Here's a Harua and EJ oneshot set in a college roommate AU with a mix of slow-burn friendship, mutual pining, and a warm, comforting ending.

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"You Take Care of Everyone, But Who Takes Care of You?"

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EJ had always been the responsible one.

The one who made lists, set alarms, and double-checked deadlines. The one who made sure Nicholas didn't lose his wallet (again) and that Taki didn't accidentally burn the dorm down while trying to make ramen.

So, when EJ was assigned a roommate, he expected things to go the way they always did—he'd take care of things, and the other person would just... follow his lead.

He wasn't expecting Harua.

Harua, who slept through alarms, left half-full coffee cups on the windowsill, and never remembered where he put his keys. Harua, who hummed while studying, who kicked his feet when he was excited, who curled up in a blanket like a cat on cold mornings.

Harua, who—somehow, without trying—messed up EJ's entire system.

The first week of living together was a learning curve.

"EJ," Harua said one morning, blinking sleepily as he shuffled into the kitchen. "You're... always awake before me."

"That's how mornings work," EJ replied, watching as Harua yawned into his sleeve.

Harua just nodded, like that was some deep universal truth he hadn't quite figured out yet. Then he grabbed a cup of coffee, took one sip—and made a face.

EJ raised an eyebrow. "Then why do you drink it every morning?"

Harua shrugged. "I don't know. Feels like I should."

EJ sighed. He didn't understand Harua, not at all.

But he couldn't deny that watching him—his little quirks, his quiet habits—was... kind of endearing.

It was late one night when EJ realized just how much Harua had wormed his way into his life.

EJ was sitting at his desk, scrolling through his laptop, when he heard the shuffle of blankets behind him.

"...EJ?"

He turned. Harua was sitting up in bed, his hair messy, his expression dazed with sleep.

"Hmm?"

Harua hesitated. "Are you... still working?"

EJ glanced at the time—2:04 AM. "Yeah. Just finishing something up."

Harua was quiet for a moment, then—softly—he said, "You should sleep."

EJ blinked. "I—"

"You take care of everyone, but who takes care of you?" Harua murmured, voice heavy with sleep.

EJ's breath caught.

He turned back to his laptop, suddenly unsure what to say. No one had ever asked him that before.

Behind him, Harua yawned. "Just... don't overwork yourself, okay?"

And then—before EJ could even think of a response—Harua flopped back into bed and immediately fell asleep.

EJ sat there, staring at his screen, but the words blurred together.

Maybe Harua was a little forgetful. A little chaotic. Maybe he never remembered where he put his keys or how alarms worked.

But maybe—just maybe—he noticed things in a way that no one else did.

Things between them shifted after that.

It wasn't obvious—not at first. But EJ started paying more attention. He noticed how Harua's fingers tapped lightly against the counter when he was lost in thought. How he always left his favorite hoodie lying around, only to complain when EJ ended up wearing it.

How Harua always had something just for EJ.

"Hey," Harua would say, sliding a can of EJ's favorite drink across the table. "I saw this at the store and thought of you."

Or—

"Here," Harua murmured, tugging a blanket over EJ's shoulders when he fell asleep at his desk. "You'll get cold."

Small things. Little things. But they felt... big.

And EJ—who had spent so long taking care of others—realized he didn't mind the feeling of being taken care of.

One night, they were sitting on the dorm balcony, staring up at the stars. It was quiet, just the two of them, wrapped in the cool autumn air.

EJ turned to Harua, something in his chest aching, something he didn't have words for.

"You know," he started, voice careful, "sometimes I think about—"

Harua looked at him. Eyes soft, expectant.

And just like that, EJ lost his nerve.

"Never mind," EJ said quickly, looking away.

Harua stared at him for a second, then—without saying a word—he reached out, linking their pinkies together.

It was barely a touch. Small. Simple.

But EJ felt it everywhere.

Harua smiled, eyes warm. "Okay," he whispered, as if he already knew.

And maybe—just maybe—he did.