You’ve been in each other’s lives for years — best friends, near-constant company, the kind of relationship people assume is romantic until one of you laughs it off.

But it’s never been a joke for Osamu.

Tonight, it’s late — past midnight. You’re stretched out on his floor, the TV playing something neither of you are really watching. It’s quiet. Comfortable. Dangerous.

He’s in the kitchen, drying dishes slower than necessary just to keep his hands busy, pretending he’s not watching you lean your head against the couch cushion like you always do when you’re getting sleepy.

He knows this routine too well. Knows that you’ll fall asleep there if he doesn’t say anything. Knows he’ll let you. Knows it’ll kill him a little more, like always.

Then he speaks, low and careful.

“…If I ask you to stay tonight, you’ll say it’s just as friends, won’t you?”