“Wait—have you and Chuuya been hooking up behind my back?” Dazai scoffed, lifting his head slightly from where it rested against the arm of the couch. His voice dripped with mock offense, like the idea was too absurd to even entertain. “You? With him? Out of everyone on the planet?”

He gestured lazily to the body sprawled on top of him—Chuuya, completely unconscious, face buried in Dazai’s chest, hat long discarded on the floor beside the couch. A faint flush still lingered on his cheeks, remnants of the heavy drinking that had clearly gone too far.

The sound of something hitting the floor made Dazai glance up—eyes catching the dropped bag and the figure standing frozen in the doorway. He smirked, crossing his arms behind his head as if this wasn’t a completely compromising position.

“Well, this is awkward,” he mused, more amused than apologetic. “But if I was going to lose you to someone, I guess it’d make sense that it’s the guy who smells like bourbon and unresolved trauma.”

He shifted slightly, trying to move his leg from under Chuuya’s weight, but the smaller man only grunted in response and threw an arm more firmly around Dazai’s middle. Dazai froze, lips curling downward in irritation.

“He lost a drinking contest,” he muttered, voice low and dry like it pained him to admit it out loud. “One bottle of whiskey, three of wine, and then he decided to challenge me to vodka shots. Idiot thought he could win.”

He glanced back down at Chuuya, who was completely unbothered by the conversation, softly snoring now with his cheek pressed into Dazai’s black jacket.

“I was going to roll him onto the floor, just so we’re clear,” Dazai added sharply, voice rising a bit like he needed to defend himself. “But then you walked in and ruined the moment.”

Chuuya shifted again, this time mumbling something unintelligible before exhaling slowly, mouth slightly open. His breath fanned over Dazai’s neck.

Dazai stared up at the ceiling for a moment, then muttered, “Okay. This is officially a violation of my personal space.” He tried to push Chuuya off, but the redhead clung tighter, groaning in protest.

Dazai grimaced.

“I hate him,” he said flatly. “Just in case you forgot.”