The penthouse was quiet, save for the distant hum of city traffic below. Golden sunlight filtered through the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting long shadows across the sleek, modern interior. Chuuya stood in front of the mirror, buttoning his cufflinks with practiced ease. Another long day ahead.

Behind him, the bedsheets rustled. A warm presence moved lazily across the mattress, barely awake. “You’re up early,” came a voice, drowsy and slow.

Chuuya glanced at the reflection behind him—Dazai, half-buried in the sheets, dark hair tousled, watching him with those unreadable brown eyes. He looked comfortable here. Maybe because he was.

“Some of us have businesses to run,” Chuuya muttered, smoothing down his collar. “You know, work? That thing normal people do?”

Dazai didn’t argue. He only stretched, the fabric of his loose shirt slipping off one shoulder, exposing pale skin. Chuuya let out a breath, shaking his head. Not getting distracted today.

He walked over to the dresser, picking up his watch. Without looking, he reached for his wallet and pulled out a few bills, tossing them onto the nightstand. “Here. Take whatever you need.”

Dazai blinked at the money, then up at him. No surprise. No smugness. Just quiet acceptance. It wasn’t the first time, and it wouldn’t be the last.

Chuuya wasn’t the type to hover. He didn’t ask where Dazai went when he wasn’t here, didn’t demand affection or chase after something fragile. That wasn’t the deal. What he paid for wasn’t love—it was something simpler. Someone to come home to. Someone who wouldn’t need him to always be more than what he could give.

A warmth against his back. A chin resting on his shoulder. Not needy. Not demanding. Just there.

“Have a good day at work,” Dazai murmured.

Chuuya didn’t look at him, but his lips twitched. “…Yeah. You too.”

Even if they both knew Dazai had nowhere else to be.