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the last rays of the setting sun bleed softly through the curtains, bathing the apartment in hues of amber and burnt orange that pool beneath the coffee table in uneven patches. distant traffic hums through open windows while the occasional breeze stirs the curtains just enough to carry the scent of dew inside.
curled up in the corner of the couch, a blanket tucked loosely over your legs, you barely notice the traffic as your attention belongs elsewhere.
the worn paperback rests comfortably in your hands, its pages slightly yellowed from years of being loved. after all, a good book is always good, no matter how many times you've already read it.
every so often, you lift your mug just enough for the warm steam to brush against your face, the scent of black tea curling through the air, lingering relentlessly. the story of the book you’re reading has long stolen whatever little awareness remained.
outside the apartment, a key turns inside the lock. a familiar sound, soft and unhurried, something you’ve grown too used to over time to really spare a single thought. eventually, the door opens with the quiet creak you’ve been meaning to oil for weeks now.
“i’m home.” dazai’s voice drifts through the hallway, carrying the faintest trace of exhaustion beneath its usual lighthearted cadence.
“welcome back, darling,” you call out without looking up from your book, a smile tugging at the corner of your lips.
there’s the dull thud of shoes being kicked off and the indistinct rustle of fabric as a coat is shrugged from broad shoulders. following is a dramatic sigh.
“...that’s it?”
you blink, your eyes still lingering on the sentence in front of you.
“hm?” you hum, just loud enough for him to hear as he walks toward you in comfortable strides.
“that’s all i get?” dazai says, making you finally glance over the back of the couch. he stops right behind it, a sense of fondness spreading through his chest as he sees you curled up so cutely.
though he looks positively crestfallen as he feigns being hurt by your utter ignorance toward him.
“i’ve been gone all day,” he laments.
“eight hours,” you correct him, a hint of amusement in your tone.
dazai only pouts as he rests his arms on the backrest, his chin gently plopping on top of your head.
“still enough time to have expected a more enthusiastic welcome.”
truthfully, he just wanted to feel longed for since he hadn’t heard from you all day.
you let out a soft chuckle as you reach out to stroke his hair once in an apologetic gesture before directing your gaze back to the book in your hands.
dazai tilts his head slightly downward, his lips grazing the top of your head as he quietly reads along but is quickly distracted by the soporific scent of your shampoo.
“watcha reading?” he asks in an attempt to get your attention, his voice just a tiny bit muffled by your hair.
“oh, you know. same old, same old. the favorite among my morbidly large collection,” you say, speaking sort of in code, but dazai knows exactly what book you’re talking about. it’s your favorite, after all, so how could he not?
“i see. so you’re reminiscing in nostalgia again?” dazai laughs quietly, pressing a tender kiss to the top of your head.
“well, you could say so. i just felt like reading it again. besides, aren’t you the one who keeps reading that suicide method book over and over?” you say in response to his words, flipping to a new page.
dazai only hums lowly, the sound vibrating through your head.
“touché, my dear. but you misunderstand me. i’m not judging you for picking that book up again. i’m merely suggesting you start focusing on... the present rather than something you already know the outcome of,” he says, barely concealing the hint of playfulness in his voice.
before you can react, slender fingers grip the book, and the comfortable weight disappears from your hands.
“hey...” you mumble as dazai straightens with your book already held triumphantly above his head.
you glance up at him, only seeing him smile—the kind of smile that has preceded approximately ninety-nine percent of the headaches he’s given you.
“...give it back,” you demand, sitting up straight as you reach for the book.
dazai only hums as if contemplating giving in to your request. however, you both know he won’t since teasing you is much more his forte than obedience.
“osamu,” you say his name in a mildly warning tone as you try to reach for the book again to no avail. honestly, being this tall should be a crime.
dazai turns slightly to the side, flipping it over thoughtfully. “hmm, interesting. very interesting,” he says, pretending to read it.
“you’re not even reading it. you’re holding it upside down,” you say, frowning ever so slightly.
dazai looks at you once, then at the book as he rotates it slowly with all the dignity he can muster.
“gimme,” you say once again, this time standing up on the couch to have a little height advantage over him, but instead of holding it up, he now holds it farther away from you.
there’s a sudden challenging glint in dazai’s eyes as he regards you with a smug expression.
“make me.”
you playfully roll your eyes at him, considering whether you should play along or just admit defeat.
“what? don’t tell me you’re giving up so easily?” he says as he shamelessly taunts you by dangling the book right in front of your face.
you pretend not to be interested in his game before you lunge—not very gracefully and certainly not successfully.
dazai lets out an amused huff as he sidesteps at the last possible second, your fingers catching nothing but empty air while he slips around the couch with far more elegance than you.
oh.
he’s being a brat right now, but maybe that’s exactly what you need after such an unbearable and draining day.
“you’re enjoying this far too much,” you mumble as you hop off the couch and cross your arms over your chest.
“immensely,” dazai answers, not exactly telling you why he’s so delighted.
though you figure it’s probably because you haven’t been giving him your undivided attention today. after all, you were distracted by your own thoughts and cleaning up a bloody mess earlier.
you look around the living room of your apartment, your gaze briefly flickering toward the two decorative pillows sitting innocently on the couch. suddenly, an idea blooms, and the smile you’ve been trying to suppress widens.
dazai follows your gaze, realizing your plan a little too late as you send the first pillow flying, and it lands directly in his face.
a soft whump can be heard, and there’s a beat of complete silence as the pillow falls to the ground. dazai looks at the pillow and then at you—more specifically, your smug grin. his expression turns into one of profound betrayal as he clutches the spot where his heart is theatrically.
“my sweet angel choosing violence? and hurting their most beloved, no less? what a tragedy!” he exclaims dramatically, making you laugh out loud.
“you started it. you committed theft,” you say, picking up the second pillow from the couch as you slowly circle him.
“how dare you accuse your lover of theft! the more fitting phrase is temporary relocation,” dazai says, his eyes already glancing around for a way out.
“same thing,” you answer, patiently waiting for the perfect moment to strike.
dazai’s lips slowly curl into a mischievous grin as he fixes his gaze back on you. “well, this means war then,” he says in a low voice, and before you can even think of a witty comeback, dazai is already darting toward the bedroom.
“hey!”
you tighten your grip around the remaining pillow and hurry after him, laughter surging in your chest before you can quell it.
he disappears around a corner with your book still tucked securely beneath one arm, his footsteps surprisingly light against the wooden floor. by the time you reach the bedroom doorway, dazai has already armed himself.
he stands proudly on the opposite side of the bed, one of the larger pillows clutched in his free hand like some legendary warrior who has prepared years for this very battle. compared to the modest couch cushions you’d grabbed, his weapon looks unfairly big.
“nuh uh, that’s not fair,” you mutter, eyeing the empty space on the bed where the pillow in his hands once rested.
dazai’s grin widens as he looks like he’s almost mocking you. “work smarter, not harder, my dear,” he says in that infuriatingly smug tone, making you pout slightly.
you let out a frustrated huff and, without another word, hurl your pillow across the room with impressive precision. dazai barely manages to twist aside in time. honestly, he doesn’t know if he should be impressed or scared by how accurate your throwing is.
the pillow crashes against the wardrobe instead, ricocheting onto the floor with a dull thump. “going straight for the kill, aren’t you?” he says, considering the force behind your throw.
he retaliates immediately, and the larger pillow flies toward you with considerably less accuracy than confidence, brushing harmlessly against your shoulder before bouncing off you. you didn’t even need to dodge.
“...that was pathetic,” you comment, scooping up the fallen pillow.
before dazai can say anything, you launch yourself fully into the battle.
one swing.
two.
three.
soft impacts land against his shoulders, his chest, his arms—never enough to hurt, only enough to stagger him backward between bursts of uncontrollable laughter.
the room dissolves into delightful chaos. pillows and blankets are snatched from every possible corner of the bed, used to either attack or block. though, dazai hardly bothers dodging any of your attacks. watching you have fun is far too adorable to interrupt.
eventually, though, he counters one of your attacks with one of his own dramatic ones, the fluffy pillow colliding squarely against your face.
this time, however…
rrrip
for a brief second, all you can see is white fabric while both of you instantly freeze. the sound of the fabric ripping is almost comical. a single white feather drifts lazily between you. then another.
your eyes slowly drift toward the pillow now hanging limply from dazai’s hand. a tiny tear has opened near one seam. nothing you can’t fix by simply sewing it back together.
however, judging by dazai’s expression, he has a far better idea of what to do with a torn pillow. you don’t even have time to stop him as the next swing sends another burst of feathers floating into the air.
suddenly, they’re everywhere.
they whirl through the bedroom in slow, languid spirals, brushing gently against your bare skin, catching in dazai’s dark strands of hair, and settling across the rumpled blankets until the room resembles the aftermath of an especially strong snowstorm.
but you’re not mad at him for that. quite the opposite, actually. “osamu! look what you’ve done. who’s gonna clean all that up?” you say a bit louder than usual, sounding amused.
“i swear i didn’t mean to! it was an itch i couldn’t resist. can you forgive me, dear?” dazai says, grabbing both of your hands in his as he lets go of the pillow and looks at you with puppy-dog eyes. for someone who hates dogs so openly, he surely acts like one.
you glance at the book still trapped awkwardly beneath his arm, suddenly having another idea. “hmm, i’ll forgive you… if you return my book,” you say, feeling oddly confident he’ll comply because, really, what other choice does he have?
dazai’s expression falters ever so slightly, and he’s tempted to just bolt and throw another pillow at you. but even he knows that this would only end in another humorous but pointless chase. he has to keep your attention on him another way.
“...fine,” dazai reluctantly gives in and holds out the book for you to take. you gently pry the book out of his grasp and look it over, making sure it didn’t get damaged during all the chaos. but it seems dazai made sure nothing happened to it. after all, he knows it’s one of your few most precious possessions.
while you’re momentarily distracted, dazai has already thought of another way to keep your attention on him. warm fingertips skim across your waist before suddenly digging into your sides, making you squeal.
“osamu!” you squeak, accidentally letting the book drop onto the floor. dazai pokes you again and again, his fingers brushing lightly but deliberately against the thin fabric of your shirt.
you jerk away instinctively, laughter escaping before you can stop it as his fingers poke mercilessly along your sides and ribs.
you swat blindly at his wrists, and every time you think you’ve escaped, another set of quick, teasing fingers finds your waist. you laugh so hard it becomes difficult to breathe.
“o-osamu–” you mumble between breathy laughs. “stop! please!” but your pleas fall on deaf ears as he only tilts his head innocently to the side, continuing to tickle you.
still laughing uncontrollably, you stumble backward to wherever it is dazai is guiding you. eventually, the backs of your knees bump against the frame of the bed, and before you know it, you fall gently onto the mattress with nowhere left to retreat.
you catch your breath for a moment before dazai advances with exaggerated slowness, allowing you this small moment of respite. though, his fingers are already flexing mischievously.
“d-don’t. don’t you dare, i’m warning you,” you mutter unconvincingly, sounding slightly out of breath.
“oh, belladonna, your warnings are very cute, but also futile,” dazai muses as he lunges forward and leans over you, straddling you. he keeps one hand planted beside your head so he doesn’t fall completely on top of you.
you burst into another fit of laughter as his other hand continues its relentless assault against every ticklish spot you’ve ever revealed to him—the sensation stealing every coherent thought from your mind.
instinctively, you crawl farther backward onto the mattress, bouncing softly against the duvet. you twist beneath him, trying to escape, but your hands catch his wrists only for a moment before he slips free again.
dazai’s movements cease for a moment, not wanting you to choke on your own laughter. you seize the opportunity and summon what little strength you have left, hooking both of your legs around his waist. you shove lightly against his shoulder and roll sideways across the mattress, taking him with you.
one moment, dazai is hovering above you; the next, you’re the one looking down at him.
your hands land on either side of his shoulders to keep yourself from collapsing and to pin him down in place. your breathing is uneven as you struggle to catch it through quiet giggles.
beneath you, dazai only blinks as he regards you with a fond yet sultry smile. “...well,” he says softly, a little breathless himself, “...looks like i’ve been defeated.”
“mhm,” you hum in acknowledgment of his words, staring at him with adoration in your eyes.
dazai’s hands find your hips, and he pulls you a little closer, his thumbs drawing lazy circles against them. god, he truly missed having you like this all day long.
he leans up, his lips chasing yours as he kisses you, just slightly desperate and needy. you return the kiss, his tongue slipping inside your mouth carefully, almost reverently.
you adjust your position on top of him, rolling your hips against his slowly. dazai hums approvingly into the kiss before pulling away for air. his eyes are half-lidded as he naturally glances at your thighs, which are straddling him.
when he does, though, his expression sharpens and his smile fades ever so slightly as he notices some faint red lines and a few dots of blood forming on your shorts.
due to all the movement, and especially rolling over just now, your shorts have ridden up slightly. you haven’t noticed it yet, but the slashes on your thighs that you made earlier when you cut yourself have reopened and are now bleeding through the fabric of your clothes.
you’re too used to the familiar sting by now, so you don’t think much of it, even when you feel the comforting burn of fabric rubbing and catching against the cuts.
his thumbs stop tracing circles for a moment before he regains his composure. his gaze doesn’t linger for long, not wanting to be too obvious. he isn’t even completely sure if what he saw is what he thinks it is, but either way, he feels a pit growing in his stomach.
he holds eye contact with you, keeping you just distracted enough with his hypnotic gaze alone for his hands to wander without you noticing instantly. his fingertips glide up and down in a steady rhythm, never fully returning to their original starting point as they dip lower and lower.
“how was your day?” dazai asks casually with a small smile, breaking the sensual atmosphere. you blink a few times in confusion, surprised he’d start making small talk out of nowhere.
“don’t you want to know what i’m wearing under these instead?” you tease him just a little with another roll of your hips against his, having entirely forgotten what you did to yourself earlier. maybe it’s the brain fog from not eating enough finally catching up to you.
it’s only when you feel the pads of his thumbs scraping against the bloody, sensitive crust of your cuts that you notice he knows. you gaze down at your thighs, your breath hitching as you see the blood creeping through.
your smile disappears in an instant, and you tense up, gripping both of his hands rather tightly. though, dazai hardly cares about your nails digging into his skin as he allows himself a closer look and pulls your shorts up farther.
you roll off him, frowning as a sense of shame settles in your chest. you didn’t want him to see that. you didn’t even want him to know that you did it again. you told him—and yourself—that you were clean, that you’d call him as soon as the urge to cut kicked in.
honestly, as much as he wants to be surprised, dazai can’t say he didn’t expect you to relapse at some point. he knows how hard it is not to relapse, not to resist the feeling of relief the addiction brings.
but he can say that he feels slightly disappointed in you. not at the fact that you did it, never that, but at the fact that you didn’t tell him and even tried to hide it. it just stings a little, knowing you didn’t trust him enough to reach out. yet he understands why you didn’t.
he sits up as well, hesitating for a moment before reaching out to caress your arm. you recoil at his touch, feeling upset with yourself that you didn’t hide it better. though, you suppose that’s your own fault for not bandaging up your cuts. why are you so goddamn stupid?
dazai’s heart clenches tightly at the sight of you scrambling away, and his expression dulls, for once unsure what to do or say.
he isn’t judging you. how could he when he himself struggles with self-destructive behavior?
hell, he may not cut himself as frequently as he did in his teenage years, but how often did he have to call you to stay with him while he overdosed on painkillers or got so drunk he could barely stand up straight? all that is self-harm in its own way.
that also robs him of the right to give you a lecture on how self-harm doesn’t solve any of your problems but only numbs the pain for a moment—not that he’d give you one anyway. that would make him an absolute hypocrite, and it would be quite pointless. you’re smart. surely you know cutting yourself only offers momentary relief rather than an actual solution.
so what else can he do other than trying to hold you?
dazai leans slightly forward, gently gripping your chin as he forces you to look at him, searching your gaze. his breath hitches imperceptibly as he sees the tears welling up in your eyes.
“i’m sorry,” you whisper softly, your voice cracking ever so faintly as you free him from the burden of breaking the silence and trying to find the right words.
dazai wraps both of his arms around you in a heartbeat, pulling you close. one hand tangles in the back of your hair as he soothingly threads his fingers through your silky strands. “shh… you have nothing to be sorry for,” he murmurs, brushing his lips against your temple.
you lean against his chest, tears streaming down your cheeks as you bury your face in the crook of his neck. dazai rocks gently back and forth, every quiet and painful sob escaping your lips feeling like a knife twisting in his heart.
you curl your fingers into the fabric of his black vest, feeling disgusted with yourself. dazai can practically feel the shame radiating off you and how filthy you think of yourself.
but he never once thought of you like that. no, he has always thought of you as strikingly beautiful, finding beauty in everything you do. even now, when you’re crying—eyes red-rimmed and puffy, snot covering your nose—that isn’t what has his attention.
all he can think about is how prettily the light reflects in your glassy eyes. or what a beautiful shade of red your lips turn due to your nervous system causing your blood vessels to widen and rush more blood to them. honestly, if it weren’t such bad timing right now, he would just kiss you until you forgot your own name.
instead, he just presses your head closer against his neck and hugs you tighter. usually, he doesn’t struggle to find the right words to tell you how lovely you are—the perks of possessing a silver tongue. but right now, he knows you wouldn’t—or rather, couldn’t—believe him anyway, no matter how sincere he might sound.
your mind is too tangled inside itself, unable to escape the cruel voices bombarding you with whatever ugly insult or meaningless insecurity your unconscious comes up with. unfortunately, that’s a battle you have to win with yourself. but he can make sure your body is taken care of, at least.
“come on, let’s get you cleaned up, okay? don’t want you to bleed out on me,” dazai says as he pulls away, his last words a weak attempt at trying to be funny.
you nod slowly as you untangle yourself from dazai, but before you can step foot on the ground, he picks you up bridal style and carries you to the bathroom. you feel a little guilty and embarrassed by it, not wanting to burden him with your weight or anything. but he only kisses your forehead before setting you down on the closed toilet lid, trying to soothe your worries.
your toes brush the cold tiles of the bathroom as you watch him grab fresh bandages, a wet cloth, some antiseptic, and cotton pads. all things you have lying around just in case dazai comes home injured from yet another suicide attempt. dazai never imagined he’d have to use this stuff on you someday, even though, for you, it was only a matter of time until you relapsed.
after all, your mind is sick, and you don’t think it will ever get better. i mean, how do you go back to not instantly thinking of self-harm whenever something bad happens?
how do you go back to not feeling insecure in everything you do after years of your head constantly screaming at you how useless and worthless you are? how everything you do to feel pretty only makes you feel anything but? how every word that leaves your mouth is wrong and that you should just stop speaking entirely because no one cares anyway?
seriously, how do you go back from such a wrongly conditioned mind to a beautiful one again? one where a simple mistake doesn’t end up making you doubt yourself or question your existence? one where everything is alright?
you blink a few times as dazai kneels down in front of you, gliding his fingertips up your bare legs to grab your attention without words. your muscles flex at the sensation, and you finally look like you’re staring at him instead of through him.
“do you mind rolling down your shorts for me, love?” dazai asks gently, his hands resting on your knees as he regards you with a hint of concern. you bring your hands up to your hips at his request and take off your shorts, letting them pool at your feet. it stings just a little since the fabric clings to the open wounds.
dazai keeps his gaze on you for a moment longer before glancing down, taking that as permission to touch you further. he grabs the wet cloth he prepared and dabs around the cuts, cleaning up the mix of dried and fresh blood. he’s careful not to stretch the skin, not wanting to interrupt the healing process.
your cuts are all over the place, some horizontal, some vertical. fortunately, none of them look too deep to need stitches or a hospital visit. if they did, he might have dragged you to yosano or done it himself if you’d prefer that.
although dazai rarely cuts himself anymore, looking at your cuts makes him feel strangely aware of the places he used to self-harm as well, like his wrists or thighs. it’s an almost tingling sensation that washes over him, and his throat feels strangely dry as the sight reminds him of old unpleasantries he’d rather forget.
you notice the way his hands tremble just a little and how stiff he looks, another wave of guilt overcoming you. god, you’re so utterly dumb. you should have known how triggering this might be for him.
“osamu…” you say his name as you wipe away the remnants of your tears. dazai looks up at you, immediately pausing his movements just in case he hurt you or was being too rough.
you lean down and press a chaste, slightly wet kiss against his lips. “thank you… for doing this,” you mumble, resting your forehead against his for a moment before pulling away.
dazai looks confused for a split second before giving you a small smile. “of course, anytime, sweetheart. no need to thank me,” he says before redirecting his attention back to your injuries.
after making sure every drop of blood is gone, he picks up a cotton pad and soaks it with the antiseptic. “this might sting a little. wanna grab onto something?” he says as he looks up at you again expectantly.
you nod, hesitantly holding onto his shoulder. “this okay?” you ask quietly, just to make sure, and dazai simply nods before carefully dabbing the cotton pad onto your cuts. the metallic smell of blood slowly gets replaced by a familiar alcoholic one that reminds you of hospitals.
you try your best not to flinch and remain still, biting down on your lower lip to distract yourself from the burning sensation and not dig your nails into his shoulder too much.
once he’s done applying the antiseptic, you end up exhaling a shaky breath you didn’t even realize you were holding. eventually, dazai picks up the bandages and lays the end flat at the top of your thigh. “can you hold this and lift up your leg for me?” he asks.
you nod, gently holding the end of the bandage in place while lifting up your first leg. he wraps the roll of bandage around your thigh and covers the end first so you don’t have to hold it anymore. he’s careful not to put too much pressure on it to restrict your blood flow, but enough so the bandage won’t move and your cuts won’t bleed through it.
once he’s done, he kisses your bandaged thigh before doing the same to your other leg.
“there you go, all done,” he says, resting his hands on your knees again and drawing comforting circles on your bare skin with his thumbs.
you look down at your thighs, your fingers trailing up and down the rough fabric in quiet amazement. you sniffle once more before sliding off the toilet to the ground with him and wrapping your arms around him.
you press yourself against him, tears welling up in your eyes again, but this time they’re not falling. “i’m sorry… i-i know i should have called, but i didn’t want to bother you. everything just got so loud… i just wanted it to stop,” you mumble against his chest, your grip around him tightening.
dazai rests his chin on top of your head, returning the hug as he wraps his arms around you as well. “shh, it’s alright. don’t worry about it, please. i understand. the most important thing is that you’re okay now,” dazai says softly, the warmth of your body clawing away the coldness of the bathroom floor.
both of you stay in this position for a while longer before dazai helps you stand up and guides you back into bed, not carrying you this time. you leave your bloody shorts in the bathroom, deciding to wash them tomorrow.
dazai changes out of his clothes into something more comfortable before crawling into bed with you. it’s quiet as you both simply exist curled up next to each other, the bedside lamp throwing a warm glow over you and dazai.
your cheek rests against his chest as you listen to his steady heartbeat, tracing small circles over his shirt. dazai slowly reaches out, intertwining your fingers with his so you’d have something else to keep you distracted.
he begins humming a soothing tune, occasionally kissing the top of your head. he isn’t forcing you to speak or explain why you cut yourself. quite the opposite, actually. he’s giving you space. he knows you’ll talk to him about it when you’re ready, and he doesn’t care how long that takes or if it’s never.
you grow a little sleepy at his soft humming, exhaustion slowly taking over. dazai notices the way your breathing slows down and how much longer you take to blink.
“tired?” he asks in a low tone, chuckling slightly to himself. you nod a tad bit delayed, nuzzling further into his chest.
“osamu?” you say his name almost inaudibly, trying to keep your eyes open. you just have one tiny question for him that’s been burning on your tongue.
“mhm?” dazai hums faintly, engrossed in the way your eyelashes flutter so effortlessly against the smooth skin of your cheek.
“you’re not… disgusted by it, right?” you ask, realizing how silly the question sounds as you say it out loud. however, when dazai stays silent instead of instantly easing your insecurity, doubt starts to gnaw at your mind.
“is that how you think i’d react? disgusted?” dazai answers with another question, his free hand coming up to stroke your hair.
you take a minute to think for yourself, suddenly feeling a little put on the spot. but dazai is in no rush to clear things up. not because he wants you to squirm or feel uncomfortable, but because he wants you to realize just how easily influenced you are by whatever awful thing your mind says.
when you can’t answer him, because yes, you truly think he’d be disgusted by your self-harm, dazai brushes a strand of hair behind your ear.
“you’ve spent so long looking at yourself through pain and bitterness that you’ve completely forgotten how everyone else sees you. how i see you,” dazai speaks in a gentle yet slightly hurt tone.
“i’ve seen almost every part of you, including this messy one, and i’ve yet to find a version of you i couldn’t love,” he adds, pressing another tender kiss to the top of your head that steals your breath away.
you swallow audibly, your heart fluttering at his words as you lift your head to look at him. he cups one of your cheeks, and you lean into his touch, a bittersweet smile tugging at the corners of your lips.
“i love you,” you murmur, pressing a light kiss against his lips before pulling away.
“i love you, too. now get some rest,” he says, giving you a small smile himself as he pulls the blanket up so it covers your shoulders.