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Chishiya Shuntarou never drank.
Kuina claimed it was because he was too much of a control freak to handle anything that dulled his edge. Arisu suspected the real reason was that Chishiya had simply witnessed too many idiots at the Beach getting absolutely hammered—he'd personally seen Niragi, at least once, try to pick a drunken fight with a stone-cold sober Chishiya and get verbally dismantled in three sentences before storming off in humiliated rage.
Whatever the reason, the fact stood: Chishiya Shuntarou did not drink.
Until tonight.
They'd stumbled across three bottles of sake during a supply run, tucked away like hidden treasure in the back storage of an abandoned izakaya. Kuina's eyes had lit up on the spot.
"We're drinking these," she'd declared, with the kind of joyous finality that brooked no argument. "We've earned this."
Ann, surprisingly, hadn't objected. Arisu had shrugged his agreement. After everything they'd survived, one night of letting loose didn't seem unreasonable.
Then Kuina had rounded on Chishiya.
"No," Chishiya said, before she could even open her mouth.
"Shiya—"
"No."
"Just one glass. You won't even taste it."
"No."
"You always say no. Have you ever tried saying yes? Just once?"
Chishiya's lips pressed into a thin line. He stared at the sake bottle like it was a personal enemy. Then, to everyone's astonishment, he said, "One glass. That's it."
"Love you, Shiya," Kuina grinned, looking like she'd just won the lottery.
---
Back at their base, Kuina unearthed four cups that were arguably clean, and Ann popped open the first bottle. The scent of sake drifted through the room, warm and mellow.
Chishiya sat in the corner of the couch, legs tucked beneath him, holding his cup like it might spontaneously combust. He stared into the clear liquid with deep suspicion.
"You don't have to drink it," Arisu said quietly, settling beside him. "Kuina's just messing around. If you don't want to, don't."
Chishiya shot him a sideways glance. "I said I'd have one glass."
"I know. But—"
"Arisu." Chishiya's voice carried a thread of exasperation, but also something else—gratitude, maybe, or resignation. "I can handle one glass of sake."
Arisu nodded, leaning back, though his eyes lingered on Chishiya. He watched him raise the cup to his lips, hesitate for a single breath, then tilt his head back and down the entire thing in one go.
His face immediately crumpled.
"That tastes like—" He coughed. "Like disinfectant."
"That's good sake!" Kuina protested.
"Then it tastes like good disinfectant." Chishiya set the cup down, scrubbing at his mouth with the back of his hand, his expression a mixture of disgust and genuine bafflement. "People drink this voluntarily?"
"It gets better with the next one," Kuina said, already reaching for the bottle.
"I said one glass."
"And I say one proper glass, not that tiny sip you took." She pinched her fingers together to demonstrate. "Besides, I'm the one pouring. I decide what counts as 'one glass.'"
Chishiya's eyes narrowed, but before he could argue, Kuina had already poured another half-cup and slid it toward him. Arisu noticed that Chishiya didn't actually push it away.
"Finish this one and I'll leave you alone," Kuina said solemnly. "On my honor."
"Your honor is worthless."
"Finish it anyway."
He did, slower this time. Small sips, like he was trying to understand what people saw in this stuff. Arisu watched him, noting the faint pink beginning to bloom across his cheeks.
"How do you feel?" Arisu asked.
Chishiya considered the question. "Still terrible. But slightly less terrible than the first sip."
"That's progress." Kuina raised her own cup. "To still being alive."
They clinked. Chishiya clinked too.
Arisu drank, but his attention barely strayed from Chishiya. He saw him drain the third cup, set it on the coffee table, and lean back into the couch cushions with his eyes half-lidded. The flush on his cheeks had spread, pink dusting his cheekbones and the tips of his ears. His posture had gone loose—not the relaxed kind, but the kind that suggested his usual rigid control was slipping away strand by strand.
"Shiya?" Arisu asked, a note of concern creeping in.
Chishiya turned to look at him, the motion slower than usual, almost languid. "Mm?"
"You okay?"
"'M fine." Then, to Arisu's absolute shock, he smiled. Not the usual sardonic smirk—this was a real smile, eyes curving into crescents, a flash of teeth. "I'm good. You're good. Everything's good."
Arisu's heart stuttered.
"Oh no," Kuina announced from the opposite couch, her voice brimming with pure delight. "He's drunk. Our clever little bastard is drunk. Ann, we did it."
Ann, cradling her own cup, allowed a faint smile to cross her lips. "He does appear to be intoxicated."
"I am not drunk," Chishiya said. He attempted to stand—likely to prove his point—and immediately misjudged the edge of the couch cushion, nearly sliding straight onto the floor. Arisu caught him, hands on his shoulders, feeling the surprising warmth of his body and the looseness in his frame that was nothing like his usual alert tension.
"You're drunk," Arisu said, keeping his hands where they were. "Maybe you shouldn't have had that third glass."
"S'not fair," Chishiya muttered, brow furrowing in genuine distress. "Three glasses shouldn't make someone drunk. I calculated it. Based on average metabolic rates and alcohol concentration, I should be able to drink… more." He paused, apparently attempting a rapidly deteriorating math problem inside his head. "More," he finished, clearly giving up on precision.
"How much do you weigh?" Ann asked calmly.
Chishiya blinked. "What?"
"How much do you weigh? Alcohol tolerance correlates to body weight. You're light, so three glasses is enough."
His whole face twisted in indignation. "That—that doesn't make sense."
"It makes perfect sense. You just don't like the conclusion."
Chishiya's frown deepened. He looked down at his own body, raising his hands in front of his face and turning them over like he was seeing them for the first time. "I'm light," he said, with a strange quality of wonder in his voice. "Arisu said that. He said I'm small."
Arisu felt heat creeping up his neck. "Shiya—"
"He said it's cute when I reach for things on my tiptoes. And when I didn't have clean clothes and had to borrow one of his shirts, he said it looked like I was wearing a blanket. He said—" He paused, cocking his head as if retrieving memories from somewhere deep. "He says a lot of things."
Kuina made a sound that was somewhere between a shriek and a strangled laugh. Ann's composure finally cracked, her lips twitching as she visibly fought to keep a straight face.
Arisu wanted the floor to swallow him.
"Chishiya—"
"Why don't you call me Shiya?" Chishiya asked, cutting him off before he could formulate a defense. He tilted his head again, genuinely curious. "I like it. I told Kuina that. I want you to call me that too."
"...Okay. Whatever you want. Shiya," Arisu said desperately, "maybe we should get you to bed."
"I don't want to go to bed." Chishiya made this declaration with the solemn authority of a royal decree. Then, to the stunned silence of everyone present, he rose from the couch—slightly unsteady—walked over to Arisu, and climbed directly into his lap.
Arisu froze solid.
Chishiya settled himself on Arisu's thighs, facing him, knees bracketing his hips, hands coming to rest on his shoulders. His face was now level with Arisu's, close enough that Arisu could feel the warmth of sake on his breath. His eyes seemed enormous at this distance, pupils slightly dilated, and there was a softness in them Arisu had never seen before.
"Hello," Chishiya said, voice quieter than usual, like he was sharing a secret.
"H-Hello."
"You're Arisu."
"Yes."
"I like Arisu." He said it with great gravity, as if confirming an important fact, and nodded to himself in agreement. "Arisu is good. Arisu helps me reach things. Arisu lets me sleep in his bed. Arisu is warm." He tilted his head, studying Arisu's face with intense, drunken scrutiny. "Arisu is very red right now. Why is Arisu red?"
"Because you just climbed into my lap," Arisu managed, his voice sounding strangled even to his own ears.
"Oh." Chishiya glanced down at the space between them, as if only now registering the position they were in. "Is this not okay?"
Arisu opened his mouth. Closed it. His brain had ceased all higher functions.
"I think it's okay," Chishiya answered his own question. He leaned forward, pressing his forehead against Arisu's, their noses bumping gently. "It's nice. You're warm. You're always warm."
From the other couch, Kuina stood abruptly, grabbing Ann's arm. "We need to—check something. In the kitchen. There's something in the kitchen that needs checking."
Ann allowed herself to be pulled up, but shot Arisu a look over her shoulder, mouthing silently: Do you need help?
Arisu shook his head, barely. He didn't know if he needed help, but he knew absolutely that he didn't want anyone removing Chishiya from his lap right now. Even if his heart was about to pound straight out of his chest. Even if he had no idea whether Chishiya would remember any of this tomorrow or hate him for it.
The door clicked shut behind Kuina and Ann. The living room fell silent except for the soft sound of their breathing.
"Arisu." Chishiya's voice was barely above a whisper now.
"Mm."
"I have a secret."
Arisu's throat tightened. "What secret?"
Chishiya pulled back just enough to meet his eyes. His expression had gone serious, almost solemn, at odds with the glassy quality of his gaze. "I don't actually hate it when you help me reach things."
Despite everything, Arisu felt himself smile. "I know."
"No, you don't." Chishiya insisted, his brow furrowing. "I pretend to hate it. I say 'I can reach it myself.' But I like it. I like it when I can't reach and you get that look on your face. You get all—" He fumbled for the word, poking Arisu's cheekbone with one fingertip, feather-light. "—soft. Your eyes go soft. Like this." He tapped Arisu's eye corner. "And then you help me. And you stand there looking at me like I'm something that needs—" He struggled again, jaw tightening with the effort of dragging vocabulary out of his alcohol-soaked brain. "Something that needs protecting. And I know I don't need protecting. But I like it. I like that you think I do."
Arisu's heart wasn't just tight anymore. It was melting. Dissolving into something warm that spread through his chest and radiated outward to every limb.
"Shiya—"
"I'm not done." Chishiya pressed a single finger to Arisu's lips, silencing him. The touch sent a jolt of electricity straight down Arisu's spine. "I have another secret."
He leaned closer, their noses brushing again. At this distance, Arisu could see every detail—the faint mole beneath his eye, the way his dark lashes fanned against his cheeks when he blinked, the pink flush that had spread all the way to the tips of his ears.
"I really am small," Chishiya whispered, with the gravity of someone revealing a classified document. "I calculated. My body weight is below the average for Japanese males my age by—by a lot. My bone structure is small. My wrists—" He grabbed Arisu's hand and placed it around his own wrist. "See? Your fingers can close all the way around. There's still space."
Arisu looked down. His fingers did, indeed, encircle Chishiya's slender wrist completely, thumb and index finger overlapping with room to spare. Chishiya's skin was warm, his pulse fluttering quick and light beneath Arisu's fingertips.
"And my waist," Chishiya continued, apparently now fully launched into some kind of academic demonstration. "Also very narrow. See." He guided Arisu's other hand to his side. "You can—"
"Shiya." Arisu's voice came out hoarse. "What are you doing?"
Chishiya blinked, seemingly only now grasping the full picture—Arisu's hands, one around his wrist and one pressed to his waist, and Arisu's face inches from his own. His expression shifted slowly from analytical confusion to something softer, more vulnerable.
"Proving you right," he said finally, his voice dropping to barely a murmur. "You're always right. About me. About how small I am." He paused. "About how much I need you."
Arisu stopped breathing.
Chishiya's forehead found his again, pressing gently. His eyes were half-closed now, lashes casting faint shadows on his cheeks.
"I'm not good at this," he murmured. "Talking. Telling the truth. But I want you to know. I want you to know you're right. I want you to know—" His voice grew quieter still, so faint Arisu had to strain to hear it. "—I need you. I've been pretending I don't, but I need—"
His voice cracked. His fingers curled into the fabric of Arisu's shirt, knuckles going white.
Arisu moved at last. One hand slid from Chishiya's wrist to the nape of his neck; the other traveled from his waist to the small of his back, pulling him in. Chishiya made a sound that was barely audible—relief, or surrender, or something in between—and let his full weight fall against Arisu, face tucked into the curve of his neck.
They stayed like that for a long time. Arisu's hand traced slow circles on Chishiya's back, mapping the delicate architecture of his spine. Chishiya's breath was warm and steady against his neck; his body had gone completely slack, like a cat that had finally found a safe place to rest.
"Shiya," Arisu murmured.
"Mm." The sound was muffled against his throat.
"I'm going to remind you of everything you said tomorrow."
Chishiya went rigid. Then, very quietly, he groaned. "Don't."
"Every detail. Including 'I like Arisu.' Including 'Arisu is warm.' Including 'my wrists are very slim, see.'"
"I hate you." Chishiya's voice carried genuine despair.
"Including 'I need you.'"
Silence. Chishiya buried his face deeper against Arisu's collarbone, ears burning crimson.
"You'll pretend you don't remember any of it tomorrow," Arisu continued, softer now. "You'll say it was just the alcohol. You'll go back to being the Chishiya everyone knows, pushing people away with sarcasm and cold looks. But I'll remember. I'll remember every word you said tonight. I'll remember you climbed into my lap. I'll remember you said you need me."
Chishiya didn't answer. But his fingers tightened in Arisu's shirt, clinging.
"It's okay," Arisu whispered. "You can pretend you don't remember. You can keep pretending you don't need anyone. I'll still be here. Helping you reach things. Letting you sleep in my bed. Being needed by you in secret." He pressed his lips to the top of Chishiya's head, barely a kiss. "There's no rush. I can wait."
A long time passed before Chishiya spoke. When he did, his voice was tiny, pressed into the fabric of Arisu's shirt.
"Why are you like this?"
"Like what?"
"Like this. To me. I—I'm not worth—"
Arisu tightened his arms. "You are," he said, without a trace of hesitation. "You're worth all of it. Worth having someone help you reach things. Worth having someone remember every stupid thing you blurted out while you were drunk." He paused. "Worth being loved, Shiya. Even if you don't believe it yet."
Chishiya's breath shuddered. Then, so faintly Arisu almost missed it, he felt dampness seeping through the fabric at his collarbone.
He didn't say anything. Just kept holding him, one hand stroking slowly up and down his back, feeling that small body tremble against his. Moonlight crept across the floor, the only witness to the quiet scene in the dim living room.
---
Chishiya woke to the sensation of a head-splitting headache.
It was a dull, insistent pounding, like someone had set up a tiny drum kit inside his skull. He groaned, attempting to roll over and bury his face in the pillow, only to discover he couldn't move. Something was pinning him down.
He opened his eyes.
A swath of gray fabric filled his vision. He blinked slowly, and the blur resolved into a t-shirt. He was draped across Arisu's chest, legs tangled together, their bodies spooned close.
The memories hit like a freight train.
Chishiya made a sound like a dying animal and pressed his face back into Arisu's chest.
"Good morning," came Arisu's voice from above, distinctly amused.
"Kill me." Chishiya's voice was barely more than a muffled groan. "Right now. Immediately. There's a taser under my pillow. Get it. End this."
"No," Arisu said, his hand tracing lazy patterns on Chishiya's back. "You promised Kuina you'd help her sort through supplies today. Can't skip out."
"Kuina will accept my death."
"Kuina will kill me if I kill you."
Chishiya let out a long, defeated sigh. He kept his face pressed to Arisu's chest, refusing to lift his head. Refusing to face reality. Refusing to acknowledge anything that had happened last night.
"How much did I say?" he finally asked, voice barely audible.
"Everything." Arisu sounded unbearably cheerful. "You like me. I'm warm. You need me. Also, your wrists are very slim and my fingers can close all the way around them. You also mentioned—"
"Enough." Chishiya's voice held genuine anguish. "I remember. You can stop reciting it."
"But I haven't gotten to my favorite part yet."
Chishiya went rigid. "What part?"
"You climbed into my lap. Facing me. Hands on my shoulders. Then you said, 'Hello. You're Arisu. I like Arisu.'"
Chishiya let out a long, agonized groan. He tried to roll off Arisu's chest, but Arisu's arms tightened, pinning him in place.
"Let me go," Chishiya ground out, still muffled. "I need to find somewhere deserted and die alone."
"No." Arisu's voice was unbearably gentle. "I like you here."
"You just like watching me suffer."
"Suffering, but adorable suffering," Arisu admitted. "Not the main reason, though."
Chishiya finally lifted his head to glare at him. His hair was a disaster, his eyes still slightly puffy, and there was a crease mark from a wrinkle in Arisu's shirt pressed into his cheek. He looked nothing like the sharp, calculating figure he usually presented.
Arisu looked at him, and his heart melted all over again.
"You look—"
"If you say 'cute,' I will carry out the murder I failed to execute earlier," Chishiya said darkly.
"—nice," Arisu amended. "You look nice. Like yourself."
Chishiya stared at him for a moment longer, then looked away. The tips of his ears flushed again.
"About last night," he said stiffly. "That was the alcohol. I don't normally say things like that."
"I know."
"I especially don't normally climb into people's laps."
"I know."
"So we can just pretend it never happened."
Arisu considered this. "We could," he said. "But I have one condition."
Chishiya's gaze snapped back to him, instantly wary. "What condition?"
"You stop pretending you don't need my help." Arisu's voice was serious now. "If something's out of reach, let me get it. If you can't sleep, come to my room—don't just stand at the door waiting. If you—" He paused. "If you need something, tell me. You don't have to be drunk to say it."
Chishiya was silent for a long moment. So long Arisu thought he might not answer at all.
Then, very softly: "Okay."
Arisu smiled. He reached up and pulled Chishiya back down against his chest, and this time, Chishiya didn't resist.
"One more thing," Arisu said.
"What."
"You really are very small."
Chishiya punched him weakly in the ribs.
From the kitchen, Kuina's voice carried through the thin walls: "Are they awake yet? Should I go knock? I really want to see Shiya's face right now. Do you think they're cuddling? They were cuddling, right? They have to be cuddling. God, I can't take it anymore with these two—they're basically on fire and they still don't even realize it."
"Give them five minutes," came Ann's voice, calm and measured. "Then you can collect your spoils."
Chishiya buried his face deeper into Arisu's chest, ears glowing bright red.
Arisu laughed, tightening his arms around him.
Outside the window, the Borderlands sun was rising, pale and steady. A new day was beginning. There were games to play, survival to fight for, unknown dangers waiting ahead. But right now, in this small room, Arisu felt certain that everything would turn out all right.
Chishiya's breathing evened out; he'd probably fallen asleep again. Arisu ducked his head, brushing his lips against his hair.
"You need me," he murmured, like he was testing a miracle. "You really do."
Chishiya didn't answer. But his hand, even in sleep, remained curled tightly in the fabric of Arisu's shirt.
That was more than enough.