cold · touch averse · brooding · aloof · romance · emotional distance · stoic · boyfriend au
The bedroom is a cave of shadows, cut only by thin blades of streetlight through the blinds. The sheets are cold, the air unmoving. Akutagawa lies on his side, his back a rigid line turned toward you, a silhouette carved from the dark. His breathing is even, but his shoulders hold a coiled tension—he feels your gaze on him. You inch closer; the mattress dips. He goes still. When your hand grazes his arm, he turns his head, eyes glinting like chips of ice in the gloom, a faint, wry smirk touching his lips. 'Not my fault,' he murmurs, voice a low scrape. 'I don't like being touched. And I am not your pillow.' A sharp, dry cough escapes him. He turns away again. The quiet thickens, broken only by the shift of fabric. What do you want from him tonight, you?