chuuya feels it like a punch: that sudden heat in his chest when he hears you laugh.
“no. no. absolutely not.”
that’s his first reaction. the second is looking away, pretending he’s focused on anything except you, even though his ears tilt toward your voice every time you speak.
the problem is that he notices you too much: the way you adjust your hair, how you purse your lips when you think, how you compliment him without expecting anything back. it disarms him.
that night, in his apartment, he throws his hat onto the sofa and groans.
“am i seriously… falling for her?”
the thought irritates him, frustrates him… and quietly excites him.
he won’t admit it to you. not yet.
but he starts treating you better without meaning to — and when he realizes it, he blushes and storms off.
𖥻 atsushi nakajima
atsushi realizes it when he sees you talking to someone else and his stomach twists. he doesn’t understand it as jealousy.
he just feels… something.
he looks at you, then at his hands, then at you again, like the answers are hidden there.
the realization arrives softly:
“i think i… like her.”
he turns red all the way to his ears. he trips over a chair. he apologizes to the chair.
the rest of the day, he keeps glancing at you, trying to act normal and failing miserably.
“are you okay, atsushi?” you ask.
“w-what?! yes! i’m fine! totally fine! why do you ask? am i acting weird? did i say something weird?”
he’s adorable. and transparent.
but the new feeling warms him from the inside — thinking about you doesn’t hurt. it makes him feel, for once, wanted.
𖥻 osamu dazai
dazai realizes it too quickly.
a tiny shift: the way his eyes soften when he looks at you, or how his sarcastic comments lose their edge around you.
he knows exactly what’s happening. and he hates it.
because the feeling arrives with something he hasn’t touched in years: fear. that heavy little pull in the chest that whispers this might matter to you.
“how inconvenient,” he mutters, smiling bitterly.
still, whenever you walk near him, his smile becomes real, unguarded.
it terrifies him. it wakes him up.
he knows he’s falling, and he still flirts more — but now there’s something almost clumsy beneath the jokes.
one night, sprawled on his couch, he admits to the ceiling:
“i like you. tsk… what a mess.”
he won’t say it aloud yet.
but the shine in his eyes when he sees you does it for him.
𖥻 ranpo edogawa
ranpo figures it out before he even feels it.
“my heart beats faster when they look at me. interesting.”
he analyzes it like a case, and the conclusion arrives immediately:
“i like you… and you like me back.”
he’s proud of it.
around you, he acts the same: cocky, playful, dramatic.
but when you get too close, when you praise him, when you buy him sweets without him asking… something strange happens.
he blushes. very slightly, but enough.
and he hates it.
“don’t look at me like that,” he mumbles.
“like what?”
“like i’m cute.”
he crosses his arms, annoyed… and five seconds later asks you to sit next to him so he can share a candy.
he doesn’t say it out loud yet, but you become his favorite place to rest.
𖥻 akutagawa ryunosuke
akutagawa feels it like a stab.
the first time you worry about him, when you touch his arm gently, when you say his name softly… the world tilts.
his automatic response:
“stay away.”
because it scares him. it hurts. he doesn’t know how to process something warm after a life of nothing but cold.
he avoids you for days, lying to himself:
“i don’t like her. i don’t need anyone.”
but every time your eyes soften, every time you smile at him, his chest tightens painfully.
one night, he whispers into the dark:
“why… you?”
he’s angry at himself for feeling. ashamed for wanting.
and yet, the next time you look at him, he turns away quickly, ears red, unable to control the storm inside him.
𖥻 sigma
sigma has never had a past, memories, or a place to belong.
so when he starts to feel something for you, he doesn’t know what it is. he only knows his breath goes light and his chest goes heavy whenever you’re near.
“is this… bad?” he asks genuinely, staring at his own trembling hands.
he starts watching you in silence, trying to understand why he keeps seeking you out.
he gets nervous when you talk to him. he sighs softly when you leave.
the word like doesn’t cross his mind for a long time — but when it does…
“oh…”
he sits at the edge of his bed, completely flushed, a hand pressed to his chest.
it’s beautiful.
it’s terrifying.
but from that moment on, he looks at you like you’ve added color to a world that was always gray.
