here's yxanavera enemies-to-lovers-gone-too-far oneshot featuring Harua and Maki, where the teasing got too intense, the tension got too real, and someone might've accidentally confessed in the middle of an insult. Enjoy the slow burn (and the crash).

Pairing: Harua × Maki
Trope: Enemies to Lovers / Accidental Confession / Denial is a River in This Dorm

It started with a door.

Specifically, Harua opening a door and hitting Maki square in the face with it.

Unintentionally.

Mostly.

"It's called knocking, Harua," Maki snapped, holding an ice pack to his forehead.

"It's called standing in front of doors like a dramatic NPC," Harua snapped back.

That was week one of them becoming roommates.

It only got worse from there.

Maki organized his shoes by color. Harua stepped over them without remorse.

Harua liked silence. Maki liked blasting music while trying on six outfits and modeling them to himself in the mirror.

They disagreed on how many towels one person needed (Maki: six, Harua: one). They fought over who kept leaving crumbs in the bed (Harua swore it was Maki; Maki swore it was "definitely not the snack hoarder with three hidden KitKats in the drawer").

The rest of the group had started calling them The Married Couple.

Both of them hated it.

(And protested far too much.)

It hit a boiling point on a Tuesday.

Harua walked into their room and found Maki—again—sitting on his bed, wearing his hoodie, eating his leftover cookies.

"Maki," he said, trying to keep calm, "that's my hoodie."

Maki shrugged. "It's soft."

"And those are my cookies."

Maki blinked innocently. "Were. Past tense."

Harua narrowed his eyes. "Do you even like me, or are you just trying to systematically ruin my life?"

Maki stood up, hoodie sleeves swallowing his hands, and said, "If I wanted to ruin your life, you'd be crying by now."

Harua blinked.

"Wow," he said. "That was... unnecessarily hot."

Maki froze.

Harua froze.

The silence was immediate and painful.

"Wait—" Harua started.

Maki took a step back, pointing a finger. "You think I'm hot?"

"No," Harua said too fast. "I mean, that insult was hot. Not you. Just. The villainy."

"The villainy??"

"I'm panicking."

They didn't talk for three hours after that.

Not because they were mad.

Because they were both rewatching the scene in their heads like two idiots who didn't realize the tension had always been something more.

The next day, Maki left a note on Harua's bed.

"Next time you want your cookies untouched, try writing your name on them. Or label them 'not for hot people.' That'll confuse me more."

Harua stared at it for a solid five minutes before hiding it in his journal.

They fell into a rhythm after that. Still bickering. Still pretending.

But the edge softened.

Maki started borrowing Harua's hoodies more often—without asking, but Harua stopped caring. Harua started watching Maki's silly outfit shows and rating them 6/10 just to see Maki glare. They'd pass each other in the hallway and nudge shoulders instead of trading insults.

No one said anything.

Everyone knew.

Everyone except them.

Until one night, during a storm.

Harua was already half-asleep when Maki burst into their room, hair wet, holding his phone and a blanket like some sort of soggy gremlin.

"Power's out," Maki said. "All the other rooms are full of screamers. I'm staying here."

Harua scooted over in bed without a word.

They lay back to back, not touching, but aware.

So aware.

It was Maki who whispered first. "Do you still think I'm hot when I'm annoying?"

Harua blinked into the dark.

"I think," he said slowly, "you're annoying because you're hot."

Silence.

Then Maki laughed—quiet, real, vulnerable.

"You're the worst."

"I know."

"...But also kind of my favorite person."

Harua rolled over.

So did Maki.

They stared at each other in the dark, faces close, breath synced.

"Are we about to kiss or argue again?" Harua whispered.

Maki whispered back, "Both. Probably both."

The kiss came first.

Then the argument over who initiated it.

Then another kiss, to shut each other up.

Then the lights flickered back on and revealed both of them red-faced and grinning like idiots under the same blanket.

The next morning, Jo walked into the room, took one look at Harua wearing Maki's hoodie and Maki holding Harua's journal, and just slowly backed out.

"I knew it," Jo whispered to himself. "Enemies my foot."

They still bickered.

Still poked and teased and insulted each other for fun.

But now Maki left extra cookies in the drawer. Harua made room in the closet for Maki's "fashion emergencies." They still argued about towels—but now the winner got a kiss, and the loser still won.

Enemies, lovers.

Both.

Too far gone to turn back.

End.