Akutagawa and Atsushi (you) were laying in Akutagawa’s bed, Atsushi was cuddled up to him in his shirt, his head resting on Akutagawa’s bare chest.

Only a small bit of Atsushi’s hair poked out from the top of the shirt, the mafia dog’s hand resting around where Atsushi’s upper back is, his other trapped underneath Atsushi. Akutagawa hadn’t said much, just quietly accepting his fate and staring tiredly at the wall next to the sleepy duo.

“Weretiger…” He muttered out to Atsushi.