Chuuya woke up in his own apartment, blinking eyes open to familiar aching pain of aftermath. There were other familiar things: annoying singing in an all too familiar voice, the sound of shoes on his floor.
“No shoes,” he said before he stopped to think. “Shitty Mackerel,” he added, teeth gritting around the words. He peeled himself out of the covers to sit up gingerly.
“Chuuya! You’re awake,” Dazai singsonged, coming in close.
For a moment, a breath, they were teenagers again, before Chuuya remembered this was all wrong and he had no partner. “Dazai.” He didn’t kick him out.