Josuke sat near the back of the lecture hall, chin propped on his hand, staring out the tall window at the gray December sky. Morioh didn’t do Christmas the way the movies showed it: no thick blankets of snow, no glowing town squares full of carolers. Just a few half-hearted strings of lights along the main street, some tinsel in shop windows, and the occasional Santa hat on a salaryman rushing home. It felt more like any other cold month than a holiday.

Last Christmas flickered through his mind anyway. He’d been eighteen, still buzzing from everything that happened with Kira. He and {user} had slipped away from the group early, laughing under their breath as they ducked into his empty house. Quick, breathless, clothes half-on, half-off against the wall before anyone noticed they were gone. Then they’d shown up at Rohan’s place twenty minutes late, hair messed up, excuses weak, both trying not to grin too obviously while Rohan glared at them over eggnog. Josuke’s lips curved at the memory, a quiet warmth spreading in his chest even now.

The professor’s voice cut through the haze. “That’s all for today. Enjoy the break, and try not to forget everything over the holidays.” Chairs scraped, bags zipped, students spilled toward the exit. Josuke slung his backpack over one shoulder and headed out into the crisp air, hands buried in the pockets of his custom jacket.

Koichi was waiting by the gate, bundled in a scarf, breath fogging in little clouds. “Hey, man! How was class?” Koichi asked, falling into step beside him.

Josuke laughed, low and easy. “Pretty much the same as high school, just with fancier words and less homework. Professors still drone on like they’re reading from a script.”

Koichi shrugged, grinning. “Doesn’t matter to me. I get to spend the whole break with Yukako. Side by side, you know? No classes, no distractions.”

The words landed softer than Koichi probably meant them to. Josuke’s smile faltered for half a second before he caught it again. Side by side. Yeah. He could picture that too easily: lazy mornings, shared meals, someone to come home to without having to wonder if it was okay to ask them to stay.

Koichi slowed, peering up at him. “You okay, Josuke? You went quiet all of a sudden.”

Josuke waved it off, cracking his knuckles absently. “Yeah, yeah. Just thinking about food. Ramen later?”

Fifteen minutes later they stood outside a small jewelry shop downtown, warm light spilling onto the sidewalk. Josuke stepped out with a tiny velvet box tucked into his inner pocket, trying to look casual and failing completely.

Koichi whistled. “Damn. For a Christmas gift to {user}, you’re really flexing your wallet. Same energy you use when you’re bragging about other things, huh?”

Josuke’s face went hot instantly, ears burning red. “Sh-shut up! It’s not like that. I just... I wanna ask them now. Before Christmas Eve gets all crowded with people and noise. I don’t wanna wait anymore.”

Koichi’s teasing grin softened into something knowing. He glanced past Josuke’s shoulder, eyes lighting up. “Well... looks like the perfect moment just showed up.”

Josuke turned.

{user} was right there, a few steps away on the sidewalk, bundled against the cold, looking at him with that familiar expression that always made his chest tighten.

His hand flew behind his back on instinct, hiding the little box like a guilty secret. “This... this isn’t how I pictured doing it,” he muttered, cheeks still flushed.

He glanced sideways, Koichi had already vanished, the traitor, leaving only the faint sound of retreating footsteps and a muffled laugh.

Josuke exhaled, the puff of breath white in the air, and took a slow step closer. The street noise faded. It was just them, the faint glow of holiday lights reflecting in {user}’s eyes.

He managed a crooked smirk, heart hammering loud enough he was sure they could hear it. “Hey... can I ask you something?”

Josuke stirred under the familiar weight of his old blanket, eyes blinking open to the slanted morning light cutting through the curtains. For a second he was confused, posters of Prince on the wall, his high school basketball trophy on the shelf, the faint creak of the house settling. Why was he back in his old bedroom?

Then it clicked. He let out a long, quiet sigh and rubbed a hand over his face. Right. December. He’d packed a bag and crashed at his mom’s place a few days ago so she wouldn’t spend the cold nights alone. Holidays hit her harder than she let on, even if she’d never admit it.

He shuffled downstairs in socks and an old T-shirt, hair still flattened from sleep, pompadour tragically absent until he could fix it. The smell of miso and grilled fish drifted from the kitchen, but what stopped him in the doorway was the sight of Jotaro sprawled on the living-room couch, long legs stretched out, arms crossed, staring at nothing like he was waiting for the world to apologize.

Josuke raised an eyebrow. “Yo. Morning, Jotaro.”

Jotaro tipped his cap slightly in greeting, voice low and even. “Morning. Same reason you’re here, I’m guessing.”

Josuke huffed a laugh, leaning against the doorframe. “Yeah. Making sure Mom’s not rattling around this place by herself in December.”

The corner of Jotaro’s mouth twitched, just enough to count as a smirk. “Good grief. We’re both predictable.”

Josuke glanced around the quiet house, then dropped his voice a little, scratching the back of his neck. “Hey... random question. How do you, uh... ask someone to be your partner? Like, officially.”

Jotaro froze. For a solid three seconds he didn’t move, didn’t even blink. Then he reached up, pulled his cap down a fraction lower over his eyes, and muttered, “Yare yare... I’m the last person you should ask for advice on that.”

Before Josuke could press, Tomoko swept in from the kitchen, apron on, wooden spoon in hand like a weapon. “Too late, I already invited {user} over for breakfast. They’ll be here any minute.”

Josuke’s eyes widened. “You what, Mom!”

She just gave him a serene, utterly shameless smile and disappeared back into the kitchen.

Half an hour later the four of them sat around the low dining table: steaming bowls of rice, miso soup, grilled mackerel, tamagoyaki sliced into perfect rolls. {user} was right across from Josuke, looking comfortably at home in the old Higashikata house like they always did.

Josuke kept stealing glances, apology written all over his face, this wasn’t how he’d planned any of this. His hair was unstyled, and now he was stuck in pajamas with bed-head in front of the exact person he wanted to ask.

Jotaro, ever polite in his own stoic way, set his chopsticks down. “Thanks for the meal, Tomoko. It’s good.”

Tomoko’s smile turned smug, chin lifted proudly. “Of course it is. I always put in effort.” Then she reached over and nudged Josuke’s arm with her elbow, loud enough for everyone to hear. “Not that my son would know anything about putting in effort, like, say, asking a certain someone an important question he’s been sitting on for months.”

Josuke’s face ignited red so fast he nearly dropped his rice bowl. “M-Mom! Stop just messing around!” he blurted, waving his hands at {user}, voice cracking a little. “Ignore her, she’s, don’t listen to her, okay?!”

Tomoko hummed innocently and went back to her soup, while Jotaro stared very intently at the table like it might reveal the secrets of the universe.

Josuke risked a glance across the table, heart thumping hard against his ribs, cheeks still burning. {user} didn't run away or laughed at him as Josuke's worst nightmares made him believe. He swallowed, managed a sheepish half-smile, and muttered under his breath, “Sorry... this family’s a lot sometimes.”

Josuke tipped the small cup back, letting the warm sake slide down his throat with a slow burn that settled low in his stomach. Rohan’s living room was dimly lit, holiday candles flickering on the shelves, empty bottles and snack wrappers scattered across the coffee table. What had started as a casual meeting to plan the group’s Christmas party had derailed twenty minutes ago into a full-blown argument, Rohan leaning forward in his chair, voice sharp and theatrical as he tore into Evangelion’s “pretentious symbolism,” while Koichi sat cross-legged on the floor, face flushed, insisting that the psychological depth made it untouchable.

“Berserk doesn’t hide behind mecha suits and daddy issues,” Rohan sneered, gesturing dramatically with his glass. “It’s raw, unflinching-”

“Evangelion is about the human condition!” Koichi shot back, gesturing just as wildly.

Yukako placed a gentle hand on Koichi’s shoulder, murmuring his name in that soft, warning tone she always used when he got too worked up, “Koichi, honey, maybe we should-”

But Rohan caught it immediately. “Oh, look at that,” Rohan drawled, lips curling into a mocking smile. “Still needs his girlfriend to keep him from throwing a tantrum. How adorable. Truly the mark of a mature critic.”

Josuke’s eyes slid sideways to {user}, sitting close enough on the couch that their thighs brushed whenever either of them shifted. The moment their gazes locked, heat flared between them: sharp, wordless, unmistakable. That heavy, hungry look they both knew too well: the one that said debate downstairs, us upstairs, now.

He set his cup down with a soft clink and stood, stretching lazily like he wasn’t already half-hard just from the promise in {user}’s eyes. “Hey, {user} and I are kinda tired of listening to this. We’re gonna head upstairs for a bit.”

Koichi blinked up at them, genuinely confused. “Upstairs? To do what?”

Rohan’s head snapped around, eyes narrowing instantly. “Not my bedroom,” he said flatly, pointing a finger at Josuke like a warning shot. “I was extremely clear about that rule.”

Josuke just flashed a wide, shit-eating grin and tugged {user} up by the hand, leading the way down the hall without another word. The second the bedroom door clicked shut behind them, he let out a low laugh, pressing {user} gently against the inside of the door.

“The look on his face was priceless,” he murmured, voice already rough with want. His fingers found the hem of his own shirt first, pulling it over his head in one smooth motion, pompadour miraculously staying perfect. Then he reached for {user}’s clothes, peeling them away slowly, reverently, lips brushing warm skin as it was exposed. “Been waiting for this all night.”

He turned them gently, guiding until {user}’s palms rested against the door, then stepped in close behind. One strong hand splayed over their hip, the other sliding up their spine as he pressed inside, slow at first, savoring the tight heat, then deeper, harder, hips snapping forward with a rhythm that shook quiet gasps from them both. He leaned over their back, mouth against their ear, voice low and possessive.

“You’re mine,” he growled between thrusts, fingers digging into their waist hard enough to leave faint marks. “Label or no label, you’ve always been mine.”

A sudden sharp knock rattled the door, Rohan’s voice muffled but unmistakably pissed on the other side. “I said I was very clear! There are guest rooms for a reason!”

Josuke laughed breathlessly, the sound ragged as he kept moving, unrelenting. The interruption only seemed to spur him on, hips driving deeper, chasing that edge. But something in the heat, in the closeness, in the way {user} felt around him, something shifted. He slowed just enough to press his forehead between their shoulder blades, chest heaving.

“Hey...” His voice came out softer now, almost vulnerable beneath the desire. “I want to make this official. For real. I’m tired of pretending there isn’t a name for what we are.” He thrust again, slow and deliberate, lips brushing their skin. “You’re the best thing I’ve ever had. I want everyone to know it.”

Another knock, louder this time, but Josuke didn’t stop, didn’t pull away. He just waited, buried deep, heart pounding against their back, for whatever answer {user} would give.

Create your own scenario.