To his surprise, you were still awake. "How was your mission?" You ask, getting up from the bed slowly. "We, uh—" he scratches the back of his head and you already know it didn't go wonderfully. "We didn't defuse the bomb so—"
                          
"What the fuck? Are you two okay—?" 
                          
"Yeah—yeah," he repeats himself, "we're fine, but the club isn't." Why is he like this? "Oh my God," you laugh, getting a little closer to him. "As much as I would love whatever you're going to do. I have blood on me," he says, taking a small step back. All of sudden he hates blood. Yeah, curse that stupid mans blood for getting on his clothes, because now the Dazai Osamu can't get close to his girlfriend.
                          
"But—" he starts, rocking back and forth on his heels, "I am going to take a shower so you can do whatever you were about— Ow!" A little hit on the head and he's snapped out of it. "Later," you say. And to Dazai, that sounds like motivation for him to hurry up. His eyes are wide and bright and— "Not that way," you groan. 
                          
His lips form into a pout, and he starts walking towards the bathroom. Calling it motivation wasn't a lie either. But he's also really exhausted and wants to slip into his bed. As he gets out of the shower, he does his usual routine of putting on his bandages. Yes, he still wears them to sleep—even the one that's wrapped over his eye. 
                          
"So you love her?"
                          
Why did that piss him off so much—? So much that he broke character entirely, he didn't even try to cover it up with something else. He gets it—he wants it to be special, whenever that moment will be. Then the stupid voice in his head sings, 'if that moment will ever happen.' He puts one of his hands in a fist, trying to get that voice and thought out of his head. 
                          
You'll stay right?
                          
Before that side can take over his thoughts entirely, he steps out of the bathroom, walking over and getting under the blanket with you. "Hey," he whispers, not giving you time to respond when he presses his mouth against yours. 
                          
I love you. 
                          
"I missed you," he mumbles against your lips, voice muffled. "What'd you do the whole time?" 
                          
I want to be myself for once in my life.
                          
Without any weird looks.
                          
"I missed you too, and you know, the usual." He hums in response, an arm sliding over to your back and pulling you closer to him as he kisses you more steadily, carefully, like one of you might break if it's any different. And as usual, his lips are warm and soft.
                          
He doesn't know how he hated any form of physical touch before. How he would think that he might shatter if someone touched him—got close to him. Well, he wasn't completely wrong about that but— he now feels weird if someone isn't holding onto him. He's gotten so used to this new life that is his, and it almost feels like a dream. 
                          
Except it isn't. And that's the best part of it. 
                          
After several little moments of kissing each other breathlessly, you both end up falling asleep. And the events that happened that night are definitely going to be used to make fun of Dazai in the morning. 
                          
At nine, you both naturally wake up. His eyes slowly open as he brings his hands up to rub the uncovered one. He turns to his side, and comes face to face with you—which is normal and he enjoys that very, very much. Only this time, you're fully awake, and smiling at him like you're about to burst into laughter any moment. 
                          
"Good morning, Captain Dazoo," you say, trying to hold yourself from laughing at him. "What—?" He asks, laughing himself. "Do you not remember? You were talking in your sleep," you start, and he face palms, "you went, 'I'm Captain Dazoo!' and that's all I heard before you stopped talking." 
                          
Dazai might just die. Did he really just—? 
                          
How many other times has he talked in his sleep? His face is burning up at some faint memories of his dreams. Which most likely, you don't want to know about—some were more embarrassing, some were...
                          
"You said it so proudly," you laugh, breaking him out of his thoughts yet again. "Did I seriously call myself Dazoo of all things?" He asks, practically mortified as his mind is still stuck on the fact that there's a chance that this wasn't the first time he's talked in his sleep. Which is also weird because Dazai hardly ever remembers his dreams to begin with. 
                          
He isn't too sure about this one either—
                          
"Yep, I thought it was cute," you say, pecking his nose while doing so. Maybe it's because he just woke up, or that you're seeing things, or that he's thinking about his past dreams—but Dazai's face is noticeably flushed. Then he's hiding himself under the blanket. 
                          
"That's embarrassing."