Chapter Text
Moon slouched against the attic wall, his tall and lanky frame draped in a loose purple hoodie that swallowed his hands, the fabric shimmering faintly under the dim light. His hair — dyed a deep violet — fell in messy waves, as the crescent moon pendant he always wore shimmered in the attic's dusty sunlight.
Across the room, Kommit sat cross-legged on the floor, quietly humming a song and scribbling in a notebook. His black turtleneck clung to his slender frame, sleeves rolled up to reveal pale arms dotted with doodles of stars and tiny crescent moons.
"Whatcha doing? Drawing me?" Moon smirked, nodding at the notebook. "That's kinda pathetic."
Kommit snapped the book shut, his eyes glancing up at Moon's. "I-I'm not!" His voice cracked. "I was just— sketchin' other crap. Characters. Random faces. Whatever."
Moon leaned in, accompanied with a smirk forming at his lips. "Uh-huh. Sure."
"Besides," Kommit huffed, "why the hell are you so interested?"
"I'm just curious..." Moon slowly walked over, towering over him, casting a menacing shadow over the quiet roommate. Suddenly, Moon's hand darts out, snagging the sketchbook before Kommit can react.
"Wh- Hey!"
He flips through the pages with the reckless speed of someone who already knows what he'll find — personified objects, an absurd amount of night lamps, half-finished landscapes, weird furry robots and shadowed faces blurring past — until his fingers freeze. There, glaring back at him in smudged graphite: his own lazy grin, his hoodie strings tangled from Kommit's obsessive cross-hatching, his stupid, sleep-softened face captured a dozen times over like he was trying to memorize the angles.
Moon's fingers stilled on the page. For a heartbeat — two — the attic held its breath. Kommit's pencil rolled off the floorboards, the clatter too loud.
Then Moon's mouth curled, slow and inevitable, like a sunrise he'd been waiting to ruin.
"Damn, bro." He whistled, tapping the sketch of his own sleep-mussed hair, smudged from Kommit erasing too hard. "You're obsessed obsessed."
"It's— s-shut up!" Kommit spluttered, yanking the sketchbook back and clutching it to his chest like a shield. He hardened his grip, afraid Moon would lunge for it again, half afraid he'd see too much. He ducked his head, jaw set in a pout, and glared at the floor instead of Moon's smirk. "It's practice, okay?"
"Yeah, sure." Moon dropped beside him, their knees bumping. "And dude," he whistled, poking the sketchbook's spine. "You're holding that thing like it's your firstborn."
"Anatomy studies!" Kommit retorted. "Total coincidence it's all your dumb face!"
Moon's grin widened. "Sure, sure. And I totally believe you accidentally drew me five times—"
"You're a nightmare." Kommit kicked his shin. "Why did I decide to draw you again?"
"Because I'm art," Moon sighed, flopping backward onto the floor like a martyred saint. "A muse." He rolled onto his side, propping himself up on one elbow, head resting lazily on his palm. "A vision—"
"A menace," Kommit muttered.
"Just admit it." Moon's voice dropped to a purr, "You think I'm pretty."
Kommit defiantly waves his hand, dismissing the claim, but his lips formed a bright smile. "Pfft. Yeah, right. Keep dreaming."
-
The attic was their prison and their sanctuary. Moon had been dumped here first — a temporary "disciplinary measure" after one too many fights at school. Kommit arrived weeks later, hauled up by his dad, who declared the dusty room a fitting place for a "boy who lives in his head."
They'd circled each other like feral cats at first. Moon, all sharp edges and louder-than-life bravado; Kommit, quiet and coiled, hiding behind sarcasm and sketchpads. But nights in the attic were long, and loneliness had a way of sanding down walls.
One unusually cold evening, Moon caught Kommit shivering under his blanket, phone glow painting his jawline blue. Without a word, Moon peeled off his hoodie, still warm from his body, and tossed it at Kommit's lap. "Put this on. You look like you're gonna freeze to death."
Kommit's breath fogged between them as he shuddered. "Nah, I'm alright."
Moon rolled his eyes. "Well, too bad." He crossed the room in three strides, planted himself on Kommit's bedside, and pressed the hoodie firmly against his chest. "You're wearing it."
"N-No, I don't need it—"
"I'm not leaving you alone until you wear it."
Kommit froze. Then, with the reluctance of a cat being shoved into a sweater, he tugged the hoodie on. It drowned him — sleeves swallowing his hands, hem brushing his thighs. Moon's scent (caffeine and synthetic lavender, because of course he used bargain-bin laundry soap) clung to the fabric.
"...Happy?" Kommit muttered, voice muffled.
Moon hummed, lips quirking. "Cute." He retreated to his desk, the click of his laptop keyboard filling the silence.
Kommit stopped shivering. He occasionally glanced up from his phone to track Moon's movements — unaware that Moon's peripheral vision caught every flick of his eyes.
"Since you no longer look like you're about to get hypothermia," Moon said, still glued to his screen, "you planning on giving me back the hoodie, orrr...?"
"Of course I will, dumbass." Kommit said defensively, like Moon wasn't expecting the hoodie to ever return to him. He yanked the hoodie's strings tight, as if that could hide how he'd nuzzled into it. "Don't wanna smell like I drank eight liters of coffee anyway."
Moon chuckled. The keyboard clicks resumed.
Hours later, Moon finally saved his project and stretched. His gaze landed on Kommit — curled up like a cat, peacefully asleep, one sleeve pressed to his nose.
Moon hesitated. 'I'll just ask for it when he's awake,' he decided, biting back a smile.
-
Kommit's denials were art forms.
"You'd look good in skirts," Moon said one night, rummagging and flipping through Kommit's closet — a parade of baggy jeans and oversized hoodies.
He flung aside a hoodie, then another, and sighed. "Like, c'mon." He held up a faded blue shirt, wrinkling his nose.
"Spice up your closet a bit. Give it some..." He waved a hand, "Color. Variation. Whatever you artsy types call it."
A beat. Then Moon's eyes lit up.
"Oh shit! Imagine you in, like, a pink skirt." He jabbed a finger at Kommit's horrified face. "Not baby pink. pastel pink. The kind that screams femmy."
Kommit's soul exited the stratosphere. "Dude, what?? The hell makes you think I'd like skir- I am not a femboy!!!" he stuttered and slurred his words together, frantically trying to defend his integrity against Moon's crude comments.
"Never said you were." Moon leaves the poor flustured boy's closet alone, then holds up a choker with a tiny silver moon he grabbed from his desk. "But this'd kill on you."
Kommit glared, arms crossed like a petulant cat. He refuses to say a single word, hoping it would make Moon feel even just the slightest tinge of shame.
"No?" Moon's grin widened. "What a shame." He sighed, faux-tragic, before digging into his pocket — something jingled.
Kommit's ears perked up. Then flattened against his skull as realization hit.
"Ahhh, maybe this is more your type~" Moon cooed, shaking the bell-adorned collar like he was summoning a very disgruntled house pet. The ding-ding-ding echoed between them, obscene in its cheerfulness.
Kommit's soul briefly left his body. "Did you really have to stoop this low?" he whispered, voice hollow.
"Of course I do, shortie." Moon snorted, barely containing his laughter as Kommit visibly crumpled, groaning into his hands. "C'mon, it even matches your vibe! Jingly. Annoying. Cute as he—"
"I will bite you."
"Yeah, yeah."
-
Storms cracked the sky open one late March night. A bright flash followed by thunder rattled the attic window. Kommit slowly woke, his sleep interrupted by the raging tempest outside. Stifling upwards and rubbing his eyes, he noticed Moon is still awake, his eyes glued out the window.
"...Are you okay? Can't sleep?" Kommit mumbled, face filled with concern.
...
He slowly sits up, alerted by Moon's unusual silence. No jokes, no boldness, just a strange stillness, accompanied by the thud of rain battering the roof, shriek of wind clawing at the window, and the hollow whistle slipping through the cracks.
He then heads over to Moon's side of the room, worry plastered across his face, sitting beside him as the dampened moonlight shines the storm-filled night.
Moon, slightly startled by the sudden visitor, finally speaks as he lets out a frayed laugh. "Oh, yeah, I just... hate storms."
Kommit stared. Moon, the same person who teased him relentlessly, who spat curses like poetry... kept awake over a thunderstorm?
Without thinking, he scooted closer and wraps his arms around Moon's waist.
Moon stiffened. "What're you—"
"Shut up." Kommit pressed his face to Moon's back. "I'm only doin' this because you're... warm."
Moments pass, then Moon's hands covered his, grip tight. "...Thanks."
The two spent a few minutes hugging each other in silence, the ambiance filled only by the pattering of rain with the occasional distant thunder.
Time passed, then Moon's thumb brushed slow circles over Kommit's knuckles, his shoulders loosening like he'd shed an invisible weight.
He nudged back slightly, a silent 'I'm good', and Kommit's arms reluctantly slackened.
Moon twisted to face him. "Wow," he whispered, grin creeping in. "Never took you for a cuddler."
Kommit exhaled, long-suffering. "Bro. I comfort you, and this is the thanks I get?" He pouted, sighing for effect. "Also, It was a, uh... a tactical hug. Yeah."
"Mhmmm..." Moon's eyes glittered with mischief. "And the hand-holding? Also tactical?"
"I will push you out this window."
Moon laughed, bright and easy, the storm now just background noise. "Admit it. You've got a soft spot."
Kommit scowled. "You're insufferable, I swear."
"I know," Moon hummed, poking his cheek. "You've told me that at least a hundred times already."
Kommit smiled, content that his roommate is now back to his usual self.
Moon stretched out, limbs loose like the storm had wrung all the tension out of him. Kommit lingered upright for a bit longer, just long enough to watch Moon's breathing even out. 'Asleep. Finally.' Exchanging one last glance to the sleeping figure, he reluctantly makes his way to his bed on the other side of the room.
Kommit laid down and stared at the ceiling, replaying it all — Moon's rare honesty, the way he'd clung to Kommit's hands like an anchor. He rolled over, shoving his face into his pillow like it could smother the memory, the embarassment finally catching up to him.
Then, a rustle. In a slight panic, Kommit jolted up and turned his head towards his roommate. He squinted his eyes, trying and failing to see if Moon was secretly laughing at him. Unable to see properly in the 3 AM darkness, he quietly made his way to Moon's bed.
Moon was out cold, mouth slightly open, one arm flung over his face like even in sleep, he was dodging the spotlight. He reached over, hesitated, then flicked the snoring Moon's wrist — no reaction. A sigh of relief.
He went back to his bed and flopped back down, arm slung over his eyes, counting the seconds as raindrops tap on the roof just to avoid thinking about a certain someone.
...One last glance. Moon hadn't moved.
Victory.
Kommit let himself smile, just for a second, before rolling over. "...G'night, idiot," he muttered into the dark.
Outside, the rain gentled to a whisper.
-
The attic, once a dusty prison, had become their cluttered sanctuary. The walls were plastered with album covers, movie posters, and game art — a chaotic mosaic of their personalities. It was messy in a way that felt lived-in, their unspoken rule of "don't touch each other's shit" born from too many panicked searches for misplaced pencils or guitar picks.
Months together had sanded down their edges. They coexisted now: for better or worse. (Better: shared snacks and dumb jokes. Worse: Kommit's grumpy mornings, Moon's habit of singing and sudden bursts of energy at 3 AM.)
Moon stretched out on the floor, his long limbs sprawled like a starfish, his purple hoodie riding up to reveal a sliver of skin. Kommit clicked aimlessly on his laptop, both bored out of their skulls.
"What are you doing?" Moon tilted his head, trying to peek.
"Nothing," Kommit said, preemptively defensive. "And before you say anything — yes, I'm actually doin' nothing. Bored as hell."
Moon sighed. "Man. Guess no fun for me."
Silence.
The attic's clock ticked louder, counting their wasted seconds.
Then...
"Oh! I have an idea!" Moon launched upright and beelined for the forgotten box pile in the corner.
Kommit peered over his laptop. "What're you planning? If this is another 'let's mock Kommit's middle school photos' thing—"
"Already had my fun with that," Moon called, digging through junk. "A-ha!" He brandished an empty plastic bottle.
Kommit blinked. "...What?"
Moon shook the bottle like a maraca. "C'mon, you gotta know where I'm going with this."
"I really don't. Also—" Kommit thumbed at Moon's half-empty water bottle on the bedside table. "You have one right there."
Moon paused. "...This one's lucky," he declared, tossing it in the air. "Found it in the 'mystery box'. It's got vibes."
Kommit rolled his eyes but set his laptop aside as Moon plopped down facing him.
Moon laid the bottle between them, grinning. Kommit's eyes narrowed — then widened.
"...Truth or Dare?" he mumbled, like he couldn't believe he was asking.
"Truth," Moon said, smug.
Kommit froze. "Oh, uh... Wait, I don't— what's your favourite colour?" He rushed for a question, and fumbled.
Moon burst out laughing, sharp and bright. "Spring green, dumbass. I've already told you this before." He spun the bottle again, grin widening. "Now, my turn. Truth or dare?"
"Truth," Kommit said flatly. "And please don't come up with some weirdass shit..."
Moon tapped his chin, faux-thoughtful. "Hmm. Favorite genre?"
Kommit blinked. "...That's it?"
"What, you want me to ask something worse?"
"No." Kommit relaxed slightly. "Soundtracks, I guess? Ambient stuff? I don't have a favourite, just... preferences."
Moon nodded sagely. "Respectable."
Kommit snatched the bottle, spinning it clumsily. "Your turn. Truth."
"Bold of you to assume I'd pick truth," Moon teased — then immediately: "Shoegaze. Ambient's cool too, though. I'm a man of many genres." He preened, stretching. "Probably know more songs than you."
Kommit rolled his eyes, but his mouth twitched up. "Well, duh. Just look at your side of the room."
They both glanced at Moon's wall of album posters, the guitar propped in the corner, the small MIDI piano buried under hoodies. A tower of CDs teetered dangerously on his desk, sticky notes plastered with obscure band names peeling off the edges.
Moon grinned. "Exactly."
Kommit tossed the bottle back. "Show-off."
Moon caught it one-handed, barely glancing at it as his fingers snapped tight around the neck. "Now then..." He leaned forward, elbows on knees, bottle dangling between them like a pendulum. "Truth... or dare?" He lingered on the last word, grinning.
Kommit hesitated, fingers picking at a loose thread on his sweatpants. "Truth. Don't wanna do dares, I'd rather stay on the safe side." He forced a laugh, too quick, sugarcoating the blow: "I don't fully trust you, haha."
Moon's smirk didn't falter. But his fingers drummed faster on the bottle. "Oof. Three months and I'm still 'risky'?" He leaned in, eyes glinting. "Guess I'll just have to fix that, hm?" A pause. "What's one thing I do that actually annoys you?"
Kommit blinked. Moon's tone was playful, but his gaze scraped over him like a blade — focus unyielding, dissecting every twitch.
Meanwhile, Moon tossed the bottle between his hands, tapping it against the floor. A distraction. His ears were tuned to every shift in Kommit's voice.
Kommit glanced away, out toward the open window, the skies died in pink and orange. "...You take jokes too far, sometimes."
Click. The bottle paused mid-spin. Moon's thumb dug into the plastic. "Do I?"
"That time you kept correcting me," Kommit muttered, voice dull. "About the... y'know."
Moon tilted his head, bottle clicking between his fingers. "Oh? Which time?"
Kommit's nails dug into his palms. "You know. When I kept denying something, like usual, and you just... suddenly ran with it."
Moon arched a brow, waiting.
Kommit sighed, the words dragged out of him. "You just... agreed with all my stupid denials. At first it was whatever, I was even playin' along, but then—" His throat tightened. "You took it too far. To the point where it... felt real."
Moon scoffed, but his grip on the bottle stilled. "But it was a joke—"
"Yeah, but." Kommit finally turned to him, no longer staring at the dusk. "I asked you to stop. I was— I was begging, and you just..." His voice cracked. "Kept going. So I gave up."
The noise of the plastic bottle halted to a stop between them as Kommit's words hung in the air.
Moon set it down carefully. His fingers lingered on the plastic for a second too long before pulling away.
"...Huh."
The silence stretched, thick with something neither could name. Moon's thumb rubbed absently at his palm where the bottle had been, his usual smirk dissolving into something quieter.
"Guess I... missed that," he finally said, voice uncharacteristically soft. His eyes flicked to Kommit's face, then away just as fast - like looking at him directly might burn.
Kommit stared. This wasn't the reaction he expected. Where was the teasing? The deflection? The "aw, don't be so sensitive"?
Moon just... sat there, fingers drumming on his knee. The attic felt too small, the distant wind too loud.
"I'm not mad or waitin' for an apology," Kommit blurted, rubbing his arm. "You never did anythin' wrong because you would've never known." He wasn't used to being accepted for being... soft and vulnerable.
"I completely forgive you and, uh... yeah. Maybe it's... better you knew, I guess." He shuffled, knees pulling up, retreating into his hoodie, mumbling a barely audible apology.
Silence. Then —
"Still," Moon said, voice uncharacteristically quiet, "I'm sorry."
Kommit peeked up. Moon wasn't smirking. Wasn't performing. Just... looking at him, with something like guilt in the curve of his mouth.
And then... a smile. Small. Real. Kommit's chest fluttered.
Moon snatched the bottle, spinning it with renewed flair. "Anyway! Truth or dare, dummy. And pick dare. I know you wanna."
Kommit huffed, but his shoulders unclenched. "...Truth."
"Boo." Moon tossed a pillow at him. "Fine. Truth: What's the dumbest thing you've ever drawn of me?"
Kommit groaned, but he was smiling.
Moon watched the tension drain from Kommit's shoulders, watched his fingers uncurl from their death grip on his sleeves, and felt something in his own chest unclench. Without thinking, his mouth quirked up. Not a smirk, not a taunt, just a quiet, sunlit thing, brighter than any nightlight.
-
On a random spring sunset, the world was calm. The wind tugged playfully at their hoodies, the cold but refreshing breeze brushing against them as they sat on the attic roof. The vast plains below lit by a soft orange glow, the city lights flickering on and off like distant fireflies.
Kommit had suggested this spot weeks ago. Staying cooped up in the attic all day had left him restless, his fingers drumming walls and knees bouncing endlessly. One evening, he'd pointed to the small ledge just below Moon's window. "We could climb out there," he'd said. "Walk the bigger part of the roof. Get some damn air."
It became their favorite spot.
Kommit would often go up alone at night, lying flat on his back to trace constellations with his eyes, sketching away or humming whatever melody drifted into his head as the delicate spring breeze drowned his thoughts.
Moon claimed the roof for himself too on occasion. He'd sit on the cool tiles with his headphones sealing out the world, or strum nostalgic melodies with his guitar.
They'd made a rule early on: this roof would be alone time, a rare escape from their constant roommate proximity. "No interruptions," Moon had insisted, and Kommit had readily agreed, both needing moments to break away from their usual routine.
But these rules weather with time. First it was Kommit appearing with two stolen sodas, claiming he "just happened to be passing by." Then Moon began 'accidentally' leaving his spare earphones on the roof tiles to collect, only to sit down and tilt his head in silent invitation for a listen-along. Their carefully constructed solitude crumbled like old mortar, until neither could remember why they'd needed it in the first place. They liked each other's company, despite Kommit denying it every chance he gets.
The roof welcomed them like an old friend that evening. Kommit had climbed up first, as he often did lately, craving space to breathe and hum his newest obsession into the twilight. When Moon joined him later, he maintained careful distance - close enough for company, far enough that their sleeves wouldn't accidentally brush. The sunset bled across the sky in watercolor strokes, orange yielding to deepest blue as stars blinked awake one by one.
"That song again?" Moon asked when Kommit's humming paused. Three days straight - he'd been counting.
"Mhm." Kommit's fingers tapped the rhythm against his knee. " 'Color your Night'. Lyrics are perfect." A self-deprecating chuckle. "Shame my singing voice could make angels weep for all the wrong reasons."
Moon's smile lingered as he returned to stargazing, letting Kommit's revived humming fill the spaces between crickets and wind chimes. But as night fully embraced them, the melody died mid-verse.
Kommit had gone still, gaze locked on the city lights shimmering in the distance. Moon recognized that look - the way Kommit's eyes turned glassy when his thoughts dragged him somewhere far away.
"What's up?" Moon nudged, voice softer than he intended.
The wind carried Kommit's delayed response: "...Nothing." That hollow tone again, the one that meant everything and nothing all at once.
Moon's eyebrow arched. "You're a terrible liar," he said, voice teasing but his gaze sharp. "Come on. Out with it."
A pause. The wind tugged at Kommit's sleeves, as if urging him to speak.
"...You ever think about going back? Out there?" Kommit's voice was barely audible, his eyes still fixed on the horizon. His arm rested on his upright knee, fingers digging into the fabric of his jeans.
Moon went very still.
Kommit scratched his head, a nervous habit Moon had catalogued months ago. "I dunno. Maybe I just... miss my old life. But—" A hollow laugh. "It's not like I have much to go back to."
Moon sat up slowly, the tiles cold beneath his palms. This wasn't the Kommit he knew — the one who deflected with witty sarcasm, who rolled his eyes at sentiment. This Kommit was raw at the edges, his words quiet and weighty, like stones dropped into still water.
"Damn," Moon murmured, trying for levity. "9pm thoughts hitting early tonight, huh?" He nudged Kommit's shoe with his own.
Kommit's chuckle was thin, brittle. "Hah, yeah..." His fingers tightened around his knee.
The silence between them stretched, thick with things unsaid. Then...
"Sorry," Kommit muttered abruptly, rubbing his face. "Existential crisis shit. Ignore me." He forced a grin, the kind that didn't reach his eyes.
Moon studied him — the way Kommit's shoulders hunched, the tremor in his exhale, and felt something in his chest twist.
"I guess I've been... thinkin' too much about the future," Kommit admitted, lowering his knee with a sigh. He folded into himself, cross-legged now, elbow propped on one thigh, chin heavy in his palm.
A mechanical pencil appeared from his hoodie pocket. Click-click-click. The sound cut through the quiet as he exposed the graphite tip, then began scribbling aimless shapes onto the roof tiles.
"I..." His voice caught, pencil stuttering. "Really love you being here. With me." The lead snapped. Click-click. He resumed, pressing harder. "And I don't want you to leave. Or— or me to leave."
The graphite smeared as his hand shook. "The thought of going home is nice, but..."
"Bittersweet," Moon finished softly. He closed the distance between them, hand settling on Kommit's shoulder—warm, solid. "Don't worry," he murmured, giving a reassuring squeeze. "You won't lose me."
Kommit looked up then, eyes glassy in the moonlight — and lunged.
The hug was sudden, desperate. Moon stiffened. Kommit never initiated touch — then melted, arms circling his back. He felt Kommit's fingers clutch at his hoodie, the hitched breath against his collarbone. Moon patted his back, slow and steady, as if saying: Don't worry.
Time stretched, the wind holding its breath around them.
When Kommit finally pulled away, his "Thanks" was barely audible, but his gentle smile reached his eyes for the first time that night.
Moon smiled back before leaning in to press a kiss to Kommit's forehead. The contact lasted less than a heartbeat, but Kommit's cheeks flamed crimson anyway, his breath catching audibly.
Around them, the wind spun lazy circles, the now star-drenched sky humming above. The air had grown colder, the last remnants of daylight long vanished.
"...Let's get inside," Moon said abruptly, standing too fast and brushing nonexistent dust off his jeans. He was already halfway through the window when he called back, voice deliberately bright: "Hurry up, or I'll find a Kommit-popsicle out here by dawn!"
Kommit remained frozen, fingertips pressed to the spot Moon's lips had touched. His skin burned — how could he feel cold when his body was a live wire of warmth?
Eventually, he climbed back inside, pausing just beyond Moon's bed. Moon lay facing the wall, breaths deliberately slow. Asleep, Kommit assumed.
He inhaled sharply, lips parting around words that lodged in his throat. Instead, a soft smile bloomed as he turned away, tucking himself into bed. His mind replayed the night on a loop. Sleep came easier than it had in months.
Moon waited until Kommit's breathing evened out before murmuring into the dark:
"Love you too, idiot."
His own smile lingered as he finally let go, his consciousness drifting into dreams.