portraits?”
“I can experiment right now,” quips the photographer, pointing the lens at Akutagawa. “Say cheese!”
Akutagawa is caught between a raised eyebrow and a slack jaw, the result a bit blurry at the edges.
A memory caught at the right time.
(It’s Atsushi’s most treasured image.)
He doesn't tell Akutagawa that he has been wanting to fill his camera with his pictures ever since that first time Atsushi saw his roommate through the lens, doesn’t say that he takes pictures of people a lot, too—that of all those subjects, Akutagawa is the only one who comes close to perfection in Atsushi’s eyes.
Last night flashes in Atsushi’s mind before he could even open his eyes.
Fuck.
He groans, palms pressed against his eye sockets. The pounding of his head seems insignificant compared to the burning shame that courses through his body. “Oh my God.” He’s a loser. What the actual fuck had he been thinking?
“Drink up,” comes Akutagawa’s soft voice from beside him.
Atsushi moans in fifty shades of mortification. “Please leave me alone.”
“Not until you tell me what happened last night.”
Hah, even he doesn’t know. “Akutagawa.” It takes a few attempts, but he manages to blink his eyes open, squinted due to the light in his room. Akutagawa does know how to get revenge. He’s the only one who would open Atsushi’s curtains. “Akutagawa.”
“Chanting my name will not do anything.”
“Akutagawa,” Atsushi whines just for the heck of it. And also because he’s stalling. Good fucking morning, right? "I'm sorry."
A pause, then, "Why?"
"I'm an idiot," says Atsushi with as much conviction as his headache would allow him. "Did I puke?"
"No." Akutagawa hovers by Atsushi's bedside table, somehow looking out of place despite his usual black hoodie and dark blue shorts that show off his milky thighs. Atsushi wants to take a picture of him. "Atsushi."
Oh, God, here it goes.
Atsushi braces himself, sitting up and smoothing down his hair for lack of better things to do. "Yeah?"
"We need to talk."
". . . Yeah."
"Get up, I cooked soup for you."
Atsushi shuts his eyes for a bit, focusing more on the pain on his bandaged arm than the weight on his chest. "Okay."
Atsushi still eats like his life depends on it even when he's nervous as hell. He doesn't dare look at Akutagawa who's sitting next to him on the couch, his own bowl of soup already finished.
He could barely taste the food, but he swears it must be delicious. Akutagawa is a good cook.
"Can we talk now?" his roommate asks, tone indicating that he very much wants to start the conversation right at this very moment.
Nodding, Atsushi places his bowl on the low table. "Sure." Sure, his subconscious mocks, let's get your heart broken for the second time. "What did you want to talk a—"
"I don't have a girlfriend."
A beat. "What?"
Akutagawa sighs, setting his bowl beside Atsushi's. "Last night, you said I have a girlfriend." Determined gray eyes meet Atsushi's. "I don't."
"Oh."
Huh.
Can the ground please swallow up Atsushi?
"Did you follow me yesterday?"
"Yes," Atsushi says without hesitation, more than willing to come clean to his friend. He's been so stupid—why didn't he just ask? Anything's better than doubting his roommate, one of his best friends. "I'm sorry."
"Why did you get drunk?"
Atsushi averts his gaze, palms clammy on his lap. "I wasn't drunk."
"Atsushi."
"Akutagawa." The photographer turns back to his roommate, blinking back tears. This isn't how he imagined every telling Akutagawa the truth, but. . .
Akutagawa leans in, worry contorting his face. "What's the matter? Are you hurt? You don't have to—"
“I’m sorry,” is what Atsushi says, the real words strangled in his throat.
“It’s fine,” Akutagawa says, forehead creased with confusion. “I should’ve told you where I’ve been.” Atsushi shakes his head, mouth open to assure Akutagawa that no, you don’t need to explain anything, when his roommate beats him to it. "You probably saw Kouyou ane-san. Higuchi and I go to her house to plan for Gin's birthday." Akutagawa reaches out and wipes a thumb under Atsushi's eye. "She's my sister's godmother. We could only meet at night because Gin is out for her part-time job by then."
"I lo—what?" Flinching back as if electrocuted, Atsushi gapes at Akutagawa. "Kouyou ane-san. . . ?" Mortification floods through him then, spreading from the tips of his ears to the apples of his cheeks. "Oh my God."
Akutagawa stiffens. "What?"
"Nothing," he says far too quickly to be believable. Letting out a shaky exhale, Atsushi stands, wiping at his eyes. I'm so stupid. The biggest freaking idiot in the world.
How could he have thought everything's about him? Fuck.
"What's up with you?" Akutagawa asks, crossing his arms and watching Atsushi mentally lose his shit. "Why were you drunk and crying last—"
"Please forget it!" Atsushi presses his palms together, holding them out at arm's length. "It's nothing! I'm fine, Akutagawa!"
"You're lying."
Atsushi falters.
Now what?
There is nothing more he wants than confessing right then and there, but is it worth it? It seems insignificant now, telling Akutagawa the truth.
Actually what? He tries to form the words, the I and love, and finds himself at a loss.
Atsushi feels like keeping his mouth shut is more logical than anything else. It's bad enough that he made a mess last night and today—and isn't it better to stay as friends anyway?
Atsushi stares at Akutagawa and the way the morning sunlight bathes him in an almost ethereal glow, a sad smile tugging on his lips. Yeah. Pining quietly is not the worst thing.
"You don't have to tell me," Akutagawa says, rising to take their bowls to the sink. "But you know I'm not that busy." Lean on me, he seems to mean as he walks back to Atsushi, gray eyes bright on the photographer.
Atsushi swallows the lump in his throat. "Of course."
It takes him everything not to burst to tears when Akutagawa wraps his arms around Atsushi with only the slightest hesitation, the scent of citrus and flowers surrounding his senses. "You need to take a shower," Akutagawa murmurs against his hair.
A wet laugh escapes Atsushi, and he pulls Akutagawa closer, careful not to strain his injured forearm. "Thank you," he whispers, sniffling.
Gentle pats on the small of his back. "Go now, dumbass. I need to redress your wound."
"In a bit."
It might be just Atsushi's imagination, but he swears he could feel Akutagawa's smile against his temple.
If there is anything he likes as much as Akutagawa's personality, it's his looks. Akutagawa is already great with his brooding, taciturn, thoughtful self, but of course he's also blessed with unapologetically beautiful features.
Yes, that's how Atsushi says that Akutagawa really rocks the suit he's wearing right now. It’s a two-piece slim fit suit, all black except for the white necktie, that emphasizes the glow of Akutagawa’s skin and his waist. . .
It’s no wonder his heart hasn't calmed down since he saw Akutagawa come out of his room—Akutagawa looks edible.
"You should model for me," Atsushi says, mimicking a camera with his fingers as he watches Akutagawa trying to knot his tie properly.
"Is that your way of getting out of paying models?"
"Who says I won't pay you?" Tired of seeing Akutagawa struggle, Atsushi walks up to him and swats his hands away from the tie. He tries not to feel self-conscious as Akutagawa ends up staring at him. "I'm very rich, you know," he jokes, adamant on not making this weird. God, can he get a grip?
Akutagawa scoffs. "Says someone who still accepts allowance from his adoptive dad."
"Fukuzawa-san insists, Akutagawa," Atsushi protests, smoothing the fabric over Akutagawa's shoulders before stepping back, satisfied with his work. "You know how he is. It's amazing how he let me and Kunikida-san move out of the manor at all."
"It's about time anyway. Stay still." Akutagawa reaches up and rubs his thumb over the corner of Atsushi's eye. "Your eyeshadow smudged."
"Oh, thanks." Feeling the warmth on his cheeks, Atsushi turns away with a clear of his throat, getting his camera bag from the couch and slinging it over his shoulder. “Are we ready to go?”
“Yeah, we better get going.” Akutagawa retrieves the large paper bag containing their gifts on the kitchen counter, nodding at Atsushi. “Gin will be on her way soon.”
Atsushi trails behind his roommate to lock the door as they leave the apartment. “Thank you for inviting me, Akutagawa. I know how hard you—”
“Of course I’ll invite you.”
Atsushi glances at him as he clicks the lock in place, noticing the way Akutagawa seems to have stopped mid-sentence, dark eyes fixed on Atsushi. “Um, is there something wrong?” he asks, looking down to check if his white suit is already stained. With how clumsy he is, it wouldn’t come as a surprise.
“Nothing.” Akutagawa starts to walk away. “Your clothes fit you very well.”
A combination of a squeak and a choke threatens to escape Atsushi, but he stops it in time, wordlessly sidling up next to Akutagawa.
He couldn’t quite do anything about the furious blush on his face.
Gin blinks at them in surprise as party poppers welcome her arrival at the venue, a grinning Higuchi standing beside her.
Atsushi joins the delighted applause of the guests, his own smile widening when Akutagawa steps up from beside him to give his sister a bouquet of red roses. He says something that makes Gin blush and look at her lover Higuchi. Knowing Akutagawa, it’s probably a monotonous remark about Higuchi’s dedication to the birthday planning.
Chuuya elbows Atsushi, leaning into his personal bubble. “Are you two together yet?”
“Chuuya-san!” he exclaims, facepalming himself in embarrassment.
“I’m taking that as a no,” the barista deadpans. It’s been four days since the Drinking Incident and Chuuya never fails to ask Atsushi every single day, as if repeating the same question would pressure Atsushi into confessing.
Well, it’s working. Just a bit. Don’t tell Chuuya.
“I’ll wait,” Atsushi says, keeping his eyes on the birthday celebrant, Gin’s beautiful smile making an appearance as she goes around the place to greet her friends.
He almost misses Chuuya’s next words when soft jazz music begins to play. “How long?”
Atsushi pretends not to hear, instead taking his camera out of the bag to occupy himself.
He doesn’t know the answer either.
Atsushi keeps an amiable smile on his face even as Akutagawa is dragged away by his friends. Only a handful of guests are present, proof of the Akutagawas’ tendency to mostly keep to themselves.
He feels out of place (and that's a lot for someone who is supposedly good at social interactions) even though he recognizes a few familiar faces. There’s Tachihara, Twain, Poe, Alcott, Dazai, and Kouyou, people Atsushi only knows from pictures and stories and brief introductions (and stalking).
It isn’t all bad, though, as he could pretend to be too busy taking photos to talk to anyone. Akutagawa didn’t ask him to be a photographer tonight, but he probably knows Atsushi might get lonely, especially when the only person he’s close to here is Chuuya, who is too preoccupied trying out all assortment of liquors in the small bar to stick with Atsushi the whole time.
Still, the moment alone gives Atsushi a lot of opportunities to watch Akutagawa without worrying about being creepy. Gin is talking to her brother with a small smile on her face, not unlike Akutagawa's, looking a lot brighter because of the multicolored lights. Atsushi raises his camera and takes a photo.
If this is the third or thirtieth picture of Akutagawa from tonight, at least Atsushi has an excuse.
“Come join us,” Akutagawa says about a quarter of an hour later, his messy hair the only sign that he’s been busy entertaining guests since the start of the event.
Atsushi is sitting on one of the few empty tables, eating the best strawberry shortcake he has ever tasted. Akutagawa and the others really put a lot of thought in this party. “No, I’m fine here. They must have missed catching up with you siblings.”
Akutagawa slides into the seat beside Atsushi, expression suddenly somber. “I didn’t mean to leave you alone. I intended to introduce you to everyone, but—”
“Akutagawa,” Atsushi cuts in, reaching up to smooth out the frown on Akutagawa’s forehead. “I’m okay. Everyone knows me as your roommate. Just hang out with them tonight.” He wiggles his eyebrows. “I do need to spend more quality time with this cake.”
Akutagawa takes Atsushi’s hand and squeezes it. “Alright,” he relents with a soft sigh. “Don’t worry about the pictures anymore. Just eat a lot, okay?”
“Fattening me up for butchering?”
A brief, startled chuckle slips out of Akutagawa’s lips as he stands to take his leave once again. “You’re too pretty to be butchered and eaten.”
Atsushi is too surprised at how easily the suggestive comment comes out and how Akutagawa coughs as if just realizing what he just said before practically striding back to his sister to form a coherent response.
At this rate, Atsushi doesn’t think he’ll last long.
“Please plan for my birthday next year,” Atsushi says with a yawn as he and Akutagawa slip off their shoes, carefully placing it on the rack.
Akutagawa takes Atsushi’s camera bag and rests it on the counter, long fingers moving to loosen his tie. “Sure, give me Fukuzawa-san’s contact information. I’m sure we can arrange something.”
Atsushi fixes him with a mock suspicious glare. “You’re not going to plan for something embarrassing, aren’t you?”
Shaking his head, Akutagawa takes his suit jacket off. “No. We’ll just print a life-sized copy of that Halloween costume you—”
“No!” Atsushi leaps over the couch to cover Akutagawa’s mouth. He grimaces as the fabric of his sleeves grazes his wound underneath from the sudden movement. Ah, yeah, he still has that from Dumb Moment Number 374. “We don’t talk about that in this household, Akutagawa. I banned it.” It’s not exactly a big deal. Last year, Atsushi ordered a one-piece cat costume for Halloween, but what arrived was a catsuit, one that he was coerced by Akutagawa to wear with the promise of modeling for his next photography assignment.
It was mortifying.
The catsuit hugged him in places he didn’t know could be emphasized, the skin-tight latex material pulling at body parts that should not be pulled.
Of course Akutagawa had laughed. And had taken a picture. Maybe 50 of them.
“Why not?” Akutagawa says, voice muffled from Atsushi’s hand. “I quite liked it.”
“Then you wear it,” he says with a pout, pulling his hand away.
Mirth laces Akutagawa’s tone. “Are you throwing a tantrum?”
“No.”
“Will you stop being upset if I wear the catsuit?”
“Of course, I bet you—” Atsushi realizes his mistake a second too late, eyes already mesmerized as he looks up at Akutagawa, at his tender smile and gleaming gaze.
Atsushi is staring again.
(He doesn’t think he can look away this time.)
“Atsushi? Are you okay?” Akutagawa leans in as if the hairsbreadth distance between them is not close enough. “Why don’t you—”
“I love you,” Atsushi blurts out, barely blinking, barely breathing. It’s hard to tell which of them is more surprised, but Atsushi forges ahead, saving his self-deprecation and regret for later. “I’ve been in love with you since forever.”
The silence that follows is deafening.
Atsushi steps away then, a watery smile already stretching over his lips. Ah, yes. He had expected this. Of course, it doesn’t mean it hurts any less. Atsushi clenches his jaw. He will not cry here like a loser. He will not. “A-anyway, I’m sorry, I’ll just. . .” He flinches when Akutagawa raises his hand, anticipating a slap even though he has never seen his roommate hit someone before.
Akutagawa’s palm is warm against his cheek. “You’re a fool,” Akutagawa murmurs, eyes half-lidded as he glances down at Atsushi’s mouth.
A shiver runs through Atsushi’s spine, but he doesn’t succumb to it just yet. He has to hear it, he has to know for sure. “What does that mean?”
“It means,” Akutagawa says, the words tracing themselves over Atsushi’s lips, “I love you too, Atsushi.”
Akutagawa— Ryuunosuke —tastes like strawberry and chocolate.
Atsushi finds it’s his favorite flavor from now on.
“Ryuunosuke,” he gasps out when Akutagawa shifts to leave small pecks along Atsushi’s jaw. “We-we need to talk.”
“Yeah,” Akutagawa says, pausing at the juncture of Atsushi’s neck and shoulder. “Call me that again.”
Atsushi tries and fails to calm his erratic heartbeat. “Ryuunosuke.” Akutagawa presses their foreheads together, eyes closed as if memorizing the way Atsushi said his name. “I love you.”
"I know," Akutagawa says quietly, twirling Atsushi's hair around his finger. "You've been telling me for years."
Atsushi wants to ask what that means, wants to tell Akutagawa a lot of things, but it’s hard to form words when his brain could hardly process what’s happening at this moment, when his lips are buzzing with electricity. “Can we kiss again?” he manages out, grinning when Akutagawa flushes.
They can talk later. They have plenty of time for that, now that Atsushi is certain that Akutagawa will not go anywhere, that Akutagawa loves him.
He receives another slow kiss for an answer, Akutagawa solid and warm around Atsushi’s hold.
Somehow, it tastes sweeter than the first time.
Ryuunosuke bites back a smile as he watches a snoring Atsushi on the couch, his laptop dangerously positioned on his chest.
"Atsushi," he says, shaking the man awake. They've been living together for almost two years, enough time for Ryuunosuke to accept that he will be stuck with this adorable dumbass for a while.
A low groan escapes Atsushi. Ryuunosuke places the laptop on the table, leaning over his roommate. "Go sleep in your room, Atsushi."
"Akutagawa." Atsushi's eyes are still closed, hands making grabbing gestures. "C'mere."
Amused, Ryuunosuke wraps a hand around Atsushi's fingers. "Yes?" The photographer mumbles something under his breath. "What's that?"
"I love you," Atsushi repeats in a sleepy drawl, body going limp. "Love you so much, Ryuu."
This time, Ryuunosuke lets himself smile.
"Love you too, 'sushi."