Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Dazai—“ Oda groans, rubbing the back of his neck, “I know you’re still torn up over Sasaki—but we have class tomorrow.”  

“Easy for you to say!” The brunette dramatically claps a hand over his forehead “You already have love, Odasaku—I’m going to die alone .”

“Sooner rather than later, hopefully,” Ango quips, not bothering to look up from his phone. “I’m still not sure how you roped me into this.” 

“I blackmailed you!” Dazai reminds him, mockingly cheerful as ever. 

“...Right,” Ango sighs, rolling his eyes. It’s been a long month.

Oda would never admit it aloud, but he’s kind of glad Sasaki dumped Dazai. She was gorgeous, sure, and definitely smart—but... Dazai was the sort of person that needed to be looked after , and she seemed far more interested in what she could do for herself.

“And why are we going all the way to Motomachi for this?” Ango looks like he’d rather be locked in a room with a crocodile at this point.

“Because , Odasaku’s meeting up with some friends from Kanagawa Academy.” 

Ango frowns, “Ozaki-san’s school?”

“That’s the one!”

Odasaku’s girlfriend was a year ahead of them, and had already gone off to university in Tokyo—but, much to Dazai’s delight, Odasaku had kept up with the friends he’d made through her at Kanagawa.

And Kanagawa, blessed be, was co-ed.

“Would it kill you to go without a girlfriend for more than a month?” Ango groans, but he knows his friend isn’t listening anymore. 

“There should be three girls, and one guy--”

“A guy is coming?” Dazai frowns, casting an annoyed glance at Oda, “Why?”

Oda shrugs. “I met most of the first and second years I know through Kouyou’s little brother—they're his friends, really.” 

Well—if that beautiful bastard was the one bringing Dazai’s rebou— 

—Er, the future love of his life , then Dazai supposed he could tolerate his presence.

 “Does he know he’s offering them up to a freak?” 

“That would sting Ango, it really would, but, well...” 

“Well what , Dazai?” 

“I was able to blackmail you, wasn’t I?” Sometimes, Oda honestly does wonder why he didn’t choose a slightly more peaceful social circle.

 They round the corner, and Dazai can see a cluster of highschool students standing in front of a cafe, wearing the same uniform Kouyou-san used to wear. The girl on the far left is cute enough, with long, jet black hair and gray eyes—but she seemed a bit reserved .

 Standing next to her was a blonde wearing sunglasses. She didn’t seem nearly as shy, but there was something just...a little intense about her. And then, to her right— 

Dazai feels his jaw go slack. Fiery red hair, piercing blue eyes, high cheekbones, a sharp jaw— 

—Wait—

Now, Dazai would be the first to tell anyone that he was generally pretty good at playing it cool—and he is , right now his expression is fairly neutral. But staring at this very beautiful, very male student standing in front of him, Dazai comes to a jarring realization.

He was definitely, absolutely bisexual. A pretty big thing to have come smashing into your life on a Thursday afternoon—but Dazai could handle that. 

“Is—" Dazai clears his throat, tugging at his collar.  “Is that--?”  

“Chuuya? Yeah.” 

Chuuya .

They finally meet up with the group on the street, and the nape of Dazai’s neck is sweating. Should that be happening? It’s September, right? 

“Oda-kun!” The redhead grins, walking over to clap Dazai’s friend on the arm. “It’s been a while—Ane-san said your exams went well.”

His voice isn’t really high or deep, but expressive , and Dazai feels instantaneously jealous of the familiarity between the two of them. What would he sound like, saying ‘Osamu-kun’? At first Dazai dismisses the thought, because that’s ridiculous—this isn’t some Otome game. But then he really thinks about it, and suddenly it feels like it’s absolutely sweltering . 

‘That was so cool, Osamu-kun!’ 

‘Y-you look nice today, Osamu-kun—’

‘O-Osamu-kun, please accept my—’

“Yeah, they turned out pretty good. I’m hoping to be able to join her next year.”

“That would make her happy—I think she gets a little lonely in the city.” Chuuya shrugs, rocking back on his heels. “But you didn’t hear it from me.” 

Oda smiles indulgently. “My lips are sealed.” 

“Anyway—“ Chuuya’s eyes slide over to Oda’s friends, and Dazai still hasn’t mastered the art of breathing properly “We haven’t met.” 

“Ango Sakaguchi—Oda and I have been classmates for quite a while. Pleasure to meet you.” Ango bows his head formally, reaching forward to shake Chuuya’s hand. Chuuya tilts his head to the side, adorably baffled by Ango’s formality, got, the way he wrinkles his nose is so—

“—and you are?” Dazai snaps to attention to see that Chuuya is staring right at him, and suddenly his mouth feels like sandpaper.

  Jesus . Who has eyes like that?! 

“Ozai—“ 

“Huh?” 

“Dazoo—”

“I’m sorry,” Chuuya tilts his head to the side , “ what?”  

“Dazai Osamu.” He croaks. 

Everyone is staring at him, and his heart is pounding. Luckily, the newcomers just seem confused, but Oda and Ango? They’re staring at him like he’s lost it . 

“...I apologize,” Dazai smiles, attempting to turn up the charm as much as he can, “I think I just had a small stroke.”

“That’s—“ Chuuya’s face suddenly slips into this confused, amused smile, and Dazai wants to explode into a burst of cherry petals like it’s a shoujo manga. “That’s okay. But your name is Dazai, right?” 

“It is,” they shake hands, and Chuuya’s fingers are warm . 

“Well,” Chuuya gives his hand another squeeze before letting him go, and Dazai’s hand hovers in the air for a second before it drops limply to his side, “It’s nice to meet you—I’m Chuuya Nakahara.”

Nakahara? Oda leans in to whisper an explanation in Dazai’s ear— “Different fathers.” 

Nakahara . It’s a nice name. It feels nice on Dazai’s tongue when he tries it out under his breath. And he’s pretty sure a lot of other things about the redhead would feel nice on his— “Well, this is Higuchi-san and Akutagawa-san.” 

“Where’s Yuan?” 

Who?  

“She’s coming.”

“It’s a pleasure,” Ango reaches out to greet the two girls. “No, the pleasure is all ours—“ “Please, call me Gin!” Dazai follows the motions of the introductions, but he’s way too focused on the way the autumn breeze plays through Chuuya’s hair to care.

Dazai is running through a thousand different scenarios Under which he could weasel his way into getting the boy’s phone number, excuses to meet up, future marriage proposals— 

“Chuuya!” A third girl, one with pink hair who is even smaller  than Chuuya, runs towards them. She’s cute, her uniform is slightly askew, and she looks like she’s just rushed across town. “Sorry!” She wheezes when she catches up, bending over to pant with her hands on her knees. “Club activities ran over, and I missed the bus--” 

“ Relax, Yuu-chan.” 

...Yuu-chan?  

Chuuya places his hands on her shoulders, rubbing them gently before pulling her against his side in a one-armed embrace. “You didn’t have to rush, we’re just grabbing some dinner.” 

“I didn’t want everyone to wait on me!” Chuuya rolls his eyes, but his smile is affectionate.

Chuuya looks over at them, his arms still around the girl’s shoulders. “Oda, you’ve already met—"

“It’s nice to see you again, Oda-kun!” Dazai’s eyes narrow. 

“--but this is Yuan—my girlfriend.” 

Record scratch.

Dazai’s life is over . It’s over and he has this horrible, cute, apparently considerate girl to blame for stomping on his hopes and dreams. Yuan bows deeply, the sleeves of her sweater slipping over her wrists. “Sorry you had to wait on me!” 

Dazai hates her.  

“It’s not a problem,” Ango smiles politely, pointedly elbowing Dazai in his side when his friend remains frozen in shocked silence. 

“Yep!” Dazai chokes out, trying his very best not to look like he’s imagining the girl’s fiery demise, because he is-- “Not a problem at all!” 

Dinner is excruciating .

Dazai prefers to think of himself as an optimist, really—but right now drowning himself the moment he gets home seems like the only option. 

You see, he had been hoping that Chuuya had just been lucky enough to inherit his sister’s good looks only to have a shitty personality.  

But the universe hates him, because Chuuya is... 

Perfect. So perfect that it’s almost annoying . He’s got a sense of humor, and a laugh that makes Dazai’s stomach flip. He’s straight forward, but he isn’t stupid either.  Not to mention that he’s decent , and it’s refreshing , goddamnit.

But the entire time Dazai is noticing all of these wonderful, endearing things about the redhead, he has that simpering jezebel clinging to his arm. She offers to get a refill of Dazai’s soda for him when she gets up, smiling politely. 

Jesus Christ, what a monster . 

“So, you’re third years?” 

Oda nods, eyeing the way Dazai is aggressively picking the sesame seeds off of his burger out of the corner of his eye. “Yeah—we graduate this spring.” 

“That’s exciting!” Yuan beams, “It feels like I’ve got so long to go, I’ve only just started...”

Dazai bites back a sneer . 

A first year?   The love of his life, stolen away by a first year who probably has no idea how to please a man?  Dazai doesn’t know how either, but that’s beside the point. 

His eyes snap to Chuuya’s, “What year are you, Nakahara-kun?”

Chuuya blinks, a little surprised—Dazai hasn’t directly addressed him since his cardiac event outside the cafe. “Oh—I’m a second year.” 

Dazai smiles, his eyes flashing with a sense of newfound opportunity, “Ahhhh, I see. Have you taken your practice entrance exams yet?”

Chuuya shakes his head, frowning a little as stress starts to creep into his eyes. “I’m signed up to take them next month—” 

“And he’s been studying super hard!” Yuan smiles encouragingly, squeezing his arm. 

“Right, well—if you want any advice from your senpai, you can always ask.” Ango gives Dazai a look .

“Do we really count as senpais? We don’t go to the same schoo—!“ Ango chokes when Dazai crams a handful of french fries into his mouth, effectively shutting him up. 

Chuuya bites his lip—god, is he doing this on purpose ?— “I’ve been going to cram school, but I kind of hate it.”

“Group environments aren’t for everyone,” Dazai nods sagely while Ango wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, glaring daggers at him. “Sometimes one-on-one tutoring works better.” 

“Yeah,” Chuuya sighs, his eyes conflicted, “I don’t think my dad would pay for that.”

“He sort of expects me to be able to figure it out on my own...” Chuuya sighs and shrugs. “I’ll figure it out.” 

“Well, I could always tutor you.” Now Oda and Ango are both staring. Dazai is notoriously unhelpful. Just last month, he made Atsushi take him to Disneyland to help him study for a math quiz . 

“You would do that?” Chuuya blinks, eyes wide with surprise. “I can’t ask you to—”

“Really, it’ll help me refresh my memory,” Dazai beams, “I have a second round of exams in the winter.” 

Chuuya tilts his head to the side. “A second round?”

“Dazai had the top scores in the prefecture,” Oda explains slowly, staring at Dazai, clearly confused, “he’s been invited to apply for Kyoto University and Tokyo University.” The top two universities in Japan, no big deal, really.

Dazai is preening . “And you’d help me?”

Dazai nods, “Any friend of Odasaku’s is a friend of mine, that’s what I always say. And like I said, it benefits me as well.” Oda and Ango are staring, because Dazai has never , ever said that. 

“Well...” Chuuya smiles, looking relieved , “that would be great, thanks.” 

“It’s no big deal...” Dazai waves it off, but he has a Cheshire Cat grin in place. “You can reward me with snacks or something, if you really feel the need.”

“I can manage that!” 

“Thank you so much for helping him, Dazai-san!” His smile fades a little at the sound of his nemesis .

“Like I said,” Dazai repeats flatly, “it’s no big deal.” 

Later, when they part ways, Dazai stops Chuuya with a hand on his shoulder. 

“Hmm?” Chuuya turns his head, tilting his chin up to meet Dazai’s gaze. 

“Don’t you need my number?” 

“Oh!” Chuuya fumbles in his pocket, “Right!”

He pulls out his phone, offering it to Dazai. Dazai has to pause and glare at the screensaver—Yuan hugging Chuuya from behind at what looks like a rock concert—before entering his number and sending himself a message. “There” He hands it back “We can work out the details later.”

“Right, thanks.” Chuuya takes the phone back, tucking it back into his jacket before looking up at Dazai with this smile that makes him feel winded . “It’s really cool of you, to help me out like this. See you soon!” He runs off to rejoin his friends, and Dazai is floating.

It’s really cool of you—

Really cool. 

The most beautiful person in the world thinks Dazai is cool . 

The swelling, romantic music playing in Dazai’s head is brought to a halt by Ango’s stupid, annoying voice. “Okay, what the HELL , Dazai?!”

“What?” Dazai blinks, turning around to see both of his friends staring at him—well, Ango is glaring , while Oda just looks concerned— “I’m being nice to Kouyou-san’s little brother!” 

“You acted bizarre after you DRAGGED us out here!” “I got caught up in the atmosphere!”

“WHAT ATMOSPHERE—?!” Ango cuts himself off when Oda taps his arm gently. 

“We have school in the morning, remember? We should get back.” 

“...Right,” Ango relents, his shoulders slumping. He turns his glare back to Dazai. “I’m never doing that for you again, blackmail or not.”

The wall back to their side of town is filled with Ango grumbling and Dazai sighing while staring at the moon, and Oda stays quiet until he and Dazai split off, walking towards their neighborhood. 

“Osamu?” 

“Hmm?” 

“I don’t know how to put this, so I’m just gonna say it--are you sure you’re over Sasaki?” 

Dazai freezes, looking over at his friend with a surprised snort. “What?”  

“You acted so weird today—you don’t have to push yourself back out there, there are always gonna be girls out there for you.” 

“I—?” Dazai sputters.

He looks around, like there must be some hidden cameras, because this seems like a huge joke . And yes, Dazai had been crazy about his ex, but...after today, he could say pretty decisively that he had moved on. But...would it hurt to let his friend think that he hadn’t?

“You know what, you’re right,” Dazai nods emphatically, hooking his arm through Oda’s. “I thought I was ready, but really I should focus on friendship right now.” 

“I was wondering if that was what you were thinking about when you offered to help Chuuya—it wasn’t like you.” 

Dazai gasps, clutching his chest in makeshift shock, “What do you mean?! I’m helpful!” 

“You never offer help up to strangers.” Oda shakes his head “But hey, if making a new friend helps you move on, you picked a good one—Chuuya is a great guy.” 

Dazai smiles softly. “He really is , isn’t he?” Dazai sighs, his heart skipping a beat when he remembers the way the redhead smiled at him before. “But that girlfriend of his...” Dazai makes a face.

“What? Yuan? I like her.” 

“I don’t like the ‘cute little first year’ act.” 

“...but she is a first year—“ 

“—and how long have they been dating, anyway? Couldn’t be that long, we’ve only been in school for a month—“ 

“Around a year and a half, I think?”

Dazai practically chokes on his own spit.  “What?!” 

“They went to the same middle school, I’m pretty sure.”

Well. Dazai’s eyes narrow with determination as they stop in front of his house. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Odasaku!” 

“See you—?” Oda blinks, watching Dazai March towards his front door like a soldier going to war. What the hell had gotten into him?

Chapter Text

The next few days are torture . Dazai spends the entire weekend glancing at his phone, making sure the battery is charged, that the sound is on— And in the interim, he even tries to convince himself that maybe he was just a little messed up over the breakup.

Because really, who falls that hard at first sight? For a guy , one he doesn’t even know? He was probably just desperate, that had to be it. He even made a point of staring at Odasaku extra hard when he got out of the shower when Dazai stayed over on Saturday, and... Nothing. Objectively, Oda is a fit, good looking guy. A specimen among men. So if Dazai was bi, he would feel something, wouldn’t he? 

When Dazai’s phone does ring on Sunday night, he falls out of his bed flailing to grab it off the nightstand, then has to coach himself to wait .

Nakahara Chuuya. 

Just seeing his name on the screen has Dazai flailing to find his composure. He stares at it for so long, he realizes, like an idiot , he let the thing go to voicemail. 

“SHIT—!” 

“OSAMU! KEEP IT DOWN!”

“SON OF A FUCKING BITCH—!”   

“OSAMU. LANGUAGE.”

After several minutes of cursing and yelling back and forth with his guardian downstairs, Dazai is sitting at his desk, tapping his fingers nervously as the dial tone rings.

“Hello?”

“Nakahara-san!” Dazai sounds calm, collected, very cool . “I saw that I missed your call.” 

“Sorry—was it a bad time?” Dazai waves it off, then remembers Chuuya can’t actually see him.

 “No—I was just in the shower.” Yes. Put that image in his head. “Did you come up with some times?” 

“I was thinking Wednesdays and Sunday’s if that’s okay? I have practices on my other days.” 

“Absolutely!”

“So I’ll see you this Wednesday, then?” 

“Yeah—is four o clock okay? I can text you my address.” 

“That works for me!”

The next morning, as student body president, Dazai moved all student government meetings from Wednesdays to Thursdays. It was a scandal , but sacrifices.

When asked what the meaning of all of this was by his principal, Dazai responded that he was unavailable due to a “grave change in personal circumstances” and may or may not have implied that his uncle was dying . But it was fine . “You sure do look nice today.”

It’s a pointed question from Ango, and Dazai shrugs it off, “You think so? I thought I might like parting my hair this way.”

“Did you iron your uniform?”   

“Don’t be ridiculous Ango,” Dazai smiles smugly, “I don’t know how.”

“Then did you get it dry cleaned?!” 

That question goes unanswered .

It’s Wednesday.  

The train ride to the other side of town feels slow , and Dazai has plenty of time to remind himself that honestly, this was probably just a fluke. He’ll go in, he’ll get it out of his system, and he’ll skip out on the tutoring after a week. 

Really.

Honestly, Sasaki was the first girl Dazai really cared about—and the breakup had been pretty devastating. Like, ‘stay in bed for a week and throw a bag of potato chips at your uncle’s head when he tries to check on you’ kind of devastating.  Before her, it had just been a revolving door of girls, and after this, he’s probably going back to that— 

Dazai is on Chuuya’s doorstep. 

He swallows hard, and rings the bell. 

He hears a dog barking on the other side of the door, some scattered talking, and then, finally, the door swings open to reveal a tall, foreign looking man in his middle years, staring at Dazai with a raised eyebrow. 

“Dad!” Oh no, that voice— “I said I would get it!”

Chuuya pokes his head around his father, practically dwarfed by the man—but they have the same cheekbones, and the same shape to their eyes. “Hey, come on in.”

Oh. Oh no . Not a fluke, not a fluke, not a fluke— 

“Dazai?”

 Even his father seems confused. “You alright, son?”

Chuuya’s still in his uniform pants, but he’s changed out of his jacket and tie, throwing on an oversized cardigan over it, and— 

God, he’s— 

“I’m fine,” Dazai croaks, stepping inside, “Just had something in my throat, sorry.” 

“Hope it wasn’t another stroke.”

“Ha,” Dazai forces out a laugh, stepping around Chuuya’s dad— seriously how could a man well over 6 feet tall have a son that small? — “I wouldn’t be so lucky.” 

“Huh?” 

“Nothing!” 

Chuuya’s room is surprisingly tidy for a guy, but band posters line the walls.

“You’re really into music, huh?” Dazai comments, dropping down next to the table on the floor. “I haven’t even heard of half of them.”

“Yeah,” Chuuya nods, bringing his backpack over, “Yuan and I have a list we’re gonna see together.” Dazai can’t stop himself from making a face

“What?” Chuuya blinks, “Do you not like concerts?”  

“Huh? Oh, no—“ Dazai shakes his head quickly, “I’m just jealous, it sounds fun.”

“Then you should go to one, sometime.” Thankfully, Chuuya leaves it at that. 

“So—“ Dazai opens his bag. “Let’s get started.”

It turns out, Chuuya isn’t below average in anything—really, he excels with languages, so Dazai ends up focusing on two subjects—math and history. And he actually does make an effort, because doing well extends this little arrangement as far as possible. “What about this?”

Chuuya leans over to show his answer to Dazai, and in the process he gets so close that his hair brushes against Dazai’s cheek—Dazai can smell his shampoo . “Did I get it?” 

Dazai has to fight to master his voice, “Let’s see...” he lifts the paper, using it to hide his face.

God, his cheeks are on fire . Has it always been this hard to get air? And why does he smell so fucking good? Dazai has never in his life thought another guy smelled nice before this moment.

“Yeah, you got it,” Dazai smiles like he isn’t in the middle of an identity crisis, handing it back to him. “You picked it up fast.”

Chuuya looks a little surprised, and Dazai cocks his head to the side, “What?” 

“It’s stupid,” Chuuya looks away, “I’ll start the next one." 

“It doesn’t sound stupid.” 

“Well, it is—” 

“Spill it.”

Chuuya sighs. “I just never thought I was that smart.” 

Dazai frowns. “Why?” It sounds like a simple question, but it isn’t . “You showed me your transcript—it’s good.” 

“Well...” Chuuya rubs the back of his neck. “Not as good as my sister’s. And my dad...God, you didn’t come here to my my therapist, I should just—"

“Hey,” Dazai stops him there. “Look, you don’t have to tell me—but I get family problems.” And for the first time that day, he really is being completely sincere. 

“...My dad doesn’t really get along with Ane-san.” Chuuya glances away. “And if I’m better than her at something...it makes him happy.”

Dazai frowns, “That’s...unfair. But it doesn’t mean you’re not ‘smart’ either.”

“Yeah,” Chuuya sighs, “Yuan always says that.” 

Dazai’s teeth grind together. That stupid, supportive little cretin—

“Well, she’s right.” Dazai smiles stiffly. “Let’s go on to the next one.”

Dazai stays until 7 p.m.—three uninterrupted hours of mercilessly dragging the redhead through calculus until Chuuya wanted to pull his hair out.  But Dazai also learned about his favorite movies. His hobbies. More of the bands he likes. Really, this is stupid, they don’t even have—anything in common . 

Chuuya likes thrillers, Dazai likes comedies. Chuuya likes sports and music, Dazai likes books and video games. But when he walks him out to the front door, Chuuya smiles at him again, and Dazai feels warm all the way down to his toes. “Thanks again, Dazai.”

“Yeah,” Dazai smiles back, and his heart is in his /throat/, “you’ll make it up to me at some point, I’m sure.” Chuuya’s eyes catch the light from the setting sun, and Dazai feels like he’s actually having a stroke. 

“Have a nice night.” Nope. One hundred percent, definitely not a fluke.

Dazai manages a strangled, “Okay,” (which was very uncool) as the door slams shut, and he stands on the sidewalk for a minute, stupefied. 

When he gets home, Dazai ignores the note on the table and heads to his room. On a whim, he pulls up the movie Chuuya said was his favorite. Some foreign thriller with a lot of plot twists, never something that Dazai would have picked. And turns out—he actually loves it. 

“Well,” Dazai says to himself later in bed, staring at the ceiling, “I never said I was a good person.”  Because Dazai is definitely, without a doubt , about to steal someone’s boyfriend.

Chapter Text

That Sunday, Dazai arrives just after lunch. It’s a little smoother this time—he doesn’t go into cardiac arrest on the doorstep, he even makes it all the way to Chuuya’s room without pausing to admire his eyes. And then, Dazai launches his campaign. 

It starts out simple.

Dazai isn’t unfamiliar with the art of wooing—though usually, he’ll admit, it’s easier than this, most girls want him on sight—and it always begins with the first step. 

Hair. 

When he’s correcting Chuuya’s answers, he runs his fingers through it, leaving it pushed back and askew. Typically, the ruffled look is all it takes—but, oddly enough, Chuuya is looking at him even less than before.  

Dazai frowns. 

“Did I use the wrong theorem here?”

Time to move on to plan B. “It's a little warm in here, don’t you think?” 

Chuuya doesn’t look up, “I didn’t notice.”

“Well,” Dazai sighs, tugging at his sweater, “the chibi doesn’t have any body fat to keep him warm, he probably gets cold easily.” 

That makes Chuuya’s eyes snap up from his notebook,  his eyes narrowing. “...Hah?” 

Dazai smiles innocently, unbuttoning the cuffs of his shirt. He rolls his sleeves up to the elbow, the muscles in his forearms flexing as he moves his backpack from one side of the table to the other (super necessary, he isn’t performing some sort of bizarre mating dance in the middle of studying, excuse you) “I said you were super fit!”

“No," Chuuya’s eyes do seem to linger on Dazai’s arms, but he doesn’t look flushed or distracted (which is where Dazai normally is, at this point in a seduction), just confused, “I was talking about the chibi part.” 

“Well,” Dazai grins crookedly, biting back a laugh. “How tall are you, to be exact?” Chuuya glares . 

“160. Does that matter?” 

“No, no—“ (really, Dazai is thrilled with the height difference, and has an entire LIST of ways he wants to utilize it once they’re—) “But I’m 21 centimeters taller, so...” he shrugs. “Perspective.”

Chuuya gives him a pointed glare, and for a moment Dazai wonders if he pushed it too far—but then he just rolls his eyes and looks back down. “I was expecting you to have a little less weight on you, to be honest.” 

“Me?” Dazai claps a hand over his mouth with mock offense.

“Are you calling me fat?” 

“You know I’m not, I just—“ Chuuya gestures vaguely to Dazai’s arms, not looking up. “You know.” Dazai’s surprise fades into a smirk, and he leans a little closer as he looks over Chuuya’s work. 

“Oh,” he rests his hand on the table, close to Chuuya’s. “Up until this year, I was third baseman on my school’s baseball team.” 

Chuuya honestly does look surprised. “I never thought you played sports.” 

“Because I’m the ‘bookish’ type?” Now Chuuya looks sheepish. “How presumptuous.”

And maybe Dazai doesn’t make much headway in opening Chuuya up to the wonders of his physique that day—but they do take a break to play video games for an hour. And Dazai doesn’t think he’s laughed so hard in years, as he does when he sees that the chibi is a sore loser.

“Dammit!” Chuuya groans, mashing the buttons angrily as he watches his character freeze up during Dazai’s combo, unable to Block before his health is completely gone “That’s CHEATING!” 

“I memorized the glitch!” Dazai grins, wiping tears of laughter from his eyes. “That’s skill!”

“Not if I can’t do anything about it!” But when Dazai starts laughing so hard that he has to clutch his stomach, Chuuya can’t help but laugh with the bastard. There’s more studying later, and Chuuya’s mother brings up Katsudon. 

It’s the best day Dazai has had in a long time.

They settle into that routine—and a rapport with each other that Dazai initially thinks might be annoying for Chuuya, but then he notices the way the redhead always seems to be biting back a smile when they argue.  

God, he really is perfect , isn’t he?

It’s after nearly six weeks of this, when a meteorite comes crashing down to destroy the little peep of joy that Dazai has managed to plant in his weekends. 

Mrs. Nakahara lets him in instead of Chuuya, and Dazai hears annoying, distinctly feminine laughter. “Dazai?” He glances up to see Chuuya’s mother watching him with concern. “Are you alright? You looked so upset, just now...” 

Dazai forces himself to smile and wave it off, “Thanks, Mrs. Nakahara—just a sudden migraine, that’s all!” When he goes up to Chuuya’s room, it’s even worse.

They’re on Chuuya’s bed, with Yuan leaning against his knees while they watch a movie together. They look so relaxed, so natural , and—for a moment, to Dazai’s surprise, it kind of hurts . 

“Sorry to interrupt the fun,” he drawls, flicking into the light switch.

They jump apart, with the gremlin blushing and adjusting her hair, while Chuuya just looks a little sheepish. “Is it noon already?” He frowns, checking his watch. “Sorry, we lost track of time.” 

“It’s fine,” Dazai smiles cheerily, but his eyes are sharp as Yuan grabs her coat.

“I would be focusing on the movie too.” The subtle dig goes right over Chuuya’s head, but Yuan pauses, her eyes snapping to meet Dazai’s. Dazai just makes his smile that much brighter. “Should I let you finish, or...?” 

Yuan opens her mouth, but Chuuya answers first. “No, it’s fine—honestly, we shouldn’t have started it to begin with.” He rolls out of bed with a yawn. “Oh—and Yuu wanted to ask you something.” 

 She didn’t look so eager now . Dazai smiles down at her, his eyes instantly acidic. “Fire away, Yuu-chan.”  

She bites her lip. “Chuuya said you were really good, and I was wondering...” she glances over at Chuuya shyly, and the redhead reaches over to squeeze her hand reassuringly. 

Dazai wants to puke , preferably on her . 

“Please!” she bows for emphasis— “I really need help on my English test!” 

No. No no no no. Every unhelpful, bratty part of Dazai’s brain is screaming ‘you’re on your own, buster!’ But Chuuya is watching, and... 

“I...” Dazai is pretty sure his eye is twitching “it would be my pleasure .” 

Yuan slumps with relief. “Thank you so much!” 

They spend the first couple of hours that Dazai is there running through vocabulary and verb conjugation work Yuan—and Chuuya notices Dazai’s teaching style is... 

...Very different when it comes to his girlfriend. With Chuuya he’s patient, he explains everything over and over.

With Yuan... 

“I don’t get it—why doesn’t it just—“ 

“Because it’s a hanging participle, okay? We went over that five minutes ago. Were you paying attention?” 

“I was!” “Then I don’t see the problem.” She frowns, but instead of snapping back, she just tries again. 

Asshole.

“Don’t you think you’re being harsh?” Chuuya mutters at one point when she disappears to the bathroom. “When I mess up, you—”

“Everyone learns differently,” Dazai’s voice is instantly lighter as soon as she walks out of the room, and he bumps Chuuya with his shoulder. “Some people need more of a push.” 

Chuuya frowns, his brow knitting together. “And you think Yuu is one of them?” Dazai rolls his eyes. He really hates that stupid, cutesie nickname. 

“She knows the rules, she just uses them inconsistently because she isn’t focusing.” Dazai nods, turning his head. They’re so close that when he does so, his nose brushes against Chuuya’s cheek—and he feels the other boy stiffen. “Hey, you’ve got something in your face.” 

Chuuya frowns. “I do—where?” 

“I’ve got it—“ Dazai reaches over. His thumb brushes across Chuuya’s cheek, and the skin underneath seems to flush instantly under his touch. They make eye contact, and for just a second Dazai thinks he sees something there, that maybe he has a chance , and then—

“Hey, I—” Yuan’s voice makes Chuuya freeze.

Dazai leans back, smiling at the girl like he was definitely not doing something he shouldn’t have been doing, and holds up the piece of fuzz between his fingers “The chibi had some lint on his face. Shall we?” Yuan sits down, and Chuuya is rubbing his cheek absentmindedly.

 After that near debacle, Dazai finishes tutoring Yuan at around two, and when Chuuya comes back from walking her out, Dazai is flopped back and stretched out on the floor lazily. “Hey,” Chuuya nudges his head with his toe, and Dazai cracks an eye open, “thanks for helping her out—you didn’t have to.”

 Dazai smiles, and there’s something behind his eyes that Chuuya can’t read, “I know,” he sighs, “I’m just a nice person, I guess.” 

“Well, I owe you.” 

“I already told Nakahara-san, I get something out of this too.” 

“Helping me, because I’m studying for the same exam. I know first year English isn’t the same...” Chuuya mutters, struggling to voice what he's trying to say.

“Well, I suppose I’m just generous.” 

“And you can just call me Chuuya, you know.” Dazai’s eyes snap open. “After how much we’ve hung out lately, I’d like to think we’re friends.” 

Friends. Progress. Victory is in sight.

“Dazai?” 

“Alright, Chuuya.” Dazai closes his eyes again, biting his lip to hide a smile of pure joy.  

“Anyway—I’m not sure if you’re still hungry, but I figured I could get you some lunch or something.” Chuuya doesn’t notice it, but Dazai is silently vibrating with excitement.

They go out to a small Korean place near Chuuya’s house, sitting on the same side of the booth so they can watch the baseball game playing on tv. Dazai actually seems into it, his eyes lighting up after every play.

And Chuuya orders half the menu “Was the chibi that hungry?”

“Half of it is for you, ‘ya know.” Chuuya rolls his eyes. “I thought after I let you call me by my name, you’d drop the chibi thing.” 

“Well, I suppose I could...” Dazai hums like he absolutely, definitely isn’t going to be doing that. Chuuya huffs.

They’re eating and watching the game after that—and Chuuya is so focused on his food, he doesn’t even notice the way he’s started to lean against Dazai’s side a little. But the other boy doesn’t seem to mind, really. “Hey—I was wondering..."

“Hmm?” 

“Why did you quit baseball?” 

Dazai pauses, his chopsticks halfway to his mouth. “...It’s...not really a great story.”  

“Oh,” Chuuya looks up at him, his eyes a little wide. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”  

“Uh...” Dazai rubs the back of his neck. “It’s just kinda...heavy.” 

Chuuya shrugs, looking down at his food. “You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to, but I can handle ‘heavy.’”  

Dazai takes a deep breath. “Well...I was in a car accident in the spring.” Dazai rubs the side of his neck, remembering. “I was hurt pretty badly.” 

Chuuya looks back at Dazai, his eyes wide and sympathetic, “I’m so sorry. Is that why you wear the...?” 

Dazai’s fingertips catch at the bandages that peek out from under his collar, and suddenly talking isn’t so easy anymore. “Yeah. It’s easier that way.” 

Chuuya blinks. “Easier?”

“The scars made people pretty uncomfortable.” Dazai mutters. “I got tired of the staring.” 

// “Could you just...turn the lights off first?” // 

The memory makes him grimace, and Chuuya is quiet for a minute. “Were you the driver?”

 “...” Dazai shakes his head. “No.”

The question goes unspoken, and Dazai doesn’t wanna say it, because he hasn’t found a way to do it without breaking down. He wants to say it’s been long enough to /not/ feel this way anymore, but— It’s only been six months.  “I live with my uncle now, so...”

The next beat of silence is long , and Dazai feels like an idiot. He should have lied , made something up that was a little less depressing , because now everything is going to be weird.

“That really, really sucks. I wish—I wish I had something better to say, but—"

“No, no—" Dazai leans his head against the back of the booth, his eyes fixed on the tv screen. “You’re right—it sucks.” 

Chuuya’s hand finds his under the table, and in a quick, jerking motion, almost like he’s nervous—he takes Dazai’s hand and squeezes it.

Dazai looks up only to find that Chuuya is pointedly looking away, but still squeezing his hand tight. And for the moment, Dazai is glad Chuuya isn’t watching him, because then he’d see the look on Dazai’s face, and...It’s more than a passing infatuation. 

Dazai squeezes back.

“Thank you, Chuuya.” 

“Yeah, don’t mention it.” His fingers go slack, and Dazai is reluctant to let him go, but he does. “So...are you still hurt too badly to play?” 

“I was before...” Dazai looks back up at the screen. “When I tried to come back, things were...awkward.”

Chuuya turns to look at him, curling his legs up underneath him as he turns to face Dazai, sitting in the booth. “Awkward? Why?” 

 “They wanted to make me feel better, I think—but they treated me like I was fragile, like anything could set me off.” Dazai frowns. “I hated it.”

“My other clubs were different—most people there didn’t know what happened, they just thought I got sick or something, but...” 

“You were closer with your team.” Chuuya finishes for him, empathic—because he knows .  

“Yeah.” Dazai sighs. “Practices became a reminder of it all. So I just...stopped coming.” 

Chuuya thinks about that, drumming his fingers against the table. “You look like you miss it.” 

Dazai looks away from the screen reluctantly, trying to smile it off. “It’s just a sport. I can play whenever I want.” Chuuya eyes him pointedly.

“You sound like you miss them .” Dazai blinks with surprise. It’s something that really hadn’t occurred to him before now.

// “You really aren’t that in touch with your feelings, are you, Osamu?”// 

“Do what you want—but I think you should go back.” Chuuya shrugs.

Dazai glances over at him, biting the inside of his cheek. Really, curled up next to him in the Booth like that, Chuuya looks— 

Cute. Really cute. 

“I’ll think about it.” 

When Dazai leaves that night, Chuuya stops him with a hand on his arm. “Hey—just so you know—you don’t have to wear them around me if you don’t want to.” 

Dazai blinks. “Huh?” 

“The bandages.” 

Oh . 

“It’s up to you—but that sort of stuff doesn’t bother me. And if it did, it would be my problem—not yours.” Chuuya gives his arm another squeeze. “Goodnight.”

Dazai stands there for a second, touching his collar. 

// “It would be my problem, not yours.” // 

// “Chuuya—he’s a really great guy.” // 

// “I’m sorry, Osamu—I just can’t do it anymore.” //

Life can be so damn complicated , huh? 

But when Dazai walks home, he’s smiling.

Chapter Text

Two days later, Atsushi is groaning, digging his heels into the turf as he rams his hip into the equipment rack, struggling to roll the damn thing towards the practice field.

“Need a hand with that?”

“Please,” he whines, wiping sweat from his forehead as he straightens up. “It’s too hot for Edogawa-sensei to make me push this by myself, I—" he freezes. “...Dazai-senpai?”

His cleats were pushed all the way into the back of his closet—but they still feel the same. “I was just kidding, it is too hot—but I’ll have Kunikida-kun come back for you!”

Everything looks the same as the way it was when he left—Tanizaki and Kukikida are leading warm ups, Oda is strapping in his leg guards—and when he looks up to see Dazai striding towards the field, his eyes soften.

“What are you doing here?” Dazai has the decency to be sheepish. He turns around to face the coach (who also happens to be their literature teacher) who is staring Dazai down, his head cocked to the side. “Well?”

Dazai smiles lopsidedly “I heard Ango’s pitching was pretty awful.” Edogawa-sensei raises an eyebrow. “And,” Dazai sighs. He bows deeply from the waist, “I missed playing. I understand if I can’t come back, but—"

Dazai freezes as he feels the weight of Edogawa-sensei’s hand rest on top of his head, ruffling his hair. “Consider it forgotten—now go warm up, before I make you help Nakajima.”

Dazai grins, nodding as he runs off to join the others. In spite of how everything felt before he left...this feels good—like he’s taking back a part of his life from before. Even the team manager, who is normally a dictator, smiles when she hands him a bottle of water. “We missed you, Dazai.”

That, to Dazai’s surprise, makes him choke up. “Thanks, Yosano.”

When he walks home with Odasaku that night, Dazai has his head buried in his phone. “Are you texting Chuuya again?”

“So what if I am?”

“You’re a surprisingly dedicated tutor.”

// Dazai: You were right—it wasn’t actually that bad.

// Chuuya: I told you so—I’m glad you went!

// Dazai: AND I made Ango mad when I took his position!

// Chuuya: Don’t make me regret being proud of you, asshole.

Dazai stares at the screen, biting his lip to hide his smile.

“What’s with that look?” Oda raises an eyebrow, leaning over to see, only to get elbowed away by Dazai.

“When did I say you could snoop?”

“I guess you didn’t—"

"Then eyes off, Oda, geeze."

Chapter Text

Three weeks later, Chuuya makes an interesting proposal. “Are you busy on Saturday?”

“Saturday?” Dazai pretends to think about it. “No...I don’t think so. Why?”

“Yuan’s friends wanna see some new store that opened in the mall, and she wants me to come since I’ve been so busy lately—but I’m pretty sure I’ll just be bored the entire time.” Dazai tilts his head to the side.

On one hand—he’s already sour at the thought of the cretin. But on the other... “So you want me to go?” Chuuya wants Dazai there.

“If you want, I get it sounds kinda boring—"

“No, I’ll go. I didn’t have anything better going on anyway.”

Dazai cancels his plans to tutor Tanizaki on Saturday (in exchange for concert tickets) immediately. When he meets them at the mall, she’s right there, hanging off of Chuuya’s arm, as per usual. “Dazai-kun! I aced my test!”

Dazai smiles through clenched teeth. “That’s fantastic.” He glances around to see a few other first year girls standing around, eyeing him curiously.

“Does he go to Kanagawa?” Chuuya opens his mouth to answer, but Yuan interrupts him.

“No, he’s a third year from Keio Senior High—he’s been tutoring Chuuya-kun.”

“Wow!” One of yuan’s friends claps her hands together, “That’s so cool! I wish my parents would hire a tutor for me—"

“I’m not paying him,” Chuuya gives Yuan a look. “We’re friends—and he’s helping me out with my practice exams.” Yuan frowns, and Dazai is pleased.

“I didn’t say you were paying him...” She grumbles, letting go of his arm.

“Yuan?” One of the other girls speaks up. “Shouldn’t we get started?”

“Right," she turns to Chuuya, leaning upon on her toes to peck him on the lips, “We’ll be in the swim section if you need us!”

The sight of her lips on Chuuya’s makes Dazai feel a little sick, but as she’s walking away, Dazai notices her glancing back at him. And he swears, on his grandmother’s grave, he sees her smirk.

Oh. It’s like that.

“Sorry,” Chuuya sighs, “she’s been off, lately.”

“It’s fine...” Dazai replies, his eyes narrowing before he looks back at his friend. “It’s probably the time of year—with exams coming up.”

“Right,” Chuuya frowns, a line of stress forming between his eyes at the reminder. Dazai wants to reach over and smooth it out himself.

“Is there anything you want to look for?” Chuuya’s question breaks him out of his thoughts.

“Oh—not really...” Dazai looks around. “I’ve never been super great with clothes.”

Chuuya looks surprised. “Really? You always look so—" he pauses, struggling for the right word.

Dazai is hanging on that pause. Handsome? Gorgeous? Breathtaking? Fu—

“...Put together.” Dazai sighs heavily.

“Oh, well—thanks. To be honest—your style surprised me a bit.”

Chuuya raises an eyebrow. “It did?”

Dazai looks him over very, very slowly. “...Yeah.”

Dazai has only ever really seen Chuuya in his school uniform, or what he wears at home. It doesn’t really tell you much about his personal style. But...Plain dark jeans and a baggy t-shirt? It was the last thing Dazai would’ve expected to see him in. Not that Chuuya looks bad. Really, Dazai can’t stop eyeing the way the collar slips to the side, exposing part of his shoulder. But it isn’t Chuuya at all. Chuuya is loud, confident, fun—and his clothes seem almost designed to hide it.

“Well—what did you expect, then?”

Dazai thinks about it, his eyes drifting over mannequins and racks of clothes. “...Something more colorful?”

Chuuya shifts his weight from foot to foot, and he looks...

...Unsure.

“I guess I could try something different.” Which is what leads them to the dressing rooms.

“I don’t know Dazai...”

“Just show me.” “

You’re gonna laugh, I’m just gonna change back—"

“I’m not gonna laugh, Chuuya—why would you say that?”

“You laugh at everyone.”

Well. That’s true.

“I’m not going to this time—promise.” Chuuya sighs, and the door opens.

It’s like seeing him for the first time all over again, and Dazai feels like he’s been punched straight in the gut.

“Dazai?”

It’s almost not fair. Chuuya is standing there, holding one arm, looking vulnerable, but—

Jesus, he looks so good.

The jeans are ripped in places, so tight that they look painted on, highlighting how toned his thighs are. The shirt is a v-neck, a vivid shade of red that matches his hair, and it fits him just right, tugging Dazai's eye in a dozen different directions.

“...Dazai?”

“I’m,” Dazai swallows hard. “I’m not laughing.”

Chuuya eyes him suspiciously, and it takes a few seconds of long, hard staring for him to realize Dazai is being serious. “Ane-san always said she thought I could pull something like this off, but...”

Dazai frowns. “What?”

“Forget it.”

“I don’t get it—"

“It’s stupid—"

“Chuuya?” Dazai’s eyebrow twitches as Yuan pokes her head around the corner, her eyes widening when she sees his clothes. “Are you...gonna buy that?”

Suddenly, Chuuya becomes something Dazai has never really seen him be— Insecure. And Dazai doesn’t like it.

Chuuya rubs the back of his neck and looks away, “Nah, Dazai and I were just messing around, really—"

Dazai crosses his arms over his chest. “Why shouldn’t he buy it?” He asks, staring her down. “I’m curious.”

Yuan’s eyes flicker over to Chuuya. “Well, you look great, but...” Her lips quirk up into a small smile, “And you look great in everything, you know I think that, but..." And then she lets out a soft laugh. “People might think you’re...” She lets the implication hang in the air, and suddenly, Chuuya’s expression is unreadable, guarded.

Dazai has to tuck his hands into his pockets, because if he hadn’t—he would be throwing them. “He would look like he was what?”

“...” Yuan eyes Dazai, then Chuuya, and sighs. “Look—I understand you haven’t known Chuuya that long, but his Dad—"

“Let’s just drop it, alright?” The dressing room door shuts with a slam, making Dazai and Yuan both jump. “I was just trying it on for fun—it’s not not a big deal. Honestly, I didn’t even like it anyway—"

Dazai knows that isn't true—in the last few seconds before Yuan showed up, Chuuya had seemed...Happy.

When they’re getting ready to leave, Dazai puts a hand on Chuuya’s shoulder. “Look, I’m sorry—I didn’t know that was going to—"

Chuuya waves him off, smiling, but it’s obviously forced. “Don’t be, honestly, I was surprised you were so nice about it.” Dazai frowns. Chuuya’s last words before he gets on the bus have Dazai’s hands curling into fists.

“Honestly—you should have just laughed.”

Later, Oda listens to the entire story with an even expression, wincing at times. “Dazai—it’s between them, you shouldn’t get involved.”

Dazai glares. “You don’t think what she said was wrong?”

“No, it was, but Dazai—" Oda shrugs, taking a long drink from his soda, “She’s a kid.”

“We’re only two years older—"

“Two years is a long time in highschool, alright? Look—" Oda pats his arm. “I know Yuan—she isn’t some monster.”

Dazai would beg to differ.

“She really cares about Chuuya. I don’t think what she said was right, but she probably thought she was helping.” Dazai looks away, practically hissing. “But Chuuya shouldn’t worry about that stuff, honesty,” Oda yawns, “he’s straight.”

Dazai wants to sink into the floor.

Right.

He's straight.

Chapter Text

Things between him and Chuuya are a little stiff at first when they see each other after that—but with time, it starts to feel normal again.

“Chuuya,” Dazai yawns, rubbing his eyes. “Relax.”

“That’s easy for you to say.”

The exams are tomorrow. Chuuya’s mom let Dazai spend the night, concerned about him taking the train back to his side of town so late—and so now Dazai is stretched out on the spare futon on the floor. Wearing a pair of Oda’s sweatpants, because he has a drawer in Kouyou’s room. A drawer that Chuuya’s parents definitely do not know about, so Dazai had to pretend he just so happened to have them on hand.

“You’ve studied just as much as I have, Chuuya—you’ll do great.”

“You sound pretty damn sure," Chuuya grumbles.

Dazai smiles. “Well, I am a fantastic tutor.”

“Yeah...” Chuuya leans up on his elbows, looking down at Dazai from his bed. “I really should have thanked you sooner, but—"

Dazai waves him off, “Thank me when you get your results, chibi—now sleep.”

"..." Chuuya smiles and reaches for the light, “Night, Dazai.”

Dazai doesn’t sleep as much as he’d like—he’s too focused on the sound of Chuuya’s breathing, the way he splays across his bed in his sleep. Having the redhead be the last thing he sees at the end of the day isn’t so bad at all.

After that, the exams feel like nothing.

Dazai walks out of his exam hall, tucking his scarf closer around his face. It's December now--and honestly, that makes it easier for him. Less bandages. Part of him wishes Chuuya's testing center wasn't on the other side of town, but it can't be helped.

"Hey!" Dazai glances up, and...Every single member of the baseball team is waiting on the steps--even Edogawa-sensei.

"...What are you guys doing here?"

"You're gonna be the first student from Keio to get accepted to the top two universities in Japan," Ranpo smiles. "We're celebrating."

Dazai opens his mouth to argue, but Kunikida, first basemen and captain of the team, grabs him by the scruff of his neck and drags him down the stairs. "No arguing, got it? Do you have any idea how hard it was to get everyone here at the same time over winter break?!"

Dazai does know, and it makes his heart do this weird thing where it feels like it's supposed to burst out of his chest.

Dinner is loud, full of yelling, laughter, and Atsushi trying to keep track of everyone's orders as he runs back and forth to the counter.

Oda elbows him in the arm, leaning over to whisper in his ear. "Hey--Osamu--"

"Hmm?" Dazai hums, swirling his straw around absentmindedly.

"Your mom would be really proud of you."

It's what Dazai needs to hear--it's what he's needed to hear for months now, but it hits him like a sack of bricks. "I--thanks, Oda--I know."

The last time Dazai took his entrance exams--he'd gone to a dinner just like this. Just with different people. Everything's so different now, but... He wouldn't have any of the people here right now, if it wasn't for Chuuya convincing him to go back.

Three weeks later, just after the new year, they get their scores back.

Dazai tosses two envelopes down on the counter, and his uncle looks up from the morning paper. "What are these?"

"They're from Kyoto and Tokyo." Dazai yawns, looking for toast.

"Did you open them already?"

"Yeah," Dazai sticks one piece of bread in his mouth, his uniform only buttoned halfway as he looks for an energy drink to chug on the way to school. "I got in."

"To which one?"

"Both."

"Oh," His uncle's fingers go slack on the paper, and he rises up, "Dazai, that's--" He was reaching out to hug him, to congratulate him, but Mori only sees a very noticeably empty kitchen--and Dazai is already out the door. "--fantastic."

He's fine. Totally fine. He was not going to try to have a normal, paternal moment with his nephew, it's nothing.

And Mori does not spend the next thirty minutes before work blubbering on the phone to Yukichi about it. That would be ridiculous. "I'm really trying, I want him to feel at home here, but you know his mother and I were estranged before, and I don't think he--"

"Mori."

"It takes time to adjust after a trauma. Your colleagues told you when it happened--it would take him a while to form attachments to a new environment."

"I know," Mori frowns, "but now I'm worried that I've been working too much. Honestly, I don't know what's going on with him-"

"Has Elise said anything?" Mori frowns, trying to remember.

"Something about him going back to baseball? That should be good, right?"

"I would say so, yes. That seems like a good sign, don't you think?"

Mori sighs, nodding. "I guess...I just thought he would be excited."

Dazai is excited, though, when he gets a call from Chuuya that afternoon.

"What's up, chibi?"

"How many times do I have to tell you--ugh, it doesn't matter--I got my scores!" The happiness in Chuuya's voice is indication enough, but Dazai asks anyway.

"And?"

"I got the highest marks in my year!"

Dazai is actually blown away by that. He knew he was good, but Chuuya...

"That's--" Dazai sputters, stopping on the street, "--Chuuya, that's--"

"I know, right?!" Chuuya sounds blissful. "Can I thank you now?"

"Yeah," Dazai rocks back on his heels, and unlike when he opened his own scores this morning, he's grinning ear to ear. "But best in your year? I'm not really one to give praise lightly, but..."

"But?"

"That's pretty damn impressive, chibi."

Dazai goes out to dinner with Chuuya and his family that night (his father insisted, placing most of the credit for Chuuya's achievement decisively on Dazai's shoulders, which the boy didn't necessarily appreciate) and Yuan seems a little shell shocked when she sees him there.

"Dazai?" She blinks, noticing that with Dazai on one side of Chuuya, and his mother on the other, the only seat left is across the table, next to his father. "I didn't know you were coming."

"Of course we invited him," Mrs. Nakahara smiles fondly, "he's been such a huge help."

Dazai smirks, and he might as well be purring when he smiles over at Chuuya's mother, his elbows brushing against the redhead's as he grabs his silverware.

"I can't take the credit--Chuuya did most of the work."

"So modest, isn't he, dear?" Chuuya's father nods with approval.

Yuan frowns, dropping heavily into her chair. Chuuya looks a little confused by the sudden change in her mood, but she seems to work past it quickly enough.

And it is a nice dinner. Chuuya actually seems happy and confident, which is rare around his parents.

It's when they're leaving the restaurant that things start to go south.

They're out on the sidewalk, and Mr. Nakahara raises his arm, calling a taxi--and as everyone starts to load into the car, Dazai is stopped on the pavement.

Chuuya's mother frowns. "Dazai? Is everything alright?"

Dazai swallows hard, shaking his head, even though he feels sick all of the sudden. Sweat is rolling down the back of his neck, he's pale, his heart is beating out of his chest. "I'm--I'm fine, Mrs. Nakahara--but I think I'll just take the train, I'm out of the way--"

"Don't be silly boy," Mr. Nakahara frowns raising a hand to push him towards the taxi. "We don't mind the extra fare."

Dazai's shaking his head, or is he just shaking? He can't tell.

"Dazai--" Yuan giggles, tilting her head to the side with a smirk, "it's just a taxi, what's wrong?"

Shame is curling around like a snake in Dazai's gut. It shouldn't be wrong. It's nothing, it's just a car.

"Hey," Chuuya slides out through the other door of the cab, rushing around to grab Dazai by the elbow, yanking him out of his father's grip. "He doesn't like them, okay? It's not a big deal."

"Chuuya," Yuan tilts her head to the side, "who has a problem with taxis--?" 

"He doesn't need a reason," Chuuya frowns at her, looking so pissed that it startles her into backtracking.

"Look, how was I supposed to know--? I--I'm really sorry--"

"It's fine, just..." Chuuya glances back at Dazai, who still looks shaken and pale. "We'll take the train."

Chuuya's father looks baffled, while his mother just looks concerned. "Is he going to be alright? Dazai, I'm so sorry--"

"It's fine," Dazai smiles, trying so hard to sound normal, but his voice is wavering. "I'm sorry for making it a big deal." Chuuya frowns.

"Don't apologize, idiot--" he squeezes Dazai's arm, "--you didn't do anything wrong."

"Dazai, I'm sorry, I'll come too--" and to Yuan's credit, she does look guilty, now that she sees just how upset Dazai is.

"No, Yuu--take the taxi."

"But--"

"I said no," Chuuya glares.

Her lips are trembling as she climbs into the car with Chuuya's parents, and after the taxi turns the street corner, Chuuya lets out a shaky breath. "Shit, Dazai--I'm so sorry--"

"Chuuya--" Dazai smiles as best as he can, "--you didn't do anything."

"But you told me--"

"--I told you I was in an accident. I never said I had a problem with cars," Dazai pinches the bridge of his nose. "Honestly, I didn't know I had a problem with cars--"

He freezes in mid sentence, because Chuuya's arms are around his waist, his face is against Dazai's chest, and--

Chuuya is hugging him.

He's hugging Dazai so tightly that it almost hurts.

Dazai swallows hard--and that feeling in his chest, from that night after the exams, like it's about to rip open--

It's back again.

"It was really bad, wasn't it?" Dazai looks up at the sky.

He hasn't spoken about it. Not with his teachers. Not with his friends--definitely not with his uncle. Putting words to it means that it happened, and--

Dazai really, desperately wishes that it hadn't.

It's really, really hard to see the stars on nights like this. It's cloudy--the city lights are so bright that all you can see is purple tinted fog, maybe a hint of the moon. When Dazai was little, they used to drive hours out of the city, spreading out on blankets in the mountains, and she would tell him the names of all the stars she knew.

And the only thing Dazai really remembers from that night, besides the screaming, the paramedics, and the sirens...Is that it was a clear night.

"My mom was driving." It's one step closer to saying it out loud, and...

"So--she--?"

"She died." His breath leaves him.

"Dazai, I'm--" Chuuya's hands are on his face, and Dazai realizes with horror that his cheeks are wet. "I'm so, so fucking sorry."

Dazai's face drops into Chuuya's shoulder, his arms coming up to wrap around the redhead, crushing him to his chest. It won't stop.

Dazai didn't cry that night. He didn't cry when he woke up in a hospital room. He didn't cry when his uncle moved in as his mother's belongings were moved out. He didn't cry at the funeral, when everyone wouldn't stop saying sorry. He didn't cry when he went back to school.

But now he is, and now he can't stop. He's openly weeping into Chuuya's shoulder, ruining his sweater, ruining his entire day, really. Chuuya isn't complaining. He's hugging Dazai back just as tightly, rubbing his hands over his back.

Warm, steady, and comforting.

"I'm sorry," Dazai mumbles, trying to catch his breath, "this is really, really stupid, I don't do this--"

Really, Dazai hasn't let anyone hug him since it happened either. Except for Sasaki--and that--doesn't matter anymore.

"I--It's okay, Dazai."

Dazai blinks. "Chuuya," Dazai is sort of in disbelief when he leans back, tilting Chuuya's chin up. "Why are you crying?"

"Am not!"

"Yes," Dazai pokes one of his cheeks, still sniffling himself, "you are."

"I just...wish it hadn't happened." Dazai is staring, like it's so foreign to him.

It didn't even happen to Chuuya, but he's that upset on Dazai's behalf? "You're unbelievable, you know that?"

Chuuya frowns, confused. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean--"

"I didn't say it was a bad thing, did I?" Dazai smiles, his eyes still a little watery. "We should get going."

Chuuya nods, wiping his eyes quickly and looking away sheepishly.

At first Dazai was worried that things would be weird, that Chuuya would feel sorry for him, but Chuuya doesn't let go of his hand, all the way to the train station.

He does let go when they get to the crowds, dropping Dazai's fingers and shoving his hand in his pocket--but Dazai doesn't really blame him, a couple of girls around their age were starting to stare.

Things are different after that night--but it's a good different.

Chapter Text

Things are different after that night--but it's a good different.

Suddenly, Dazai went from being alone on most nights to talking to Chuuya until falls asleep, or staying over on Fridays. They still study together, but now it's closer than that, like they can talk to each other about anything. Even the things Dazai doesn't wanna talk about.

"Dazai..." Chuuya frowns, resting his hands on his chin as he leans over the kotatsu. "You had a girlfriend before we met, right?"

Dazai's pencil freezes, and he looks up at Chuuya, raising an eyebrow. "...I did. We broke up at the beginning of August." Well, she dumped him.

Chuuya takes a deep breath. "Did you two ever...?" The way he's looking away, the pink crawling up the back of his neck--it tells Dazai everything he needs to know about what Chuuya is asking.

Dazai leans back to get a better look at him. "A few times," more than a few, "why?"

"Yuan..." Chuuya clears his throat. "Her birthday is in a few weeks, and she wants to, um..."

Oh.

Dazai can't tell if he feels nauseous, or like he's slowly being fed into a paper shredder. "And you've never...?"

"No," Chuuya shakes his head quickly, fidgeting nervously. "Yuan's the only girl I've ever dated," He mumbles, biting his lip. "And her parents are going out of town, and she says we could make it into this whole big thing, but I..."

Dazai wants to eject himself into the sun, but in the name of friendship, he answers. "You what?"

"I don't think..." Chuuya huffs, dropping his head into his hands again. "I don't think I'm ready."

Oh. Oh thank god. Dazai bites back a huge sigh of relief. "Have you told her that?"

"Kind of."

Dazai blinks. "Then I don't see what the problem is...?"

Chuuya looks miserable.

“I’m—she acts like I’m supposed to be jumping at the opportunity or something—Like all teenage boys are just...ready to get laid at any time, and I mean...” he turns his face away. “I get I’m not really normal, so—"

“Chuuya,” Dazai frowns, “there’s nothing wrong with you.”

Chuuya looks up, slightly hopeful. “Did you feel that way, before you did it with your girlfriend?”

Sasaki was definitely not his first, but that’s beside the point. “No, I—“ was eager to get laid, like Yuan had said, “—I was ready. But it’s okay if you’re not.”

Chuuya groans, dropping his head back down against the table. “I’m a freak.”

Dazai shakes his head. “No, I have friends who have been through that. It’s not weird, it’s just different.”

“Those two words mean the same thing.”

“They really don’t Chuuya—"

“Says the normal fucking person!”

“That’s the first time you’ve ever called me normal." Dazai snorts.

“Well, congratulations Dazai—exactly one part of your body functions like a normal teenager.”

That makes Dazai pause. “What do you mean?”

Chuuya wipes a hand down his face. “I just—I don’t know—"

“Have you and Yuan ever done anything?” Chuuya gives him a look, and Dazai waves his hands neutrally. “It’s totally fine if you haven’t, I’m just trying to understand—“

“We have.” Chuuya mutters, looking away.

“What sort of stuff?”

“Stuff, Dazai—!” Chuuya is maroon.

“I don’t know what ‘stuff’ means!”

“Well—" Chuuya look away from him, fidgeting with his fingers. “We’ve—she gave me a handjob once, and I reciprocated—" Reciprocated. Very romantic. “And it was—" Chuuya looks like he wants to crawl under the kotatsu and die. “—stressful.”

Stressful. Dazai can think of a lot of words for his first time getting a handjob—and stressful isn’t one of them. But if he was dating Yuan, he supposed he might have, what with the devil horns and demon talons and all. “Some people get more nervous than others.”

Chuuya nods, wrapping his arms around himself. “I’ve always gotten kind of...nervous about that stuff. It’s weird. Normally, I don’t really get that way, stuff just—"

“Comes naturally to you,” Dazai nods. “I know. Look—you aren’t going to enjoy it unless you’re ready.”

Chuuya drums his fingers against the table. “And if I decided I was—" Uh-oh. “What makes it good?”

Dazai doesn’t want to be a part of this. The idea of it makes him want to drive off a cliff. Are you asking me for advice right now?”

“...sort of?”

Dazai wants to say no, hell no, to this entire conversation, but Chuuya looks so fucking vulnerable, and Dazai doesn’t know what to do...He sighs in defeat. “How to make it good for her? Or for you?”

“...Both?” Dazai really, really wants to be anywhere but here.

Dazai, very tersely gives Chuuya advice. And Chuuya listens, albeit looking very, very stressed out.

“Chuuya?” He pauses on the way out the door later that night, looking back at his friend.

“What?”

“If you aren’t ready, don’t do it.”

“Dazai—"

“Promise me."

Chuuya looks away, nodding. “I promise.” It doesn’t feel right, though. Actually, something feels wrong.

Dazai doesn’t sleep that night. He stares at the ceiling, eats his uncle’s cookies that he always stashes in the back of the pantry, like Dazai isn't going to  find them. He tosses, he turns, he stares at Chuuya’s contact on his phone screen and almost hits ‘call’ so many times, but he doesn’t.

And underneath all of that worry is jealousy. Miserable, ugly, selfish jealousy—and hating the fact that Chuuya is pushing himself like this. Because Chuuya wouldn’t be doing that if he didn’t care about Yuan. Dazai has known him for months now—Chuuya doesn’t get pushed into anything. But when he cares about someone, he wants to make them happy—and he cares about that way more than he does about himself.

Which, Dazai realizes, his stomach sinking, means Chuuya is probably going to do it. Whether he actually wants to or not.

They keep texting over the rest of the week, and it doesn’t come up again—but on Friday night, everything goes...

Radio silent.

For twenty hours.

Chapter Text

Dazai stays up in his room the entire day, trying to focus on video games, his homework, anything but what he thinks is happening. His uncle drops multiple times to ask if he wants to go out, to see a movie, to eat something.

“Are you really going to sit in here all day?” Dazai doesn’t look up from his pillow, and Mori sighs. “Look—I’ll leave money on the counter so you can order dinner. I’ll be out with a friend if you need me.”

“Mmmph.”

“Dazai.”

“...”

“You’ll call?” “

I’ll call, just go on.” Mori frowns with concern, but he leaves.

Dazai doesn’t move. He can see the room getting darker as clouds roll in from outside, as morning turns into afternoon. Maybe he should move. Take walk. Do some homework...? Later.

But, in the evening, there’s this annoying, persistent knocking at the door. He tries to ignore it, pulling the pillow over his head with a groan. It doesn’t stop, it just gets slower, a little weaker. But still there.

Dazai rolls over and glares. He stomps down the stairs, not even bothering to check through the peephole before he yanks the door open. It’s probably just Mori—he forgets his house key half the time, he’s always in a hurry for no reason.

At first, Dazai doesn’t see anybody. Then his eyes drift down, and—

Chuuya is there. Soaked. Sitting in his doorstep (he’d been knocking for a while.)

And he looks awful.

Dazai has never really been what he would qualify as a ‘good person.’ His mom always used to tell him that he was a good kid, but she kind of had to. He’s always been selfish, sort of unreliable—and admittedly, an ass most of the time.

// “I used to be like that too.” //

It was something his mom told him, years ago, the first time Dazai left a girl crying. He hadn’t believed her then.

// “You’re just saying that. You’re the best person I know.” //

He kneels down in front of Chuuya.

// “When I was a kid, I was actually pretty terrible.” //

// “But you aren’t like that now...” //

“Chuuya?” He reaches over to take his shoulders, shaking him gently. “Chuuya, look at me—"

// “I met your dad—and then I met you.” //

Chuuya can’t even look at him.

// “And when you love someone that much, you grow.” //

Dazai isn’t jealous—not anymore. He isn’t sad. He isn’t angry. He’s just worried.

// “I don’t think I’ll ever love someone like that. I already have you, and I’m still pretty awful, so—" //

Chuuya’s shaking. Not in a big, dramatic way—but quiet, barely noticeable.

// “Osamu, take it from me—" //

“I messed up,” Chuuya mumbles, swallowing hard. “I—I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have—“

“Hey,” Dazai shakes his head, lifting Chuuya up, “Don’t be.”

Chuuya allows himself to be led inside, and the door slams shut.

// “—life always surprises you. //

Chuuya doesn’t talk. Dazai doesn’t make him. He lets the redhead use his shower, leaving a dry shirt and sweatpants out for him. They’re comically oversized, but comfortable. Chuuya sits in his bed, curled up in Dazai’s comforter.

Dazai sits in his desk chair, and he waits.

“Something’s wrong with me.” Chuuya mutters, pulling the comforter closer around himself.

Dazai shakes his head, his expression filled with concern—but his eyes are soft. “Chuuya, as much as I wish there was—there isn’t a single thing wrong with you.”

Chuuya swallows thickly. “I couldn’t do it.”

Dazai doesn’t ask, even though he wants to, he just waits.

“We were right there, everything was fine, and then I just...” Chuuya bites his lip so hard, Dazai is surprised he hasn’t broken skin yet. Really, he’s never seen someone so rattled.

“And—“ Chuuya swallows hard, trying to work himself down from what is obviously another crying fit, and it makes Dazai’s stomach twist into knots, but— Chuuya looks like he’s been crying all day. “I don’t think I was ever going to be ready.”

...Wait. Wait. Dazai doesn’t—

“If I try something—" Chuuya takes a deep, rattling breath, “—can you—“ his voice cracks, “—not tell anyone?”

Dazai isn’t following. It’s the same painfully insecure tone Chuuya had in the dressing room months ago, the one that’s so unlike him.

Promise you won’t laugh?

“I won’t—“ Dazai agrees cautiously, tilting his head to the side. “I won’t tell anyone, but—what are you—?”

If Dazai had known what Chuuya was going to do, he would have stopped him. He really would have. Because it wasn’t fair, not to either of them. But it was fast. One second, Chuuya is getting up from the bed, the next, he’s walking over, and after that—

His lips are soft.

Dazai’s eyes slide shut, and his brain ceases all functions.

Chuuya kissed him.

Chuuya is kissing him.

The kiss is still in progress.

Dazai’s hands freeze in midair for a second—really his whole body just freezes up. He doesn’t know what to do, if this is taking advantage of Chuuya, if pushing him away would be worse—? But then Chuuya makes this small sound against his mouth, and—and Dazai can’t help it.

He exhales sharply through his nose, and then one of his arms is wrapping around the small of Chuuya’s back, pulling him closer until Chuuya stumbles into his lap. The chair slides back, slamming into his desk, knocking over pencils and scattering papers.

Dazai doesn’t care.

Chuuya’s hands are on his chest, one is sliding up and over his shoulder, fisting the back of his shirt. Dazai’s fingers slide through red waves of hair, still wet from the shower, still so fucking perfect. The room suddenly feels too hot, and freezing at the same time.

Their lips part, and Chuuya makes this noise in the back of his throat when their tongues brush together, arching even closer. Dazai’s eyes roll back into his head, and his heart is lurching. God, has kissing always been this good? How did he ever stop?

Chuuya tastes better than anything Dazai’s ever had, the moan he makes when Dazai’s hands circle his hips is the sweetest goddamn thing he’s ever heard. And Dazai doesn’t ever want this with anyone else, ever again. He doesn’t want Chuuya doing this with anyone else. Dazai wants more, he wants everything. He wants to reach back in time and erase all of Chuuya’s firsts, so he can be each and every one of them. He wants all of his lasts too, he wants, and he wants, and he wants.

But the kiss slows into something softer—it becomes gentle.

Chuuya’s hands are still shaky where they rest in Dazai’s shoulders, and Dazai’s hand is cupping the base of his neck, rubbing soothing circles into his skin, and honestly, Dazai doesn’t think he’s ever been so in tune with another person before, so attentive to their needs.

That’s why Dazai notices when Chuuya’s lips start trembling again, and everything comes to a grinding halt.

“Chuuya—"

“I’m sorry—“ Chuuya leans back, wiping his eyes. “I shouldn’t have—that wasn’t fair—"

“Chuuya—“ Dazai repeats, struggling to manage his composure. “It’s okay—"

“No—" Chuuya scrambles out of his lap, and Dazai wasn’t cold before, but now he is, after losing the warmth of him. “That was a shitty thing to do, I’m sorry—"

“Chuuya, I’m not mad—" But then Dazai gets a good look at Chuuya’s face, and he doesn’t know what to say.

Dazai wasn’t sure what he was expecting, but Chuuya is pacing, his hands are shaking, and— He looks terrified.

“—gonna hate me—"

“Chuuya, I don’t hate you—"

“Not you, Dazai—"

“Yuan doesn’t matter—"

“—I’m so dead—"

“She’s barely five feet tall, Chuuya—"

“This isn’t about her, Dazai!” Chuuya snaps, then he stops himself. “I’m sorry, this isn’t your fault, this is my fault—"

“If it’s not about her, then what?”

Chuuya tries rubbing his hands together, to stop the shaking. “My—“ his voice is hoarse, “—my Dad—"

Oh.

// "You wouldn’t know, since you haven’t known Chuuya for very long, but his Dad—" //

Dazai lets out a breath. “Well, so what, you’re bi—I’ve known about being bi for months, and no one has asked me—"

Chuuya’s voice has never sounded small before. “...I don’t think I’m bi, Dazai.”

Oh.

“I—“ Chuuya drops down on Dazai’s bed, his face falling into his hands. “I never used to think about it, but—back when I was in middle school, things at home got...weird.”

Dazai tilts his head to the side. “Weird?”

“My dad—things just...changed out of nowhere.”

“Everything that used to be fine wasn’t anymore. My hair was too long. My clothes weren’t ‘right for my age’. That’s what he said, but really—“ Chuuya grits his teeth. “Everything I did, everything I liked, was wrong. So, when my best friend told me she liked me...I didn’t know what to do. So I asked my Dad. And he was so proud,” Chuuya makes a face, shaking his head, “I just—I wasn’t sure if I liked her, but I started going out with her to make him happy. And eventually, I thought I did like her, but...”

“But the prospect of having sex with her gave you a panic attack.” Dazai finishes for him. Chuuya nods stiffly. “And your Dad...” Dazai questions slowly. “Does he just...have a strict concept of masculinity, or...?”

“He’s tossed some words around about gay people.”

“...That bad?”

Chuuya shakes his head. “Normally, he just...scowls when he sees it on TV. Or he used to throw out some of the mangas my sister brought home, but last year...” he sighs. “My cousin came out.”

Chuuya’s tone doesn’t imply that it went well.

“He was talking to my mom in the kitchen--my aunt was on speaker phone—and my aunt said Yuki had told them because she felt like she might hurt herself if she didn’t. And my dad—“ Chuuya has to clear his throat to steady himself, “—said that might have been better.”

Dazai is very, very still. “Chuuya—" he keeps his tone even, not wanting to startle the redhead any further. “—you don’t think your dad would hurt you if he found out, do you?”

“You mean—physically?” Dazai nods. Chuuya’s silence does not make him feel better.

“...Has he ever hit you before?" Dazai asks, so softly, but he’s barely able to keep the anger out of his voice.

“...He’s always been strict.” Chuuya hedges around the issue. “I don’t know what he would do—but—he can’t find out. Okay? So—"

“Chuuya, if you’re scared—"

“I’m not, I’m fine, it’s fine, okay?” Chuuya exhales shakily. “He’s just—not gonna find out.”

“So you and Yuan—?”

“No,” Chuuya shakes his head, “No, I can’t stay with her—that wouldn’t be fair.” Dazai can’t believe that he’s thinking this—but he almost wishes that Chuuya would. “Look—I’m sorry for dumping all of this on you, that isn’t fair—and kissing you like that, that wasn’t fair either—"

“I didn’t mind,” Dazai smiles weakly.

Chuuya stares at him, clearly conflicted. “I can’t, Dazai. I can’t ask you to do that.”

“But—"

“Just...I need some time.”

Dazai doesn’t want to let him leave. He wants to wrap the little idiot in bubble wrap and never let him anywhere near his own house again—

But he can’t stop him either.

Mori comes back and finds the house exactly as he left it—quiet and miserable.

Chapter Text

Dazai is beside himself.

“So—“ Oda pauses, staring back at his friend, who is slumped over the table with misery after telling him the whole story. “I don’t want to make you feel bad—but did you have a plan?"

“Huh?” Dazai looks up from where he's been sitting on Oda's couch, his head in his hands.

“Well—we graduate in four months, Dazai. What were you going to do?"

“I was—"

“You were going to break them up, date Chuuya for a few months, then leave?”

“That’s really your concern right now?”

“No, I’m texting Kouyou right now,” Oda frowns, “but the lack of forethought here kinda pisses me off.”

“We would have done long distance—that’s not—" Dazai throws his hands up with exasperation. “I didn’t really have a plan, okay?! Are you happy? But that doesn’t seem NEARLY as important now as his home situation—"

“I agree,” Oda holds up his phone, “his sister is taking the train from Tokyo tonight, okay?”

Dazai practically collapses with relief.

Kouyou has always, always hated her stepfather. Well, that’s a lie, when she was younger he was actually rather charming, and he made her mother happy—but in the last four years? She couldn’t stand him. And really, her...suspicions about Chuuya had started at around the same time.

Her response had been reasonable, sane—encouraging Chuuya to wear what he wanted, listen to the music he liked, grow his hair out if he wanted. Her stepfather, in contrast, turned into someone she didn’t even recognize. And in turn, he turned Kouyou’s brother—her beautiful, confident, colorful baby brother, into someone he wasn’t.

Kouyou never forgave him for it.

“Sweetheart—" her mother gasps with surprise upon her entrance. “I didn’t know you were coming home—"

Kouyou walks past her without a word. Taihra Nakahara tries to speak to her as she walks by, and her response is to simply snatch her hand out of his reach as she walks—marches, really—up to Chuuya’s room.

“Ane-san?!”

“Chuuya—What in god’s name happened to your face?!”

“Oh,” Chuuya touches an angry red welt on his cheek.

Kouyou reaches to check it out for herself, brushing her fingertips over the skin, and Chuuya winces.

Her teeth come together with a snap. “I’ll kill him—"

“It wasn’t Dad—" Chuuya grabs her wrist before she can go downstairs. “I broke up with Yuan this morning.”

“She slapped you?” Kouyou's brow pinches, her eyes widening with shock.

“More like she fucking decked me,” Chuuya sighs and shrugs. “I deserved it. I ran out on her birthday, disappeared for two days, and then I dumped her.”

“She still doesn’t get to hit you—" Kouyou sputters, her wheels spinning.

“I can take a punch, Ane-san. Especially when I deserve it.” Kouyou frowns, opening her mouth to argue--but Chuuya continues on. “But—why are you here?” Kouyou pauses, her hand dropping from Chuuya’s cheek as she sits on the bed next to him.

“Sakunosuke called me.”

Oh.

Chuuya takes a slow breath. “...Which means Dazai told him.”

“I’m glad that he did, Chuuya. Would you have told me yourself?” Kouyou presses him gently, leaning around to try to look him in the eye.

Chuuya looks away.

“Does anyone besides you or Dazai know about what happened?”

“...” Chuuya shakes his head. “But there’s a good chance that Yuan guessed," he lets out a resigned sigh.

Kouyou's heart lurches anxiously. “She’s close to the family—you don’t think she’ll—?”

“Tell dad?” Chuuya shakes his head. “No, she’s pissed at me, but...she wouldn’t do that.”

Kouyou looks down at his comforter, remembering simpler times--summers spent spread out across this bed, trying on clothes for dates, watching bad movies, sneaking to the kitchen for snacks after midnight. It was so easy to there for Chuuya, back then. “You could always come back to Tokyo with me, you know...” She offers quietly, her fingers bunching up in the blankets.

“Kouyou—" Chuuya throws his hands up, “—I’m sixteen. They wouldn’t let me. I still have school, and—leaving just isn’t an option.”

Kouyou bites her lip. “I can’t just leave you here.”

Chuuya smiles wryly, like he's resigned himself to this. “Are you gonna drop out of university to be a bodyguard?”

Kouyou grimaces—big Chuuya is right. There isn’t much she can do—not right now, and definitely not next year. “You aren’t angry with Dazai, are you?”

“No...” Chuuya sighs, rubbing the back of his head. “With the way I left things, I’m just glad he sent you instead of a SWAT team.”

“Maybe he should have.” Kouyou grumbles. “A SWAT team wouldn’t ask you nicely before dragging you out the door—"

Kouyou sighs. “Just—do you have anywhere safe to go if he does find out?”

Chuuya thinks about it—and then he nods. “I think so.”

Kouyou relaxes reluctantly. “...And you’ll actually go, if things get bad?” She can't stand to think of him stuck here alone, like he couldn't get out if he wanted to.

“Yes,” Chuuya reaches over to squeeze her hand. “I’ll go.”

Kouyou doesn’t want to let it go, but she does.

Chuuya silently waits for the other shoe to drop, for something to go wrong, for his Dad to find out—but nothing happens.

Days go by.

Weeks.

Weeks without Dazai.

But every single week feels like living on edge. He keeps a bag packed under his bed. He’s always looking over his shoulder—he calls his mom everyday on the walk home from school, just to make sure she sounds normal before he walks into the house.

And it’s exhausting.

They’re still texting one another—Dazai checks in on him every morning and every night. They still talk on the phone, usually at three in the morning when Chuuya is hiding in the back of his closet, whispering so his dad doesn’t hear—

But when Chuuya imagines two years of this, he... He can’t do it.  Even if he hates the idea of disappointing his dad. Even if he’s terrified it might mean losing his Mom. But he can’t do it.

And for Dazai—

Life has only been marginally kinder to Dazai.

Other than missing Chuuya so much he couldn’t stand it, February was fine.

On the first day of March, however, fate takes a strange turn.

Student government meetings have just wrapped up, clubs are moving out of session, and Dazai is getting ready to leave campus for the day, his backpack slung over his shoulder.

“Osamu?”

Dazai pauses in mid step. 

Only three people have ever called him that. The first, obviously, was his mother. After that came Oda, and then...

He turns around, and his breath catches in the back of his throat. It’s been eight months, and it’s still...

She’s still...

“Sasaki?”

Chapter Text

“Sasaki?”

She smiles softly, tucking her hair behind her ears. “Hi...” Her hair is just the way he remembered it--soft, dark waves falling to the middle of her back. If he reaches out to touch them, they probably feel the same, they probably still smell like that jasmine conditioner she used to love--

“What—" Dazai doesn’t know what to feel, what to think, “You’re here. Why are you here?”

Sasaki snorts softly, covering her mouth to hide a fond smile. “You used to be a little more articulate, you know.”

Dazai missed her laugh, and he resents it. Hating her should be simple, but it isn’t. Sasaki was special to him—and the reasons for that didn’t magically disappear when she walked away. She’s beautiful, intelligent, funny...As well as arrogant and self centered.

A lot like someone else Dazai used to know.

“Well—I heard you were going to Tokyo University.” She admits, fiddling with her hair absentmindedly. He's sure the tactic is meant to draw his eye there--because it never failed before, and it certainly isn't now.

“I’m weighing my options,” Dazai tilts his head to the side, “Why should that matter?”

Sasaki bows her head. “That’s where I’m going next year—and I thought, if we’re going to be classmates—we should put things on a better note between us.”

“A better note?” Dazai frowns. “Better than when you dumped me over the phone after the first day of school?”

Sasaki winces. “Osamu—"

“I’m just curious—" his tone goes from lighthearted to biting, "and Dazai is fine, by the way.” He shouldn’t feel /guilty/ when she looks hurt, but he does.

“I know I messed up, alright?” “But O—" She frowns, “—Dazai, you have to understand. We were second years when—when it happened. And I wanted to do it sooner, but I couldn’t, and—it’s a big burden for anyone, okay?”

Dazai manages to hide the way he feels like he’s been punched in the gut remarkably well.

She wanted to do it sooner? Then why didn’t she just—

Oh.

“It was starting to impact my studies, my parents wanted me focusing on school—I had to. I know I hurt you, but I...I didn’t know what else to do,” Sasaki sighs miserably. “But I’m truly, honestly sorry.”

Dazai rubs the back of his head. He doesn’t really know why Sasaki is doing this—and he isn’t dumb enough to miss that she wants something, but...That doesn’t make her words any less impactful.

“If you want a clear conscience, then I forgive you,” Dazai sighs, “Anything else?”

(He actually doesn’t forgive her—he isn’t sure he even knows how to begin to do that, but he wants this conversation to be over.)

“I guess...” She hangs her head, biting her lip. “I guess...it bothers me that we never got closure.”

Dazai blinks slowly, trying to process that. “Closure?”

Sasaki nods. “I guess, just...a proper goodbye.”

That much, Dazai can manage. He sticks out his hand, “It was a pleasure working with you.”

“Dazai, I’m being serious!"

He groans, “What do you expect?! Fucking Casablanca?!”

“...” She glances away, clearly sheepish, and Dazai wipes his hands down his face with exasperation. 

“Oh my god, you do, don’t you?”

“Just—" Sasaki throws her hands up, “Could I have a hug, Dazai? Is that too much?”

Well. In the grand scheme of the current trajectory of Dazai's life, no, it doesn’t seem like that much. So, however reluctantly, he opens his arms to her—and Sasaki steps into his embrace.

She hugs him tight, and objectively, it’s something that Dazai used to miss; the feel of her against him, the sound of her voice, the smell of her hair. But, compared to recent experiences—it’s a tiny drop in a bucket of emotions, and one that’s surprisingly easy to let go of. When she steps back, for a minute, Dazai agrees—it wasn’t a terrible idea to get closer. But then she’s leaning back and up, and then...

Every single second of this interaction seems like a terrible idea.

Her mouth is only on his for a second, it’s one second too long.

Dazai jerks away, letting her go. “What the hell—?" he glares, and she does look sorry, but she also seems...confused? Because she’s staring at something behind him.

Oh.

Dazai has seen enough teen movies to know where this is going. And he really, really hates his life.

He turns around to see someone walking away quickly.

Someone short. Someone with red hair. Someone with a uniform that is definitely from another school.

“Son of a bitch--!” Sasaki jumps, clearly confused.

“Dazai—?”

“I can’t even begin to describe how little time I have for you right now.“ Dazai hisses, running his fingers through his hair.

Dazai ignores pretty much everything she says after that, charging after the disappearing figure.

It’s actually a pretty even race. Chuuya’s objectively faster, but Dazai’s legs are much longer, and he’s desperate.

“Chuuya!" Dazai calls after him, "I’ve already seen you, stop it!”

“Stop what?!" Chuuya shouts back.

“Running away! Jesus, are you wearing cleats?!” Dazai snaps incredulously, diving around pedestrians.

Chuuya's second advantage: his height and size are prime for diving around people. 

“I just finished soccer practice!” 

Dazai flails his arms up in the air out of desperate confusion. “Then why were you all the way across town?!”

Dazai's second advantage: he has no shame, and is completely willing to bowl pedestrians over if they get in his way.

“There was an away game at your school! Aren’t you student body President?! Shouldn’t you have known that?!”

Dazai throws his hands up, infuriated with the situation,“IT’S BEEN A CRAZY DAY!"

Chuuya doesn't seem terribly sympathetic to Dazai's distress. “SAME HERE, PAL.”

Unfortunately for Chuuya, he isn’t super familiar with this side of town, and he isn’t willing to take out a Girl Scout troop. 

Dazai possesses both the knowledge and the willingness.

So, when Chuuya takes a wrong turn into an alleyway, and Dazai is right behind him. And in Dazai’s hurry and panic to catch him, Chuuya ends up pinned against the alley wall, his wrists over his head. “Dazai, let go of me—"

Dazai is frantically trying to explain himself, “Listen, that looked bad, but she ambushed me—"

And Chuuya doesn't seem that interested in hearing it. “With her mouth?!"

“Don’t say it like that!" Dazai pleads, "I’m the victim here!”

“Of WHAT?!”

“If you’d just calm down and listen—"

Chuuya is glaring and thrashing, and it’s really only Dazai’s height and the fact that Chuuya is unwilling to kick Dazai hard enough to actually hurt him that keeps him stuck in place. “I’m calm—!”

Dazai raises an eyebrow, disbelieving. “Chuuya, you’re pissed.”

He can't tell if Chuuya is so red from anger, or embarrassment, maybe both?

“I’m not mad, why would I be mad—?!" Chuuya hisses, “that would be pretty fucking ridiculous—"

“It was Sasaki, okay?!” Chuuya’s eyes light up with recognition, and Dazai sighs. “She just showed up, saying she wanted closure, and I wanted her to go away—"

“So you kissed her?!” Chuuya snaps, and he looks a little hurt, which makes Dazai even more desperate to explain himself.

“No, god, no—" Dazai shakes his head. “I hugged her. And then she—I don’t know what she thought she was doing, but what you saw was a complete surprise to me.”

Chuuya frowns, searching Dazai’s eyes for any hint that he’s lying—and he relaxes. “Okay—alright, I believe you.”

Dazai sighs heavily, his face dropping down to rest in Chuuya’s hair. “Good.”

Chuuya squirms first just a second—but he can’t help but relax into it. “What are you doing?”

Dazai’s voice is muffled by his hair— but tender. “I missed you.”

Chuuya swallows thickly. It’s not like they really had the chance to talk things out before. He had time to wonder whether or not the way Dazai looked at him was all in his head, if he just hadn’t wanted to push Chuuya away while he was vulnerable. And Chuuya —he couldn’t ask Dazai something like this over the phone. But now, it’s all right there, and Chuuya can’t even hug Dazai back when his hands are pinned.

“I missed you too," Chuuya admits, somewhat sheepishly. “I was going to surprise you.”

Dazai hums contentedly. “Well, I was surprised.”

“Not like that." Chuuya huffs, rolling his eyes. “Could you get down here for a second?”

“Aw," Dazai grins, "is the chibi lonely down there—?”

“Shut up Dazai, would you just—!” Dazai lifts his face out of Chuuya’s hair and lowers himself down until he’s eye level.

“Better?”

Chuuya clears his throat, his cheeks a little pink. “Much.”

Dazai’s eyes widen when Chuuya suddenly leans forward, pressing his lips against Dazai’s—but then they slide shut, and he melts into the wall with Chuuya, his head swimming happily as Chuuya leans into him. He tugs at his wrists insistently, and after a second, Dazai lets them go. As soon as they’re free, Chuuua winds his arms around Dazai’s neck, pulling himself as close as he can, until his feet are barely touching the ground.

Dazai’s hands slide around his waist until they’re wedged between the small of Chuuya’s back and the bricks. There’s this golden haze that floats across Dazai whenever he’s touching Chuuya—and it’s easy to forget where they are, what they’re doing—that anyone could see—

Dazai jumps back with a start, and Chuuya is daze, his eye lashes fluttering. “Why—why did you stop?" 

“We’re in a public street—“ Dazai bites his lip, “I don’t want to—endanger your or something—“

“Endanger me?” Chuuya quirks an eyebrow, “Am I a snow leopard or something?”

“Well you are small and graceful—"

“Dazai—!”

“Look, it’s a valid concern, Chuuya," Dazai is reluctant to put any distance between them, but he leans back further so he can look Chuuya in the eye. “Someone who knows you from school, someone who knows your parents—it could get back to them, and I don’t want to have to go on a murder-suicide kick out of vengeance—"

“Dazai—"

“Which I would," Dazai presses on, already spiraling at the thought of it, "there’s just no way around it—"

“Dazai, just listen!" Dazai stops and stares.

“I—" Chuuya gulps silently, because Dazai obviously cares about him a lot, but what Chuuya is about to ask isn’t some small thing. “I don’t think I can keep things up at home anymore.” Dazai tilts his head to the side—and he doesn’t seem uncomfortable yet, so that’s a good sign— “And I know it’s asking a lot, but all of my friend’s parents know my parents, and it would just—be until I figured something else out, so—"

God, why is it so hard to ask? But Chuuya does, albeit a little nervously.

“Could I stay with you? For a little while?”

Dazai wants to blurt out ‘You could stay with me forever!’ But that would definitely be over doing it, because they’ve kissed twice and Chuuya doesn’t know Dazai has been crazy about him for months, so, “Chuuya,” Dazai takes Chuuya's chin between his fingers gently, making the redhead look up at him. “Of course you can stay with me.”

Chuuya bites his lip, “And your uncle—?”

Is a bridge to be crossed later. “He’ll be fine—“ Dazai waves that concern off. “Our house is too big anyway, honestly.”

Chuuya nods reluctantly, “Then...are you okay to play hooky with me tomorrow?”

Tomorrow?

Dazai nods quickly, “Is tonight not okay?” Chuuya shakes his head.

“They would ask why I was packing a bag...” Chuuya lets out a sigh. “It’s easier if they’re both at work.” Dazai nods, squeezing him around the waist before he lets him go.

At eleven a.m. the next day, they’re back in Chuuya’s room—but the context is so different now.

Chuuya is packing up essentials—things he needs for school, toiletries, clothes. And Dazai is finagling it so all of the items fit into one massive suitcase—not exactly what he figured his high level spacial reasoning would come in handy for, but life is full of surprises.

Dazai pauses when he sees Chuuya standing by his nightstand, perfectly still with an envelope in hand. “...Chuuya?”

“I think that’s it,” Chuuya let’s out a shaky breath, setting it down. “I can figure out the rest later.”

Dazai nods—and they leave Chuuya’s house for good.

Getting across town in the subway with a massive suitcase isn’t easy. Neither is dragging it up the steps to Mori’s place. But once Chuuya is unpacked and laying back on the bed in the guest bedroom, Dazai lets himself begin to relax. “You okay?”

“I’m getting there.” Chuuya lets out a long, shaky sigh before asking, “Did you tell your uncle?”

“I will when he gets home.”

“Dazai—!”

Dazai glances up and shrugs in the face of how appalled the redhead is--“What? He’ll be fine.”

Chuuya groans, pressing the heels of his palms to his forehead. “How do you know that?”

“Oh, I’m definitely threatening a hunger strike if he says no.”

“A WHAT?!”

Dazai beams cheerfully. “It always works!”

“I don’t get how you’re always like this.” Chuuya groans, his hands still over his face.

Dazai rolls over, propping himself up on his elbow with a wry smile. “Always like what?”

“Sure of yourself.”

Dazai bites back a snort—because really, around Chuuya, he’s anything but. “I just know everything’s going to be okay, I guess...” Dazai shrugs, reaching over to push Chuuya’s hair away from his forehead. Chuuya rolls over, wrapping his arms around Dazai’s middle, holding him close.

“But how?"

Dazai’s cheek is resting against Chuuya's hair. “I just do.” He says simply, and in spite of the fact that he barely said anything at all...

...For Chuuya, it seems to be enough. “Alright, Osamu.”

Chapter Text

“He’s really gonna be fine with me staying here?”

“Honestly, Chuuya? You worry too much. I have a theory that it’s the stress that’s stunting your height—"

“ExCUSE ME?!”

That was what Mori Ogai came home to, the night he discovered his nephew was harboring a teenage runaway.

Life throws a lot at you. It takes your sister away too soon. It slaps you with a lonesome teenager that doesn’t particularly like you. It gives you a bizarre relationship with your ex-brother-in-law. But this—this is new.

Mori pauses in the doorway, keys still in hand. Dazai glances up, and his face breaks into a huge smile, really more like a shit eating grin. “Uncle! You’re home!” He’s never called him uncle before.

“At the same time as usual," Mori frowns, his eyes sliding over to the other boy—a small redhead, who looked sheepish. “I don’t believe I’ve met your friend...?”

“Well, Chuuya’s actually my," Dazai pauses with a frown. They haven’t actually discussed that bit yet. He looks to Chuuya for guidance, but the redhead just throws his hands up, as if to say, ‘beats me.’ “well, that’s not the point—“

“Then what is going on, Dazai? I’ve had a long day."

“Chuuya needs a place to stay. I told him that could be with us, for now.”

Mori looks back to the redhead, who seems to have the sense now to be looking back at him. And he seems nervous. “Where was he staying before?”

Dazai’s eyes slide over to Chuuya, trying to gauge what the redhead is comfortable with sharing, and he takes a deep breath. “It’s—not really safe for me at home right now.”

Mori frowns. “Not safe?"

Chuuya chews his lip nervously, crossing his arms over his chest. “I—um—" Chuuya clears his throat. “I came out. And my Dad, he’s—" Mori’s eyes widen with understanding, and then they soften.

“Osamu—“ he reaches for his wallet. “Go get dinner for the three of us—the Izakaya should still be open.”

“But—"

“If you want me to agree to this, go.”

Dazai glances over at Chuuya reluctantly, but the shorter teenager gives him a reassuring nod, silently telling him it’s fine. When Dazai disappears out the door, Mori calls after him, “Do NOT order the entire menu!”

“I make NO promises!” The door slams shut, and they’re alone.

Mori glances over at Chuuya, who seems a little jittery—but not completely uncomfortable. “Do you and Osamu know one another from school?”

Chuuya shakes his head, “No, I go to Kanagawa—we met through Odasaku, actually.”

Oda. Mori’s always liked that kid—that’s a good sign. “Well—" Mori sighs, and he stops using his normal voice—instead he speaks to Chuuya like he would a patient. He’s calm, precise—and unemotional. “I’m going to need to get a better grasp of your situation before we decide what to do. Why don’t we sit?”

Chuuya swallows hard.

He’s on the couch, Mori is on the armchair across from him—and right out of the gate, the questions aren’t easy. “Did your parents ask you to leave?”

Chuuya shakes his head. “I didn’t really give them the chance to."

“Have they threatened you in the past?”

“Not...” Chuuya furrows his brow, “Not directly, no...” Was he just blowing this entire thing out of proportion?

Mori, on the other hand, has been a doctor for nearly eighteen years—and an ER specialist for nine of those years. Chuuya’s behavior isn’t unfamiliar. “Has a police report ever been filed against either one of your parents?”

Chuuya shakes his head again, and Mori sighs. “I am not going to send you home. But I need you to understand—if your parents try to force you to come back, I can’t stop them.”

Chuuya grimaces, biting the inside of his cheek. It’s not like he wants to be here. He wants to be home, for everything to be fine but...it just isn’t going to be okay anymore. He knows that. “I get it—“ he bows his head deeply. “Thank you for letting me stay.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” Mori stands up with a yawn. “I don’t exactly run a nurturing household—or—“ he frowns, “I would, but my nephew—"

“Is insufferable?”

Mori laughs softly, “I was going to say that he’s aloof, but that’s also true.”

“Either way, I’m grateful, Dr. Ogai.”

“Well," Mori rubs the back of his neck, “thank me later if it all works out. Besides, I couldn’t put up with another hunger strike—" He disappears up the stairs, and Chuuya is stunned.

Dazai wasn’t joking  before?

Dazai makes it back half an hour later with the entire menu

They end up eating half of it before Mori makes it back from his shower, picking at a few pieces before heading off to bed, and Dazai is beaming at Chuuya with satisfaction. “See? I told you, you had nothing to worry about.”

“I didn’t realize you’d already worn the guy down."

“You never asked." Dazai picks up the last piece of sashimi with his chopsticks, popping it into Chuuya’s mouth before he can say anything else. “But really, is it surprising?”

Chuuya can’t say that, no.

The first week or so goes by smoothly—better than expected, really.

Chuuya adjusts to waking up half an hour earlier to make the train across town for school. He sets his phone on silent, pointedly looking away when it lights up, so he doesn’t have to see who is calling. He even gets Dazai and Mori to eat real dinner a few times. But then, one night—a Friday, Chuuya messes up.

“Chuuya?” Dazai leans up on his elbows, blinking the sleep from his eyes. “What’s—" he sees the pain in the redhead’s eyes, and he sits up faster. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m—were you asleep?”

Dazai waves that question off, “Doesn’t matter. What happened?”

Chuuya is hugging himself so tightly around the middle, and Dazai has come to recognize the gesture—

It means he’s spiraling.

“C’mere,” his voice is still a little rough with sleep, and Chuuya shakes his head.

“No, it’s so fucking stupid, I—“

“—Chuuya, come here.” His voice deepens and solidifies into a more commanding tone, and in his current state—Chuuya follows directions without really thinking about it. He sits on the edge of the bed, only to be tugged into Dazai’s arms, his head tucked under the taller boy’s chin. “What happened?”

Chuuya turns his face into Dazai’s neck, his nose brushing over his pulse, while his chin bumps up against his collarbone. “I—“ he takes a shuddering breath “—I checked my voice mails.” Dazai winces, and Chuuya bites his lip. “I know it was dumb, but—" his voice wavers. “My mom,” he sounds so choked up, and Dazai’s heart is aching for him, “she sounded so scared, and I know I told her in the note I left that I was going to be somewhere safe, but...I feel so shitty about this—"

Dazai squeezes him tighter. “It’s not your fault, you know.”

“It’s not her fault either,” Chuuya mumbles, and Dazai silently disagrees, but for once he understands that he should keep his mouth shut. “and she said—we could talk it out—and everything would be fine.”

Dazai strokes his hair. “Do you think she’s right about that?”

“...” Chuuya shakes his head, tucking his face closer into Dazai’s neck.

“...Next time, if you really want to know—I can listen to them for you, okay?”

“Dazai, I can’t ask—"

“You didn’t ask. But it’ll be easier for me than it is for you.”

Chuuya can’t argue with that.

Chuuya is reluctant—he always is when Dazai offers to help him, he’s too damn proud—

But he nods stiffly.

“Good,” Dazai yawns, laying back down, pulling Chuuya with him as he goes. “Did you ever go to sleep?”

Suddenly, Chuuya’s face is hot for an entirely different reason.

Dazai’s got one arm wrapped around his middle, his fingers splayed across Chuuya’s stomach, and the other is resting on his chest, just over his heart— Which means he can feel it pounding. “I—“ Chuuya evens out his tone, “I was going to—“

“You were up at six." Dazai grumbles

He pressed Chuuya closer when he says it, and the redhead wants to argue that Dazai is basically ensuring that Chuuya stays up all night, because now can he sleep right now? He can feel Dazai’s chest pressed up against his back, his nose pressed into Chuuya’s hair, and—

—Chuuya is just laying there in the dark, his face burning. But then the blankets are pulled over them, Dazai is curled up around him, and—

Well, it is comfortable.

They sleep in, and Chuuya wakes up sprawled out on top of him, his head on Dazai’s chest.

Dazai doesn’t wake up at first—he’s just breathing gently, one hand resting loosely on top of Chuuya’s head, while the other is laying loosely on the blankets next to his face. Chuuya pauses, taking advantage of the opportunity to just...

To just stare.

Did he have to always look like that? Somehow, relaxed and still with sleep, he looked even more handsome than usual. From the square jaw to his cheekbones, from the admittedly adorable slope of his nose to how long his eyelashes are— And they’re fluttering as Dazai wakes up

“Hey,” his voice is rough and groggy, and Chuuya’s heart is being a traitor again, racing at forty miles a second. “What time ‘s it?”

Chuuya’s eyes flicker to the clock on Dazai’s bedside. “Almost eleven.”

“Huh.” Dazai reaches up to push some of Chuuya’s bangs behind his ear.

“I guess it’s a good thing you aren’t that heavy...” Dazai yawns, wrapping his arms around Chuuya’s waist. “You would’ve smothered me in my sleep.”

It’s a valid point—Chuuya’s almost completely on top of him, with one of his feet dangling off to the side.

Dazai smirks.

Chuuya’s face is suddenly hot, and he glares. “You were the one holding on so tight bride I fell asleep, maybe you pulled me on top of you—"

“Chuuya,” Dazai snorts, “relax.” Chuuya opens his mouth to argue more, but then Dazai is leaning up on his elbows— And he’s close.

Chuuya’s eyes slide shut as Dazai leans in. With Yuan, kissing wasn’t bad, it was just a habit. Never something that he put a lot of thought into. Right now, Chuuya can’t stop thinking. Should he lean in first? Is he breathing too loud? Oh god, does he have morning breath?

But the kiss doesn’t happen, and when he opens his eyes, Dazai isn’t leaning in at all—actually, he’s looking away. “If it’s already that late, we should probably go ahead and eat breakfast.”

Chuuya frowns as the brunette slides out from underneath him. “It’s almost lunch—“

“Then it’ll be brunch! C’mon, chibi!” Chuuya sits on the bed for a second, completely lost.

What...just happened?

Chapter Text

What...just happened?

Despite Dazai’s insistence, Chuuya is the one that ends up making food for them, and while they’re eating, he thinks. And Chuuya realizes something. Even after everything that’s happened, Dazai hasn’t ever actually kissed him. The first time, in his bedroom—that had been Chuuya’s doing. And the second time, after chasing each other on the street...

...That had been Chuuya too.

And it’s not like Dazai doesn’t touch him. Really, Dazai is downright clingy sometimes—but it’s never like that.

It’s lingering in the back of Chuuya’s mind when they go to Oda’s house, Dazai leans against him while they sit on the couch and watch terrible zombie movies—Oda’s favorites--and it’s gnawing at Chuuya.

He runs through a million possibilities in his head. Chuuya has never actually been with anyone but Yuan before. Is he just not...good at it? Is it different, now that he’s with a guy? Is he supposed to be doing something different—?

Is he doing something wrong? It’s a distinct possibility. When they are kissing, Chuuya never knows what to do with his hands, if he should be the one to move first—he’s just fumbling around with it.

Dazai is different. He’s always relaxed, self-assured—and he’s probably kissed so many other guys—

And, Chuuya realizes with a sinking pit in his stomach, they were probably all better at it than him.

He really, really wishes he was one of the zombies getting their head ripped off on screen right now.

He’s silent on the ride home—and it doesn’t escape Dazai’s notice.

They step back inside the house, and once the door shuts, Dazai pokes Chuuya right between the eyes. “What is it?”

Chuuya frowns, rubbing his forehead “I don’t know what you’re—"

“Either you really didn’t like the movie, or something’s wrong.“ Dazai tilts his head. “Tell me.”

“Nothing.” Chuuya mutters, turning his head away. “You’re overthinking it.” He moves like he’s going to head upstairs, but Dazai stops him with a hand on his wrist.

“I really don’t think I am.”

“Well—that’s just—"

“You don’t even know what it is—"

“Ha! So there is something!”

Chuuya groans,  “I was being stupid—"

And it’s that part that makes Dazai frown. He likes teasing and needling Chuuya until the redhead is on the verge of a fit—but he’s never liked it when Chuuya talks about himself that way. “Whatever it is, it isn’t stupid.”

Chuuya exhales sharply, and he’s embarrassed. He considers making something up, but Dazai has a knack for figuring out when he’s lying, so there doesn’t seem to be much of a point. “After that night—we never really talked about...Well...”

Dazai raises an eyebrow. “Well—What?”

“Whether or not...” Chuuya clears his throat, “Whether or not we’re—If you’re my—?"

“I’m not following you—?"

Chuuya finally blurts it out in a fit of frustration, “Do you want to kiss me?”

Dazai seems surprised for a second, and then not so much surprised as—conflicted.

Chuuya feels anxiety building up in him like a balloon. He’s never really like this. He’s never been bad at something before. But right now he feels like he’s walking a tightrope, struggling for balance, and he just look like such an idiot right now.

“I do.” Chuuya's train of thought comes to a grinding halt. “I really,” there’s something in Dazai’s voice, a kind of longing that has Chuuya’s stomach doing backflips, “really do. But—“

Chuuya’s throat is suddenly so dry. “But what?”

Dazai rocks back on his heels. “With everything that’s happened, I thought you needed time.”

Chuuya suddenly feels guilty. The first time they kissed, he’d been crying, and the second time, he had been asking Dazai if he could run away. No wonder Dazai thought he shouldn’t—

“But,” Dazai interrupts his thoughts, “I think there’s a more important question at hand.”

Chuuya opens his mouth to ask him what he means, and then he notices that Dazai is close.

So close, that Chuuya’s back is pressed up against the front door, and Dazai’s hands are resting against the wood on either side of his head. He has this lopsided smile, and Chuuya—Chuuya can’t breathe. He’s blinking quickly, his face is flushing, and one of Dazai’s hands drifts away from the door, taking Chuuya’s chin and tilting it up.

God, he can’t do this—he’s about to explode, how is he supposed to—

“Do you want me to kiss you, Chuuya?”

When Chuuya was little, really little, he would spend afternoons while Ane-san was off at school tucked away on the couch with his mother, watching old movies.  Really, really old ones—the kind in black and white. The kissing scenes in those movies always seemed different.

Chuuya always thought it was because of the lighting, or the weird, unfamiliar music—

His mom always said it was because because of the charm. The tenderness in each touch, the way every moment seemed to be allowed to take up it’s own space—and the feelings weren’t implied. And to be fair, there is this weird glamor to Dazai. An almost classic kind of charm to the way he smiles, the timber of his voice, the way that he talks—

Having him around makes everything feel—sort of like a movie.

And Dazai is still waiting on an answer.

Chuuya swallows hard, licking his lips—and he can see Dazai’s eyes darting down to follow his tongue—oh god, this isn’t fair.

“Yeah,” it’s a quiet admission, but heartfelt, spoken while looking straight into Dazai’s gaze.

Dazai doesn’t need to be told twice.

The first moment of the kiss is like the second before you crash underwater—eyes sliding shut, breathing in as much air as you can before impact—and then the rest of it is like drowning.

Chuuya doesn’t think about where they are, what he was saying just moments before. All he’s thinking about is how warm Dazai’s mouth is, how easily they fit together. Somehow, without saying a word, the entire world has shrunk down to fit the space between two people, and...

There’s always been a tinge of guilt when it comes to wanting him.

In the months after they met, the stolen glances, silent panicking—there had been so many moments where Chuuya tried to tell himself it was nothing. Or, that if there was something, that it meant there was something wrong with him—but in this moment—nothing feels wrong.

It feels good. It feels safe, and enveloping, and overwhelming. And then Chuuya feels angry—

Because why should he have ever felt guilty for wanting this?

Dazai breaks the kiss and Chuuya frowns, reaching up to pull him back in. “Don’t stop.”

Dazai isn’t sure what happened, but suddenly the redhead is pulling him in, and underneath Dazai’s skin, it feels like an exploding kaleidoscope of color. Chuuya’s hands are in his hair, his tongue is moving with his, and Dazai is chasing his lips like he’s starving. One of his hands drifts down to Chuuya’s hip, his thumb sliding through the belt loop in his jeans, and Chuuya makes this noise, this soft little moan, and Dazai tightens his hold, pulling him closer.

They break apart, his lips sliding along Chuuya’s jaw as he catches his breath Chuuya is vividly aware of Dazai’s hand, still gripping the curve of his hip firmly—he feels every single breath Dazai let’s out against his skin, and there’s this warm, tightening pit in his stomach, and it’s intense—

“Ch—?” Chuuya yanks him down by the front of his shirt

It’s quicker this time—Dazai’s teeth scrape over his bottom lip, and Chuuya’s toes are curling. His toes are barely touching the ground, Dazai is holding him so close. And that hand on Chuuya’s hip is moving, his heart rate is accelerating, and—

And then there’s knocking.

Chuuya nearly jumps out of his skin, and Dazai’s hand turns into a fist against the door with frustration. They’re both breathing hard, Chuuya’s face is hidden in the front of his shirt.

Dazai forces himself to sound cheery. “Who is it?”

“What do you mean, who is it?!”

Mori sounds extremely annoyed. “You locked the deadbolt, Dazai—my key isn’t working!”

Had he been jiggling with the lock before? Dazai couldn’t remember hearing it.

“Sorry," he pulls Chuuya away from the door, moving to twist the lock, “force of habit!”

“The one responsible habit you have, and it’s inconvenient." Mori grumbles, yanking the door open. “What have you two been up to?”

Chuuya struggles to answer, but Dazai is calm enough for both of them. “We only just got back from Odasaku’s—how was Fukuzawa-san?”

Mori frowns. “Fine—better than last week.” Mori sighs, dropping his bag on the counter. “Have you two already eaten?”

“Yep!”

Chuuya doesn’t ask until later, sitting in between Dazai’s legs while the older boy aimlessly works through his math homework. “Who is Fukuzawa?

“Oh,” Dazai leans his chin against his shoulder, his eyes boredly drifting over formulas while Chuuya rests against his chest. “Mori was married, before.”

“He was?” 

“Back when I was little—to Elise’s mom.” Chuuya has seen the girl around, but…

She always seemed to pass in and out,  so much so that it had never occurred to Chuuya that Mori was her father.

“She lives with her mom, then?”

“Usually,” Dazai raps his pen against the paper thoughtfully. “You’ve seen how much my uncle works—it kinda tanked the marriage.”

Chuuya is pretty sure he hasn’t seen Mori around the house for more than an hour a day since he arrived—so he can imagine. “Is her name Fukuzawa or something?”

“Oh, it is—but Mori goes to see her brother on his days off.”

That is a surprise. “...Why?”

“He injured on the job two years ago—Mori isn’t his doctor, but...he helps him out, where he can.” Dazai tosses his pen aside, giving up on calculus for the day. “If you ask me, I think he just likes spending time with him.”

“Well...” Chuuya turns his head, “Good for him.”

“Are you done with homework?”

Dazai’s eyes glitter with excitement. “I could be—“ he starts to lean in, and Chuuya puts a finger over his lips. “Wh—?”

“Then you have time to teach me the glitch in Soul Calibur.”

Dazai pouts.

Mori wanders in to turn the lights off at one to find the boys slumped on the floor in front of the TV, the futon wrapped around them both and the game stuck on the standby screen. Chuuya is curled up in Dazai’s arms, and the controllers have long since been dropped to the floor.

The man sighs, scratching his head.

He already knew the relationship between the two boys wasn’t platonic, but...

That Monday, when Chuuya has already left for school, Mori actually sits down for breakfast at the same time as Dazai. The teenager blinks and looks around, like the world might be ending.

“Am I dying?”

“No,“ Mori pokes at his plate of bacon and eggs (made by Chuuya, before he left—that kid tries to pull his weight, at least—) “I thought that we should have a talk.”

“Whatever it is, Ango probably did it—"

“You aren’t in trouble either.”

Dazai is suspicious.“Is this a thing where you tell me that I’m about to bear a secret family curse when I turn eighteen? Because my birthday is—"

“Osamu."

“...Okay, I’m listening.”

“Do you remember your fifteenth birthday?” Dazai makes a face. “When you had your first girlfriend, and your mother—“

“Made you give me a talk,” Dazai grumbles, a little nauseous at the memory. His actual father was out of the picture when he was very young, so— “I remember.”

“Then you should know that I’m only asking what I’m about to for health reasons.”

“...O...kay?”

“Are you and Chuuya being sexually active?”

Dazai chokes on his food.

Not because he’s surprised by the question, he’s only half surprised—but more because he hasn’t really allowed himself to think about sex with Chuuya until this very moment, and now he’s distracted. The film reel running through Dazai’s head right now isn’t exactly realistic—there’s no pink heart filter in real life, Chuuya would never say the things Dazai is imagining, hell, he wouldn’t even wear the outfit—

“Dazai?”

“No—" Dazai wheezes, chugging his orange juice, “Chuuya—" he coughs a little, “has had a lot going on, so I don’t expect that to change any time soon, either—so don’t worry about—"

“I’m not,” Mori sighs. “You were a tramp before you came to live with me.” Dazai nods, oddly proud of that fact. “Were you going to tell me?”

“If I told you it was like that between us, would you have let him stay?”

“Dazai,” Mori snorts, “that boy would have been shit out of luck if you weren’t so invested in him—I knew it was like that when I agreed.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

“I was expecting—" Mori sighs, “--you to at least come out to me at some point.”

Dazai blinks, his eyebrows knitting with confusion. “I moved the boy of my dreams under your roof. That’s a pretty bombastic way of doing it.”

“Dazai. You know that isn’t the same as talking about it, and it’s a big deal—"

Mori does this sometimes. He tries to have the conversations that Dazai’s mother would be having with him if she was here.

But she isn’t.

“Look—I didn’t even know I was bi until I met him—"

“What, you realized it on sight?”

Dazai pauses, and Mori realizes that he did.

“Oh—" Dazai notices Mori is laughing behind his hand, and he frowns.

“What?!”

“Nothing, that’s just—" Mori chortles, lofting his coffee cup. “—surprisingly cute of you.”

Dazai is caught between being mortified and defensive. “I’m always cute!”

“You’re really not—" Mori glances down at his watch after that moment, and frowns. "Oh--it doesn't look like you'll make the train in time."

Dazai stiffens up. The only way he'll make it to school on time in that instance would be--

A taxi.

Mori eyes him silently and sighs. "Let me grab my bag."

Dazai looks up, surprised, to see his uncle setting his coffee aside and grabbing his coat. "Huh?"

"I'll walk you to school--I can explain the tardy to the front office."

"But you have to go to work--"

"Dazai--" Mori glances over, picking up his bag. "it's fine."

"But--"

"There aren't any critical appointments this morning, I can move them to the afternoon." He points towards the door, and Dazai grabs his bag reluctantly. "Besides--" he pats Dazai on the back. "This way, I can make sure you don't just ditch the entire day."

It's an out, a way for Dazai to not feel awkward about this, and he's grateful--because he doesn't want to admit that he's still having a problem with that. Not right now, anyway.

"You're a pain, old man."

"I know," Mori sighs as they walk down the sidewalk.

"But, while I have you for the next few minutes--" Dazai groans "--you realize sexual health in homosexual relationships is completely different--"

"I know that, I googled it--"

"Porn doesn't count, you know."

"I do." Mori stares, and Dazai sighs. "Okay, fine."

He endures the most embarrassing lecture (and groans when Mori warns that there are going to be pamphlets when he gets home from school), mostly for Chuuya's sake.

Because honestly? Dazai is pretty sure the redhead would have a stroke if he had to listen to this from Mori.

Chapter Text

Chuuya's day, by comparison, did not go as well.

The first half of the day is actually okay--his friend group is actually starting to settle back down, since they break up. His classes are good, and then... soccer practice rolls around.

"Hey, Chuuya?"

He glances up from where he's sitting on the bench, lacing up his cleats. "What's up, Tachi?"

Tachihara looks uncomfortable. He's rubbing the back of his head, glancing around like he doesn't want anyone else to hear.  "This is pretty awkward, but...are things okay at home?"

Chuuya feels cold all of the sudden, but his voice is oddly calm when he replies. "Why do you ask?"

"Well-" Tachi bites the inside of his cheek. "Your Dad called mine last night, and...asked if you were staying with us. Have you--not been living at home?"

Chuuya swallows hard. "I--uh--no," he shakes his head. "I haven't."

Tachihara frowns, concerned. They've been friends for years, but--he isn't exactly someone Chuuya has at the top of his list of people he would come out to. Really, Chuuya doesn't have anyone he wants to come out to. "Did you have a fight or something?"

Chuuya looks away. "Something like that, yeah."

"You aren't homeless right now, are you? Because shit, Chuuya--you can stay with me, if you need to."

"Do I look like I've been sleeping on the street?"

Tachihara glances him over. "...No," he admits, looking away. "You don't."

"..." Chuuya sighs, "I've been staying with a friend, it's fine--"

"Which friend?"

"No one you know--"

"We have all the same friends! You don't think I'm gonna snitch on you, do you?"

"No! No..." Chuuya shakes his head, biting his lip. Well--actually--maybe? "...One of my sister's friends, okay? You wouldn't know them, so..." Chuuya stands up, shifting from foot to foot nervously. "I don't expect you to lie for me if someone asks, alright? Just--I'm fine, and that's all you need to know."

"...Okay..." Tachihara frowns reluctantly.

But Tachi isn't the only one. Every single player on the team got a phone call. Gin got a phone call. Higuchi got a phone call. Even his coach pulls him aside after practice, to try to check on him.

"Nakahara, it's not right, making your mother worry like that."

Chuuya's teeth are clenched, he's staring at the grass, and he's got this awful pit in his stomach, getting more and more painful with every conversation he's had this afternoon. "Did she tell you why I left?"

"She didn't, but--"

"If they call you again," Chuuya lifts his chin, "you should ask them. And then tell me that again."

"Son, I don't think--"

"Has this impacted my performance?" Chuuya feels like he might be moving past the stage of shame, which has sort of been his life for the past four years.

"That's not--"

Now, he's angry. "Have I violated any school rules?" Silence follows. They both know that he hasn't. "Then I don't think there's much more of a conversation to be had."

And suddenly, soccer isn't so fun anymore.

"Gin--" he calls over when he's nearing the school entrance, "--can you do me a favor?"

She turns her head to look over at him with surprise, "Sure--I thought you'd still be at practice--"

"I'll explain later--but can you check the front gate and tell me if someone's waiting?"

Gin frowns, looking at the gate, then back at him, "Are you in trouble?"

"Gin--please."

She looks worried, but she walks over, peaking her head around before running back. "...What's going on, Chuuya?"

"Is my Dad out there?"

Gin nods, tilting her head to the side, and Chuuya's stomach sinks. That was what the calls were really for. His Dad was trying to pin down his schedule, so see if he was still at practice. Because it would be easier to drag Chuuya home without making a scene after the main school dismissals. "How does he look?"

"Kind of...scary." Gin admits softly.

"...Great." Chuuya sighs.

"Chuuya--I really don't like this--" Gin tucks her hair behind her ears, looking back at the gate again. "If it's really that bad, then--"

"It's fine, Gin." Chuuya braces his shoulders, his expression grim. "I was just trying to emotionally prepare."

"For what?!"

"Go on."

"Did you do something? Are you in trouble?"

Oh, he is definitely in trouble. "It's fine, it's not your problem." Chuuya mutters, getting ready to walk out.

"Like hell!" Gin hisses, using both palms on Chuuya's chest to shove him back. "You're scaring me!"

"It's not like I can avoid it Gin, I can't live at school forever--" 

"Why are you avoiding your dad?!"

"Because he's probably going to beat the shit out of me, okay?! Or worse. So--"

"Worse?!" Gin throws her hands up, "Why would he do that?!"

"Because I'm--!"

"--because you're what--?!"

"--because I'm gay, alright?!"

They're both frozen in silence, and it's the first time Chuuya has ever actually said the words out loud. His heart is pounding, he feels sick, he wants to call Dazai--

"...So am I."

The words wash over him--and it wasn't what he was expecting, and when he looks up at Gin--and she looks just as scared as he is.

"...I've never actually said it before," she admits softly. "But--he's--?"

"...Yeah." Chuuya is dumbfounded.

"Well--come on," Gin grabs his hand.

"Where--" Chuuya blinks, stumbling after her as she drags him away from the entrance. "--Where are we going?"

"The faculty exit--it's on the other side of the school." Gin explains, "I still have the office keys from when I was an office assistant--we can get back there."

"You really don't have to--"

"Shut up, okay?" Gin glares at him. "I'll do it every damn day if I have to. You were really just gonna walk out there and let him hit you?"

Chuuya doesn't answer.

"You didn't have a plan?"

"...I kind of panicked."

"You can ask for help."

They sneak out through the faculty exit--and the road is blissfully clear. "I'll walk you to the station."

"You really don't need to do that--"

"I'm not asking, Nakahara. Suck it up." She smacks hip upside the head lightly. "I swear, after the scare you just gave me..."

"Sorry, sorry..." Chuuya mutters, letting her hook arms with him as they walk down the street.

"You do have a place to stay, right?" Gin glances up. "It'll be a little weird with Ryuu, but you can always stay with us--"

"I do have somewhere to stay--but why--?"

"Oh, he idolizes you," Gin sighs, "It's always 'Nakahara-kun this' and 'Nakahara-kun that'. If I brought you home to stay with us, he'd combust."

"I really couldn't tell--"

"Never been a great communicator, that brother of mine. Where are you staying, then?"

"With--a friend of my sister's." Gin blinks, tilting her head to the side.

"Your sister? Didn't all of her friends graduate?"

"Well, this one knows Odasaku--"

"Wait a minute--" Gin covers her mouth up to snort, "--is it that friend of his with the bandages?"

"...Yeah?" Chuuya frowns, "We're actually...kind of..."

"Dating?" Gin prompts, looking delighted at the prospect.

"...sort of..." Chuuya wheezes, suddenly maroon. "What's with the face?"

"He introduced himself as Dazoo."

Oh yeah. Dazai did do that, didn't he?

"I mean--it was cute, but he was so into you," Gin shakes her head with a smile. "I really thought no one else noticed--I felt kinda bad for Yuan--" she pauses. "Is that why you two...?"

Chuuya  is reeling over how oblivious he was, and almost doesn't answer. "Sort of...?"

"I mean, I didn't say that was why, but...yeah." Chuuya sighs, walking up to the station steps. "Thank you, Gin--that was--you really didn't have to--"

"You're my friend, dummy," Gin squeezes his elbow with a soft smile. "Of course I did. Text me when you get home safe, okay?"

Chuuya nods, letting out a shaky breath. "Okay." He walks down the steps, hopping onto the train as soon as it arrives--

And when he makes it home, he's ready to drop from all of the stress.

"Chuuya? What's--?"

He doesn't say a word, he just walks into Dazai's arms.

Dazai brings his arms up to hug him, while Chuuya just buries his nose in the front of his school uniform. He doesn't speak for a long time, and eventually Dazai feels like he has to.

"...Did something happen?"

"...I think I'm gonna have to quit soccer." Chuuya mumbles.

Dazai winces. Sports aren't a small part of Chuuya's life. They never have been. "Because...?"

"Judo too."

That is a blow, given he's the current prefecture champion in his weight class.

"Chuuya--"

"My dad was at school today."

Dazai's chest freezes up. He's stuck between being protective, being enraged, and being scared--he grabs Chuuya by the shoulders, forcing him to lean back so he can really look at him--he doesn't see anything physically wrong. "Did  you have to talk to him?"

"No, I snuck out the back, but he isn't going to stop trying to get a hold of where I am, and-" Chuuya squeezes his eyes shut. "Part of me almost wonders if I should just get it over with."

"Chuuya, no."

"If I'm right, I can file a police report and come back here, if I'm wrong, then I just overreacted-"

Dazai hasn't forgotten the day he asked Chuuya if his father had hit him before. It didn't slip his notice when Chuuya avoided answering. It's not lost on him that Chuuya gets skittish at times over things that don't always make sense. "I don't think you overreacted."

Chuuya squeezes his eyes shut. "I don't know if I can do this until I graduate. It's only been a few weeks, and it's been great when I'm here, but everywhere else--"  Dazai hugs him tighter,  "-he's going to show up here eventually. It's a matter of time."

"Chuuya--"

"And then if he does find me here and I leave again, he'll just drag me back over and over--" his breathing is speeding up.

"Chuuya--"

"--and I can't ask your uncle to put up with that, he's already done a lot--"

"Chuuya, I think you should--"

"--and what if he tries to go after you?" Dazai wants to say it would be really, really unfortunate day for Mr. Nakahara if he tried, but that's not the issue at hand.

"Chuuya," he shakes his shoulders, hard, and Chuuya snaps out of it, looking up at him, dazed and breathless. "I think you're having a panic attack," Dazai explains softly. It's different, from the one's he's had after the accident--but not completely unrecognizable.

"I'm--I'm fine, I'm just--"

"You're not," Dazai makes him sit down. "And Chuuya, come on--I know you."

"What does that have to do with--?" Dazai kisses his forehead, and suddenly--Chuuya feels a little calmer.

"You don't get scared without a reason," really, it's easy to forget, with how things had been lately, but Chuuya is the toughest person Dazai knows.

"You're not overreacting. You aren't making a big deal out of nothing." Dazai looks so serious, it's almost strange. "And he doesn't deserve the benefit of the doubt," Dazai reminds him gently, pushing Chuuya's hair away from his face. "You do."

Chuuya slumps. “But I could have to go back,” Chuuya mumbles. “And then—“

“And then you’ll get back out, or—Chuuya, look—" Dazai has always been great with words, but never with feelings. He’s aware of them, yes, but voicing them? That’s different. “I would always come after you.”

“You can’t—"

“I can."  Dazai nods emphatically. “I would be the most annoying, most persistent rescuer, to the point where they might just give you back to get rid of me.”

Chuuya hates it, but he’s smiling a little. “You’re an idiot—"

“Exactly. With no sense of shame.”

Chuuya distinctly remembers Dazai knocking over a priest when he came chasing him down the street, and he can’t say he’s wrong. And he knows Dazai is exaggerating and being silly to make him feel better, and... It would be a lie to say it wasn’t working.

“I believe you.”

Dazai doesn’t exactly hover after that—it’s never been his style—but he does keep a close eye on Chuuya for the rest of the night.

And when Chuuya shows up in Dazai’s room after midnight, he wordlessly lifts up the covers so the redhead can crawl in and join him. Chuuya knows things aren’t okay—and that they probably won’t be for a while. But Dazai’s arms wrap around him, and they’re in a cocoon of down comforter, and—just for that time, in the space between Dazai’s arms, everything feels okay.

The next day, he drops Judo and Soccer His friends question it, his teachers worry—but it wasn’t like he had a choice.

Gin slips into the habit of sneaking him out through the faculty doors each day, and that routine starts to feel solid.

The only downside is all of the newfound freetime—which is almost unbearable Chuuya didn’t notice before, because he was always too busy—but Dazai has a surprisingly packed schedule. Student government on Thursdays, baseball on Mondays, Tuesday’s, and Friday’s. It makes Chuuya wonder how Dazai found the time for tutoring him so often.

Chuuya’s texting Dazai about it, complaining about the long, boring afternoon he has ahead of him.

// Dazai: Well, maybe you can’t go to your own practices, but you could always come to mine.

// Chuuya: ??

// Dazai: Baseball practice. My school is on your way home anyway.

// Chuuya: Am I even allowed...?

// Dazai: Sure! I decree it!

// Chuuya: I don’t think student body presidents can do that

// Dazai: 😘😘😘

Chuuya stares at the emojis for a moment with a bewildered sigh.

Dazai isn’t really wrong—Chuuya doesn’t have anything better to do.

Chuuya makes his usual detour with Gin, walks with her to the station—and on the ride home, he sees kids in Keio's school uniform getting on and—

Ah, what the hell.

Chapter Text

One thing Dazai did not warn Chuuya about: his campus is huge. It takes him thirty minutes to find the field, and it takes exactly seven seconds after his arrival for Chuuya to regret all of his life choices.

CRACK.

Chuuya’s head whips to the side at the noise, zoning in on the batter, who is now poised at the end of his swing. The ball travels in a perfect arc, and it keeps going—until it’s disappears behind the fence.

“Ne, Edogawa-sensei—" Dazai tugs off his helmet, “do I have to run the bases, or can we skip that part?”

“Conditioning, Dazai.”

“But it’s just practice—!” He whines, turning around to start running.

And then he sees Chuuya. “Hey," he’s jogging over, and Chuuya’s Brain isn’t properly functioning. Sure, he’s aware that Dazai is taller than him, broader than him—but—he’s never been so vividly aware of the other teenager’s biceps before, and—It’s distracting. “I wasn’t sure if you were coming."

“Well—" Chuuya frowns at how strangled his voice sounds and he clears his throat. “You were right, I had nothing better to do, so...”

“Is that kid from another school?”

“He is, sensei—“ Dazai calls back, placing a hand on Chuuya’s shoulder, “he’s my b—" They both pause. Dazai glances over at Chuuya, and the redhead knows Dazai didn’t mean to put him on the spot, so...

“You can," Chuuya is trying so hard to keep his eyes on Dazai’s face, “—you can say boyfriend, if you want."

Dazai gives him a short nod before resuming, “—my boyfriend!”

Chuuya doesn’t miss the complete and total shock on the other player’s faces, and for a minute he feels himself starting to tense up—but Dazai doesn’t look worried or upset at all.

If anything he looks kinda...proud?

“Yeah well, he’ll get the boot if the assistant principal sees him.” The coach shrugs, sitting back with his clipboard.

“He’s fine,” Dazai snorts. “His sister came to half of our practices last season, and she didn’t go here either.”

“He’s right, sensei!” Kenji shouts over. “She used to heckle Sakunosuke!”

“Heckle?” Chuuya blinks, trying to imagine his sister ‘heckling’ someone. “Ane-san?”

Yosano is cackling at the memory, and Oda is scarlet behind his catcher’s mask. “If that’s what you call wolf whistling when he ran the bases—"

Well. Chuuya would rather die, but—looking at Dazai right now, be kind of understands the urge.

“Well, you’ve introduced him—now finish running the bases.”

“But it’s out of the—!”

“Now, Dazai.”

Chuuya ends up on the bench with Edogawa-sensei and Yosano, and it’s actually—kind of—fun. It’s genuinely fun.

Dazai keeps talking to his teammates when he’s on the bases with them, glancing back at Chuuya and grinning, and everytime he does it, Chuuya’s chest gets a little warmer.

And getting to watch his—well, boyfriend—slam three home runs in an hour, well—damn it, it’s sexy.

He always runs past Chuuya with this cocky smile, and the redhead knows he’s showing off, and the only annoying part of it is that Dazai is so good at it, when Chuuya has yet to see the boy be bad at anything.

“Hey," it’s towards the end of practice, when a deep, unfamiliar voice hits Chuuya's ears,  “we haven’t met.”

Chuuya glances up to see a tall blonde standing in front of him while the other boys jog off towards the showers. “Kunikida Doppo,” he offers his hand. “It’s nice to meet you.”

Chuuya raises an eyebrow, and he reaches out to shake it. “Nakahara Chuuya—nice time meet you too.”

“I know who you are—“ Kunikida rubs the back of his neck. “He never mentioned you two were dating—but Dazai talks about you a lot."

Chuuya’s heart skips a beat. Oh.

“That’s actually why I’m here.”

“It is?”

“Yeah...” Kunikida looks so serious, for someone near Chuuya’s age.

Chuuya doesn’t know what he’s expecting, but Kunikida bows deeply from the waist. “I wanted to thank you for everything you’ve done.”

Chuuya blinks, looking around, like Kunikida must be talking to someone else. “Everything I’ve done?”

Kunikida looks just as baffled. “Yes?”

Chuuya’s baffled expression doesn’t move, and Kunikida frowns. “You really have no idea what you did, do you?”

“Uh—"

“I’ve been playing with Dazai since we started middle school. Last April, none of us knew what to do to help him, and then he just...stopped coming.”

“Oda said he had him, and we all had to trust that, but...” Kunikida’s eyes flicker back over to where Dazai is disappearing into the locker rooms, ruffling Atsushi’s hair. “After you showed up, things...started to go back to the way they were. And—he’s an annoying son of a bitch, but—"

Chuuya smiles, his eyes filled with affection. “I get it.”

Kunikida nods gruffly. “Good, well—I’m just grateful, and I—we—hope you stick around.”

He turns to run off after that, and Chuuya is left with his thoughts. Honestly, he never realized.

Dazai emerges around ten minutes later, freshly showered, his bangs falling in his face in a way that just makes Chuuya sigh.

And the other players start rushing over. “Hey! I’m Tanizaki—could you remind Dazai-senpai that he owes me three hundred yen? He’s never been great about—"

“Nakahara-san—! I’m Nakajima, but you can call me Atsushi—you go to Kanagawa, right? That’s so cool—"

“Kenji here! Thanks for making Dazai-senpai come back, Sakaguchi-senpai is great and all, but—"

“—I did my best, dammit!”

Chuuya is swarmed with shaking hands, memorizing names.

“—you were the center forward for Kanagawa, right? Dude, you’re a monster—"

“Well, I was, but I had to quit—" Chuuya mutters, biting his cheek.

Atsushi blinks innocently. “Really? But—you’re one of the best, how—?”

“O-kay~!” Dazai places his hands on Chuuya’s shoulders. “I’m taking the chibi home, you can gawk at him next time!” Dazai calls, steering him off.

“Dazai, we didn’t even get to ask him for anything embarrassing—!”

“Wait, is there gonna be a next time—?”

Their voices fade off into the distance as Dazai leads them towards the gates. “Sorry,” Dazai sighs, dropping his hands from Chuuya’s shoulders, instead reaching down to twine their fingers together. “They’re overbearing.”

Chuuya glances down at their hands, his heart pumping faster. His first instinct is to pull away, because someone could see —but then he remembers how good it had felt, seeing how happy Dazai had been to introduce Chuuya as his boyfriend, and—

What the hell should he be embarrassed for?

He squeezes Dazai’s hand a little tighter. “I liked them—they seemed cool.”

Dazai snorts. "Cool isn’t the  exact word I would use. But they’re alright.” When Chuuya glances over, he can see how affectionate Dazai’s eyes are when he talks about them, and it makes the shorter boy smile.

“I guess I’m gonna have to learn more about baseball.” Dazai quirks an eyebrow.

“Oh? You’re coming again?”

“It was better than staying at home and feeling sorry for myself.” Chuuya shrugs. “And...” his eyes drift off as he thinks about watching Dazai again, and— “I don’t know, it was fun.”

“Well then,” Dazai puts on a mock serious expression, “prepare to be instructed.”

Compared to tutoring Chuuya in calculus and chemistry, curling up under a blanket on the sofa and showing him old Yankees games is considerably more enjoyable. And Chuuya’s level of focus when he’s watching the game? It’s surprisingly endearing

They end up in the batting cages that Saturday, with Dazai standing behind Chuuya and guiding his elbows, showing him how to swing. And sure, they have to stop several times when Dazai pulls Chuuya out of the batting lane to kiss him instead, but Chuuya does learn.

A couple of weeks later, Ango is starting to miss practices without their other coach. Edogawa-sensei is barking out orders as usual, but then—

“Hey! Sakaguchi! You call that a pitch?” The redhead yells from behind the fence, wearing a baseball cap and a t-shirt.

“I—“

“It was wide and a ref would’ve called it! I’m shocked Oda managed to catch it!”

Ango looks to Ranpo for assistance, but all he gets in return is a nod, as if to indicate, 'You heard him.’

Oda, for his part, is surprised at how quickly and how easily Chuuya became a fixture. It seems as though Kouyou’s little brother came with a different form of heckling.

Chuuya is leaning back against the fences, pretending not to watch Dazai too closely, when he hears Atsushi comment—

“I can’t believe we only have four games left with the third years.”

Chuuya is still, and Atsushi and Tanizaki keep on going on about it as they load stray balls up into the cart. “I know—graduation’s only two months away now, right?”

“Yeah—and then we’ll be second years, and Dazai, Kunikida, Sakaguchi, and Oda will be—“

Chuuya swallows hard.

“—gone.”

It’s not like it hasn’t occurred to him before. Obviously it has. How does time slip by so fast?

“You’re pretty quiet today,” Dazai comments on the walk home.

Chuuya glances down at their intertwined fingers. “Just thinking, I guess.”

“That’s scary.”

Chuuya gives him a look, and Dazai snorts, pulling him in to give the redhead a loud, obnoxious kiss on the side of his head. “Because you over think, chibi. What is it?”

“Have you decides where you’re going for university yet?”

Dazai wrinkles his nose. “Oh. That.” Chuuya knows it’s between Kyoto and Tokyo, and the difference between the two is vast. One is an hour away, and the other—it’s half a day’s train ride. “Tokyo, I guess.”

“You’re taking the decision seriously, right?”

Dazai frowns. “Of course I am.”

Chuuya glances away. “ ‘Tokyo, I guess’ doesn’t sound that serious.”

“What? You want me to go to Kyoto?”

No. A very selfish, very loud voice in Chuuya’s head wants him to never graduate at all, or to tuck himself into Dazai’s suitcase so they could get out of here together—but that wasn’t what was going to happen. “I don’t want you to go to Tokyo just because you’re worried about me.”

“Chuuya—they’re both great schools, Tokyo is ranked higher half the time. It doesn’t make a huge difference—“

“But it sort of does, Dazai. The reason matters.”

“If I get the same education either way, it really doesn’t—“

“What if you’re forty years old, and you look back and think— ‘aw man, I should’ve gone to Kyoto.’ And you didn’t because of a boy you dated in highschool? That’s just—"

Dazai’s expression darkens. “Wait—you’ll also be the boy I dated in college. And after, hopefully—Chuuya—" Dazai turns his head to look at him, and he looks kind of upset. “Do you think I’m just going to dump you while I’m away and then regret my school choices?”

Chuuya is pointedly looking away.

“Chuuya, look at me—"

“Not when you’re about to tell me I’m being an idiot—"

“Well, you are.“ Dazai snaps, and Chuuya winces. He moves to pull his hands out of Dazai’s, but the taller boy doesn’t let him.

“What are you—Dazai, let go of me—!”

Dazai refuses. He drags the redhead, protesting, practically hissing, around the corner and presses him into the brick wall lining one of the restaurants on their street. “Look at me.”

Chuuya won’t.

“Chuuya."

If he does, Dazai is gonna make him change his mind—

“Please."

Chuuya looks up, because he can’t stand how pained Dazai sounds. And to his horror, Dazai looks so sad. “Do you have any idea what you mean to me?”

The words slam into Chuuya, knocking out all radio communications, and he doesn’t have an answer. “I—" his lips won’t work. “I—"

“Because I don’t,” Dazai isn’t teasing, he isn’t self assured—he’s just...upset. “Every time I try to put a word to it, it just...doesn’t feel like enough.”

Oddly enough, Chuuya knows exactly what he means. The feeling in his chest when Dazai is around, when he’s touching him, it--it feels like it’s all too much, like one skipped heartbeat too many, and Chuuya will fall to pieces.

“But I—" Dazai grits his teeth, and Chuuya wants to tell him to stop, that he gets Dazai isn’t great at talking about his feelings, that it’s okay— “The last time someone was this important to me—"

It almost sounds like admitting how important Chuuya is, is somehow painful for Dazai, and—Chuuya gets it. “I’m sorry,” he reaches up, cupping Dazai’s face in his hands. “I was—“ he pulls Dazai in, letting the third year press his face into his neck. “—being an idiot.”

The last person Dazai cared about this much is gone.

“Yeah,” Dazai mumbles into his skin. “I know.”

“I don’t think you’re gonna ditch me or something, okay?” Chuuya mumbles. “I just...don’t think I should be a factor in the decision.”

“If I promise you that, will you have a little more faith in me?”

Chuuya swallows hard. “Yeah, Dazai,” he mutters. “I can do that.”

Later that night, Dazai is staring at his ceiling with frustration. He knows how much he cares about Chuuya. Why is it so hard to say?

“Dazai?” He can hear Chuuya’s voice outside of his door. “Can I come in?”

Chuuya’s never felt the need to ask before, and now Dazai feels guilty for his reaction earlier.

“Yeah,” Dazai frowns, “of course you can—" he sits up as the door opens, and then—

And then his brain short circuits.

Chuuya is standing in the doorway, looking apologetic. “Are you still mad?”

Dazai was never mad at him, but he can’t find the words to say that right now. “That’s,” Dazai blinks, struck completely dumb, “that’s my shirt.”

“Uh,” Chuuya glances down at himself.  “Yeah?”

“All of mine are in the wash, so I grabbed yours out of the dryer.” It’s one of his old team t-shirts from his second year, the neck slipped the side, exposing Chuuya’s shoulder.

It reaches mid thigh on him, and Dazai feels like he might be dying.

Chuuya’s legs are bare.

Chuuya looks a little confused, and still wary after Dazai’s outburst from earlier. “Is that okay? Because I—"

“It’s—" Dazai clears his throat, because he sounds like a strangled cat. “It’s fine.”

“Okay,” Chuuya steps inside, closing the door behind him “Look, about earlier—“

Earlier? What earlier? That was a different life, a different Dazai—right now he feels like a whole new man, one ready to face the world, or really just—

“I didn’t mean to make it sound like you don’t care about me.” Chuuya walks over, sitting on the edge of the bed. “I just...you’ve done a lot for me, Dazai—and I l—“ Chuuya’s face gets red, and Dazai would’ve noticed that if his brain could focus on something else other than the fact that his hand is exactly three inches from the redhead’s bare thigh. “—I appreciate you for that—"

Really, why is this such a big deal? Dazai has been with plenty of girls. Up close. Sometimes head first. Plenty of them in something more seductive than an old baseball t-shirt. Why is he freaking out?

Why does Chuuya’s skin look so soft?

“Dazai? Are you listening?”

“Uh-huh.” Even Dazai knows he sounds so ridiculous, like his mouth is full of marbles, but somehow Chuuya keeps going—

“I just...if you go to school somewhere far away, we’ll figure it out. I just don’t want you to resent me eventually, that’s all.”

“I,” Dazai gulps.  Chuuya is turning to face him, and it’s making the shirt shift and crawl further up the swell of his thigh, and--  “I wouldn’t resent you.” Dazai forces himself to make eye contact with Chuuya, because he doesn’t want to get caught staring in this situation, that would be worse.

Really, he can’t give the answer any thought right now, but it feels like what he might say if he wasn’t incredibly distracted.

“I think I’m starting to get that, but...you’re...” Chuuya sighs, his brow furrowing with frustration. “Don’t be an ass when I say this, okay?”

There’s another wheezed, ‘Okay’ and Chuuya shifts just before Dazai’s fingertips can brush against his leg, and he’s starting to feel like a cartoon character running into a mural painted on the side of a rock face.

“You’re so fucking special, Dazai.”

His brain stops again.

It’s not the first time he’s heard it. Or the tenth. But it’s been a long time.

“Do you have any idea how special you are, kid? Don’t waste that big brain of yours!” 

“I mean, you know how smart you are," Chuuya bites his lip anxiously, "and you’ve got so many opportunities—"

“You have to say that!”

“You’re my mom!” 

“So if you threw any of that away because of me, even if you didn’t resent me for it—"

“Anyone with two eyes can tell, sweetheart.”

“—I would resent myself for it—"

“Chuuya...” Dazai puts a hand on his shoulder to make him stop talking.

His brain still feels like it’s roiling in the waves, and he’s struggling to find the words, but he tries. “I promise—I’ll take it seriously. Okay?”

Chuuya nods, biting his lip, and Dazai reaches out to brush over it with his thumb. “If anything—" Dazai takes a deep breath— “—you’ve been a good thing, when it comes to me and school. When I met you—Chuuya, I was such a wreck, I wasn’t even trying anymore—and now—"

Dazai has the words, but they’re so hard to say.

He studied so hard for his entrance exams the first time, because  his mom had been so proud. And then after she was gone...

It just didn’t seem to matter anymore.

It didn’t start to matter again until he had someone he was studying with, someone to impress and now—

Someone who believes in him.

And sure, technically, Mori has believed in him this entire time, but he doesn’t count.

“Now I want to try, okay? I just—“ he cups Chuuya’s cheek with his hand. “Want to prioritize the things that make me happy. I don’t think I’ll ever resent that.”

Now Chuuya is scarlet.

And now that the conversation is reaching a lull Dazai is leaning in, because dear god he has to, and Chuuya’s eyes are slipping shut.

Once Chuuya’s mouth is on his, it feels like a release. Dazai wraps his arms around him, pulling him forward insistently, and  Chuuya is slowly swinging his leg up onto the bed, and Dazai can’t open his eyes and turn his head to look, but he can tug Chuuya towards him until the redhead shifts forward, one leg sliding on the other side of Dazai’s waist and—

Chuuya is straddling him.

Thank you, god.

Chuuya’s arms wrap around Dazai’s shoulders as he settles into Dazai’s lap, and Dazai feels like the weight of him is the only thing that is stopping him from floating away.

The kiss is deepening, their tongues are moving together, and Dazai is trying so damn hard to just keep it together, because they’re almost there—

His hands are sliding down the small of Chuuya’s back, making him shiver, and he almost has the courage to slide his hands over Chuuya's backside, but that mountain seems unobtainable at the moment—

God damn it, this is hard.

Chuuya doesn’t have to make sounds like that, these small, gasping moans that sent shivers down Dazai’s spine, and it almost distracts him, but he’s a man on a mission—

His hands slide over Chuuya’s hips, eliciting a shiver, down to the hem of the t-shirt, and then his hands land on Chuuya’s thighs. The skin is just as soft as it looks, firm, with toned muscle underneath.

Dazai feels like he’s landed on the moon.

Like someone should shake his fucking hand.

It’s one small step for Osamu, one huge fucking leap for Dazai kind.

But then Chuuya is stiffening and his legs are quivering under Dazai’s palms, and Dazai hesitates. Did he push too far? Was it not okay? Is he—?

He starts to lift his hands from Chuuya’s legs (with deep reluctance) but Chuuya shakes his head quickly against his mouth.

Oh.

It’s okay, Chuuya’s just—he just—has sensitive thighs?

Dazai feels like he has ascended, like he needs to pray after all of this is over. He digs his fingertips in, and Chuuya moans.

Oh. Oh dear god.

Dazai starts sliding his hands up.  Chuuya isn’t stopping him, and Dazai almost can’t believe this is happening. Is—is it about to happen? Dazai doesn’t have any lube yet (but fuck, he’s ordering it on amazon after this) but they can do other stuff, right?

And then, Dazai’s hands hit fabric.

Damn it.

Chuuya. Sweet, unintentionally sadistic Chuuya, has been wearing shorts this entire time.

The shorter, athletic kind. The kind you can’t see under an oversized t-shirt.

Dazai feels fucking bamboozled.

And he’s still harder than he’s ever been in his entire life.

“Dazai?” Chuuya leans back from the kiss, raising an eyebrow when he hears his boyfriend let out a strangled whimper. “You okay?”

Dazai opens his mouth to say yes, this is fine, everything’s fine, but—

“Boys!” Mori’s voice from downstairs is the final nail in Dazai’s coffin, “I brought Chinese for dinner!”

Dazai drops his head against Chuuya’s chest.

“...Dazai?”

“Just give me a second.”

Then he starts doing this dramatic muffled screaming, and Chuuya is flailing.

“Dazai, fuck, that TICKLES—!”

The next day, Oda is less than sympathetic. “Have you two done anything besides kissing before?”

Dazai doesn’t lift his head from where he’s slumped over his desk.  “No."

“And you thought he was just magically going to skip to step five?”

“Don’t mock me, Odasaku,” Dazai whispers, “I can’t take it today.”

“How long did it take for you and...?”

Oda raises an eyebrow. “Me and Kouyou?”

“I always expect you to call her ‘chan’, and you never do...”

“Only when we’re alone.” Dazai looks at him pleadingly, and Oda sighs. “I don't know...a couple of months?”

Dazai’s head drops back down on his desk. “The chibi and I have been together about that long...”

Oda throws his hands up. “I’m sure the lack of societal stigma helps. And, y’know...”

“What?”

“Neither of us were coming to grips with our budding sexualities?”

Dazai wants to drive his pencil through his friend’s heart.

Chapter Text

Chuuya feels himself slowly starting to adjust to the new normal. His friend group at school has shifted away from his friends in from soccer and towards Gin, Ryuu, and Higuchi. He’s an unofficial member of Dazai’s baseball team. He makes sure Dazai and Mori actually eat.

There are things he misses from before, yes. He misses his mom. He misses his room. Sometimes he even misses Yuan. Not the physical parts, but the friendship. But he’s learning how to replace them with new things. Weekends at Odasaku’s. Lunches with Gin. Nights with Dazai.

But, a little over a month after he left home, things change.

“Nakahara-kun?” He glances up from his math quiz to see his teacher standing at the front of the room, looking over a piece of paper. “You’ve been requested by the principal’s office.”

Chuuya exhales slowly. The walk is long, and it stretches out in his head. He doesn’t know exactly what this is, but he has a pretty good guess. He manages to send off one text before he walks in.

// Chuuya: I think they came to my school.

// Dazai: Wait? Right now?

The door to the office opens. The principal is sitting there—looking uncomfortable. Opposite his desk, his parents are sitting in two chairs, huddled close. A police officer is standing in the corner.

Chuuya wants to slam the door and make it all disappear, but he’s awake, and that won’t work.

“Chuuya—“ his mother stands up, rushing over and pulling him into her embrace. “We—" she chokes back tears, “we’ve been looking all over for  you. How could you do this?"

Chuuya doesn’t move. His father isn’t speaking. His father isn’t even looking at him. He forces himself to move, to pat her arms awkwardly, because he doesn’t feel comfortable hugging her—and he hates that.

“Nakahara-kun...” his principal looks wary. “Have a seat.”

Chuuya’s mother gives him a small push, and he forces himself to sit down.

“Your parents,” he gestures to them, and Chuuya’s father still won’t look away from the window. “Have reported you as a runaway. Now—I know my teenage years were hard myself—but we both know that you belong at home.”

Chuuya’s mother has wadded up tissues in her hands. Chuuya is staring at a fixed point on the wall where the paint is starting to chip.

“But if there’s something you would like to tell me or Officer Seijo, please,” his principle says emphatically, “now is the time.”

There are things that they never explain on TV. You always stare at the screen and think to yourself, ‘Why didn’t they tell? Why didn’t they just say? something?’ Chuuya has been raised, his entire life up until this moment, to not make a scene. That’s the entire reason it took his parents a month to file a police report. They didn’t want to deal with the embarrassment of admitting that their child didn’t want to be at home. And it’s that frustration, that fury and humiliation, that Chuuya can feel radiating off of his father right now.

It’s already bad. It’s so, so bad.

There are things Chuuya will learn later, when he’s an adult and can advocate for himself, about why this was wrong.

But the most important thing among all of the mistakes made that day, was that his parents weren’t asked to leave the room first.

Chuuya becomes the same, frustrating stereotype that everyone has seen a thousand times. He’s still, pale, and obviously, there’s something wrong. But he doesn’t tell. There’s nothing he could say that would stop them from sending him home anyway.

Why make things worse? What is he supposed to say? ‘I’m gay, and my dad has said before that he thinks gay people should off themselves, so I don’t want to go home right now.’

He already knows from Mori—that isn’t enough to stop the principal from sending him home. And he’ll only get in more trouble

“We had a fight.” Chuuya lies, his eyes still stuck on that one spot on the wall. “I didn’t wanna admit I was wrong, so I left.” His mother seems relieved, and Chuuya feels sick.

“Well,” the principal frowns. “You’re still sixteen-–you have to remain under their roof. Understand?”

“Yes.” 

“Good.” The principal leans back in his chair. “If that’s all—you’re excused from classes today. I’m sure you’ll want to spend the evening working things out with your family.” 

That is the last thing that Chuuya wants. 

The walk to the car is absolutely silent.

Before they get inside, Chuuya’s father snaps his fingers in his direction, opening his palm. Chuuya doesn’t have to ask what he wants—and he pulls his phone out and hands it over without a word.

Once they’re inside the car, and the doors are shut, it starts. “I don’t know what the hell has gotten into you,” his father’s voice is low, harsh, and there is absolutely zero room for debate. “But this little escaped of yours is over. Your mother and I have already discussed how we’re going to be handling this and you are lucky."

This is how it always starts. With the reminder that he’s the lucky one.

He stares at the back of his mother’s head, silently pleading for her to say something, to express the concern she had earlier—but she doesn’t.

“Because your mother doesn’t want me to ship you off." He practically snarls the last words. “You aren’t going anywhere except for school for the foreseeable future. No phone. No internet. You can stare at the wall in your room for all I care, but you are going to stay there."

Chuuya can feel himself starting to shut down. It’s right there, just under the surface.

Anger. He’s so fucking angry.

“Oh—and we got you a therapist." His father says the last word derisively. “Your mother thinks one of those might help.”

Chuuya snorts.

“Wanna repeat that?”

“No.”

“Excuse me?” He asks flatly.

Chuuya hunches his shoulders, gritting his teeth. “No sir."

“Dazai—you’ll be making things worse for him if you go over there right now.”

Dazai is shaking his head, pacing a hole into the floor. His hands are unsteady, his hair is a mess from how many times he’s run his fingers through it in the last hour. “But—but he could already be—“

Mori is watching from the kitchen table. “I know. I really do. But the best thing you can do for Chuuya is to wait."

“How can you say that?!” Dazai snaps. He’s already spoken to Gin, he knows they took Chuuya from school today, and he hasn’t been answering Dazai’s calls—

But when he looks at Mori, Dazai pauses, because it’s all over Mori’s face. He hates this. Just as much as Dazai does.

“...I told him I would come after him.” Dazai’s voice is thick. “I have to do something."

“We will, Osamu—we just have to be smart about this.”

“Smart?!” Dazai throws his hands up. “The smartest thing to me seems to be going over there and setting that fucking house on fire!”

“No. The smart thing is to go through legal avenues, because then we can actually keep him away. Understand?”

Dazai pauses. “But—" he swallows hard. “When Chuuya got here, you said that wasn’t an option—"

This is a part of Mori’s job that he’s never enjoyed, but he never expected it to come home with him. “Dazai...” his chest feels heavy. Because there’s no painless way out of this for Chuuya. “I’m fairly certain that those circumstances are rapidly evolving, possibly as we speak.”

Dazai feels sick. “So you mean—right now—?”

Mori has to physically stop him from going over there, and it ends with Dazai practically tied to a chair. “You were able to get a hold of a girl from his school today, weren’t you?” Dazai nods. “Call her again tomorrow. That’s all you can do for now, alright?”

Dazai hates this, and Mori can tell—but he can’t exactly allow his nephew to commit a felony either. “Alright.”

The next day, Chuuya is staring down at his lunch, watching the food come in and out of focus in front of his eyes. “Chuuya?” Gin rushes over, placing a hand on his arm. “I heard what happened, I tried to call you after school, but—"

“They took my phone.” His voice is quiet. So quiet, Gin can’t even understand him, so Chuuya clears his throat and he tries again. “I said--they took my phone.”

“For how long?!”

“I’m not sure.”

“Couldn’t you just—go back to Dazai’s tonight?” Gin asks, her voice a little desperate.

Learned helplessness is an amazing thing. “They’ll just come here again.” Chuuya responds tonelessly.

Gin looks him over intently. She doesn’t see any bruises on his face or arms—his eyes aren’t red—he looks okay. “Dazai called asking about you yesterday—do you want to use my phone to—?”

Chuuya nods quickly. “Please."

She hands it over, and Chuuya takes it, slowly getting up.

He walks away from the tables, leaning against the back wall in the cafeteria, and he dials.

Dazai picks up on the fourth ring. “Gin—have you seen—?”

“Dazai—" Chuuya cuts him off, his voice oddly quiet and clipped. “It’s me.”

Dazai’s voice sounds so relieved. “Chuuya--are you okay? Did they do something to you? Mori says I can't set your house on fire, but I was thinking if I managed to find and transport a bee hive—“

Chuuya laughs, short and halting. “No, no—I’m okay, Dazai. It’s—it’s gonna be fine.”

“You don’t sound okay.”

“I am." Chuuya glances at the clock on the wall. “Look—I get you’re scared, and it’s—it’s okay. I figured this would happen eventually.” Chuuya says slowly, carefully sounding out each word. “One way or the other, I’m sure this isn’t going to last long.”

“What does that—?”

The lunch bell rings. “I’ve gotta go. I’ll call you tomorrow at the same time if I can, okay?”

“Chuuya, wait—"

But Chuuya can’t wait, because he has to hand the phone back to Gin before he walks off.

“Chuuya? Where are you going?”

“Bathroom!" He responds tightly, "see you in physics.”

The second Chuuya makes it into the bathroom and closes the door, he leans against the wall and tries to catch his breath.

But his ribs hurt so bad. Once he feels like he can move, he pulls up his uniform shirt, checking in the mirror.

No bruises. Chuuya’s teeth clench. Maybe it’s broken. Maybe it isn’t. It probably isn’t enough.

When Hirotsu-sensei, his literature teacher, pulls him aside after class—Chuuya almost says something. But then he remembers what would happen.

It goes on for exactly one week. Which sounds like nothing. But it was the longest week of Chuuya’s life. He’s barely slept. He’s barely eaten anything since Friday—and his mother left to visit family out of town on Sunday night. And then things got worse.

Chuuya knows two things already:

1. If he doesn’t do something, Dazai will.

Somehow, by the grace of god, Chuuya’s parents don’t know about Dazai yet. And Chuuya...doesn’t want to imagine that outcome.

2. Chuuya would rather die than spend the rest of highschool like this.

And no, he doesn’t mean that metaphorically. So, there’s only one option.

He walks downstairs from his room, stopping on the steps to watch his father. He’s sitting on the couch, reading a book. He knows, this is the last moment they’re going to have together, one way or the other. And he’s still Chuuya’s dad, and there used to be moments that weren’t like this. Back when things were happy and easy and normal. “How was work?”

His father glances up over the rims of his glasses, surprised. It’s the first time Chuuya has initiated a conversation with him since he came home.

“...Not so bad,” he sets the book down. “Long—but the new assistant is settling in. How was school?”

It’s weird, to have a conversation with your parent and know that it’s the last one. Most people don’t get to have that. Not like this. It’s surreal. “Pretty good. I got an A on my physics exam.”

His father smiles a little. “That’s good—the studying is clearly paying off.”

There was a time in Chuuya’s life, where telling his dad something like this would’ve been the highlight of his day—so he tries to commit this moment to memory.

Because now, it’s over. “I just thought there was something else that you should know.”

“What is it?”

Chuuya remembers a conversation he and Dazai had a few weeks ago. One where Chuuya had said he should just get it over with, and get it out of the way.

“Chuuya, no." 

“I have a boyfriend.” He blurts the words out, and for a moment, everything is still.

“...Excuse me?”

“I have a boyfriend.” Chuuya repeats the words, his hands clasped tightly behind his back. “I’ve been seeing him for a little while now.”

“...No, you don’t.” His father's voice is so quiet.

“Yes, I do.”

“I’m your father." His father stands up. He’s always been a big guy, but right now, he towers. “If I say you can’t date, you aren’t dating anyone. And by the time you leave this house, you’re going to have worked through this—" his face screws up. “This phase—"

“Too late.”

“Too late?!” His father throws his hands up. “What the hell is that supposed to mean? Is it worth hurting this family any more than you already have?"

“Yeah,” Chuuya takes a bracing breath, “he cares about me more than you do.”

“What—?!"

“But it really is too late.” There’s one last nail to put in the coffin, a lie, but one that will finally just end this whole damn thing. “We’ve already slept together." Chuuya stares him down. "So that ship—it’s already sailed.”

Chapter Text

Life has a lot of strange turns. And some of the most important ones are the most benign. It wasn’t some dramatic scene from a romantic movie where a lover bursts in and saves the day. It wasn’t terribly heroic, or flashy at all. All it took, in the end, was the concern of a friend—one Chuuya hadn’t spoken to in nearly a month.

In a house, three blocks away.

Tachihara almost didn’t say anything.  He almost convinced himself that he was overthinking it, that it was something too serious to accuse someone of if you weren’t sure. But what if he was right? He knocks on the door.

“Michizou? Come in.” His father’s voice echoes.

He steps into his Dad’s office, and the man pauses, seeing the concern clear across the teenager’s face. “Son? What’s wrong?”

“Well, I—" Michizou sighs. “I have this friend, at school—and I think something...might be wrong.”

And, as fate would have it, the one person who spoke up, just so happened to be the son of a police captain. “...And you said he lives close by?”

Michizou nods, and Captain Tachihara sighs. “Well—it’s late, but he looked really bad today.”

“...I‘ll check it out, alright?”

Captain Tachihara doesn’t know what to make of it at first, walking down the street. He’s known the Nakahara family for years. They used to carpool for away games. He’s had that man in his house. So when he tries to imagine him doing what Michizou accused him of… It’s hard to imagine.

But when he reaches their street, one he’s been on countless times since their boys were little, he notices the first thing that pricks his concern.

It’s a quarter till midnight, and—every single house on the street has it’s lights on.

He starts walking a little faster, his hand rising up to his belt.

And then he notices the next alarming thing.

There are so many dogs barking.

Now, he’s breaking into a light jog.

From the outside, the house looks normal. But he can see neighbors peeking out. They don’t say anything—clearly no one called anyone. But curiosity and concern lurk behind their eyes. And it makes the Captain even more concerned, that the house is so quiet.

He takes the steps, and he pounds on the door. “Hey! Open up!”

For a moment, there’s just silence, but Captain Tachihara has been on the job for nearly twenty years now, and his gut tells him that someone is standing on the other side of that door, waiting for him to walk away.

He pounds on the door, harder this time. “Police! Open up!”

There’s more silence.

Some officers would’ve left it there. There hasn’t been an official call. He could lose his badge for less. But he isn’t that kind of officer.

“Hey!” He snarls, giving the door another hard shake. “If someone doesn’t open up, I’m kicking it in!”

That seems to have gotten someone’s attention, and finally, the door swings open.

“Officer Tachihara,” Mr. Nakahara smiles, “What brings you by so late?”

Suddenly, every small red flag from the walk over has turned into a shrieking alarm bell—because Mr. Nakahara looks terrible. His shirt is rumbled. His hair is a mess. He’s sweating. He has a black eye. A busted lip. There are dots of red on his collar, and it isn’t hard to guess what they are.

“...Wellness check.” Captain Tachihara replies, looking him up and down. “What the hell happened to you, Nakahara?”

The man grimaces. “Look. I’m not proud of this, but—my wife’s out of town, and I’ve...” he rubs the back of his neck. “I’ve had a lot to drink. I was trying to go up the stairs, and I lost my balance...I’m sure it caused quite a commotion.”

“Right.” Tachihara’s eyes narrow. It’s an excuse that would’ve worked, because hell, if anyone looks like they’ve gotten an ass beating tonight, it‘s this guy. But there are two problems.

One: there are obvious signs of a struggle, just in the parts of the house that he can see from where he’s standing in the doorway. The coffee table is turned over. There’s glass on the floor. Books are strewn from where they’ve been knocked off the shelf.

It looks like a fucking crime scene.

Issue number two: Mr. Nakahara has scratches on his face.

Not scratches from an impact on the ground, but obvious fingernail marks—and they’re deep. They run under his eyes, down his cheeks, over his neck.

Suddenly, the police captain is mindful of the need not to touch anything. “Is your son home?”

Mr. Nakahara shakes his head. “He's staying at a friend’s house tonight. He’s excited to be finished with exams," he shrugs it off, his voice oddly casual, given the situation, "you know how it is.”

Tachihara crosses his arms over his chest, “That’s funny—my son told me your boy was grounded. Indefinitely.”

The tension in the air is so thick, it’s smothering. Mr. Nakahara smiles, but it isn’t a nice one—it’s sharp, and something about it sets the cop on edge. “He got an A on his physics exam, so we decided to ease up on the punishment.”

“I thought you said your wife wasn’t home.”

Nakahara grits his teeth. “I called her, alright?!”

He’s starting to sound belligerent, and the Captain reaches behind him calmly, unclipping his gun holster. “I’m gonna need to take a look around the house. Now.”

Mr. Nakahara groans with frustration. “Are you fucking serious right now, Saito?! We’ve known each other for years—"

The officer has a hand on his gun now. “Step aside, or I’m putting you in cuffs.”

Mr. Nakahara forces him to do just that, and after a short struggle, the officer leaves him cuffed to his front porch rail. Maybe the neighbors can stare at that.

He walks inside. “Chuuya?”

Silence. It’s so quiet.

He’s careful not to touch anything as he starts checking the first floor, following the path of debris. “Listen, kid—it’s Captain Tachihara—Michizou’s dad—“ There’s a bloody finger print on the kitchen doorframe. “You aren’t in any trouble, alright?”

Then he notices the path in the kitchen, the way there’s a clear slope to the debris on the time—like someone was dragged through it.

The door to the garage is slightly ajar.

He reaches for his radio. “I’m gonna need backup at 607 Idogaya Street—yeah, send EMS as well—"

Dazai slams into Mori’s arms, trying to claw his way past him when he makes it to the front doors of the emergency room. “Let me through, Mori—!”

“Dazai, they aren’t going to let you in there right now—“

“This is your fault—you told me to wait—!” Mori winces.

“Dazai—“

“I could have done something—"

“Dazai, it wouldn’t have changed what happened—“

“YOU DON’T KNOW THAT—“

“Dazai, calm down, you’re having a panic attack—“

“Of course I’m having a fucking panic attack, are you KIDDING ME?!”

“Listen,  he’s awake, alright?” Mori shakes Dazai hard. “He’s awake, and he’s talking to the doctors right now, and I’m sure you’re the first person he’ll want to see when they’re done with him, but you have to wait a minute, got it?”

Dazai isn’t easily shaken, but he’s trembling. “He’s awake.” He repeats slowly, and Mori nods, pulling his nephew into a tight, nearly crushing hug.

“He’s going to be alright, Dazai. He got—he got really lucky.”

Dazai doesn’t even know how to begin to ask what he means by that. “Can I—" he’s choking back tears, "is there a waiting room, or something? I—"

Mori nods, letting him go. “There is—I’ll have someone tell him that you’re here, alright?”

Dazai nods, and he can’t seem to get a hold of the trembling, so he just walks with Mori, shivering all over.

He ends up slumped in a chair. His fingers keep twitching, he’s running through every single thing he could’ve done differently in his head. A million different scenarios. And he can’t shake the feeling that he’s let Chuuya down.

“...my own fucking neighbor, can you believe it?” A voice trails faintly.

“I let that bastard hug my wife. And—can you believe this—that piece of shit tried to tell me he fell down the stairs—"

“And he expected you to believe that?"

“Hell if I know, the son of a bitch seemed pretty desperate.”

The police officers walk past him, and Dazai—he doesn’t look up. “I would be too, if I knew I had my kid passed out in the—"

Their voices fade as they round the corner, and Dazai’s hands haven’t stopped shaking since Mori called him two hours ago.

Passed out in the what?

It’s six a.m. when a nurse approaches him. “Are you Dr. Ogai’s nephew?” He looks up, nodding sluggishly. He’s been up since one in the morning, and as the adrenaline fades, he feels so exhausted.

“Chuuya asked for you. Would it be okay for you to—?”

Dazai has never gotten to his feet so fast. Finally, they go in. At first, Dazai doesn’t know what to say. He’s frozen in place.

Chuuya smiles tiredly, “Hey.” His voice is closer to a rasp than anything.

Dazai swallows shakily. “Hey.”

At first glance, it doesn’t look that bad. His lip is bleeding, and there’s a nasty bruise near his  hairline. But it doesn’t look awful. But his arms—they basically look like one giant bruise. “Chuuya—" Dazai starts.

“At least we kind of match now.” Dazai blinks with confusion, and Chuuya points to his neck.

It’s packed with ice packs and gauze.

Oh.

There’s a breathing tube hooked into his nose, sending him oxygen. And from that, Dazai can deduce why he was passed out.

He walks over, carefully, so carefully sitting in the edge of the bed, trying not to jostle him. “Chuuya, what happened?"

Chuuya swallows hard. It’s a move he instantly regrets, his hands flying up to his neck with a strangled whimper. Dazai lurches forward, his hands fumbling around like he could do something,  but he can’t. “You’re—“ Chuuya closes his eyes. “—you’re gonna get mad, but on the upside—the social worker said I can go home with Mori for the time being—and I’m not going home—anytime—soon—“

“Chuuya.” Dazai places one hand on top of his so gently. “What happened?”

Chuuya looks away, “I just...wanted it to be over...and—I figured, if I got him to send me to the hospital, that would be good enough—"

Dazai doesn’t quite feel connected to his body at the moment, like he’s disassociating. “You...provoked him on purpose?”

“Well, it worked—“

“Chuuya, he could have killed you.”

“I know. I knew that. But, Dazai—"

“There is no, ‘but Dazai’ in this situation!” Dazai shakes his head. “Look at yourself, Chuuya—god, what the /fuck—"

“Look I get it, I know it was crazy—“

“More like it was suicidal. Chuyya, we could have figured something else out—“

“We don’t know how long that would h—have taken—!”

“I don’t care!” Dazai snaps. “I don’t care if it would’ve ended up taking years—that wouldn’t make it worth almost losing you!”

“But I couldn’t do it!” Chuuya frowns as his voice cracks. “I couldn’t—"

But he stops, because Dazai is crying. “I didn’t know if you were going to be okay when they called me.”

“Dazai—"

“They didn’t even tell me what happened, just that I needed to get down here.”

“I didn’t want—"

“I know,” Dazai’s face drops into his hands. “I know you didn’t. But—I almost lost you, alright?!”

It’s been eleven months and nineteen days.

And Dazai almost lost the person most important to him again.

“I’m sorry—"  Chuuya’s hands reach for him, even as he’s bruised and grimacing, and Dazai shakes his head. 

“Don’t—you shouldn’t be moving right now—“

Chuuya takes Dazai’s hands in his, squeezing as much as he can even if the pain killers make muscle tension hard right now. “I’m still here, Osamu.”

Dazai drops his face and presses his forehead against Chuuya’s knuckles, tears still dripping down his face. “I—I know—"

Chuuya’s hands feel so small. Hooked up to a dozen different wires, covered in bandages, he looks tiny. And when Dazai remembers just how huge his father is—he’s torn between feeling sick, and unbelievably enraged.

“I fought back, though.” Chuuya mumbles.

Dazai can’t look up, not until he’s confident he can do it without sobbing. “You—you did?”

“Yeah,” Chuuya’s voice is so rough, like every word is hard for him. “Apparently I fractured his eye socket.”

Dazai squeezes his fingers unintentionally. He wants to do more than that.

“Honestly, if it wasn’t for my ribs, I think I would’ve won.” Dazai is blinking through the tears.

“Your ribs—?”

“That was from the night I came home.” Chuuya sighs. “But I didn’t want to die, Dazai, I just—I wanted to get out of there. I wanted to get back to—"

 I wanted to get back to you.

It’s unspoken. But they both know.

“You almost didn’t." Dazai whispers, pained.

“I know.”

Chapter Text

Chuuya stays in the hospital for three days—and so does Dazai. The doctors explain it’s from an abundance of caution, wanting to monitor the swelling.

Kouyou visits on the second day. Dazai has never actually seen her cry before—but she weeps openly into Chuuya’s pillow, curled up in the bed next to him. His mother tries to visit, but—Chuuya tells the doctors to turn her away.

Chuuya is released with a final assessment: three cracked ribs, a concussion, a badly bruised esophagus, and severe swelling of the vocal cords. And various other contusions all over, but in comparison, they seem minor.

“We’ll want to see him twice a month for the rest of this year,” one of the doctors explains to Mori. "To make sure the damage doesn’t become permanent.”

Chuuya’s pretty relieved he was never a good singer anyway, otherwise the new limitations of his vocal range would be devastating.

“Of course.”

Dazai keeps both hands on the redhead the entire way home. Chuuya doesn’t mind. He sleeps on the floor in Chuuya’s room for almost a week, because the other boy is still so bruised, Dazai doesn’t want to roll over and hurt him in his sleep.

“I’m really fine, you know.” Chuuya speaks into the dark a few nights later. “You can sleep up here—“

“Nope—"

“Or you could sleep in your own bed—“

“Not happening.”

“I’m not going to disappear in my sleep or something, Dazai.”

Logically speaking, Dazai knows that.

After two more weeks, he’s cleared to return to school.

The night before, Chuuya knocks on his door. “Dazai?”

He glances up, hair still wet from the shower, tugging on his shirt. “What’s up?”

Chuuya’s voice sounds oddly quiet through the door. “Can you help me with something?”

“Sure—“ why hadn’t Chuuya opened the door yet? “Are you gonna come in?”

The door slides open, and Chuuya is holding a roll of bandages, and looking unsure. “I have to take the gauze off for tomorrow, but I don’t—"

Dazai’s heart aches.

I don’t want people to stare. 

It’s not something he wanted Chuuya to ever have to understand.

“Well,” he pats his bed. “I’m an expert.”

Chuuya walks over, sitting down and facing away from Dazai, and the taller boy tries to keep his tone light, like this is totally fine, like nothing is wrong.

Carefully, he pulls at the medical tape around Chuuya’s neck, pulling the gauze off bit by bit, and the sight of what’s underneath makes Dazai feel sick. Massive bruises, now mottled with clouds of purple and green, all the way around his boyfriend’s throat.

For a second, Dazai doesn’t move. “Does it—" Dazai swallows, his throat suddenly dry. “Does it still hurt?”

Chuuya shakes his head. “It’s a lot worse than it looks.” Logically, Dazai knows that there has been plenty of time for the inflammation to go down—and that what he’s seeing is the remnants of broken blood vessels.

Chuuya reaches around to push his hair away from his nape. Like that, bless him, was the reason for Dazai’s hesitation. Dazai takes a deep, steadying breath. Gently, like one wrong move and Chuuya might suddenly crumble, he starts to wrap the bandages around his throat.

Chuuya doesn’t flinch under his touch—not a single time.

By the end of it, Dazai leans back with a sweeping, ‘voila!’ Motion. “There—" he kisses the side of Chuuya’s head, “you’re officially as stylish as I am.”

Chuuya doesn’t say much, he just leans back against Dazai. And Dazai, without being told, wraps his arms around him. “Can I sleep in here tonight?” Chuuya mumbles, resting his chin against where Dazai’s arms are folded across his chest.

Dazai nods, his nose buried in Chuuya’s hair. “Do you really need to ask, at this point?”

Chuuya smiles, in spite of himself. “I guess not.”

The next day back at school isn’t easy. Actually, Chuuya would put it up there as one of the hardest things he’s ever done. People are curious. They ask questions. They still stare. The principal can’t even look at him.

Gin squeezes his hand during lunch. “Give it time.”

The only place that sort of feels normal are Dazai’s practices, where Chuuya has taken to sitting next to Edogawa-sensei with a clipboard and shouting out instructions during plays.

And instead of staring, Ranpo just comes out and asks,  “I heard you were in the hospital.”

Chuuya’s fingers dart up to the bandages on his neck, and he tenses up. “Yeah.” He glances down at his shoes, taking a deep breath—he’s finally starting to be able to do that again. “For a couple of weeks.”

Ranpo glances back at the players, taking a swig of water. “I’d hate to see the other guy.” That makes Chuuya smile for the first time all day. “But...I have a few former colleagues who teach at Kanagawa. I’m familiar with the details.”

Chuuya’s smile fades. Tachihara never said a word—but that didn’t stop the rumors from spreading. There were other kids who went to his school that lived on the same street. They saw his father handcuffed on the porch, the police, the ambulances... And it didn’t take much for everyone to put the whole thing together.

“I take it you’re staying with Dazai for the time being?”

Chuuya nods, and Ranpo pulls the brim of his hat lower to shield his eyes. “And you’re a second year, correct?”

“Yeah—"

“Have you thought about transferring?”

The idea had actually never occurred to him.

“A fresh start might make things easier—given the circumstances.”

He’s kind of torn. One one hand—getting away from the staring does sound nice. And he can’t forget the way his principal, his teachers, his coach, everyone but Hirotsu took their side. “But I have my friends over there—“ he wasn’t sure what he’d do without Gin, Tachi, or Ryuu.

“Yeah, but—“ Ranpo glances out at the field, over all of the players. “You’ve already made a lot of friends here too. Keio’s pretty stubborn when it comes to transfers, but, given the circumstances, I’d write you a letter of recommendation.”

Chuuya’s jaw is hanging open. Edogawa-sensei isn’t really mean, but he’s never been a super friendly guy either. And Chuuya isn’t even one of his charges, so—“You would really do that for me?”

“You’re a good kid, alright?” Ranpo yawns, “and anyone who looks after my favorite student—“

“Dazai?!"

“Don’t tell him,” Ranpo groans. “I’d never live it down—the point is, you’d be a good fit here.”

It never really occurred to Chuuya that he would be. He always viewed this as Dazai’s space, something totally separate from him, but—he notices Atsushi waving and returns it.

Could he really be at home here?

“You have until the new school year starts—just think about it, okay?”

Chuuya’s stomach twists, but he nods. Dazai will he gone by then. They only have one month of classes left. “I’ll think about it.”

Dazai's last game of his high school career is the prefectural series finals. It's close--but in the last inning, with three bases loaded, Dazai does the same thing he did the very first time Chuuya watched him hit a ball--he knocks it out of the park.

But this time, Chuuya isn't the only one staring, and there's an entire stadium roaring. Part of Chuuya is sad when he thinks about the fact that the prefectural soccer tournament is today, and that normally he would be /in/ it, but watching as Dazai, Oda, and Ango hug at home base, the second and first years running over to jump on top of them and collapse in a heap--

It's nice.

Especially when Chuuya is wearing a baseball jersey with Dazai's number on the back. When they finally make it to the stands, Kunikida is holding the trophy up and away from Atsushi and Kenji, who he insists would drop it.

Chuuya jumps on Dazai, wrapping his arms around his neck, and his boyfriend stumbles back, barely managing to catch him. "Chibi--I'm still sweaty--!"

"Don't care--" Chuuya mumbles, kissing him hard.

It's the first time they've ever kissed in front of other people--the first time Chuuya has ever initiated anything in front of other people. He doesn't even care that Yosano is cat calling them. Dazai is stiff and surprised at first, but then he kisses him back.

But there's something different about it--something slightly restrained. And Dazai is never like that when he kisses him, so--

It makes Chuuya wonder. He's thinking about it through awards, through the celebration dinner, on the train ride home. Otherwise, Dazai seems normal. He's his usual laughing, teasing, ridiculous self. And for a moment, Chuuya decides that it must be in his head. Sure, Dazai has barely touched Chuuya since he left the hospital--but Chuuya figured that was because he's been injured.

That has to be it, right?

They're in Dazai's bedroom that night, and Chuuya is reading on top of Dazai's head while the older boy returns from the shower, rubbing a towel through his hair. "How does victory feel?"

"Ah, well," Dazai sighs dramatically. "I've always been a winner, you know."

Chuuya rolls his eyes, setting his book aside. He's still in his jersey from earlier-but he's changed back into a pair of athletic shorts-and Dazai knows that this time, thankfully.

"You've always been a cocky bastard, you mean."

"It's confidence, Chuuya! The ladies love it."

The redhead raises an eyebrow, and Dazai gracefully backpedals. "And the men! Boys. One boy in particular."

Chuuya lets out a long suffering sigh. "Do I?"

Dazai grins, and this is normally where he'd be right on top of Chuuya, but he's still across the room. "I think so."

"And are you planning on standing in the doorway all night, or...?" Chuuya tilts his head to the side, and Dazai seems a little startled.

"No--I was just lost in your eyes--"

"Shut up!"

He does cross the room and sit on his bed. The other end of his bed.

Chuuya huffs.

Luckily for both of them, Dazai has done enough legwork in the past months for Chuuya to understand that Dazai is pretty damn crazy about him--so Chuuya isn't worried that he doesn't care--but he is pretty damn confused.

So, he scooches over to the other end of the bed.

Dazai moves to get up. "Actually, I should probably get a glass of water before bed--hydration is always key--"

But Chuuya doesn't let him, grabbing his shoulder and pushing him back down against the mattress. "Chuuya--"

Chuuya isn't really great a this stuff. He was worse at it with Yuan, but--it feels so much better with Dazai, but didn't magically become easy either. He's still not sure if he's doing the right thing half the time, or if he's just making a fool out of himself. So shoving Dazai back against the bed and straddling him? That's a pretty big move for Chuuya. And it doesn't seem to be lost on Dazai, who looks like he's about to fall off of a cliff--or win the lottery, Chuuya can't tell.

He leans over Dazai, his hands on the mattress on either side of his head. "You did win, you know."

Dazai's hands are still laying at his sides-but Chuuya can see his fingers twitching. "I scored the last point Chuuya, I know."

"Then..." Chuuya frowns, tilting his head to the side. "Don't you want to celebrate or something?"

Chuuya couldn't be sure that was what everyone did, but that was the origin of what he, in his mind, called the 'Great Handjob Debacle of 2018,' when he won the Kanto Regional Judo Championships, and Yuan said that was what you did, after you won a big game--

"We did go out to a fancy dinner."

"That's not what I mean, and you know it." Chuuya frowns even more.

"Then I'm sure I don't--" Chuuya leans down and kisses him, and he feels Dazai relax, for just a second--and he leans into it. He coaxes Dazai's lips open, and the taller boy shivers, but his hands are still at his sides.

"Okay--" Chuuya leans back, effectively sitting on Dazai's hips, crossing his arms over his chest. "Something's going on."

"I was about to say," Dazai sounds half strangled. "Since when did you become a seductress--"

"Seductor--" Chuuya frowns, getting sidetracked, "Why won't you touch me?"

"...I'm touching you right now--"

"I'm sitting on you, Dazai, that doesn't count."

"I didn't realize the chibi was so eager--"

"Embarrassing me isn't gonna work either."

"..." Dazai sighs heavily, his eyes burning a hole in the ceiling.

"Is it because of my ribs?" Chuuya is trying to figure it out, but he can't. "You were with me at the doctor's office yesterday. They cleared me for judo. Kissing you really isn't--"

"--it's not about that, Chuuya--"

"Then is it my neck?" Chuuya frowns, reaching up for the bandages there. "Because that shouldn't be a problem either--"

"No, Chuuya, it's not, it's just--" Dazai groans. "It has nothing to do with you."

"Except it kind of does." Chuuya glares. "Just spit it out already."

"..." Dazai throws his head back. "Fine."

Whatever Chuuya was expecting, it isn't what comes out of Dazai's mouth next.

"If it wasn't for me, you never would have been hurt to begin with."

What?

"Dazai--" Chuuya blinks. "You didn't make me gay. That was way before you ever showed up--"

"No, but I pushed. I wanted you." It's conflicting, to have butterflies in his stomach when Dazai looks so guilty. "I never thought about how it could ruin your situation at home until it did."

"If it wasn't you, it eventually would've been someone else--you get that, right?"

Dazai doesn’t look like he likes the idea of that very much. “And—I promised I would come get you, and—he was able to do that to you—“

“Dazai—“ Chuuya puts a hand on his cheek. “Do you know what I was thinking that night?”

Dazai shakes his head, biting his lip.

“I was thinking that if I didn’t get off my ass and do something, that you were going to come and get me.” Chuuya explains, his thumb stroking over Dazai’s jaw. “And I didn’t want you to get hurt.”

Dazai shakes his head. “I still would have—“

“My point is that there was never a second that I didn’t know you wanted to come after me.” Chuuya says it softly, leaning down to rest his fo redhead against Dazai’s. “And I never blamed you either.”

“Maybe you should—"

Chuuya silences him with a kiss, slow, and so soft. “I don’t.”

Dazai makes a low noise in the back of his throat, and slowly, his arms come up to wrap around Chuuya’s back.

“I’m still here, you know,” Chuuya whispers against his lips. “You didn’t lose me.”

Dazai’s hands tighten in the back of Chuuya’s shirt. “I know.”

“And you’ve always been there for me,” where the physicality of their relationship has always been Dazai’s specialty, Chuuya has a gift for finding the words that need to be said. “And you’ve never let me down. Got it?”

Dazai sounds raw. “...I really don’t deserve you.”

Chuuya sighs against his lips. “That’s not up to you.” Dazai’s hands are rubbing up and down his back, and Chuuya isn’t propped up anymore, he’s laying flush against him. “Osamu?”

“Yeah?” His voice is so low and emotional, and Chuuya—he just can’t take it.

“Touch me.”

Dazai doesn’t make a quick quip, he doesn’t try to distract from the issue at hand, he just—

He touches him.

His hands dig into the small of Chuuya’s back, pressing down against the base of his spine as he deepens the kiss, and just the feeling of Dazai’s tongue has Chuuya’s toes curling, his fingers sliding along Dazai’s chin, up and into his hair. And Chuuya realizes, quietly, to himself—

It’s supposed to feel like this.

But maybe, most likely—it’s better because it’s Dazai.

And then the whole world is spinning just a little faster.

Dazai leans up, bearing Chuuya’s weight with him as he rolls over, pressing the redhead into the mattress underneath him. Chuuya has never really had someone in between his legs before—and up until this moment, his fantasies about Dazai have been embarrassingly vague, so he never really thought about what it would be like until it happened. And now Dazai is so close, all around him, and their hips are pressing together, and Chuuya—

Chuuya moans. His thighs fall open wider, one leg going to wrap around Dazai’s hip, just out of instinct. Dazai rolls his hips forward, and then there’s friction, and now they’re both shivering and moaning, and Chuuya’s heel is digging into the small of Dazai’s back.

The brunette’s hands are wandering, and Chuuya is not about to complain, pressing up into Dazai’s palms as they press over his chest, his stomach, his breath coming in short, ragged pants as his face gets hotter and hotter.

And then Dazai’s fingertips are at his waistband, and they pause.

“Can I...?” His voice almost sounds wondrous, and Chuuya is too far gone to notice.

“Don’t—“ he takes in a shuddering breath before pulling his boyfriend back in for another kiss. “Don’t stop."

With Yuan, this was always stressful.

Chuuya wouldn’t call this relaxing either—but it was definitely the best thing in the whole damn world.

Dazai’s fingers dip under his waistband, into his underwear, and Chuuya can’t breathe. Blood is rushing in his ears, his heart is beating so fast that it hurts, and should he—should he be doing something right now? Should he be touching Dazai too—?

But then Dazai’s fingers wrap around him, and Chuuya can’t think beyond arching his hips with a sharp moan.

Compared to the incident in 2018, Well—this doesn’t really compare.

Dazai’s hand is much bigger than Yuan’s, his fingers are rougher, but somehow that makes it better. He's more assured as he starts stroking him, propping himself up on his elbow next to Chuuya’s head, giving his wrist a better angle to Move. 

And Chuuya...is a mess.

He’s digging his head back into the mattress as his hips unsteadily rock into Dazai’s hand, his shirt is riding up on his ribs, and when he manages to crack one eyelid open--Dazai is drinking in the sight so hungrily, his eyes roaming over every single inch of Chuuya.

Somehow, when it was already sweltering, Chuuya feels like he’s on fire.

“Da—Dazai—" He can feel the pressure building and he’s clinging to him, his nails biting into Dazai’s shoulders through his shirt. “I—I can’t—“ Chuuya isn’t exactly proud of it, but it’s not like he can last long. It’s Dazai’s fault for being so damn good at it, for looking at Chuuya like that, how is anyone supposed to handle it?

“Shhhh...” Dazai hushes him, his lips trailing over Chuuya’s cheek, his chin, behind his ear—over the bandages on his neck. “I’ve got you.”

If that wasn’t enough to completely destroy the redhead--

(And it was.)

--Dazai makes it worse.

The words are whispered breathlessly, like Dazai didn’t mean to say it, like he was just thinking out loud—but Chuuya hears it.

“So damn beautiful—"

Chuuya holds on for dear life, gasping his name, and his vision goes completely white.

It’s not like Chuuya hasn’t had an orgasm before—he’s a teenage boy, he obviously has. But not like this.  Not the silent, trembling, boneless kind of climax that leaves you warm after, almost like you’re floating. Dazai’s lips are on his mouth, his nose, under his chin.

Chuuya gasps for air blindly for a few seconds, slowly coming back to himself to find Dazai is still pressing kisses under his jaw, “I—Dazai—"

“Hmm?”Dazai is humming against Chuuya’s skin, practically purring contentedly.

Chuuya presses one palm flat against his chest.

The other slides down, tentative, until he’s tugging at the strings on the front of Dazai’s sweatpants. “Is—it okay if I...?”

He can feel just how hard Dazai’s heart is pounding under his fingers, and the brunette nods. “You don’t have to, but—if you want—"

Chuuya does.

He tugs the waistband of Dazai’s pants back, dipping his fingers inside. His head is spinning with nerves, but really—it can’t be that different from doing it to himself.

His fingertips brush against Dazai, making the older boy stiffen and shudder, and Chuuya is left to marvel at how warm and hard Dazai is, throbbing under the pads of Chuuya’s fingers. They slide down, moving to grasp him, and Chuuya can’t look away from Dazai’s face, at how gorgeous his expression is, the way he’s shivering—

BEEEEEEEEEEEP.

They both jump violently.

Twenty minutes later, they’re standing outside on the sidewalk, watching irritably (Dazai, much more so than Chuuya) as Mori opens the door, screwdriver in hand.

“Don’t look at me like that!” Mori snaps. “It’s a fire alarm, the batteries die! I was asleep too, you know.”

Except they really weren’t.

Dazai whines to Oda about it the next day during class, and— “Stop laughing! ODA—“

“I’m glad you got some mileage in before you two started dating, because otherwise you would die a virgin—"

“ODASAKU—!!”

“Boys!” Their teacher snaps.

They both glance up to see their calculus teacher glaring and tapping her foot, and they bow their heads apologetically.

“Sorry, sensei!”

“—blame Oda, he’s a sadist—!”

“—Dazai Osamu—!”

“Sorry!”

They spend the last day of school on the rooftop, tossing a ball around.

“Is Kouyou excised about the move?” Ango asks, raising an eyebrow as he tosses the ball to Oda, who catches it with a small smile.

“Yeah—we’re signing the lease for the new place this weekend.” He tosses the ball to Dazai. “When do you move out?”

Dazai is frowning.

“Three weeks after graduation.” He sighs. “I wanted to push it back a little longer, but my uncle wants me to have time to ‘get acclimated to the city’.”

“I’m surprised you went with Kyoto.” Ango comments, jumping up to catch a high throw from Dazai. “How did Chuuya take it?”

“It was Chuuya’s idea.” Dazai frowns. Sometimes, he wishes the chibi would be just a little clingier, just a little more dependent. “Apparently my program is ranked slightly higher there than it is in Tokyo.”

Ango nods with admiration. “You needed a practical one, Osamu.”

Dazai doesn’t really care about practicality at this point, he cares about the fact that his time with his boyfriend is about to go down to zero for an entire year, or more if Chuuya goes to university in a different city.

“I already have plans to make him come visit.”

Oda raises an eyebrow as the ball comes back to him, “How many?”

Dazai smiles brightly. “Currently? About twenty four fake emergencies.”

“You’re ridiculous." Ango mutters flatly.

The final bell rings, and the boys stop and stare at each other. It’s the last normal day. They’ll see each other again after this, at each other’s houses over the summer break. At graduation. They’ll meet up again to drink and reminisce.  But Odasaku is going to university in Tokyo, Dazai in Kyoto, and Ango in London. They’ve been friends since kindergarten.

“Well—" Ango clears his throat. He’s never been good at emotions—or goodbyes. “I should go—I told my little sister I’d walk her home.”

Dazai smiles faintly, nodding with understanding. “See you around, Ango.”

He looks back and forth between Dazai and Odasaku. “Yeah—see you around, you guys.” He walks off, leaving Dazai and Odasaku alone on the roof.

“He’s never been great with words,” Oda smiles fondly.

“He’s always constipated, that one.” Dazai adds with no small amount of affection.

“Ready to head home?”

“Yeah.”

They take their time—Dazai keeps pretending that he found a new sign he didn’t notice before, or a stray cat that required investigating—but they still make it to the front of his house, regardless.

The silence is so long, but it ends too soon. “I guess this is it.”

“I guess so.” Dazai exhales softly.

Oda was there before anyone else. He’s been on the same street as Dazai their entire lives. Dazai really can’t imagine a world where he can just run six doors down the street to find the answer to all of his problems.

“Thank you, Odasaku.”

“Eh, don’t thank me yet.” Oda shakes his head. “You can do it when we’re old men, get it all out in one go.”

Dazai smiles, and his chest is so warm. “What? You think I’m gonna keep bothering you the rest of your life?”

Oda punches his arm lightly. “I really hope so, Osamu.”

“...” Oda holds his fist there, and Dazai doesn’t move. For a moment, they just stand there, letting the memory forming between them take up it’s own space.

It hurts, but not like a loss—their friendship isn’t ending. Odasaku will always be in Dazai’s life. It’s just…

...Growing pains, that’s all they are.

“See you.”

“Yeah, Dazai—see you.”

Graduation, by comparison, isn’t nearly as emotional. Dazai has to give a speech, as student body president. It drags on too long and has too many inappropriate personal anecdotes, and Kunikida heckles him for running way over his time, but every single time Dazai sees a certain redhead laughing behind his hand in the audience, it is so worth it.

All of his friend’s parents take them out to dinner, they laugh, tell embarrassing stories, and eat way too much.

When they walk home, Dazai has one arm wrapped firmly around Chuuya. (Mori stayed for the food, but had to leave for a night shift at the hospital shortly after.)

“So,” Chuuya sighs, pulling Dazai’s jacket a little tighter around his shoulders. “You’re done with highschool.”

“Yes,” Dazai snorts affectionately at his boyfriend’s very apt way of describing the situation. “I am done with highschool.”

“Was it everything you wanted it to be?”

Dazai glances up at the sky.

For the first time in over a year, it’s a perfectly clear night over Yokohama.

Dazai can’t really remember he was able to make out so many stars while he was still in the city. “It started off on kind of a rough note—and there were a few hiccups here and there, but—I’d say it was all worth it, in the end.”

“All of it?”

Dazai squeezes him. “Yeah.”

Chuuya closes his eyes and leans his cheek against Dazai’s arm. “Good. You know, Osamu—"

“Hmm?”

“I really wish I could’ve met your mom—" Dazai’s stomach twists, “—but I know that she would’ve been really, really proud of you.”

Dazai’s throat is tight. “How do you figure?”

“Well—“ Chuuya leans back to look at him, and Dazai is struck all over again by just now beautiful the redhead is—just like the first time they met—

On this street, actually. The streetlights reflect in his eyes, the wind catches his hair.

“—because I am.”

Dazai is hit with it again, the same rush of emotions in his chest, filling him up so completely, he almost can’t breathe.

When he first met Chuuya, he didn’t really know what that meant. But now he does. He leans down as Chuuya leans up, and they’re perfectly aligned.

They make a romantic picture like that, with Chuuya swept up in Dazai’s arms, kissing under the city lights on a summer night.

Dazai will tell Chuuya later, when they’re older, when the words come naturally—but ‘I love you’ has been bouncing around in his head all night long.

Instead, he settles for leaning back, their noses bumping together as he speaks. “You know—I’m really gonna miss you.”

Chuuya is quiet for a moment, his fingers stroking through Dazai’s hair as he stares up into his eyes. And then, Dazai sees something there. It’s affection, overflowing, filling Dazai up to the brim—and—

Laughter.

“What’s so—?” 

“You realize this is the street where we met, right?”

Dazai nods, perplexed as to why that’s funny—but Chuuya just leans up onto the tips of his toes for another kiss.

It’s soft, it’s lingering, and Chuuya whispers against his lips. “I’m gonna miss you too, Dazoo.” 

Dazai’s eyes snap open. "Hey, that's--!"

He's really never going to live that down, is he?

Chapter Text

“You’ve LOST IT—!”

“Chuuya! You PROMISED!”

“I didn’t think you were gonna go overboard! I thought you just wanted a PICTURE!”

“Yes! But you have to make the right expression! How is this supposed to last me a whole YEAR?!”

Packing Dazai up for college has been a disaster.Chuuya is sitting on his knees on Dazai’s bed, glaring at his boyfriend with his hands on his hips. Dazai leaves for Kyoto at the end of the weekend—and he’s not exactly been happy about the move, but...Now he’s almost manic.

“Look, I said you could take a picture of me—"

“—but I don’t know what else you want from me. I’m wearing the jersey—" he gestures to the way it’s dangling all the way to the middle of his thighs, lifting up a finger, “I’m smiling,” he lifts up another finger.

“—you were smiling—"

“AND—"

Chuuya holds up a third finger, “—you have a camera! That’s all you need to take the damn picture!”

“No, Chuuya, no—" Dazai pouts. “You aren’t looking at this from the right angle.”

“What angle should I—?!”

“Imagine—I’m at university, I’m meeting new people, and they ask—Dazai-san, a handsome son of a gun like you must have an adorable girlfriend waiting at home—!”

“—but you DON’T—!”

“—and then I say, ‘Ah, I have my Chuuya-chan!’”

Chuuya turns maroon. “When have you ever called me chan—!”

“And THEN I pull out my wallet—"

“—I thought you were just gonna put this on Instagram?!"

“And I have a picture of the most gorgeous man in the world, staring into the camera with an endearing expression, biting his lip, maybe a little bit of a blush wouldn’t hurt—"

“—this keeps getting more complicated—"

“And then they all bow down to me with jealousy, because they all can see I have stolen the best boyfriend in the world for myself—"

“Dazai, shut up—!”

“Or,” Dazai smiles, drumming his fingers against the camera sinisterly. “You could have a rival."

“A what?!"

“Some beautiful college girl, intent on stealing my heart away from you—"

“—this isn’t a shoujo, Dazai—!”

“And then when I pull out this picture, her hopes and dreams are crushed, because she knows she can’t compete!”

Chuuya pauses.Dazai catches his breath.

Oh my god.

He’s thinking about it.

Chuuya reaches up to fiddle with his hair, uncertain, his cheeks turning a little pink at the idea of someone trying to take Dazai away from him, and he’s not even there to stop them, and—he bites his lip—

CLICK.

“...DID YOU JUST TAKE A—?!”

The next photo is a selfie, one that Dazai promises is just for him, of them laying back on the bed, Dazai holding the camera high above his head, while Chuuya has his arms thrown around his neck and is pressing a kiss to his cheek.

The flash clicks and Chuuya leans away, rubbing his hands over his cheeks, slapping them a couple of times to try to shed the embarrassment of it all. “There. You happy?”

“Just one more!”

Chuuya groans. “What now?"

“Well, now I need a sexy one—!”

“I’m NOT A GODDAMN PIN UP GIRL, DAZAI!”

“I’m VERY aware of your gender, Chuuya! I had an entire crisis over it!”

“From what I gathered you moved past it pretty quick.” Chuuya retorts flatly.

“Hey, if you’re gonna be bi for someone, it’s not the worst way to find out—"

“Shut up."

Saturday is a mess of boxes, bubble wrap, and Dazai whining.

“Why does it matter how it’s folded? If it fits then it’s fine—"

“It’s gonna wrinkle them, Dazai.” Mori is long suffering, forcing Dazai to go through and re-fold every single t-shirt in his suitcase. “And then you can put them straight in the drawer at the new—"

“Right—"

Dazai snorts. “Because I’m gonna have all of my clothes folded and put away at school.” He gives Chuuya a look while spinning his finger around his head, like— ‘Crazy, right?’

Chuuya looks less than amused. “Says the one who wants me to come and visit.”

Dazai looks stricken.

“What? My dorm has to be perfectly clean or you aren’t gonna come see me?”

Chuuya shrugs, “Do I look like someone who wants to sleep in a pig sty? And asking you to fold your clothes isn’t ‘perfectly clean,’ you drama queen—"

Mori loves that boy.

The room that has slowly started to feel like home, filled with old baseball trophies, movie posters, books scattered across the floor, is stripped bare. Dazai’s bed is still there, so is his desk, but—Chuuya bites his lip.

Kouyou is prattling on over the phone speaker.“—he keeps on trying to find things to fix. Can you believe it? I really never took him for the jealous type, but I call a plumber once without letting him check the sink first, and suddenly I have a kink for overalls?! I can’t—"

“—uh-huh—" Chuuya replies absentmindedly.

“—and he’s eighteen, he doesn’t even know HOW to fix a sink—"

“Men?” Chuuya offers, reaching under the bed to grab a book that had fallen underneath, the last stray bit to be packed away.

“Men." Kouyou agrees emphatically. “How is packing up that disaster of yours going?”

Chuuya could argue that Dazai is a completely functioning human being, but--well, ane-san’s met him.“It’s going alright—we’re loading the last boxes up now.”

“How is Dazai gonna handle the drive?”

Chuuya makes a face, his brow pinching with worry. “We’ll figure it out.”

Dazai could take the train most of the time, but for a move like this, with so many boxes...They couldn’t really avoid going in a car.

“I’m sure he’ll be okay, Chuuya,” Kouyou’s voice is warm, comforting, “it’s just one day of his life—and he’ll have you with him.”

“Yeah...” Chuuya mutters, shaking his head. “You’re right. It’ll be fine.”

“He’s lucky for have you, you know.” Kouyou says softly. Chuuya glances over to the bed, remembering the first night he slept there.As if Dazai is the lucky one.

“I’ll call you tomorrow, okay?”

“Love you.”

“Love you too, ane-san.”

He hangs up, tossing the phone down on the bed.It’s a short jog down the stairs, going to drop the book off in the proper box in the kitchen, and he pauses.

“...Mori?”The doctor is standing in the kitchen, staring at the doorframe.

Fourteen months ago, he got the worst phone call of his life. He only ever had one sibling—and he and his sister weren’t that close in the end.And moving into her house, looking after her boy—it so often felt like living in the shadow of her life, the parts he missed.But right now, he’s running his fingers over fading marks in the wood, and his throat is tight for an entirely different reason.

Osamu, 101 cm, ‘06

Osamu, 128 cm, ‘10

Osamu, 150 cm, ‘14

Mori presses his fingertips over the height that he estimates must be 174 centimeters.

Chuuya stands behind him, his eyes flickering to the window, where Dazai is pushing a box full of school supplies into the car. “...He does love you, you know.”

Mori doesn’t answer, but when Chuuya puts a hand on his arm, he covers it with his own. “...he’s a brat.”

Chuuya finds himself repeating Kouyou’s words from earlier with complete sincerity. “A brat that is really lucky to have you.”Everyone needs a father—and some are better than others.

“Thank you,” Mori mutters, his voice tight. “I’m going to—help him before he breaks the car door trying to cram in anymore boxes.” Chuuya nods, letting his arm go.

That night, he ends up tangled up with Dazai under his comforter, folding and unfolding their fingers together while Dazai nuzzles his face into Chuuya’s hair. “You set the alarm, right?”

“For six a.m.?” Dazai groans softly, his arm tightening around Chuuya’s middle, pulling him tighter against his chest. “Yes."

“And the backup alarms?”

“Can’t you be my backup alarm?”

“I promise, Osamu—whatever you’re imagining right now, it would not be sexy.”

“I beg to differ.” Dazai starts when Chuuya rolls over suddenly in his arms, pressing his face into Dazai’s neck, holding on tight. “Hey,” Dazai’s voice softens as he hugs the redhead tighter, his hands rubbing up and down his back.“It’s not for forever, you know.”

Chuuya squeezes his eyes shut, trying to focus on memorizing the smell of Dazai’s shampoo. “I know.”

“And I’m going to come home and visit all the time—"

“I know." Chuuya mumbles, swallowing thickly. He feels so damn pathetic. He isn’t the first person in the world to have their boyfriend move to college. It’s normal. People go through this all the time.But Chuuya has been through a lot in the last six months.Having Dazai around makes everything feel okay, and now—

“And if you call me,” Dazai kisses his jaw softly. “I’ll drop everything.”

Chuuya does believe that, and it makes him smile. “I’m not gonna call you during class, if that’s what you’re hoping for.”

Dazai snorts (because maybe he sort of was), and tilts Chuuya’s face up, kissing him softly. “I only sort of had my hopes up.”That earns him a laugh

Dazai falls asleep almost curled completely around Chuuya, and Chuuya drifts off with his legs tangled around his boyfriend’s waist.It’s quiet. It’s safe.Guess I’ll tell him later, Chuuya thinks to himself, his eyes drifting shut.Being on the verge of tears when  you say ‘I love you’ for the first time doesn’t make for a great confession.

Chuuya has known for a long time—and he was unaware of it for even longer than that, but—

He doesn’t think this is just some intense, overblown teen romance.It’s something more than just skin deep.

Chuuya hugs him a little tighter when the alarm blares in the morning, his nose brushing against the bandages peeking out from under Dazai’s collar.No matter how long he wants the weekend to last, Sunday is here anyway.

“Wait for...” Dazai yawns, “the backup...alarms...”

Chuuya rolls his eyes and moves to get up, but Dazai’s arms hug him closer, and Chuuya buries his face in Dazai’s shirt.Five more minutes really won’t hurt anyone.

But 6:15 comes around, and Chuuya dutifully—and very un-sexily—becomes the final back up alarm.

“Go with me?” Dazai whines as Chuuya shoves him (ramming his shoulders into his back and practically forcing Dazai, who doesn’t want to walk) into the bathroom to take a shower.

“Yes Dazai, I’m going to let you take my virginity in the shower while we’re half awake—"

“REALLY—?”

The door slams in his face, and Dazai moans. “You’re MEAN—"

“And you’re a PAIN in the mornings, you know that?!” Chuuya grumbles, walking off to the guest bathroom to take his own shower.

Thankfully, they planned for Dazai’s inability to function before ten a.m.The car is completely packed, everything is ready to roll out—all they have to do is get dressed and go.But just going is half of the problem.

Chuuya can see Dazai getting more and more tense as they eat breakfast, his shoulders hunching.He hasn’t been in a car since…Well, since the accident.

Mori wordlessly slides an orange pill bottle across the table, and Dazai stares at it long and hard.“Just for today.”

Normally, Dazai has fought tooth and nail when it comes to taking anything for the anxiety, but...He takes it.

The walk out to the car feels like it stretches on forever—but without looking down, Chuuya threads his fingers through his, and Dazai feels a little better.

Mori climbs into the driver’s seat, while Dazai and Chuuya load into the back. Chuuya is looking around for the information packet on Dazai‘s dorms that he tucked into the pocket on the pack of the passenger’s seat the night before, only to have Dazai push him back against the seat.

“Daz—"His boyfriend leans over him, yanking Chuuya’s seatbelt into place with a click.He’s tense.

“Sorry.” It’s clipped, and his hands are bunched into fists, resting against his legs.

“...” Chuuya reaches over, working to unfold Dazai’s fingers, slowly but carefully, until his hand is flat in Chuuya’s palm. “It’s okay—look at me—" Dazai does, his lips trembling slightly.

Chuuya presses his fingers into the center of Dazai’s palm, soothing him as best as he can. “It’s gonna be fine, okay?”

The car engine starts, and Dazai grabs Chuuya’s hand suddenly, squeezing so hard that it hurts.

They try talking at first, to keep his mind off of it, but that only seems to make Dazai more agitated, so they settle for Mori turning up the radio.By the time the medication really takes hold and Dazai starts nodding off, Chuuya is losing most sensation in his fingers. Finally, he slumps against Chuuya’s shoulder.

He drifts in and out of sleep for most of the ride, vaguely aware of Chuuya and Mori speaking quietly, or of the way Chuuya’s fingers are gently moving through his hair, constantly coaxing him to relax.

“We could’ve just mailed it all to Kyoto.” Dazai groans at one point.

“I would’ve swallowed the cost of that,” Mori calls from the front, “but it would’ve taken weeks to ship that many boxes at that weight.”

“I could’ve lived out of a suitcase for a few weeks,” Dazai practically whimpers when a semi passes them in the next lane.

Chuuya kisses his temple, guiding Dazai to press his face into Chuuya’s hair instead of looking at the road. “We’re almost there.”

Dazai is clammy and pale, but he relents. “Next time, just ship me in a box too.”

They arrive in Kyoto by the early afternoon.

Dazai practically launches himself out of the car as soon as it comes to a stop, taking a good five steps away from it before he starts to seem comfortable again, running his hands through his hair. “See?” He smiles, still white as a ghost, “I made it! I told you two not to worry about me!”

Mori and Chuuya stare, but silently agree that today is not the day to call Dazai out on the false bravado.

Kyoto is unfamiliar, but not necessarily bad either. “How far is it to campus from here?”

“Twenty minute’s walk, give or take,” Dazai yawns.

They’re carrying up boxes—really, Dazai is, he still finds a reason to make Chuuya carry everything that’s just a little lighter. It’s ridiculous, since Chuuya can lift more than him on a good day, but Dazai still worries about his ribs.

They reach the front door.

Chuuya raises an eyebrow when he opens it, letting Dazai walk in ahead of him with his boxes. “It’s bigger than I thought.”

“Oh,” Dazai glances back over his shoulder, “they sent me an email last week—I have a roommate.”

Oh.

Well that puts an end to Dazai’s suggestions as to what they’re going to do when Chuuya visits.

“They can do that at the last second?”

“Yeah,” Dazai shrugs. “Some sort of ‘special case,’ I don’t read the whole thing.”

“That’s gonna get you in trouble one day, you know.”

Mori leaves them to unpack boxes while he finds lunch for them. Dazai goes about fussing about getting his books organized on the shelf exactly the way he wants them (Chuuya insists it makes no sense, but he has a system) while Chuuya goes about hanging his posters on the walls.

“I still don’t get these movies.”

“What’s not to get?” Dazai glances up from where he’s debating the color palette ratio of one cluster of books to the next. “They’re classics.”

Chuuya stares at the ‘Dirty Dancing’ logo and shakes his head. “Isn’t the guy in this one a huge asshole?”

“That’s not the point!”

“Then what is the point?”

“The connection between him and Baby!” Dazai throws his hands up, “it’s like I don’t even know you.”

“She could probably do better."

“So could you, but you’re pretty happy, right?”

Chuuya looks affronted. “You’re not an asshole!”

Dazai stares at him with a raised eyebrow and Chuuya looks away sheepishly. “Okay—well—you’re not that kind of asshole.”

“Then what kind am I?”

“The lovable kind,” Chuuya mutters under his breath, but he doesn’t say more.It’s not the right time.

At one point they take a break, laying back on Dazai’s small, dorm bed, staring at the tiled ceiling. “You know,” Dazai says it so casually, Chuuya doesn’t see the oncoming attack. “This is pretty good practice for later down the line.”

Chuuya blinks. “For when I go to college?”

Dazai shrugs, “I guess, but I was actually thinking,”  Chuuya turns onto his stomach, barely able to fit on the mattress next to Dazai as it is, "of when we get a place together.”

Chuuya flails so violently that he falls off of the bed with a short shriek.

Dazai laughs.“Does that really sound that bad?”

“Dazai!” Chuuya snaps, rubbing his tailbone and glaring, “you can’t just spring that on me—"

“It’s not like I asked you to marry me or anything! I was just saying—"

“You’re trying to rile me up—!”

“—That it’s probably going to happen!”

It’s not like Chuuya hasn’t thought about it from time to time...Okay, maybe he’s thought about it a lot, especially with Dazai getting ready to leave.And then there’s that other bit.

“It’s not like I asked you to marry me!”

“You are so red—"

“Shut up—!”

Mori makes it back shortly after that—and after lunch, it doesn’t take much longer to finish settling Dazai in. The room actually looks cozy, aside from the bare half that’s been left open for Dazai’s roommate.

“Well,” Mori checks his watch. “we’ll already be getting back fairly late as it is, so—"

“—but don’t you think you should stay the night?” Dazai is clinging to Chuuya so much that the redhead may as well be in his lap. “—it’s basically too late already! We might as well call it!”

“I have work in the morning, Dazai—"

“It’s just the sick and dying!” Dazai whines. “They can wait!”

“Dazai."

Normally Chuuya would be arguing with Dazai for being ridiculous and whiny as well, but...He really isn’t ready to leave yet.

But they have to.

Which is how they end up in the parking lot.

Mori gave Dazai an awkward but tight hug before getting into the car, and now he and Chuuya have been locked into a tight embrace for at least two minutes.

“Go over the checklist one more time?”

Chuuya sighs, hugging tighter. “Two phone calls a day.”

“Check.”

“At least one selfie per day.”

“Preferably shirtless.”

“Dream on."

“...Check.”

“You have to answer me honestly when I ask you if you’ve eaten dinner.”

“Me? Following the honor system?”

“Dazai.”

“Check!”

“And...” Chuuya sighs, biting his lip.

“If I have a dream, I call you.”

Dazai leans back to give him a serious look. “No matter what time it is.”

Chuuya swallows thickly and nods.

“Check.” Dazai glances back at the car and sighs, squeezing Chuuya around the waist. “And you’ll be home to visit in a month.” Chuuya finishes for him. “I know.”

An entire month.Which may not sound like much, in the grand scheme of things—but Dazai has managed to get separation anxiety after a school day without the redhead, so—

This is going to be miserable.

“Osamu?”

“Yeah?” Dazai looks into the redhead’s eyes, and he seems...nervous, and after the way the last few months have gone for them, Dazai can’t blame him.

“I...” Chuuya swallows hard, glancing away. “I just...” he looks like he wants to say something so badly, but it just… “I’m really gonna miss you.” He finishes, his voice surprisingly small.

“...I,” Dazai leans down, pressing their foreheads together. “Am going to smother you so thoroughly with texts, that you won’t get the chance.”

Chuuya snorts, “That’s pretty romantic."

Maybe Dazai’s words aren’t that romantic—but the way he kisses Chuuya afterwards is.

After almost losing him, Dazai has gotten pretty adept at kissing the redhead like he’s the only thing in the world, dipping him back, his hands pushing Chuuya up and into his chest until Chuuya is practically melting into him, his hands winding into his hair.

Even the car horn blaring doesn’t make them jump apart immediately. “A month,” Dazai mumbles against his mouth.

“A month,” Chuuya repeats faintly.

Dazai doesn’t really know how he manages to let him go, but he does, and Chuuya walks backwards slowly, until his back hits the car door. “...I’ll call you when we get back, okay?”

“Okay.” Dazai mumbles, his stomach sinking as Chuuya climbs in, and Mori throws the car into drive.

He hates this.

The ride with Mori is quiet.

It’s weird, because their connection was always through Dazai. They have a rapport of their own, now, but—Chuuya hasn’t completely adjusted to the fact that Mori is the closest thing he has to family right now.

“He’ll be fine,” Mori reassures him, eyes on the road.

Chuuya nods. He knows. Logically, he knows. Dazai is smart, capable, and generally resourceful—really, it’s just missing him that is going to be the problem.

Ironically enough, things for Dazai were not, in fact, fine.

His personal hell began at around nine.

“I’m sure, Ivan—and that’s what dormitories in Japan are supposed to look like, you know.”

“But they’re so—" Dazai sits up as the door opens, only to see two Russians in his doorway, one with long, almost white hair, and the other with shoulder length, black hair.

“Who—?”

He makes eye contact with the dark haired one, and neither of them smile. “Hello,” the boy smiles, speaking in heavily accented Japanese. “My name is Fyodor—I’ll be your roommate this year.”

Here’s the thing—Dazai wouldn’t have liked his roommate no matter who it was because they were always going to be the main obstacle between Dazai and his current goal in life: advancing his physical relationship with his boyfriend.But there just something about this guy that instinctively sets Dazai’s teeth on edge. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

They explain they arrived later because of the flight and the. Jet lag after leaving Moscow—and the two spend all night (and in turn, they keep Dazai up all night) setting up Fyodor’s side of the room.

And there’s an unfortunate thing they don’t know:Dazai speaks Russian.

So, when the two spend the entire evening keeping Dazai awake after a very long day, and quietly laughing among themselves and insulting Dazai’s taste in decor—Dazai is stewing.

It’s almost 6 a.m. when Fyodor is saying goodbye to his older brother.“You’ll call?”

“Yes."Fyodor seems a little irritated as he offers him a rushed hug. “I promise I’ll call. Now—don’t you have a flight?”

“Right, right,” he sighs, glancing over to Dazai, switching into Japanese— “It was nice to meet you, Dazai—have a nice school year.”

Dazai smiles back sharply.“Oh, thank you—and I wish your parents the best of luck finding that summer house in Odessa. The real estate market in Ukraine is so unpredictable right now. Have a safe flight!”He says it all in perfect Russian, and now the other two boys are staring at him in horror.

It was the absolute worst way to get off on the right foot.

Back in Yokohama, Chuuya wakes up curled up against a pillow, sprawled across Dazai’s bed.

It didn’t feel so big in here before.He rolls over, staring at the ceiling.

It’s going to be a long, long year.

Chapter Text

It’s only a week later when it’s time for Chuuya to start back to school—a week filled with talking on the phone every morning and every night, awkwardly taking pictures of himself on his morning runs to send to Dazai. But now Chuuya has to start his third year at a new school, and he has to do it by himself. The new uniform feels stiff and unfamiliar—a buttoned up black jacket instead of his usual coat and tie.

Mori gave him a rushed pep talk on the way out the door—but it wasn’t the same. Chuuya’s mother always made the first day an event.

His neck feels oddly naked and uncomfortable without the bandages—the bruises faded weeks ago, and one small scar remains—but he liked having them there. It made him feel a little less exposed. But he can’t really do it like Dazai does, so why bother?

He’s introduced during home room.

“Everyone—this is our transfer student, Nakahara Chuuya. Please make him feel welcome.”

Chuuya bows politely, and he can feel every single eye on him. Transfers aren’t common. Third year transfers are rare. And in a competitive school like Keio? Almost unheard of.

Everyone greets him quietly, and Chuuya moves to take his seat. “Pssst! Chuuya! Chuuya-kun! Hey! Hey! Over here—!”

Chuuya turns his head from his seat to see a familiar blonde waving at him enthusiastically—and from beside him, a redhead who is also waving, but more subtle. “...Kenji?” He bobs his head, beaming eagerly.

“I can’t believe you’re in our class!! 3-B is gonna be the coolest one in the school now!!”

Chuuya smiles, reluctantly beginning to feel a little better. “I don’t think one person makes that sort of difference.”

“Are you coming to practice today? Oh—oh my GOD—" Kenji clutched his hands over his face with excitement, “you could just join the team for real now!!”

“I’ve never really played before—" Chuuya frowns, "it wouldn’t make any sense."

“But you were showing us what to do at the end of last season!” The blonde protests, staring at him with big puppy dog eyes.

“Or are you gonna join judo?” Tanizaki offers, tilting his head to the side. “That was your specialty, wasn’t it?”

“I—" Chuuya is a little overwhelmed, “honestly, I didn’t think past the first day.”

“Well—find us at lunch, okay? We’ve got so much to talk about!” Chuuya nods, and the teacher silences them after that.

To Chuuya’s surprise—he actually likes Dazai’s school...a lot. The teachers are attentive, the classes are interesting—and when lunch rolls around, he’s swarmed with boys he already knows. It’s just...really nice.

“Nakahara-san,” Atsushi sniffles when he embraces him later, during practice, on his knees and hugging Chuuya around the middle. “I—I’m s-so glad you’re h-here—"

“Atsushi.” Chuuya blinks, patting his head awkwardly. “You know you can just call me Chuuya, right...?”

"He’s lost it,” Ranpo sighs, adjusting his cap. “He took Dazai’s graduation pretty damn hard.”

“R-remember how he convinced me I was gonna die b-because I swallowed a piece of g-gum?”

Chuuya nods sagely. “He’s a dick.”

“Yeah,” Atsushi sobs affectionately, “a huge dick!”

Later, during the warmup drills, Edogawa raises an eyebrow at Chuuya from the bench. “You know you’re an actual student here now, right?”

“Yeah, thanks to you—"

“I keep telling you not to mention that—but you could actually try out for the team.” The older man points out, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah, but,” Chuuya sighs, “I’d rather save that spot for someone who is actually gonna be here all three years.” Chuuya really, really regrets that his last year with his soccer team would have started today, and now he’s missing out on that.

Ranpo watches him closely. “You know, for someone dating Dazai, you’re pretty mature.”

“He can be mature when he wants to be,” Chuuya defends him dutifully before cracking a smile. “But yeah, he’s usually a pain.”

“Well,” Ranpo stretches, “I can think of one spot you could take without taking someone else’s. You wouldn’t even have to miss out on Judo. I’m assuming you are going for that, right?” Chuuya nods hesitantly. “Well—you honestly started doing the job last season. We normally have a girl from Aoyama do it, but this time we got a first year, and Kyouka-chan doesn’t know what she’s doing, and with Yosano gone—"

Chuuya looks a little startled. “You want me to be team manager?"

Dazai is hissing with jealousy when Atsushi and Junichiro FaceTime him during practice. “The year AFTER I leave, the team gets the most GORGEOUS manager it’s ever had?! It’s not FAIR—!"

“We’ll treasure him, Dazai-senpai—!”

“Not TOO MUCH, GOT IT?!”

Chuuya sighs, resting his palm against his forehead. Dazai is ridiculous.

“How was the first day?”

Chuuya closes his eyes to focus on Dazai’s voice, sprawled in bed. “It was actually pretty good.” He admits, tracing his eyes along the small dents in the ceiling where Dazai would always toss a ball against it while he was thinking. “What about yours?”

“Oh, my roommate is a rotten piece of shit, but classes are nice.”

“Wait—what?”

“Sorry, chibi—I switched into Russian because I have the decency to insult someone in their native language. Isn’t that right, Fyodor?”

He hears muffled snapping on the other end of the line. “He’s in the room right now?”

“He never fucking leaves!” Dazai answers cheerfully.

Chuuya wants to tell Dazai to stop being an ass, but...on the other hand, “I’ve never heard you speak Russian before.”

“It was my elective in highschool. Honestly, I never thought it would come in this handy.”

“It’s actually pretty...” Chuuya trails off.

“What?”

“Sexy.”

It takes a while for Dazai to respond, and Chuuya can almost hear the wheels turning in his boyfriend’s brain as it starts to turn back on. “...Oh really?"

Chuuya nods, biting his lip and smiling, the stress from the day starting to melt away. “Makes me wish you were here.” It’s easier to be like this when Dazai isn’t looking at him. It makes Chuuya feel...kind of confident.

“I was wishing I was there before, but now...” Dazai switches to Russian again, and Chuuya can tell whatever he’s saying, it is not wholesome. And there is something about it, not knowing what he’s saying but recognizing his name here and there, in that rough, low voice Dazai is using... “Or something like that.” Dazai trails off, stretching out across his dorm bed with a smirk.

Fyodor looks scandalized.
There’s a long length of silence on the other end. “...Chuuya?” More silence. “You there?”

“...Yeah, I’m here.” And suddenly—Dazai feels his blood rapidly migrating south.

Because Chuuya sounds—turned on.“Well—I’ve got—homework, so—"

“On the first day?”

“Yeah." Chuuya’s voice is a little higher than usual and he sounds breathless. “I’ll call you in the morning, okay?”

“...Okay.” Dazai frowns, wishing he’d said a little more of that in Japanese. “Sleep good, okay?”

“Yep! You too!” The line cuts off with an abrupt click.

Dazai stares for the screen for a second with a sigh, glancing over at his roommate, who is trying very hard to be more interested in his laptop.

“The chibi likes Russian?”

Dazai scowls. “His name is Chuuya—and yes, he does.”

Fyodor shrugs, going back to his screen. “I wonder how he would feel if he heard it from a native speaker.” Fyodor muses.

Suddenly, Dazai isn’t riding quite so much of a high.

For Chuuya, he would qualify the first two weeks of school cautiously as a success. He has a new friend group, he qualifies for Judo and genuinely, everything seems to be evening out. Well. Except for one thing.

There is one kid who, for some reason, has it out for him.

“I’d ignore him if I were you, honest.” Tanizaki yawns. “He thinks he can act however he wants because his parents have money.”

“I honestly feel a little bad for the guy.” Atsushi admits, and Chuuya gives him a look. “What? Nobody likes him. His friends tolerate him for the gifts. That’s it.”

“And honestly,” Junichiro yawns, taking a big bite of his rice ball, “he calls himself Ace. That screams inferiority complex, if you ask me.”

“It also could be because you’re dating Dazai!” Kenji offers. “He did kind of steal the guy’s girlfriend back when he was a first year.”

Chuuya rolls his eyes. Ah, so a pattern appears.“None of that shit is my problem.”

And honestly, Chuuya doesn’t even give a shit that the dude is trying to bully him. He’s only 160 centimeters tall, he got plenty of shit back in middle school, he can fend for himself just fine. It’s the way the creep is going about it.

“Oh, excuse me, princess—" He makes a big show of giving Chuuya a very wide berth, holding both hands up as if the idea of even getting close to touching him is distasteful. “I didn’t mean to get too close there—hope you didn’t get excited."

Chuuya pauses in the middle of the hallway. If it was something simple, like being picked on for being the short kid, Chuuya could kick his ass to make a point. If it was about Chuuya being the new kid, who cares? He’s already made friends. But this isn’t about any of that. This is about Chuuya being the gay kid. Reacting at all draws more attention to it, and defending his sexuality has never exactly been Chuuya’s strong suit.

So, Chuuya shrugs, holding his chin high even though he wants to crawl into the sewer grate and die. “No worries—you’re fine.” He walks away calmly.

Except for the fact that he doesn’t feel calm.

“Wow,” Tanizaki commends as they follow behind him. “He took that really—" Chuuya slams the bathroom door so hard, it’s a miracle the entire thing doesn’t shatter, “...well.” The third year finishes lamely. “Should we...?”

“...Yeah.” Atsushi nods. “His day is just gonna get worse if we let him break something...” It takes so long to talk him down in the bathroom, they almost miss practice.

“Something is definitely wrong,” Dazai mutters over the phone that night. “Might as well tell me now.”

Chuuya sighs, burying his face into the pillow for a second. “I need you to be honest with me for a second—and to take what I’m about to ask you seriously.”

“It’s bothering you.” He can hear the frown in Dazai’s voice. “I’m obviously going to take it seriously.”

“...Do I—" Chuuya cuts himself off before trying again, “if you didn’t know me, and you were just looking at me—would you be able to tell if I was...” Chuuya swallows hard, rubbing his neck—an anxious habit that he never used to have before.

“If you were what?”

“That I’m gay.”

“...” Dazai’s voice is oddly calm. “What happened?”

“Just a stupid thing at school.”

“It doesn’t sound stupid.”

“You didn’t answer.”

There’s a pause on the other end before Dazai says, “I’m not sure I want to answer.”

Chuuya recoils. “Is it that bad?!”

“No! But you already try to act differently so people won’t think you’re gay. And Chuuya,” Dazai sighs heavily. “When I first met you, I never thought about whether or not you were straight.”

Chuuya narrows his eyes. “Then what did you think about, Dazai? Because I don’t get—"

“I thought about how beautiful you were, mostly.”

Saying shit like that sounds so blunt coming from Dazai, and Chuuya’s face is burning, because he can tell the older boy means it. “Not handsome?”

“Chuuya,” Dazai sighs, “you can use whatever word you want if the gender connotation bothers you, but—you’re the most attractive person I’ve ever met. Okay?” Chuuya’s heart is pounding. “Seriously, the hardest thing about being up here is just not being able to look at you, all the time—"

“—Dazai—"

“Honestly, Chuuya. I don’t think a person can ‘act gay.’ You’re just you.”

Chuuya presses his palm to his face. It’s easy for Dazai to say all of this—his sexuality, the way he expresses himself—he’s never been forced to justify it to anyone before. And that’s really all Chuuya knows.

“Well—someone at school doesn’t think that way.”

“Who?“

“Ace.” Chuuya huffs with a small sneer. “Such a weird fucking name.”

“He’s been bothering you?” Dazai just sounds weird, but Chuuya is replaying the incident in his head over and over, getting angrier over it each time.

“He called me a ‘princess.’”

“...Did he really?"

“Yeah—and he acted like I might jump his dick or something if he got to close—" Chuuya grits his teeth. “He’s a huge piece of shit.”

“Oh—I remember.” Dazai muses, and for a second Chuuya is baffled, because how is Dazai not as furious about this as he is? “Well ‘princess’ isn’t inherently an awful thing to call someone. I’ve called people that before.”

He’s called Sasaki that before. That’s what he’s probably thinking, and it has Chuuya’s stomach twisting with jealousy. “He didn’t mean it as a pet name, Dazai.”

“That’s not my point—" Dazai sounds lost on thought. “—I’m just annoyed that he made it into a negative thing.”

“Wha—?” Chuuya throws his hands up “What the hell does that mean?!”

“Well, what if I wanted to call you princess?”

Chuuya’s jaw drops. "Hah?!" Dazai is mostly distracting the redhead to make him feel better—and honestly, it is working, “You value your life too much to ever pull something like that.”

“I don’t know, in the right context—" They bicker back and forth, but eventually Dazai gives him a real answer: “I think you should dress how you want—act the way you want. Because otherwise, you’re just letting him control your life.”

It hits Chuuya hard—because he’s never thought of it like that before. “Okay—I guess—you might have a point.”

“I usually do, you know.”

The next day, during lunch, Chuuya is turning the idea around in his head, over and over—something Dazai has mentioned before—is Chuuya holding himself back from doing the things he wants to do, just because he’s worried about—? Well, that doesn’t even feel like a question.

He glances over at Junichiro, looking him over and raising an eyebrow. “Hey, Tanizaki—"

“Yeah?”

“I’ve been meaning to ask—"

Chapter Text

Exactly thirty days after he left, Dazai is on the train back to Yokohama. It’s a short visit—only for the weekend, but it’s more than worth the trip

Dazai’s cheek is resting against the window, watching the landscapes slip by—but as they pull into the city and make it to the proper platform, he notices a familiar face, and he beams. Despite being in an interior compartment, Dazai is one of the first to make it off.

“Daz—mmph!” Chuuya doesn’t really get the chance to greet him before he’s swept up into a huge hug, quite literally dangling off the ground as Dazai kisses him senseless. “What are—?” Chuuya’s eyes slip closed for a moment when Dazai deepens the kiss, and he groans. Chuuya really almost does let Dazai kiss him until he’s an absolute mess, but he has the sense to remember where they are. “Dazai!” He groans, punching him in the chest. “Could you not?”

Dazai isn’t very apologetic, “I needed to make sure you tasted the same!”

“The same?!” Chuuya squirms in his arms until his feet are finally touching the ground again. “Why would I taste any different?!”

“Things can change, you know—“ Dazai pauses as he sets Chuuya down, taking the redhead by the chin. “...Chuuya...”

“Yeah?”

“Did you...?” Dazai reaches over, delicately touching Chuuya’s earlobe with his fingertips. “Did you get your ears pierced?”

“Oh—yeah.” Chuuya blinks, tilting his head. “I thought Junichiro’s looked cool, so—" Dazai looks shocked, and suddenly Chuuya isn’t so sure. “Is it a problem?”

Dazai shakes his head a little too quickly, and Chuuya can see...is he blushing? “It’s not—I’m just surprised.”

“Well...I always wanted to, but my D—“ Chuuya winces a little “—my Dad never let me.”

Dazai squeezes Chuuya’s chin a little tighter without meaning to. “When did you do it?” 

“After school, the day we talked about Ace.” Dazai scowls but it quickly turned into a pout.

“What?”

“Did you hold Junichiro’s hand when they did it?”

Chuuya rolls his eyes “No, Dazai, I didn’t hold anyone’s hand—"

“I could have!” Dazai whines, feeling slighted.

“You can do that next time.” Chuuya offers, and Dazai doesn't try to hide how intrigued he is.

“You’re going to get more?"

“Yeah,” Chuuya shrugs, grabbing his hand as they move to leave the station. “I like the cartilage ones.” Dazai feels a little lightheaded. “...What is it?”

“I’m just happy feel more comfortable expressing yourself,” Dazai croaks, trying not to think about how much he wants to know what the studs in Chuuya’s ears feel like under his teeth. At the beginning of their relationship—and it’s weird to think that it was only months ago—Dazai never thought about having sex with Chuuya. Not as much as he would have in different circumstances. With the women he had been with in the past, it was generally the first and only thing on his mind. Maybe a little less with Sasaki, but...with Chuuya, it only became a concrete possibility in Dazai’s mind the night after the baseball championship.

And the fire alarm.

Dazai grits his teeth at the memory.

The thing is—now, the abstract concept of what Chuuya might look like in the heat of pleasure, the sounds he might make... They aren’t so abstract anymore. And now Dazai hasn’t been able to stop thinking about all of the things that they haven’t done—and the fact that he’s crammed into a tiny dorm with a snoopy Russian that never leaves doesn’t make anything any easier, because now it’s rare for Dazai to even be able to relieve some of that tension by himself. But he gets, with everything that’s happened, with all of the things Chuuya is working through with his own sexuality, that having sex isn’t exactly at the top of his priority list. And that’s totally fine, it just—

“Dazai?”

Did they make it back to the house already? “Sorry—“ Dazai breathes out, moving to walk up the steps with Chuuya. “Spaced out.”

Chuuya eyes him with a raised eyebrow. “Well—hurry up, alright?”

Dazai raises an eyebrow back at him, but he agrees. He makes it into the doorway, shrugging out of his jacket. “Is Mori at work?”

“Yep—he doesn’t make it back for another forty five minutes.”

Dazai tilts his head. It’s weird—normally his uncle would’ve wanted to be there when he got back, “And Oda and your sister?”

Chuuya clasps his hands behind his back. “They should get here at around the same time.”

Dazai scratches his head “Okay—so no one else wanted to greet me on my first visit after moving away?”

“Dazai—"

“Wow—I just—they could be a LITTLE more excited—"

“Dazai—"

“What am I? Chopped liver? Do they even know how many times that stupid rat’s parents call a day?

A sharp punch to his arm makes him look down with a glare, “I’m allowed to be a little hurt, Chuu—“

His boyfriend yanks him down by the collar of his shirt, until they’re eye level with one another. “I told everyone you took the one o’ clock train instead of the one at noon.” Why would he...?

Dazai might be a little self centered and at times a little presumptuous when it comes to what Chuuya is thinking—but he isn’t stupid.

Oh. Oh.

“We had forty five minutes and now you’ve wasted three of them being a drama queen, so unless you want to waste the rest of it—"

Dazai really doesn’t. Now, normally, there’s an understanding between the two of them about man handling. Chuuya isn’t exactly sensitive about his height—but he doesn’t exactly like being tosssd around like it’s easy either—

But desperate times.

He swoops Chuuya off of his feet in mid sentence, expecting the redhead to protest, but Chuuya just slides his fingers into his hair and hitched his legs around Dazai’s hips, and suddenly Dazai’s head is spinning. He barely manages to kick the door shut.

They don’t even make it past the kitchen.

Chuuya makes contact with the counter and pushes back on it without hesitation, leaning back and unhooking his legs from around Dazai so he can yank at his shirt, untucking it.

Before, things have always been so slow and hesitant. Now, it feels frantic—and Dazai realizes the moment Chuuya’s fingertips dip under his shirt, brushing against his stomach, making the muscles there tense. Chuuya’s never even touched him there before. Dazai groans softly against Chuuya’s lips as the redhead’s palms flatten against his abs, sliding around to his hips, pressing into the small of his back, and Dazai has never considered himself a terribly reactive lover, he’s always been the type to be a little distant from the Act, to think through his next step. That’s impossible right now. All he can think about is how Chuuya’s skin felt under his hands that night, how he needs that again, more of it. But when he reaches for Chuuya’s shirt, his hands are slapped away.

“Don’t—" Chuuya groans against Dazai’s mouth, his hands sliding down to fumble with his belt, “don't distract me, alright?!” Dazai’s heart is in his throat, and he reaches out blindly to brace himself against the counter, his arms bracketing Chuuya. He knocks over a stack of mail, sending it scattering to the floor, but he doesn’t care.

“Are you—?” Dazai pants. Chuuya’s fingers are shaking. It’s not noticeable, only a slight tremor, but it’s enough to make Dazai grab his boyfriend’s wrist before he can finish unzipping Dazai’s jeans. “Are you okay?"

Chuuya nods, slightly breathless himself. He doesn’t look upset, but Dazai can’t help but worry it’s all just false bravado, that Chuuya feels like he has to do this—and the very idea of that makes Dazai feel a little sick.

“Dazai, I’m fine,” Chuuya mutters, shaking him off as he goes for his zipper again. “I’m just—"

“Just what?”

“I’m nervous damn it!” Chuuya snaps. “That doesn’t mean I don’t want to, I just—"

It dawns on Dazai then, that Chuuya is worried about doing a good job. Which, really, given how repressed Dazai is, Chuuya doesn’t even have to be passable, but that isn’t the point. “Chuuya,” Dazai exhales shakily, reaching forward for Chuuya‘s wrist again, but instead of stopping him, he pushes his hand forward, so he can feel just how hard Dazai is already. “You really don’t need to be worried.”

Chuuya is red, but his fingers slowly start to relax. After a second, they tighten, gripping Dazai through the open front of his jeans, and the taller boy hisses softly, his face heating up. Chuuya’s fingers, slightly more confident now, drift up and /tug/ at the waist and of Dazai’s underwear, pulling down until Dazai is exposed and then those fingers are wrapping around him, and Dazai moans. It takes him a minute to realize why Chuuya hasn’t started moving, and it’s because Dazai still has a vice grip on the redhead’s wrist.

“I—sorry—" he breathes out harshly letting him go. Chuuya simply responds by tilting his face up to kiss him, and Dazai just crumbles into it, his knees unsteady as Chuuya's fingers start to move.

Dazai is sure, if you forced him to be objective, it's not the best handjob he's ever received from a technical perspective.

However.

Every single brush of the redhead's fingers over his length, while occasionally clumsy or even a little too forceful, has Dazai clenching his teeth, swearing, gasping Chuuya's name. And the way Chuuya is kissing him just isn't fucking fair. Normally, kissing Chuuya is slow, intense, and deep--and it's not like this isn't intense, because Jesus--It's just that it's slightly messier than usual, like Chuuya is somehow teasing Dazai with the way his tongue is sliding into his mouth, and--

When did Chuuya learn how to kiss like that?

He doesn't even notice the way Chuuya has been slowly (and somewhat clumsily) been unbuttoning his shirt, not until it's completely open, and Chuuya's palm is pressing over his chest. Dazai really isn't proud of the fact that hearing Chuuya moan when his fingers brush over his muscles makes Dazai noticeably harder under Chuuya's fingers. Chuuya's nails are scraping over his skin, and Dazai's heart is pounding. And then Chuuya's thumb slides over his head with just the right amount of friction, and Dazai breaks the kiss, their lips swollen and wet, taking shuddering gasps. "Chuuya--" he squeezes his eyes shut, "--if you keep doing that--" He cracks one eye open, and he swears he can see Chuuya actually smirk.

Chuuya does it again.

"Fuck--!" Dazai didn't exactly envision his first orgasm at Chuuya's hands being in the middle of his kitchen on a Friday afternoon, but here they are.

He collapses against Chuuya for a moment with a swear, his shoulders shaking as he works to even out his breathing, and Chuuya seems very pleased with himself, reaching over to grab a napkin--conveniently nearby, given their location--while his other hand strokes through Dazai's hair. "There," he mutters, "now we're even."

Dazai snorts weakly, lifting his head from Chuuya's shoulder. "Was that really bothering you?"

Chuuya shrugs, looking away sheepishly. "Kind of, yeah."

"..." Dazai smiles so softly, leaning forward to nuzzle his face into Chuuya's neck again. "What a gentleman."

"Shut up, Dazai, I'm just being considerate--"

"I'm serious! Or--" He smiles slyly, lifting his face, pressing his lips to Chuuya's ear, relishing in the feeling of metal under his lips, "I could call you princess, if you like that better."

To Dazai's delight and Chuuya's utter fucking humiliation, he shivers. "You are the worst--"

"What?" Dazai laughs softly, nipping at his earlobe--careful to avoid the new piercing (for now) because he's sure it's still sore-- "It's 2020, Chuuya--it's okay if you like the nickname."

Chuuya is quiet for a second, and Dazai knows he's taking in that information, considering it, and packing it away to process later. "You're still an ass."

"I never denied that," Dazai smiles, a little smug. "How much time do we have now?"

Chuuya looks down at his watch, his cheeks still flushed. "...Twenty minutes." Dazai smirks. "Wait--"

Chuuya jumps and groans softly when Dazai squeezes him through his pants, throwing his head back--and Dazai can't really resist the exposed column of his neck. He leans in, pressing his lips over Chuuya's pulse, throbbing under his skin--and the redhead stiffens. Dazai pauses--this isn't a new reaction. Chuuya has done this every single time Dazai has kissed him there since the incident--and every time, Dazai has offered to not do it again, only to get the same response.

"No--it's okay, Dazai--"

"But Chuuya, I--"

"Exactly. It's you."

So, Dazai has learned to stay still and wait for the anxiety to work itself out, and when Chuuya does relax, he presses soft, open mouth kisses up and down the side of his throat, and Chuuya holds his shoulders tightly. "We really shouldn't--"

"Why not?" Dazai purrs, squeezing the redhead again, purely for the pleasure of feeling Chuuya arch and squirm against him. "Twenty minutes is plenty--"

"It's cutting it close, and I don't want to end up like you after the fire alarm--"

Dazai winces, "I'll admit, that was tragic--"

"Yeah," Chuuya frowns, pushing Dazai's hand away, "and I do not want to be dealing with a raging hard on when my sister is here--"

"Well--" Dazai glances down, then back up. "You already have one right now."

Chuuya grits his teeth, "It'll go down."

"It could go down faster."

"..."

"...If someone interrupts us, you are going to make a scene so I can sneak off to the bathroom, got it?"

"Making a scene is my specialty!" Dazai responds cheerfully, unbuckling Chuuya's belt slightly more gracefully than what Chuuya had managed with his own.

"I know." It's when Dazai starts dropping to his knees that Chuuya makes the most undignified noise Dazai has ever heard, knotting his fingers through his hair to stop him. "What are you doing?!"

Dazai raises an eyebrow, eye level with Chuuya's underwear. "Following my passions?"

Chuuya's face is starting to match the color of his hair. And for come reason, even though they are very much alone, he lowers his voice to a scandalized whisper. "Have you ever even done that before?"

"Sucked a guy off?" Chuuya winces at Dazai's bluntness. "Never. But there's a first time for everything--"

"And you think now is the best time to try and figure it out?!" Chuuya hisses.

"Chuuya--are you really saying no to a blowjob right now?" The shorter boy pauses, realizing how bizarre he's being. "Because if you don't want me to, I can stop--" And Chuuya knows that it's a sincere offer, and that Dazai won't be mad if Chuuya tells him to stop, but--

"..." Chuuya turns his face up to look at the ceiling, biting his lip, and his face on fire. "I never said that."

"So you do want it?"

Chuuya wants to die. Preferably, in a fire. "Are you actually going to make me say it?"

Dazai waggles his eyebrows at him, "Nothing is sexier than consent, Chibi."

The redhead huffs. "Yes, Dazai."

"Yes, what?"

"We do not have time for this, you piece of--GOD--!"

While Chuuya was chastising him, Dazai took it as an opportunity to pull the redhead's underwear down and out of the way, and Dazai will admit, it's a little different when you aren't on the receiving end of it, but he's been given quite a few blowjobs in his life. He's more than familiar with the theory. So he looks and sounds a lot more confident than he feels when he takes the base of Chuuya's cock in his hand, leaning forward to drag his tongue up the underside.

But the choked scream Chuuya lets out?

Very reassuring.

"D--Dazai--Jesus--fuck--!" Chuuya's chest is heaving, and he's already a mess, and honestly, this is the best idea that Dazai has ever had.

He's leaning back on top of the counter, his hands scrambling to brace himself on something, anything, while his hips are bucking up into Dazai's touch, so much so that Dazai has to wrap his hand around Chuuya's right hip pretty firmly to keep him in place, which just makes Chuuya moan even more. And it's easy to lose himself in that train of thought, wondering how Chuuya would like being pinned down, but that's a discovery for another time. He doesn't go for anything too complicated, not this time, anyway, when they're under a time constraint--but oh god if he did have the time--

Well, you can imagine.

Instead, he settles for slowly working his tongue over the head while stroking him at the base, shivering when Chuuya's hands tug at his hair, feeling his thighs trembling around Dazai's ears. It's not that different from when he's gone down on girls in the past. Well, the process is very different but the over all reactions are similar. Except for seeing Chuuya like this, flushed and squirming under Dazai's mouth, gorgeous, sinful moans dripping from his lips as he looks down at Dazai, eyes half lidded?

That's an entirely different ballgame.

"Dazai--Dazai, I'm--!" To Chuuya's credit, he does try to warn him, and despite this being the obvious and natural conclusion to this particular activity, Dazai never actually thought about what he was going to do when this happened. And, as usual, things don't exactly go smoothly.

Chuuya does reach his climax, convulsing and tugging at Dazai's hair, and Dazai doesn't really know what to do other than what he's already seen, so he just swallows. It isn't that bad, a little bitter, but honestly, when it's Chuuya, Dazai doesn't care. That isn't the problem.

It's that while they did technically have enough time, it was barely enough time.

Meaning that Dazai can hear the front door opening, and he still has his boyfriend's cock in his mouth. 

And said boyfriend is not running at full capacity.

"Did..." Chuuya is breathing hard, his face is so red and his eyes are so wide, and his voice is rising in volume and pitch, "Did you really just--?!"

Dazai pulls off, making Chuuya yelp at the sudden influx of cold air, and quickly straightens up, clapping a hand over the redhead's mouth to make him stop shrieking in embarrassed indignation.

"Anyone home?" Mori calls out from the foyer, and Chuuya's eyes somehow get bigger as he scrambles to pull his pants back up.

"Just a second!" Dazai calls back pleasantly, frantically buttoning up his shirt, mouthing 'thank you' to his boyfriend when the redhead starts working to fix Dazai's pants as soon as he finishes with his own.

Mori's footsteps probably aren't actually that loud, but it sounds like impending doom.

Chuuya finishes buckling up Dazai's pants, and for a second, Dazai really thinks they've pulled things off without a hitch, until Chuuya moves to hop down from the counter, forgetting he's only a matter of seconds out from an orgasm, and his legs completely give out underneath him.

Dazai winces, but it is way too late and Chuuya goes down with a loud yelp, landing directly on his ass.

Dazai reaches for him quickly. "Are you okay?"

"I don't you we didn't have time!" Chuuya hisses.

"Well, I mean, we did--"

"We did NOT--"

"Boys?"

They both glance up, very rumbled, flushed, and a little sweaty--but dressed, to see Mori standing in the doorway, looking completely baffled. "What happened?"

"Uh..." Dazai looks from where he's halfway down to help Chuuya back up, to Chuuya, who looks like a deer in the headlights, then to Mori, who doesn't seem to have any idea.  "...The chibi was trying to climb on the counters to reach the top shelves again!" Dazai blurts out, and Chuuya looks appalled. "He didn't want to wait for me to come back from the bathroom!"

Mori frowns, "Chuuya," he puts his hands on his hips, and Dazai waits for a, 'Dazai is obviously lying, spill it', but instead he says, "I bought the step stool for exactly that reason--"

Chuuya looks like he almost wishes Mori had walked in on Dazai sucking him off instead, and Dazai in a cruel act of nature, has to hold back so much laughter.

"...Sorry." Chuuya mumbles through clenched teeth, ignoring Dazai's outstretched hands and getting up on his own. "I just got impatient--you know me."

Dazai knows he's going to get it later, but Jesus--

Dinner with Kouyou and Oda is actually nice, somehow, after that near fiasco. And sure, maybe Chuuya is barely speaking to him, but Dazai can make it up to him later. "Classes are going well?" Oda raises an eyebrow, his arm casually thrown around Kouyou's shoulders.

The older girl is leaning against him happily, her head propped up against his shoulder, and they do make a happier picture than Dazai and Chuuya, where Osamu's redhead is sitting on the edge of the booth with his arms crossed over his chest.

"Yep!" Dazai smiles cheerfully. “Just about as easy as highschool.” Oda rolls his eyes, because of course Dazai would say that. “What about you?”

“Pretty good—I even picked out a major.”

“Which one?”

“Literature.”

Dazai raises an eyebrow, surprised. “You’re gonna be a writer?”

Oda looks sheepish, but Kouyou squeezes him around the middle with an encouraging smile. “He’s very good. I kept on telling him when he was writing me letters last year—"

Dazai’s jaw goes slack. “You wrote her letters?”

Oda’s cheeks are darkening. “That’s really not the point—“

“They made me fall in love with you every single day.” Kouyou hums, kissing his cheek. Now that her boyfriend seems thoroughly embarrassed, she turns her eyes to Chuuya. “Help me get our drinks from the bar?”

Chuuya looks up from his sulking long enough to nod dutifully. They get up and walk towards the front of the restaurant, and Oda turns his gaze back to his friend.

“Letters,” Dazai is still stunned. “How do I get the chibi to write me—“

“Maybe pick a more realistic goal,” Oda yawns. “I meant to ask—how are things going for him at Keio?”

Dazai sighs, leaning against his hand. “Fine—really good, as far as I can tell, but—“

“—but what?"

Dazai sighs heavily. “Apparently Ace has taken to harassing him.”

Oda makes a face. “What? That little twerp?”

Dazai snorts. “The very one. I told Chuuya not to worry—"

“I wouldn’t have done that.” Oda frowns.

Dazai raises an eyebrow. “...And why do you say that?”

“Dunno,” Oda shrugs, frowning down at his plate. “From what I remember, he was a pretty nasty little shit.”

Dazai thinks back on it, and Oda isn’t wrong. “Chuuya can handle him.”

Oda shrugs, not looking entirely convinced. “Alright—if you say so.”

Dazai thinks about it, tossing those words around in his head throughout dinner, and... “You know,” Dazai says in bed later that night, “I could handle him.”

Chuuya doesn’t look up—Dazai is currently in the middle of placating him over earlier, trailing kisses all over Chuuya’s back and neck. “Handle who?”

“Ace,” Dazai presses his lips to the back of Chuuya’s head. “I could make him stop bothering you.”

Chuuya snorts, “What are you gonna do? Threaten to break his kneecaps?”

“Not a terrible idea." Dazai hums against his hair. “It’s not like he doesn’t deserve it.”

Chuuya rolls his eyes, “You sound like a damn mob boss.”

“Maybe, in another life—"

“And I don’t need my boyfriend to protect me from a highschool bully. I can handle it.”

“I know you don’t need your boyfriend to,” Dazai hugs him from behind, pulling Chuuya close against him, “but maybe your boyfriend might like to feel a little useful."

That makes the redhead soften a little, cuddling back up against him. “I’m sure you’ll have other chances.”

Dazai frowns, resting his chin on top of Chuuya’s head. “Fine—but if I see him on the street—“

“Seriously?"

“—his kneecaps are gonna be in grave danger.”

Chuuya snorts. “You’re fucking ridiculous.”

Dazai thinks back on the way Chuuya always stiffens when he kisses his neck and it definitely doesn’t feel ridiculous. He’s already let Chuuya handle it on his own one time too many.

And, as soon as he arrived, Chuuya is with him on the train platform again, holding his hand tightly as the bullet train starts to appear in the distance.

This time, it won’t be so soon before Dazai visits again. There isn’t another holiday between now and the end of the year.

Over three months.

“You are eating enough up there, right?”

Dazai smiles indulgently, “Yes, dear.”

Chuuya lunches his arm. “And you’re sleeping?”

Dazai turns around, leaning down to kiss Chuuya’s forehead. “As much as I can—the Rat likes to watch his Russian Soap Operas live.”

“When do they come on?”

Dazai smiles thinly. “Three a.m.”

Chuuya winces. “With headphones, or—?”

The smile becomes thinner, “What do you think?”

Chuuya frowns, “Well—you could always fight fire with fire, I guess.”

Dazai raises an eyebrow. “How so?”

Chuuya shrugs. “You could always call me—“

“—and how is that supposed to—?”

“—and speak more Russian.”

Dazai smile is caught between being sly and affectionate. “You’d let me wake you up at three a.m. for that?”

Chuuya shrugs, rocking up on the tips of his toes to press his lips against Dazai’s, smiling into it. “I guess I kind of like you.”

Dazai grins against him and pulls the redhead close, his hands at the base of his spine. “Yeah?”

Chuuya leans in, letting Dazai bear most of his weight as their noses brush together. “Yeah.”

Dazai’s lips still haven’t left his. “Well I kind of l—" The train whistle is too loud to make out what he’s saying, but Chuuya sort of feels it against his lips, and Dazai couldn’t have said that.

...Could he?

Dazai doesn’t let go of him at first, and Chuuya has to poke his side. “They don’t stop for that long, Dazai, you need to get moving—" Dazai squeezes him harder, then leans back to look at him intently. Chuuya blinks. “...What?”

“Just taking a second.”

It hits Chuuya then, what Dazai said on the phone weeks earlier.

“Sometimes I miss just looking at you.” 

Chuuya bites his lip.

“Okay,” Dazai lets him go, kissing his cheek one more time before he jogs off to the train. “See you for Christmas!”

Christmas.

Chuuya closes his eyes as soon as the train doors shut.

Chapter Text

October isn’t so bad. He spends most of it getting ready for regional preliminaries for Judo, and studying for his real entrance exams. Most days are pretty good.

And then others...

Are pretty bad.

It’s raining hard, it has been all day, and Chuuya didn’t bring an umbrella—which is what has him diving into a convenience store, trying to find one to buy before school. He’s shivering and dripping from head to toe as he walks down the isles when his phone rings.

Chuuya picks up without looking, pushing his wet bangs out of his eyes, “Look, Mori—I promise, you left it in the laundry room—"

“Chuuya?”

He goes still, his wallet almost falling out of his hand with surprise. “...Mom?” He hasn’t heard her voice since...before.

“You answered,” She sounds so relieved. “Sweetheart, I’ve been trying to get a hold of you for—god, I don’t know how long—but they won’t tell me where you are, and you moved schools—"

Chuuya struggles to keep his voice even, “Why would you want to know where I am?”

“Chuuya—" she sounds so sad, like Chuuya may as well have slapped her, “Because I’m your mother. Your sister won’t even take my calls—"

“I didn’t tell her to do that,” Chuuya hedges defensively.

“No, of course you didn’t—but I’ve just been—sitting alone in this house—" Chuuya’s stomach twists with guilt. “—for months, and I hate that I’ve lost the two of you too, and I just—I just want to fix this—"

Listening to her cry—and not caving into it, it’s one of the hardest things Chuuya has ever done. “Mom, you didn’t lose Dad, he almost killed me.” Chuuya has never actually said that part out loud before.

“I don’t—" his mother sounds exhausted and confused, “Chuuya, he couldn’t have meant to do that—he just—I don’t know how to explain it, he just lost himself, I—"

“But he didn’t." Chuuya doesn’t think about that night often. Sometimes, the therapist Mori drags him to on Tuesdays tries to walk him through it. Chuuya hasn’t made it through a session without begging to stop. “He knew exactly what he was doing, alright?” Chuuya mutters, “You weren’t there.”

“...You’re right,” his mother’s voice breaks into a sob. “And I’m sorry, Chuuya—I am so, so sorry—"

“Are you leaving him?” Chuuya’s voice is calm, unbothered, but the length of time it takes for her to answer hurts so much, he can’t breathe.

“It’s complicated—"

“Except it’s really not." Chuuya snaps. “You left Ane-san’s dad because he wanted to move to France. This seems like a much bigger thing—"

“It is, and I’m going to leave, I just—I can’t right now—"

“Why not?!”

“His lawyers—they say it’s going to make him look worse—they say it could impact his trial. And—we’ve been married for almost twenty years, Chuuya, I owe it to him—"

“What?!” Chuuya doesn’t know exactly when the tears of anger started, but they aren’t stopping. “I’ve been your son my entire life—what do you owe me?!”

“Chuuya, please!” She’s crying too, just as hard, and Chuuya feels like a monster, but he’s so fucking angry at her. “I—I hate what he did to you, I—I never meant for it to happen, but—he could go to jail for the rest of his life—"

“Good!” Chuuya’s hands are shaking. “Do you have any fucking clue what it’s been like for me?!” Chuuya can barely hang onto the phone, and the tears are blurring his vision. “I have dreams about it every night—I barely even like judo anymore, because they have to grab me—"

“Chuuya, baby, I—"

“No!” Chuuya rubs at his eyes irritably, but he can’t make it stop. “Sometimes, I cant even—when my boyfriend is touching me, I’ll forget where I am, and I—I get scared! That’s so fucked—"

“I—" her voice is thick with tears. “Do we have to talk about that right now?”

Chuuya falls silent, instantly regretting mentioning Dazai at all, because of course that was not going to go over well--and then he freezes.

What the hell is he doing?

“You’re right,” he mutters, “we don’t have to talk about it.”

“Chuuya—"

His head is pounding.

“Actually, we don’t have to talk about anything at all.” Chuuya doesn’t even sound angry anymore—he just sounds tired.

“Chuuya, don’t do this—"

“Don’t contact me again.” He manages to hang up after that, staring at his reflection in the dark phone screen. He looks bad.

He does find an umbrella, but he’s barely able to look the shopkeeper in the eye when he checks out.

He steps out under the overhang, and it’s still pouring outside. Chuuya probably isn’t going to make it to school today, not if he keeps crying like this. It isn’t stopping. He kneels down for a second, pressing his tiredness to his knees, just letting it all out while the roar of the water falling down blocks out any of the noises he makes.

And then he sees something, out of the corner of his eye. He turns his head slowly, and--

“...” He smiles half heartedly. “Another stray, huh?”

Dazai answers his phone on his way to his macroeconomics class. “Chibi? Shouldn’t you be in history right now?”

“No, I—“ Dazai tenses up at the sound of his voice. “I didn’t go to school today.”

“Are you sick?”

“No—“

“Then what happened?”

“I—" Chuuya sounds so shaken, Dazai has stopped walking entirely, letting people shoulder around him on the street. “I talked to my mom, this morning.”

Dazai’s heart sinks. “I thought you said you didn’t want to talk to her—"

“It was an accident. I picked up without looking at the caller ID, and I—" Chuuya sighs heavily. “It was her.”

“...It was bad, wasn’t it?” Dazai asks softly. The silence lasts long enough that he starts to panic, thinking of how much it would be to get a train ticket today—

“I found a cat.”

Dazai blinks slowly, trying to keep up with all of that information. “You found a what?”

“A cat—in front of the konbini down the street.”

Dazai doesn’t know what to make of this. “Well—there are lots of cats near convenience stores—"

“It was flooding today.”

“Did you make it home safely?”

“I did.” There’s something in Chuuya’s tone.

“...With the cat?”

“He could have drowned! He’s still kind of a baby—"

“How can you tell?!”

“He’s small!”

“So are you, and you aren't a baby—"

“Mori said I could keep him.”

“He what?!" Dazai is more than a little bitter, since all of his petitions for a pet where sternly denied—even if Mori’s argument that Dazai didn’t even consistently look after himself was pretty fair.

“Do you not like cats or something?”

“No, I—" Dazai blinks, “I’ve never had one.”

“Well—" Dazai can hear the faintest, softest ‘meow’ on the other end of the line, “—now you do.”

“What? It’s mine too?” Dazai snorts. “Is that how I’m being roped into this?”

“You really think I’m gonna leave Baki behind when I leave for school?”

“You named him Baki?“

“Yeah!” Chuuya sounds excited about it, and after the day he’s told Dazai about...Well... “Short for Arahabaki.”

“...the literal god of destruction?” Dazai can’t really be against the cat.

“He’s a challenge. But he’ll grow out of it." Somehow, Dazai doubts that.

“Are you home with him now?” Dazai starts walking again, pushing himself through the crowd.

“Yeah—Mori and I are going to take him to the vet when he gets home, he’s got a snag in his ear.”

“And you don’t need me to come back?”

Chuuya pauses. “I want you to. You know that—" Dazai’s heart leaps and he starts to turn around and head down the other side of the street, towards the train station. “—but you have class, Dazai. You can’t run back here every time I’m having a bad day.”

Dazai’s chest sinks, and he frowns. “...I know. I just hate not being there.”

There’s a short pause, and Chuuya’s voice softens. “I know, Dazai—but it’s not forever.”

Even if it sort of feels like it. Dazai exhales shortly, heading back towards campus. “You’re right, well—you’ll have to start FaceTiming me more.”

“Why?”

“Don’t you have to imprint on kittens or something? He needs to get used to my beautiful face.” Dazai doesn’t need to see Chuuya to know he’s smiling.

“Okay—I can manage that.”

There is not, however, an adorable, furry solution to Dazai’s roommate troubles.

The first, and foremost of these issues is that Dazai is a habitually messy human being, but he’s always had guardrails. His mother. Then Mori. Even the chibi.

But Fyodor? He is an actual, literal mess.

To the point where Dazai, for the first time in his life, is cleaning. He isn’t trying to make it perfect, even—he’s just trying to clear a walk way through the path of utter fucking destruction from the doorway to his bed.

“Wait—why are you throwing that away?”

“...It’s trash?”

“No, it isn’t!”

“It’s a receipt from an Izakaya!”

“To you, that’s all it is, I’m sure.” Fyodor sniffs, snatching it back from him.

Dazai throws his hands up, fuming. “Is there an invisible treasure map on the back?!”

Fyodor frowns. “That’s another reference to a bad movie, isn’t it?”

Dazai wants to strangle him.

And, not only that—but Dazai has never truly seen what it’s like to live in an environment where there isn’t an adult at least sterilizing behind you—Fyodor has this habit of only half eating things, tossing them aside, letting laundry pile up—

Dazai cracks by November

"Fyodor,” He groans from his bed, his voice nasally from the tissue he’s stuck up there to deal with the smell. “Are you lonely or something?” The Russian glances up from his laptop. “Because you’ve quite literally summoned your brethren,” Dazai points to the corner.

A pair of whiskers pokes out from under a pile of dirty socks, only to disappear again. “It won’t hurt you.”

“Maybe if it was a domesticated rat, but that is straight off the streets—"

“They’re more resourceful anyway—"

“Please,” Dazai shakes his fists, “I am BEGGING you—"

“What do I get out of it?”

Dazai has never been so incensed, “A habitable place to live?!”

“Eh. I have that back in Moscow.”

“Did hygiene lose it’s charm?!” Dazai snaps, ready to pull his hair out. “Just—there has to be something you want.”

Fyodor considers that. “...I suppose there is something,” Fyodor leans back in his chair.

Dazai is resigned, and still nasally. “Name it.”

“...That boyfriend of yours.”

Dazai is baffled. “What about him?”

“I want to meet him.”

“...Nope!” Dazai shakes his head vehemently. “Not happening!”

“You don’t want him to visit?” The Russian blinks innocently.

“You can’t possibly have a normal reason for wanting to meet him.” Dazai hisses. “And he’s already had to deal with enough weirdos.”

Fyodor shrugs. “It’s up to you—but I wouldn’t sleep for too long.”

Don’t ask. You don’t want to know. Don’t ask—

“Why?”

“Our new little guests will start to think that you’re dead, and then—"

Dazai’s toes instinctively curl with fright. And it smells so bad. And he needs to sleep.

“...There would have to be ground rules.”

“Like what?” Fyodor tilts his head to the side.

“First of all—no touching.”

“Not even a handshake?”

“I’ll dislocate your fingers.”

Fyodor leans away from Dazai instinctively, a little thrown off by how serious he looks—and then he snorts. “When your voice sounds like that, it makes your threats even more amusing, you know.”

“Two: you can’t be alone with him.”

“Is he a damsel of some sort?” Dazai frowns, knowing Chuuya would not like it if he saw Dazai doing this, but—

Chuuya hasn’t seen this man’s laundry.

“Three: no speaking Russian.”

Fyodor laughs out loud, “I can’t speak my native tongue in front of him?”

Dazai’s eyes are narrowed. “He doesn’t understand a word of Russian, so you don’t have a reason to.”

Fyodor smirks, his eyes glittering with amusement. “You could translate for me, couldn’t you?”

Dazai has to fight back the urge to claw the man’s eyes out—which he could, because Fyodor is pretty damn sickly, but... “And it cant be until after Christmas.”

Fyodor quirks an eyebrow. “Why is that?”

“He’s studying for his entrance exams—I’m not dragging him up here before then just so you can meet him.“

“...I can respect that,” Fyodor shrugs amiably. “What about February then?”

“...” Dazai nods, glaring. “I’d shake your hand—but I’m not doing that until this place is clean and I’ve seen you take a shower.”

“I have to do that, too?!”

Dazai knows he set ground rules. He knows Chuuya would have been more than happy to take this bullet for him. He still kinda feels like he’s whored his boyfriend out, somehow. But after the end of the night, the room is clean, and there are no more rats.

Well. Just one.

Two weeks later, Chuuya steps away from the Judo mat, shaking out his wrists as the crowd cheers, and his opponent hobbles off to sit with his team.

It’s weird, competing against your old school, your old teammates. Even the spectators seem confused about who to cheer for. But—if there was any doubt over who was carrying Kanagawa to nationals two years in a row, it quickly disappears when Keio captures the regional title for the first time in twelve years. It’s bittersweet, when they put the trophy in his hands.

“Chuuya!” He glances up.

Two familiar faces are hurrying through the crowd, two people Chuuya had not expected to see.

“You were amazing!” Gin jumps on Chuuya, flinging her arms around him. Chuuy stumbles to catch her, irritated to discover she’s gotten taller than him.

“She’s right—" Tachihara slaps Chuuya on the back. “They definitely lied to get Tadashi in your weight class, I can’t believe you were able to flip him like that!”

Chuuya is stunned. “I didn’t realize you two would—"

“Root against our own school?” Gin snorts. “You’re worth it.”

Chuuya’s expression is sheepish, but god, his chest is warm. It’s like an echo of the way things used to be, and a much needed reminder that he didn’t lose all of his friends. “I—“ Chuuya clears his throat, glancing at Michizou. “I never got the chance to thank you, for—"

“Don’t.” Tachihara shakes his head, looking away as he holds a hand up to stop him. “Not when I’ve never even gotten to apologize—"

“Apologize?” Chuuya frowns. “For what?”

Michizou bites his lip. “That day at soccer practice—I—I should have asked what was wrong.”

Chuuya stares for a second—because Tachihara shouldn’t apologize. He didn’t actually do something wrong. But—he’s the first person to ever really try to acknowledge that someone should have said something. And that means a lot. “I think you’ve made it up to me, okay?”

“Are you gonna stay for the awards?” Chuuya shakes his head.

“I’ve got an early day tomorrow." It’s a lie—he just doesn’t want to look his old coach in the eye when he gets a trophy. But it doesn’t really matter. “I’m gonna hit the showers and head home, but really, you guys,” Chuuya smiles at them both. “It means a lot that you came.”

Gin kisses him on the cheek before letting him go, “Of course—we’re your friends.”

It’s a nice reminder.

Of course, there was one bit that Chuuya didn’t really think through, and that was that the location of the prefectural judo finals was public knowledge. Something you would keep up with, if your son has been playing the sport for thirteen years.

“Chuuya?” He pauses under the street lamp, his gym bag slung over his shoulder.

He doesn’t turn around. 

“You—" he can hear the clicks of her heels, the sound of her voice getting closer, “—you grew out your hair—?”

Chuuya can feel her reaching for him even if he can’t see it—and he follows his instincts, taking two large steps forward before spinning around. She’s right there 

“And you pierced your ears?” Chuuya can’t tell if she’s surprised, or scandalized, and he doesn’t care.

“You can’t be here.”

She winces. “I—I know I deserve that, but you blocked my number—"

“You didn’t really give me a choice."

It’s hard to be firm when she’s here. It’s different, when Chuuya can reduce her to a voice on the other end of the line. It isn’t as painful. But now she is right in front of him, and she looks so sad.

“I just...” she bites her lip, and Chuuya isn’t sure what hurts more—seeing her, and not being able to hug her, or the fact that she’s wearing the same scarf she’s had ever since he was a kid, one he and his older sister got her for Christmas when he was seven—red, with holly leaves. “I thought there were some things...you deserved to know.” She sighs shakily.

“...Like what?”

She tucks her hands back into her coat, and Chuuya pulls his own tighter around him. It’s a dark, cold night, and his breath is fogging up around him. “Well—" she bites her lip. “They’ve decided to reduce the charges.”

Chuuya feels colder now than he did before. “To what?”

His mother looks down at the pavement. “Aggravated assault.”

It’s still a serious charge, but...Not the same as attempted murder, no. The jail time goes down significantly. So does the length of time before you can apply for parole.

Chuuya has read about it a lot.

“And he—" his mother’s shoulders are shaking. “He’ll be petitioning to stay at home during the trial.” Chuuya can’t really feel his fingers—they’re going numb. He should’ve packed gloves. “Chuuya?”

His teeth come together with a snap. “He’s really lucky, huh?”

“I—"

“He had such a star character witness, didn’t he?” Chuuya snaps, and he doesn’t cry, not now—she doesn’t deserve to see that.

“Chuuya, it wasn’t like that—"

“And it wasn’t just you, right?” She falls silent. “Grandma, grandpa, Aunt Sayako—they all came too, didn’t they?”

“What did they say?!” Chuuya snaps, his hand holding the course material of his gym bag’s strap so tightly, his skin is starting to become wrong. “You have to understand, your honor, he only half strangled him—he could have gone all the way! What a fucking Saint!”

“Chuuya, please don’t say that—"

“The truth?!” Chuuya snarls, his hackles up. He’s hurting, and he’s doing the only thing he feels he has left to him—lashing out. “He only stopped when the police officer started knocking. Did you know that?!”

“Please, stop—!”

“He hid me in the back of the car so it would take longer for me to get help. Your car.” Chuuya can feel the same signs building up, the sweating, the shakes, the lack of breath—everything that always comes up when his therapist walks him through it. “Did you know that?!” His mother is silent, her eyes eyes as wide as saucers, and she shakes her head. Chuuya takes a step closer to her, fingers trembling as he yanks down his scarf—and he points to the thin white scar on the side of his throat. “Can you guess where this came from?”

“...I—"

“His wedding ring." Chuuya hisses, and just mother’s hands jerk inside her coat, like she’s suddenly recoiling from the golden band sitting on her finger.

The point has been made. He really was squeezing that hard, and the imagery of it finally seems to sink in for her. “I didn’t—I didn’t know—"

“Why would he tell you?”

That question seems to daunt her. “I—“

A hand lands on Chuuya’s shoulder from behind, and he flinches away from it, still barely on the edge of his composure. “I’m afraid that I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

Chuuya whips his head around, and Mori is there. Still a little run down, his white coat tucked under his arm, but he’s there.

His mother bites her lip. “I’m just trying to talk to my son, I won’t cause any tro—“

Mori pulls Chuuya behind him. “You clearly already have.”

Chuuya stares at Mori’s back, unsure of what to think. It’s not inconceivable, that Mori would take up for him—they’ve been living together for more than half a year now, but—Chuuya isn’t used to seeing someone step in.

“Look at him,” Mori’s voice is firm.

His mother does She sees the way her son is practically shrinking behind a stranger, how his shoulders are quivering—and how pained he looks. “If you think that you’re helping, you aren’t,” Mori’s tone softens. “And if you truly want what’s best for him, then you need to leave. Now.”

Her eyes flicker from him, to her son. And it’s hard to understand, that the best place for Chuuya might not be with her. But she does.

“I—" she wipes at her eyes. “Alright. I understand.” She spares one last look at Chuuya. “I—I just want you to know that I love you.”

Chuuya doesn’t even look at her—and—after everything, that seems warranted. “...Goodbye.”

She turns around, walking down the street quickly, and when she rounds the corner, Mori turns to Chuuya. “I wanted to make it for the match—surgery ran late.”

“It’s—" Chuuya bites his lip. “—it’s okay. You didn’t have to come—“

Mori has never been a natural parent—he’s failed enough with his own daughter, fumbled his way through it with Dazai. But the importance of this moment isn’t lost on him. He pulls Chuuya into a tight embrace. “No, Chuuya—it’s not.”

Chuuya swallows thickly, tears welling behind his eyelids. “I just—“ his voice cracks, and it’s one of the most heartbreaking things Mori has ever heard. “I feel like I lost my family.”

“...” Mori pats his hair. “That doesn’t mean there aren’t people who love you.”

“...I know.”

“...” Mori doesn’t say anything while Chuuya collects himself, he just waits.

It takes a few minutes, but once he does, Mori leads him down the street—though not to their usual train station. “Wait—" Chuuya frowns. “Where are we going?”

“You won, didn’t you?”

“...Yeah?”

Mori checks his watch. “And you must be starving by now.” Chuuya opens his mouth to ask more questions, but Mori cuts him off. “At least I can trust you not to order the whole menu.”

It doesn’t fix anything—but it does make him feel a little better.

“Are you gonna tell him?” Chuuya shakes his head, and Mori frowns. “I think that’s a mistake."

“He has finals—he’ll come back here without thinking, and I can’t deal with that—"

“Over the holidays, then?”

Chuuya bites his lip—and he nods. “That’s okay, right?”

“It’s your choice...” Mori sighs. “I just know he would want to be there for you, that’s all.”

Chuuya glances down at his drink. “He already is. He helps a lot—even when he doesn’t know it.”

“...” Mori can’t argue with him there.

“You won?” Dazai is beaming on the other side of the screen, laying on his stomach in bed.

Chuuya smiles, scratching Baki behind the ears, constantly repositioning the small, orange ball of fur to prevent him from walking across the keyboard. “Yeah—we go to nationals in March.”

“So you could be a National title holder?” Dazai grins. “That’s pretty sexy."

Chuuya rolls his eyes. “I’ve lost to the team in Hokkaido two years in a row, so don’t get your hopes up.”

“Still—very sexy.”

Chuuya snorts, and Baki splays out on his stomach, paws kneading in the front of his sweatshirt. “How was your day?”

“Better. I think I’ve reached a detente with Russia, so the crisis isn’t as bad as it was—"

“How did you do that?”

Dazai grimaces. “Sacrifices.”

“...?” Chuuya quirks an eyebrow.

Dazai sighs. “Are you free for a weekend in February, by chance?”

“...I’m sure I can be, why?”

Dazai groans into his pillow. “I promised he could meet you if he started keeping the room clean.”

“Meet me?” Chuuya blinks. “Why would he care about meeting me?”

Dazai’s eyes are narrowed into slits. “I hate pretty much every guess I’ve made.”

“Well—I guess in the name of health and safety...” Chuuya snorts. “I bet it’s just a tactic to make you freak out for months.”

Dazai lets out a huff, clutching his pillow to his chest. “If that’s the case, then bravo, because it’s working."

“Relax." Chuuya smiles a little

“Hmmm...fine,” Dazai sighs, watching his boyfriend closely. “...Is something bothering you?”

Hiding anything from Dazai is hard, he’s too damn smart for his own good.

“...” Chuuya sighs, his eyes tracing over Dazai’s face, his cheekbones, the curve of his jaw. “A little.”

“What is it?”

Chuuya doesn’t lie. He doesn’t—there’s just more than one thing bothering him right now. “I really miss you.”

Dazai’s eyes are longing. “Me too.”

Dazai can be an annoying, arrogant, impulsive mess—but everything is easier when he’s there. Chuuya just wants to touch him, even just a kiss to the cheek, feeling his hand, something—just to make him feel more grounded.

“Hey,” Dazai’s tone is low, gentle— “It’s only three more weeks.”

Just three more.

Chuuya squeezes his eyes shut. “I know.”

Chapter Text

His university entrance exams come and go—easier than he expected, but it sort of helps when you have a study plan meticulously put together by one of the top test scorers in Japan.

Chuuya doesn’t sleep as well as he used to.

What used to be fleeting dreams come back every single night. He wakes up gasping for air, clutching at his throat.

And he doesn’t always call.

Chuuya promised Dazai that he would—and sometimes he still does, hyperventilating into the phone while his boyfriend talks him down, gently whispering to him until he falls back asleep. But if Chuuya called every single night, then Dazai would know.

So some nights, he just curls into a ball and cries, waiting for his heart to slow down, sniffling when Baki jumps on top of the pillows, nosing his way into the blankets and trying to climb into his t-shirt. It helps.

But it isn’t the same.

“You,” Edogawa-sensei offers him half of a popsicle, “look like utter shit.”

“...Thanks,” Chuuya frowns, reaching over to take it. “You realize it’s below freezing, right?”

“That’s perfect popsicle weather! Less mess when you eat.”

Chuuya can’t argue with him there. “Nakajima!” He barks as the players run by—they’ve just started spring conditioning. “Pick up the pace!”

“Y—yes, Chuuya-senpai!”

Chuuya takes a bite, lowering his voice. “Exams took a lot out of me, I guess.”

Ranpo looks skeptical. “Have you heard back from any universities yet?”

Chuuya shrugs. “I’ve heard from the one here, and Osaka—I’m sure I’ll hear back from the others when my second round of scores come back.”

“I’m assuming you won’t want to stay in Yokohama?”

Chuuya glances away, feeling…lost. “Honestly?” He sighs. “I don’t even know if I want to go to college at all.”

“...Really?" Ranpo raises an eyebrow. “I’m not your parent or anything—but that would be a shame. You’re a smart kid—you’ll have lots of opportunities.”

“Sure, but...” Chuuya sighs. “Atsushi was telling me how he wants to be a veterinarian, after volunteering with the local office. Junichiro wants to go into psychology, because of the classes he took here, and...” Chuuya closes his eyes. “I’ve spent most of high school just trying to stay on my feet. Even Dazai had some idea of what he wanted to do when he graduated, and I—"Chuuya sighs. “It’s not like my parents are going to be helping me anymore—so financially, it isn’t going to be easy, and I—"

“If you /genuinely/ don’t want to go to college, that’s one thing,” Ranpo leans back against the fence railing. “But is you honestly think no one is gonna help you,” Ranpo shakes his head. “You’re wrong.”

“But—"

“Some kids in your situation? Maybe not—but you have a lot of people who want you to succeed.”

“...So what would you do?”

“Me?” Ranpo sighs. “I’d sue Kanagawa for negligently sending me back home to a dangerous environment—and then I would take that money, and start over.”

Chuuya blinks. It’s never actually occurred to him before. “That’s...an option for me?”

“Maybe—and it’s what I would do.”

Chuuya exhales, leaning back agains the bench. “...I guess I’ll have to think about it.”

Ranpo nods. “Good—you can head on home if you want.”

The redhead blinks. “But—are you sure?”

 Ranpo waves him off. “Go ahead and start your winter break, Nakahara—I’ve got things just fine.” Chuuya nods, zipping up his jacket. “And Chuuya?” 

He glances back.

Ranpo smiles, his glances glinting in the sunlight. “Tell Dazai-kun if he failed out of his first semester, I’m going to kill him.”

Chuuya grins back, bobbing his head. “Don’t worry, sensei—I’ll kill him myself if it comes to that.”

Chuuya is resisting the urge to bounce like someone giddy little school girl.

Dazai is coming home.

His train should be leaving Kyoto any minute, and that gives them what—three hours, at most? And then he’ll be—

Chuuya’s phone buzzes, and he glances down, smiling at the caller I.D. “Dazai?”

“Hey, chibi...” Dazai’s voice sounds tired and a little strained. “Listen—" Chuuya’s stomach is locked into knots, but he stays quiet. “A storm just picked up over here—they say they aren’t letting the trains through tonight.”

Chuuya pauses in mid step, crestfallen. “Oh.”

It’s not a big deal. What’s another day? It’s nothing. Chuuya can deal with it.

“But I’ll be out of here as soon as they start running again, okay? I’m nice and comfy in front of the ticket office—"

“Dazai, it’s freezing, you are not sleeping in the train station—!”

“You can’t really stop me, can you?” Dazai sighs dramatically. “Especially not when my chibi sounds so disappointed.”

Chuuya’s face reddens. “I’m fine—"

“What’s that song again? Ain’t no mountain high, ain’t not valley low, ain’t no river wiiiide enough, baby—!”

“Please—“ Chuuya pinches the bridge of his nose. “Tell me you didn’t just sing that in a busy train station”

He can feel Dazai grinning through the phone. “I already said I was in front of the ticket office.”

“You’re unbelievab—!”

“—unbelievably devoted to you? Yes, you guessed it!”

“Go back to your apartment, okay?" Chuuya grumbles, exasperated. "You can catch a train in the morning.”

There’s a long pause, and Chuuya grits his teeth.

“Dazai, I swear—!”

“I’m going, I’m going! Only because Chuuya worries about me so much!”

Chuuya scowls. “You bet your ass I do, you’re an idiot.”

“I’m your idiot.”

“...Yes,” Chuuya relents with a faint smile. "My idiot, now go. I’ll talk to you in the morning, okay?”

“Sir, yes, sir...”

Chuuya hangs up with a sigh.

Well. What’s one more day after over ninety apart? It’s nothing.

A voice calls out on the walk home. “Hey! Nakahara!”

Chuuya knows that voice, and he turns on his heel, a scowl already in place. “What do you want?”

“Oh,” Ace is standing in front of him, flanked by three friends laden with shopping bags. “I’m so sorry, was that a rude way to get your attention?” He walks over with a smirk.

He leans over Chuuya, clearly trying to intimidate the redhead by dwarfing him with his size. “Should I have called you something a little more familiar? Like whatever my old senpai calls you? Oh,” he grins, like it’s a fun little game, “is it Chuuya-chan?”

10...9....

Chuuya squeezes his eyes shut. It’s been a long time since he’s had to try to count back from ten to stop himself from having a complete breakdown.

“Have a nice Christmas, Ace.” He hisses, going to turn around.

8...7...

“No, no, don’t be like that,” Ace grabs him by the shoulder, spinning Chuuya around to face him. “There’s got to be some nickname he has for you,” Ace sneers, “Probably something ridiculous, knowing him, you poor thing...Oh! Is it babydoll?”

6...5...

“I’m not going to ask you twice,” Chuuya says lowly, “Let go of me.”

“Not going to ask me twice?” Ace snorts, looking back at his friends. “Can you believe this guy?”

He isn’t getting the chorus of enthusiasm he was clearly expecting. “Ace...come on, we should just go...”

“What? I’m not finished yet,” he looks back at Chuuya.

4...3…

“Okay—clearly you don’t want to play along with me, which is so boring—but if you answer a question for me, I’ll lay off.”

Chuuya raises an eyebrow, and Ace grins.

“How did you manage it?”

Chuuya stares. “...Manage what?"

“I’ve never seen someone love the ladies as much as Dazai—" Ace's voice is so smug, it makes Chuuya want to see him choke on his own teeth.

2...

“—and you managed to make him turn on a dime,” Ace reaches over to take a lock of red hair between his fingers, staring at him curiously. “I mean—it must have been the sex, right? Everyone knows how he is.”

1...

Chuuya raises an eyebrow back at him. “Why so curious?” Ace’s hand tightens on Chuuya’s shoulder, and Chuuya tilts his head to the side. “Apparently, it was a first sight kind of thing. Now,” Chuuya’s smile is acidic, but sweet, “I answered your question. Let go of me.”

Ace’s lips pull back into a sneer. “I don’t like what you just—“

“I don’t need you to like it—" Chuuya hisses, "and you’re the one fixated on me—"

Ace sputters, “Is that what you think?!”

“And you’re being an annoying, pathetic waste of my time.” Chuuya snarls. “And is you don’t fuck off right now, I’m going to embarrass you.”

“Embarrass me?”

Ace laughs derisively. “You are a fun little distraction. Something to toy around with when I get bored. You can’t embarrass me—"

Chuuya tries to lean back, to step out of his grip, but Ace holds him there.

And that’s enough.

...0.

“Alright, that’s it—!”

Ace doesn’t really have time to move out of harms way, or to even see what’s about to happen—all he knows is that one moment, he was standing over the redhead, and the next, he’s being violently flipped over, and landing hard against the sidewalk, all of the wind knocked out of his lungs, and Chuuya’s foot is pressing down against his throat. “I don’t give a shit about whatever the fuck your problem is, got it?!” Chuuya snaps, digging his heel in, making the fellow high schooler gasp for air.

“Let...go...of...me!” He wheezes.

Chuuya does.

“Notice you didn’t have to ask me twice?!” Chuuya snaps, brushing off his coat. “Touch me again, and I’ll break something more important than your ego.” He glances over at Ace’s friends, who have not made a single move to help him. Atsushi was clearly right about that.

Well. That isn’t his problem. He turns on his heel. “Happy holidays, jackass."

Naturally, this was going to come back to haunt him—but did he know that at the time? No.

When he makes it back home, Mori is already there for once, stretched out on the couch with a mug of tea

“You’re home earlier than usual,” Chuuya comments, setting his bag down on the counter as Baki darts between his legs, meowing loudly. “Did Dazai call you?”

“He did,” Mori nods. “The hospital sent non essentials home—apparently the storm is supposed to move in overnight.”

“...Right.” Chuuya sighs heavily. “That probably means the trains won’t be cleared up by tomorrow, right?”

Mori shakes his head, his eyes sympathetic. “I don’t think so.”

Chuuya shakes his head, “It’s not a big deal—he’ll be home for two weeks, so—"

Well. Now it’ll be thirteen days.

“I know, but still—" Mori frowns. “I know you wanted to spend Christmas with him.”

Right. Tomorrow’s Christmas Eve.

“It’s okay—" Chuuya waves it off, scooping Baki up as he walks off to his room. “There’s always next year.”

Mori watches him go with a frown. “...Right.”

“You’ll call me when your train leaves?” Chuuya yawns. He’s curled up in Dazai’s bed, wearing one of his boyfriend’s old sweatshirts and three pairs of socks, with Baki loudly purring on top of his head.

“Yeah—that, or I’ll just have to hijack a snowplow.”

“That isn’t funny—"

“Well,” Dazai’s voice is warm, but a little strained—he’s trying to make Chuuya feel better, but he’s obviously stressed about the situation himself. “I’m not entirely joking.”

“Hmmm...” Chuuya stares at the ceiling. “You can’t make it back here if you’re in jail.”

“You’re right,” Dazai sighs, like he’s long suffering. “But I’ll make it back. Legally or not!”

“Yes," the redhead rolls his eyes, "now I’m very relaxed.”

Chuuya falls asleep with the phone pressed to his ear—and when he wakes up in the morning, a thick layer of snow is covering the ground.

“...Great.”

Chuuya pulls on a thick pair of sweatpants, then his rain boots, trudging down the steps. “Heading out to look at the snow?” Mori comments as he walks through the kitchen, intent on the paper.

“It’s the first one of the year,” Chuuya mumbles, trying not to sulk. “Might as well.”

He trudges up the street, hunched over in his coat—and he doesn’t know why he has to call Dazai to ask because really, he already knows the answer.

“I’m not going to be able to get a train today either,” Dazai sounds so dejected, and Chuuya can’t even bring himself to vocalize how disappointed he is—and—

God, he needs to see Dazai so bad.

“It’s okay.” Chuuya forces his tone to be as light as he can. “You can always catch one in a couple of days.”

After Christmas.

“...You know how much I want to be there, right?” Dazai asks softly.

“Yeah.” Chuuya sighs softly, “I know.” He looks down the street. It’s almost like a different world, covered completely in white. “It’s too bad you’ll miss the snow.”

“Yeah,” Dazai sighs bitterly. “The first white Christmas in Yokohama since I was five, and I'm missing it.”

“Yeah.” Chuuya sighs. “You’d love it.” He glances down. “It’s halfway up to my knees—" he kicks at some of the snow. “—you would’ve laughed.”

“You’re telling me that?” Dazai sounds stunned. “You must really miss me, huh?”

Chuuya tilts his chin down, biting his lip. “Kind of, yeah.”

“Wait—are you outside right now?”

Chuuya tilts his head to the side. “Yeah, why?”

“Walk backwards!”

The redhead is baffled, stopping in mid-step. “...What?”

“Backtrack in the prints you left—“

Chuuya blinks. “But—why?”

“Because then you can make a new set to the right, and it’ll be like I was there—“

“Dazai, that is so stupid.”

“Pleeeeease?“

Chuuya groans dramatically. “If I fall and bust my ass, I blame you.”

“You’re graceful, I believe in you!”

Chuuya rolls his eyes. It’s stupid. This is stupid. But—

Maybe it makes him feel a little better.

Walking backwards is no small task in over a foot of snow. Chuuya almost slips and falls over twice, but he managed to put one foot behind the other, grumbling to Dazai over the phone. “And why do you want me to do this again?”

“It’ll make a nice photo, don’t you think?”

“I think this is a pain—" Chuuya groans.

“Then why are you doing it?”

“I—" Chuuya stumbles when he bumps into something behind him, spinning around with a frown. “What the—?”

He almost drops the phone, his heart stopping in his chest. “How did you—?!”

Dazai is beaming “I didn’t say I couldn’t get a plane ticket, now did I?”

Chuuya is going to be a little embarrassed of the noise he made when he jumped into Dazai’s arms later, but for now, he doesn’t care.

“Your nose—“ Chuuya mumbles between kisses, “—is so fucking cold—“

“I’m warming up,” Dazai grins against his lips, his hands rubbing over Chuuya’s back. “Just give me a minute.”

Every single time he’s with Dazai again after being apart, it’s like a shock to Chuuya’s system, because it’s almost like realizing that he wants him even more than he remembered.

“Are you gonna let go of me anytime soon?” Dazai smiles softly.

Chuuya shakes his head. His face is pressed into Dazai’s chest, his arms are tight around his waist—and he almost feels like the moment he lets go, it’ll all disappear again.

“Good,” He smiles, guiding Chuuya to lean against him as they walk back towards the house. “Otherwise, I’d be disappointed.”

Mori is pleasantly surprised by Dazai’s arrival—but the biggest reaction (after Chuuya’s) came from Baki. Initially, Dazai was greeted with howling, hissing, and a quick retreat under he bed.

But Chuuya’s boyfriend was not so easily deterred.

And out came the can of tuna.

“You could just give it time, you know,” Chuuya comments offhandedly from on top of the bed. “You can’t give him tuna every time—"

“Au Contraire,” Dazai hums, “I have every intention.” Baki, at this point, has ventured out to lick the tuna off of Dazai’s outstretched fingers. “While I admit this can’t work in every occasion—" Dazai curls his finger so Baki can get the tuna between them, “I’ve never had a pet before, so this one is going to like me.”

Chuuya snorts. “I appreciate your honesty when it comes to your motivations, at least.”

“Well, it’s not like I’d be above using bribery with my children one day.” Dazai says sagely. “It’s better to be loved than to be feared—“

Chuuya glances up at the shelves above Dazai’s desk—the trophies, the photographs...He’s never really pictured what Dazai would be like as an adult, a parent—someone with a family of his own. What sort of husband would he be? Would he be a patient father, or a strict one? Would he—?

Chuuya glances back down to where Dazai is stretched out on the floor, having patiently coaxed Baki into sitting on his chest and he already knows the answer, as embarrassing and as corny as it is.

Dazai would be perfect.

He dedicates three entire hours to winning the kitten over—to the point where Chuuya is pretty damn impressed, because Dazai never stays focused on anything for that long and by the end of it, Chuuya can’t tell if Baki is actually endeared to Chuuya’s boyfriend or just worn out, because he ends up splayed on Dazai’s shirt, paws in the air, with an expression that just says—

‘I have accepted it.’

“See?” Dazai smiles widely, “Persistence is key!”

“I think you just cuddled him into submission.” Chuuya shakes his head—but he’s smiling.

“Now,” Dazai sighs dramatically, carefully setting Baki down on his small nest of blankets and toys at the end of his bed, “time to get the other one—"

“The other wh—? Dazai—!”

Without much more warning than that, Dazai pounces onto the mattress, pinning his boyfriend down underneath him while Chuuya wiggles with annoyance. “What the hell—?"

“Last time I left you alone I came back to your ears being pierced, I need to see what else is different!”

“What—?” Chuuya grunts. “You liked the earrings—"

“I love the earrings! I just need to keep myself thoroughly up to date with my boyfriend’s physique, I don’t think that’s much to ask!”

“You’ve never even seen me naked, you know—“

“Something I’m still pretty wounded about!” Dazai whines.

“It’s not like I said you couldn’t see me naked,” Chuuya comments off handedly. “But if you did, there’d probably be an earthquake before you could do anything about it.”

Dazai nods, his expression grim. “Probably.” But it’s a momentary grievance, and soon after he’s diving under the covers, making Chuuya groan. “It’s cold—"

“I can barely even see you all bundled up like that—and who even wears a hat inside—?!"

“I like hats—"

Dazai laughs victoriously when he relieves his boyfriend of the knit cap covering his head, and then—

“Oh—"

“What?” Chuuya blinks up at him, effectively splayed across the mattress from their wrestling, his hands resting limply next to his hair.

Dazai’s face is unreadable for a moment. “Your hair...” his eyes drift down. “You grew it out?”

Chuuya glances down, following his eye.

Chuuya hasn’t ever had short hair for a boy—before it was long enough to need to be tucked behind his ears, reaching just past his chin. But now, it’s several inches longer than that, brushing the tops of his shoulders when it isn’t pulled back.

Chuuya tenses up initially.

He had longer hair when he was a kid—just as long as his sister’s, actually. And then when he went to middle school, it ‘wasn’t age appropriate’ anymore. And when he saw his mother a few weeks ago—

‘Did you grow out your hair?‘

Chuuya bites his lip. “I was just trying it out, I’ll probably cut i—"

Dazai stops him in mid backpedal, kissing Chuuya so suddenly that the redhead makes a less than attractive noise as he stops mid word. “I really—“ Dazai mumbles against his lips between each kiss, “—have a hard time keeping my hands off of you as it is—" Dazai’s fingers are combing through his hair, tangling through the ends and clutching him closer. “There’s only so much one person can take—"

Chuuya is so flustered— “Shut up, you’re being so ridiculous—"

“I’m not—“ Dazai groans, pulling back/ And to Chuuya’s surprise, his face actually is kind of flushed. “How many times am I going to have to tell you before you believe me?”

Chuuya is struggling to keep his voice even. “I think I liked it better when you kept the compliments to yourself—"

Dazai smiles dangerously. “Oh?” He tips his head to the side. “Why? Is it embarrassing?”

Chuuya makes a face and bites his tongue. “No, it’s just—"

“But if I don’t tell you that you’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” Dazai purrs, and Chuuya shrinks, his cheeks darkening. “How are you ever going to figure that out?”

God, when did it get so hot in here? And why is his heart being so fast?

“I—" Chuuya breathes in deeply through his nose, a mistake, because Dazai smells so good— “I know I’m good looking, Dazai."

“That’s understating it.” Chuuya shakes his head, trying to shake off the heat in his face, the goose bumps on his neck, how overwhelming Dazai can be. “The first time I saw you,” Dazai looks completely serious, and Chuuya feels like he’s dying, “I was confused.”

Don’t ask, Don’t ask—

“You were?”

“Yeah...” Dazai’s fingers brush under Chuuya’s skin, and his smile is so soft, Chuuya can almost feel it just from looking at him, the corners of Dazai’s mouth have become so familiar— “I didn’t realize people could actually look like that.”

Chuuya is dying.

“I kept on waiting to find something wrong with you,” Dazai’s thumb traces over Chuuya’s chin, his cheeks, his lips. “That would’ve made things easier.”

Chuuya’s eyes are wide and locked on his, “Easier?”

Dazai reaches down, taking one of Chuuya’s hands from where they’re resting beside his head, bringing it down, gently unfolding Chuuya’s fingers before Dazai presses his palm directly over his heart.

And it is pounding.

Chuuya’s fingers dig in a little bit with surprise—

It’s beating just as fast as his own.

“I mean, come on, I introduced myself as Dazoo." Dazai snorts, leaning in to kiss Chuuya’s jaw. “I’ve never exactly been subtle, Chuuya.”

Well—he really hadn’t. And then Chuuya does something that surprises both of them.

“...it wasn’t exactly easy for me either, you know.”

Dazai leans back, his mouth caught in a perfect ‘Oh’, and Chuuya’s eyes are shifting, trying to look at anything but him “...It wasn’t?”

Chuuya gives him a look. “Don’t play dumb, Dazai.”

The university student shakes his head quickly, “I’m legitimately blindsided here.”

“...Look, I may have been in denial, but I kind of /knew/ I wasn’t completely straight—" Chuuya sighs, “and you wouldn’t stop smiling at me, messing with your hair, taking your jacket off—"

"All of that was/working?!” Dazai is flabbergasted, and Chuuya's eyes narrow.

“Wait—you were doing it on purpose?!“

“Well—I—“ Chuuya presses his hands to his forehead, trying to hide his face, but Dazai moves them away, pinning them to the bed next to Chuuya’s head. “You heard what I thought when I first saw you. You really thought I—" Dazai’s eyes widen. “Chuuya...did you think—?”

“Just forget it—!”

“Did you think I didn’t realize I wanted you until you kissed me?”

“...” Chuuya is so, /so/ red. “Look, I—was so focused on trying to not look at you like that, I wasn’t thinking about if you were—!”

“Chuuya,“ Dazai is laughing, “I was so obvious!”

“So was I!”

“Really? Because I never noticed—"

“You never thought it was a little weird that I picked Sundays?” Chuuya points out dryly.

Dazai blinks. “I just assumed it was like you said, you had those days off—“

“I had Wednesdays too, but I knew if it was Sundays, there was a chance of getting more time.“

“Well," Dazai sputters, “I couldn’t have known you were lying about your schedule—"

“And you‘ve seen me with my other friends,” Chuuya frowns. “Have I ever let anyone touch my face?”

Well, no. If Dazai learned anything about the redhead early on—it was that he was picky about who got to get inside of his personal bubble. “Okay—you’ve got me there.”

“And of all of the friends I could’ve gone to after Yuan’s birthday, I went to you. I have a lot of friends from soccer that would’ve let me kiss them—"

Dazai makes a face. “Good to know—"

“—and I went to you.” Chuuya turns his head to the side. “Honestly, I thought it must have been so obvious—because you never teased me about it.”

Dazai stares at Chuuya long and hard before burying his face in the side of his neck with a groan. “God damn it—!”

“What—?!”

“You were being cute!” Dazai moans. “You were being so fucking cute—"

Chuuya is indignant, “I was not!”

“And I was so focused on seducing you that I completely missed it!” Dazai whines. “What kind of boyfriend am I?!”

“...A pretty decent one, most of the time.”

“Well,” Dazai sighs dramatically, rolling over to lay next to Chuuya instead, pulling the redhead against him, “tomorrow, I’m going to have to up the ante.”

Chuuya turns his head to look at him properly, “What does that mean?”

“It’s gonna be Christmas,” Dazai beams, “did you really think I wasn’t going to take you on a date?”

Chuuya’s eyes widen with surprise. It’s not that he didn’t know Christmas was a couple’s holiday, he did—he and Yuan spent it in a karaoke last year, it’s just everything in the last year has been so crazy, he didn’t realize just how much of the normal stuff he’s missed out on.

Like, for example: he and Dazai have never been out on an actual date.

Which was for the best, before—Chuuya isn’t sure how he would’ve handled being on a date with a guy in public. But now…

“What sort of date?” Chuuya tips his head to the side curiously.

“Well—" Dazai squeezes him tight. “I guess I’ll just have to throw something together—"

The dramatic tone makes Chuuya think he’s in for...well, something unique.

Chapter Text

The next day, Dazai is waiting in the foyer.

“Listen—" Mori is buttoning up his coat. “—there’s a good chance I might have a little too much to drink and stay the night. Will you and Chuuya be—?”

“We’ll be fine,” Dazai rolls his eyes, “I sleep five feet from a psychopath every night these days, you know.”

“But I—"

“Really, Mori.” Dazai pats his arm. “We’ll be fine—tell Fukuzawa-san I said happy holidays.”

Mori frowns reluctantly. “Alright. And Dazai—?”

Dazai glances up, fiddling with his sleeve. “Yeah?”

Mori's voice is firm. “Have him home by ten.”

Dazai gasps. “I’m in university! I don’t need a curfew!”

His uncle shakes his head, crossing his arms. “Chuuya isn’t, and I’m responsible for him.”

"..." Really, he's glad that there's an adult in Chuuya's life who actually cares about something like that, so he doesn't feel like he can complain. “Fine.” Dazai sighs. “It’s not like you’ll be home to enforce it—"

“I thought you might say that, so I told Chuuya earlier.” Mori smiles sweetly, and Dazai scowls.

“I said fine!”

“Good,” Mori ruffles his hair. “Merry Christmas, Dazai.”

“Yeah, yeah...” Dazai grumbles.

The door shuts, and Dazai glares at the dark wood for a few seconds before turning around, “Chuuya—“ he calls up the stairs, “are you—?”

He hears the faint call of Chuuya’s response. “Coming!”

Really, Dazai tries to reason with himself, ten isn’t so bad, he can work with—

“Dazai?”

The older boy glances up, following Chuuya’s voice to the top of the stairs, and—

Record scratch.

“Dazai...? You okay?”

“I’m—" his tongue feels like sandpaper. “I—" Chuuya tips his head to the side. “I’m—uh—fucking—“

“What?"

“I’m fantastic. When did you—“ Dazai clears just throat, “when did you get a leather jacket?”

“Huh?” Chuuya looks down at himself. “Well—I didn’t get all of my clothes out of the old house, and Mori said I needed to fill out my wardrobe before going off to college."

Dazai needs to send his uncle a card. A fruit basket. Maybe a spa day. And that isn’t the only thing. Ever since they met, Dazai has always gotten the impression that there was another side to Chuuya, one that the redhead had just never felt comfortable showing off.

And now...

“Do you like it?”

Dazai swallows hard, “I—"

Underneath the jacket, Dazai can see a soft, royal blue sweater that reaches mid thigh, tight, along with artistically ripped jeans, and black boots. And as if that wasn’t enough to make Dazai not want to make it out the door, there was the hair. Chuuya has half of it pulled up and away from his face, while a few loose pieces fall away to frame his face, and god, he’s always been this beautiful, and Dazai doesn’t understand how he ever manages to have a clear thought with Chuuya around.

“Yeah,” Dazai croaks, “I--I love it.”

Chuuya is staring at him too, and Dazai isn’t completely unaware of that fact. He knows he cleans up well. His hair is actually combed and parted to the left, and he actually did take the time to pick out a cream colored sweater that actually fits him, along with dark wash jeans that, once again, actually fit, and—

The way Chuuya’s eyes linger around Dazai’s chest and shoulders tells him the effort is very much appreciated.

“Ready to go?”

“...Yep—“ Chuuya nods quickly, hurrying down the steps. “Where are we going first?”

“That’ll spoil the surprise,” Dazai shakes his head, wrapping his arms around Chuuya as soon as he’s within reach. “And honestly—where’s the romance in that?”

Chuuya sighs, but his eyes are bright, curious, and Dazai can tell—he’s enjoying this.

“Fine,” he leans up pressing his lips against Dazai’s for just a second, and Dazai is relieved Chuuya has the willpower to lean away, because he’s fighting every instinct to drag him back upstairs—

“Let’s go.”

Dazai nods weakly.

Before now, Chuuya has only ever been on dates with Yuan. And those weren’t bad, really—if you viewed them as less of a date, and more like hanging out with a close friend. They went to concerts, amusement parks, and it was always fun but—

This is different.

The first stop is slightly more typical than Chuuya would have expected from Dazai.

“Seriously, what the fuck?!” Chuuya snaps, mashing at the controls angrily while pre-teens all around stop and stare. “What kind of club has a laser of death?!"

“You didn’t look at the specs before you picked the character, did you?”

“...” The silence is rather telling. “He was the biggest one, okay?!” Chuuya groans, dropping back in his seat. “I really thought I was gonna win—!"

“Brains over brawn, my dear,” Dazai says it with an expression that is clearly supposed to be wise, kneeling down to collect the tickets spitting out. “Everytime.”

“Well,” Dazai inspects the sizable stack of tickets in his palm, “—that outta do it.”

Chuuya blinks. “The point wasn’t to piss me off with a stupidly overpowered character—?”

“No,” Dazai snorts, “that was an added bonus—“

“—you—!”

“The point,” Dazai grabs his hand, “is right over there.” He points, and Chuuya follows, and—

“...A photo booth?” Chuuya tilts his head to the side. “Like the ones they used to have in malls?”

Dazai beams. “Precisely.“

“But don’t we already—?”

“If I say it’s for nostalgia, will you trust me?”

“Huh?” Chuuya is confused, but he doesn’t necessarily see the harm. Maybe Dazai took a picture in a photo booth in his very first date. It’s not something Chuuya really enjoys imagining, Dazai with some faceless stranger, pressed close together and smiling into the camera—

“Chibi?” Chuuya snaps out of it to see Dazai staring at him expectantly, and he does not want to admit he basically just got jealous over nothing, so...

“Okay,” Chuuya walks over with him, stepping in when Dazai pulls back the curtain. “But if you try and pull something weird—"

“I would never!” Dazai has the nerve to look appalled as he climbs in after him.

The timer starts, and the four subsequent flashes capture the two of them leaned in together, smiling, then Dazai kissing Chuuya’s cheek while the redhead looks surprised, then Dazai kissing his lips, and in the final flash, Chuuya is kissing him back.

When they climb out and Dazai starts examining the photo strip—Chuuya has to admit, it is pretty damn cute.

“So—" Chuuya leans against Dazai. “Why the nostalgia?”

He doesn’t expect he’ll like the answer, but he cant stop himself from asking. And—Dazai’s response is not what Chuuya would have expected.

“My mom and dad got one,” he explains, “on their first date.”

Oh. Does that mean—?

“At first I thought it was overblown, but...” He smiles down at Chuuya. “Now I see the appeal.”

Chuuya tilts his head to the side, and Dazai pulls out his wallet, tucking the new photo strip away, and Chuuya can see a much older one poking out of the pockets.

Obviously, he never met Dazai’s mother—they’ve never even /spoken/ about his father before—but the fact that Dazai holds some nostalgia for it, that he wants to possibly hold onto a photo of /them/ for just as long—

“Chuuya? You coming?”

He looks up with a start to see Dazai a few feet away with one eyebrow raised. “Yeah, sorry—"

The next stop, is still somewhat predictable

“Who puts crab in hot pot?” Chuuya makes a face when Dazai dips the meat into the boiling broth with his chop sticks.

Dazai, for his part, doesn’t seem terribly offended. “Just because you don’t enjoy seafood, doesn’t mean it isn’t good—"

“It doesn’t even go with it!”

“That’s the point of hot pot, chibi—you can put anything in it—"

“Eh,” Chuuya yawns, leaning against Dazai’s side, completely stuffed. “I’m not so sure about that.”

They’re sitting on the same side of the booth in a quiet corner of the restaurant, and it’s reminiscent.

A little over a year ago, they were in a Korean barbecue, and Chuuya was pretending to be interested in watching a baseball game, when really, all he wanted to do was learn everything there was to know about the boy next to him.

The restaurant is different. They are different. But sometimes, it still feels like there is so much about Dazai that Chuuya doesn’t know.

“Dazai?”

“Hmm?” His boyfriend hums.

“How many people had you dated before you met me?”

Dazai pauses, his chopsticks halfway towards his mouth. “That’s—why do you—?”

Chuuya blinks. “You never said.”

“Uh—“ Dazai scratches the back of his head. “I don’t think that really matters—"

“I’m just curious—“ Chuuya frowns, “Is it a secret?”

“No,” Dazai winces, “It’s not, it’s just—" he sighs, “...around nineteen, I think?”

“...whAT?!”

“Or twenty? I’m not sure if one counts—"

“You were seventeen when we met,” Chuuya sputters, “how do you date that many girls by seventeen?!”

Dazai smiles, very nervously, “Well—it’s not exactly a smooth process—"

“Did you sleep with more than just Sasaki?”

“...”

“Oh god—" Chuuya groans. “It was most of them wasn’t it?!”

“...”

“....was it ALL of them?!” Chuuya asks incredulously.

“...In varying degrees...” Dazai tries to make it sound like a small thing. “But really, it’s all a blur—"

“Uh-huh.”

“Are you mad at me?”

“No,” Chuuya looks away, “No, that would be ridiculous—"

“Look,” Dazai sighs, “most of that was during my first year, it was a while ago—“

“...that was all /one/ year or highschool?”

“Well, I was with Sasaki for most of my second year, and then a month after that, I met you—“

“That’s more than one girl a month!” Chuuya is in shock.

Dazai bites the inside of his cheek, “I had a lot of stuff going on, and I really liked sex, and...there isn’t a lot of accountability when you don’t go to the same school—"

“You left a lot of them crying, didn’t you?”

Dazai winces. “I regret that!”

Now Chuuya is stuck on the other part. If Dazai really liked sex that much—Chuuya is surprised that his boyfriend has never really pushed that much for it. Really, other than the incident in the kitchen—Chuuya has always been the one setting the pace there.

He also isn’t enjoying the prospect of just how much sex Dazai and Sasaki probably had over the course of an entire year together, which is longer than he’s been with Dazai, and they still haven’t had more than two very quick, interrupted attempts—

“Chuuya?” Dazai pokes the side of his head.

Chuuya shakes himself out of it, “I’m not mad,” he repeats, “I’m just surprised."

Dazai quirks an eyebrow. “...You are?”

“Well, you’ve just...” Chuuya sighs. “It’s hard to imagine you doing that, when you’re so...”

Well, Chuuya is pretty sure Dazai would jump into a volcano if he ever hurt him, so—imagining himself treating so many girls so callously... It’s weird.

Dazai reaches over, pushing some stray pieces of hair behind Chuuya’s ear. “I’ve done a lot of growing up in the last year—and I’m...well, I’m a little different when I’m around you.”

People have mentioned that to Chuuya more than once—and it usually involves describing Dazai as this cold, closed off person before Chuuya met him. It’s not really easy to grasp that.

“Now,” Dazai turns Chuuya’s face gently, making him look at him. “Why are you asking me something like that?”

“...” Chuuya sighs. “Well—I’m your boyfriend. Shouldn’t I know that sort of thing?”

Well—there isn’t an argument with that. It’s not exactly information he would want Chuuya hearing from anyone else. And when they leave the restaurant hand in hand, Chuuya has one more question.

“Dazai?”

“Yeah?” Dazai is a little more cautious this time when he hears the inquisitive tone, holding Chuuya against his side as they walk down the street. Every surface is strung with Christmas lights, a massive tree is glittering in the town square, and the entire atmosphere seems to have a golden tint to it, like it’s already a fond memory, somehow.

“You never really talk about your Dad.”

Dazai exhales slowly.

Ah.

“Is he...?”

Dazai’s answer isn’t what he was prepared for. “He’s not dead, no.”

Chuuya hadn’t even been about to ask if his Dad was dead—he was getting ready to ask how he died, and when. Honestly, the subject of Dazai’s father wasn’t something that Dazai or Mori seemed to consciously avoid—it just literally never came up.

“He’s—" Dazai makes a face. “He’s never been a bad person,” Dazai emphasizes carefully. “He just...” Chuuya has never seen his boyfriend struggling for the right words like this, and he doesn’t know what to make of it. “When I was little, he was actually—kind of my best friend.”

There’s such a big ‘and then’ lingering after that statement, that Chuuya is almost reluctant to push him.

But he doesn’t have to.

“He’s a really, really funny guy—and brilliant, too. He convinced my mom to go out with him by giving her riddles when he was eating at her family’s restaurant...He made her happy.” Dazai exhales carefully, like letting out one breath too quickly might make him lose his composure. “And when I was a kid, I didn’t really think he was different from any of my friend’s parents. If anything, he was the ‘cool Dad,’ but—" Dazai bites his lip. “—he would go away a lot." Dazai isn’t looking at Chuuya anymore, he’s staring up at the lights. “I figured it was business trips, like Oda’s dad, but—"

Chuuya squeezes his hand, and after a moment, Dazai squeezes it back.

“My mom didn’t want to scare me, and...she didn’t want me to think less of him.” Dazai doesn’t seem mournful or angry, just—tired. “But he didn’t—he thought he wouldn’t be able to work if he kept up with his treatments, and he kept on relapsing—"

“...Relapsing?”

Dazai runs his free hand through his hair.

“My dad...” Dazai takes one more breath, slow and uncertain, before spitting it out, “—has bipolar disorder.” Chuuya isn’t sure what to do, or what to say. “And even when I found out, I—“

“Dazai, you don’t have to—"

“I’m fine, it’s not like it’s a shameful thing and plenty of people can have it and live normally. My Aunt has it too—she’s an accountant and she rescues Pomeranians for Christ’s sake—but my Dad’s—it wasn’t like that.”

“...Dazai, I’m really—"

“And—he’s a writer, so he just—he’s always thought his meds made him slower and then he just wouldn’t take them—and—it got bad." Dazai’s voice gets small. “I—saw something that scared me...pretty badly. And my mom—she decided if he wasn’t going to get help, then he needed to live on his own for a while. So...they separated.” Dazai is squeezing Chuuya’s fingers so tightly, he almost can’t feel them anymore. “He lives in Kanagi with my grandparents. We still talk. Sometimes he’s okay, and...sometimes he isn’t. There was talk of him moving back after my Mom—" Dazai winces. “But Mori said after everything, I needed stability.” Dazai glances back at Chuuya, and he seems a little more calm now, than he did before. “I used to be pretty pissed about that, but...I get it now.”

“Osamu...” Chuuya stares up at him, at a loss. “I’m so sorry—"

“Don’t be.” Dazai lifts his chin a little higher. “My dad loves me—and he’s trying, and—that’s better than what a lot of people have. And he’s a Naoki Prize winner. I’m proud of him.”

Chuuya’s jaw is a little slack. “He is?”

Dazai nods. “Ever heard of ‘No Longer Human’?”

“...Your Dad is Tsushima Shuuji?”

Dazai smiles a little, and he nods. “It’s his pen name, yeah.”

Chuuya feels a little bowled over by that—but given all of it—it does make sense that Dazai never mentioned it.

“I’m sorry for making you bring it up—“ Chuuya’s brow creases with worry. “I didn’t mean to make the—well, I didn’t mean to make you sad, I—"

“Chuuya,” Dazai snorts, turning his face to press a kiss against the top of his head. “I’m not sad. I just...when people learn about that part of him, that’s all they care about.”

“Really—I just told you my Dad is a famous author,” Dazai shakes his head. “You don’t have to feel sorry for me.”

It’s something Dazai has always been so intent on, the entire time Chuuya has known him. He doesn’t want anyone’s pity—and he doesn’t want to pity himself either.

“...Well,” Chuuya leans up, aided by the lifts in his boots, and presses a kiss to Dazai’s cheek. “I really hope I get to meet him one day—“ he smiles a little, “—because that was one hell of a story.”

Dazai smiles back at him softly, “His always are.”

Their third destination is the first part of the night that defies expectations. Honestly, Chuuya had known it would be some sort of grand gesture, because Dazai liked for things to have a certain panache, but he had expected something like going to Cosmo Clock 21, or maybe somewhere nostalgic—

But instead, they end up in front of what seems to be a theatre—not like a cinema, exactly, but one where you might see a play, or a symphony. “...Are we going to see a show?” Chuuya tilts his head to the side.

“Sort of,” Dazai squeezes his hand.

They don’t go in the front.

“Dazai—“ Chuuya makes a face. “—I get the whole ‘evading the law’ thing is supposed to be sexy, but sneaking in while we’re on a date is—"

Dazai snorts, pulling a key out of his pocket. “We aren’t sneaking, chibi—you have so little faith in me.”

What the—?

“How do you—?”

Dazai unlocks the back door, pulling it open for Chuuya to walk inside. “My grandparents own the place.”

Chuuya steps in, his boots sinking into vintage, velvet carpet as he glances around at the ceilings, “They own it? Is—“ his eyes are flickering all over the place, “your entire family full of rich celebrities or something?”

Dazai snorts. “My dad really isn’t rich—and my mother’s family has just been in the city for a long time. They built the place back in the thirties, I think?”

That explains the Art Deco.

“Still seems rich to me...”

“Trust me, there is not a ton of money to be had in running a family owned fine arts center.” Dazai tugs Chuuya among. “They’ve only kept the place for this long because my grandfather is stubborn.”

Chuuya is kind of glad, because honestly?

It’s beautiful.

Not in an over the top way—but there’s something warm about the place, a soft, inviting atmosphere that is urging Chuuya to relax. “So, if you aren’t sneaking us into a show—?"

“Well,” Dazai smiles crookedly. “It’s a sold out show.”

“Then how are we going to—?”

Dazai grins.

“Do you trust me?”

Chuuya eyes him warily. He can’t begin to guess what Dazai is about to do, but his eyes look so eager, and—

“You know I do.”

“You’re right,” Dazai’s voice is surprisingly tender as he leads Chuuya towards the stairwells. “I do.”

It’s all—unexpected.

Chuuya is grateful for being athletic in that moment, because these stairs seem to go on forever, winding round and round, and every time he asks why and ‘Where are we going?’ Dazai always smiles, and tells him to wait and see.

“What kind of show is it?”

“So impatient—"

They reach the top step, and when Dazai opens a metal door, there’s a two foot gap between the top stair and the walkway ahead of them. Before Chuuya can ask, Dazai’s hands grab him by the hips, hoisting Chuuya up so he can climb on after him.

Chuuya glances around, holding the railing to get a better look, and—

They’re suspended on a metal catwalk, at least forty feet above the stage below.

Chuuya has never been afraid of heights—actually, he’s always liked them, and from up here—

He glances over at Dazai, who is beaming like he’s pulled off a major triumph.

It’s a great view.

The performer below has already started, standing in the middle of the stage, crooning softly into the audience while strumming a melody on an acoustic guitar.

The lyrics are slow, tender, but moving, and—

Chuuya’s chest is tight.

The stage set up is simple, just a few plush rugs thrown across the floor for added acoustics, but the lighting—

Dozens of Edison bulbs, hanging from individual wires at varying heights, bathing the whole room in a warm, golden glow.

Chuuya can’t look away from him.

Dazai’s face is shining, light and shadow dancing across his cheeks. His eyes are bright, his lips are quirked up, and Chuuya’s heart is jumping, attacked with affection on all sides, and he feels himself crumbling under overwhelming force.

“Dazai—"

“It’s pretty great, huh?”

“It is,” Chuuya replies, his voice suddenly weak. “How did—how did you think of something like this?”

“Well,” Dazai straightens up, offering Chuuya his hand. “I actually got the idea a long time ago.”

Chuuya takes it, letting the taller man pull him in, his arms wrapping around his waist. “When?“

Dazai tilts his head to the side and smiles sheepishly. “You’re gonna think it’s weird.“

Well. Dazai has never been concerned about that before, so it must’ve been pretty early—

“The first time I went over to your house.”

Chuuya sputters. “You’ve been—you wanted—for that long—?”

“I already told you,” Dazai smiles weakly. “From the first time I saw you--"

God, Dazai isn’t fair.

Sometimes he’s this immature, silly, emotionally constipated mess, and others—

And at other times he was so open.

“I kept on trying to convince myself I didn’t want you—because—“ Dazai frowns, “—everything I felt when I was around you was so intense, and I thought—“ he laughs a little, “I thought I might end up liking you too much.”

Chuuya’s eyes are wide, because...That first day after Dazai left for the night, Chuuya remembers laying in bed and staring at the ceiling for what felt like hours, trying to convince himself that the butterflies in his stomach weren’t there, that he was just confused, overthinking—

“And it was a little easier at first—" Dazai’s smile comes back, so fond, and his hand comes up to cup Chuuya‘a face, his thumb stroking over his cheek. “Because I didn’t think we had anything in common."

Chuuya remembers. Being annoyed at the other boy‘s preferences, his compulsive need to be right all the time, what a tease he could be.

“But I went home that night, and I watched that disaster movie you like—the one with the tornadoes?”

“Twister—?”

“Yeah,” Dazai grins, “that one—and then I listened to the bands you mentioned, and I actually liked them, and I realized—I wanted you.”

Chuuya swallows hard, and Dazai is so sincere.

“I was thinking of all the things I wanted to show you, even if you didn’t like them, just to see what you thought—and I was so jealous all the time—“

“I did catch that, later,” Chuuya admits softly.

“Yeah,” Dazai is grinning, and he looks a little nervous, and Chuuya can’t figure out why, because he’s sweeping Chuuya off his feet pretty fucking deftly, “I wasn’t trying to be subtle towards the end there—and the first time we studied together, you said you and Yuan had a list of concerts you wanted to go to together. And growing up, I never really went to concerts except for here, like this, and I—"

He pauses, and Chuuya’s knees aren’t very trustworthy right now, so he leans on Dazai even more. “—you what?”

Dazai clears his throat.

His fingers push Chuuya’s hair away from his face, tucking it behind his ear. “This is the most beautiful place I could think of,” Dazai explains quietly. “I just—wanted to see you in it.”

Chuuya’s lips are trembling.

The song beneath them turns into a duet, floating up into them, the differing melodies of the singers blending into something new, something beautiful.

Dazai’s fingers are brushing through his hair, his arm close around the redhead’s waist, and Chuuya’s hands slide up to twine around his neck.

“You—" Chuuya bites his lip. “You can’t just pull stuff on me like that,” Chuuya mumbles, and he knows how red he is, and he knows that Dazai can probably feel his heart beat through his jacket.

“I know,” Dazai leans in, pressing a soft kiss to Chuuya’s forehead. “I can’t help it.”

Chuuya snorts. “Really?"

“Really,” Dazai sighs, leaning back. “I just—" he cuts himself off, suddenly unsure.

Chuuya raises an eyebrow, and his throat is dry, “you just...?”

Dazai stares at him for a moment, long and hard, before he takes one of Chuuya’s hands from where it was resting at the nape of Dazai’s neck, bringing it around so he can kiss the back of Chuuya’s hand, pressing it against his cheek.

“I just--" Dazai exhales, his eyes meeting Chuuya’s. “I just love you,” he finally says it, like admitting the most obvious thing in the world, “that’s all.”

Sometimes, Chuuya wishes that he could stop a moment, and take a snapshot of it. That he could record it in his mind, like a home video—or even just a few flashes.

Sort of like a photo booth.

He wants to remember what he was thinking, what the room looked like, the feelings in the air.

Something tells him he isn’t going to need that to remember the look on Dazai’s face right now, the slight tremble in his voice when he said it, the faint blush on his cheeks.

“Oh,” Chuuya doesn’t think he’s ever smiled like this, so wide it almost hurts, his eyes swimming. And he feels so light, like his feet are barely even touching the grates beneath him. “Is that all?”

Dazai nods, pressing his face into Chuuya’s hand, laughing softly. His shoulders are a little slumped, like he’s let out a huge breath.

And Chuuya realizes, somehow, some way, Dazai was really nervous about this.He uses his hand on Dazai’s face to turn his chin, leaning up. Everything seems to slow down when he’s kissing Dazai, like his brain just can’t handle it, and everything has to be taken second by second. He feels every breath against his lips, hears the rustling of Dazai‘s coat as he pulls him closer. He even notices the way Dazai’s fingers are unsteady as they splay against his back, pulling him closer.

He’s thought this before, but kissing Dazai is like drowning and Chuuya is still learning how to swim, struggling against a current that wants to sweep him under. They break apart, breathing hard, and Chuuya’s words float through the air, only just above the music.

“I love you too.“

Now Dazai is the one with the huge smile. “Yeah?”

And Chuuya is the one laughing, somehow relieved to finally say it, and Dazai is pulling him in, their noses bumping together as he kisses Chuuya again, again, and again.

“Yeah.“

There was never room for Chuuya to doubt it when Dazai said it. There are so many things in Chuuya’s life that have been changing. So many things that don’t feel permanent when they should, so many people who have let him down—

But Dazai has never been one of them.

Dazai has never wanted him to be someone different. He’s never tried to change a single thing about him. He’s been showing Chuuya that he loves him for so much longer than the redhead knew it, but now that he’s said it out loud, every smile, every quiet reassurance, every bit of patience—

It’s hitting Chuuya all at once.

When left Dazai in Kyoto, Chuuya had known this was more than a passing romance, that Dazai was the first boy he had ever loved, But now, with every passing heartbeat, Chuuya is starting to understand that Dazai is going to be the last one, too.

“Dazai—what are you doing?”

His boyfriend smiles into his hair. “Dancing with you.”

Chuuya is sheepish, his hands fluttering and unsure against Dazai’s chest, “I don’t know how, and it’s not like we can really—"

“That’s okay,” Dazai rests his chin on top of Chuuya’s head as they slowly revolve on the narrow walk way. “It’s good practice.”

Chuuya’s brow furrows with confusion, his eyelashes brushing against Dazai’s throat as he blinks rapidly, breathing him in “Practicing for what?"

He can’t see Dazai’s smile, achingly happy, like he’s holding the rest of his life in the palm of his hand. “I’ll tell you later.”

They spend the next few songs like that, Dazai guiding him in slow, swaying circles while humming some of the lyrics in Chuuya’s ear. By the time the show is winding down Chuuya is sitting between Dazai’s legs, leaning back against his chest, and Dazai keeps saying it again.

More like whispering it as he presses soft, feather light kisses against Chuuya’s hair, his neck, behind his ear.

Chuuya didn’t think he would ever feel so at home again, particularly with another person.

When the show is over and they’re back out on the street, Dazai asks, “So,” He has an arm around Chuuya’s shoulders, hugging  close as they stroll back towards the train station. “How did I do?”

Chuuya raises his chin, looking up at him with a raised brow. “What do you mean?”

“As far as first dates go,” Dazai explains, swiping his metro card, “how did I do?”

Chuuy gives him a look, swiping his own as he moves through the turnstile after him “Shut up.”

“What?”

“You know it was good, Dazai.”

“Just good? I’m wounded!”

“Ugh!” Chuuya throws his hands up as they stop to wait on the platform. “It was—you know—"

Dazai stares at him expectantly, and after everything that bastard has pulled tonight, Chuuya is still weak, so...

He caves.

“It was the best date I’ve ever been on, okay?!”

It’s hard to act gruff when Dazai looks so happy to hear it. “That is what I was going for.”

“Well congratulations, Dazai.” Chuuya leans back against a pillar, “As usual—you’re good at what you do.”

“Oh,” Dazai grins a little, reaching out to fiddle with a longer piece of Chuuya’s hair, twisting it between his fingers. “I try.”

Chuuya doesn’t even realize until they reach their stop that it’s 10:05, and he’s late for when he promised Mori he’d be home.

“Chibi, it’s five minutes, and he isn’t even home—"

“He still asked me to—and where is he?”

“Staying over with Fukuzawa, I’m assuming.”

Chuuya pauses, looking over at Dazai. “Are they...?” Dazai thinks it over.

His uncle has always been in love with his work, so much so that it cost him his wife—and in a way, his daughter. “To be honest with you? I’m really not sure,” Dazai muses, holding onto Chuuya’s hand, steadying the shorter boy when he has to take small leaps to avoid larger patches of ice on the sidewalk.

“I will say it’s...not normal for my uncle to put so much effort into a friendship. And...Fukuzawa-san seems to make him relax,” Dazai sighs. “I kind of wish they were, sometimes.”

Chuuya arches an eyebrow, surprised by that. “...You do?”

“Well—he was alone, in the years after his wife left, and he and Elise are...” Dazai sighs. “Honestly, if you weren’t living with him right now, I would’ve felt bad about leaving him there.”

Chuuya frowns, contemplating that. He has to admit...he doesn’t love the idea of Mori in that house alone everyday, trudging home from the hospital and just...passing out.

It’s troubling to imagine.

“Well—“ Chuuya bites the inside of his cheek. “Hopefully we fix that before I move out.”

Dazai raises an eyebrow. “We?”

“I meant he—" Chuuya corrects.

Dazai stares, but Chuuya seems to have nothing left to say on the subject. “...Well, the point is—there’s no one home to notice we were ten minutes late,” Dazai explains as they walk up the steps, opening the door for Chuuya.

Then, it seems to hit them both.

They’re alone.

Mori isn’t going to be home all night. No sisters are coming to visit. And—

Chuuya is still caught up in thought when Dazai takes off his jacket, hanging it up before moving to help Chuuya with his own. There isn’t anything rushed about it, it just feels...

Calm. Natural.

Chuuya shrugs out of it, shaking out the sleeves of his sweater as Dazai hangs the jacket up. “Dazai?”

“Hmm?” He turns his head, only to be met with Chuuya’s lips. He’s on the very tips of his toes to meet Dazai’s face without the other boy bending down, and Dazai leans over to help him, his arms wrapping around Chuuya’s middle as his boyfriend walks him back, pressing him up against the closed front door.

Dazai is warm, even through the thick layers of their sweaters, and the shape of him is one that Chuuya has learned to crave. “Thank you.”

Dazai smiles against him, his hands heavy against Chuuya’s back. “What are you thanking me for?”

Chuuya’s hands slide down from where they’re resting on his shoulders, over the muscles in his upper arms, rubbing his thumbs in where Dazai’s shoulders meet his back.

“Buying the plane ticket,” Chuuya mumbles, suddenly wishing they weren’t so vertical, because he just wants to be able to reach all of the spots behind Dazai’s jaw with his teeth. “I—" he leans back a little, meeting Dazai’s gaze. “I really needed to see you.”

Dazai searches his gaze, and Chuuya can see the question there—but after everything else that’s happened between them tonight...

Chuuya’s parents can be a topic that waits until the morning.

“Do you think...” Chuuya swallows hard, clearing his throat. “We should....?”

Dazai tilts his head to the side, and Chuuya almost loses his nerve. “Go upstairs...?”

His tone is enough to convey exactly what he means—and the way dazai’s eyes go wide tell Chuuya that it hasn’t been lost on him.

“I—we—yes,” Dazai agrees, slightly out of focus “We should.”

This feels different from before. They aren’t rushing to a conclusion before they can get caught—there’s nothing frantic about this at all.

It’s good thing, and a bad thing.

It’s good, because it means they actually /have/ time—and bad, because it gives the nerves time to build. By the time they make it to Dazai’s room, Chuuya feels a little lightheaded.

Nineteen partners. Maybe twenty. Counting Sasaki, twenty one.

How could he keep up with that? What if he messed up, or did something stupid? What if he isn't even good at it?

“Chuuya?”

He glances up, standing in the middle of Dazai’s bedroom, to see his boyfriend staring at him intently.

“...Yeah?”

He reaches out, taking Chuuya’s hands in his and squeezing gently. “If you aren’t ready—“

Chuuya’s pride does a backflip and he shakes his head jerkily. “I am—“

“—I won’t be upset.“ Dazai presses on, watching Chuuya with a serious expression. “The only thing you could do that would upset me would be if you weren’t ready, and you didn’t tell me.”

Chuuya is hit with the memory all of the sudden, and he smiles just a little.

“So you weren’t just saying that before to make sure I didn’t sleep with Yuan?”

Dazai breaks into a soft laugh, “Listen—I was thrilled that things didn’t pan out there, obviously, but—“ he meets Chuuya’s eyes again. “I meant it when I said it’s only good if you want it.”

It isn’t easy for Chuuya to admit it when he wants something, especially when that want is more of a need.

He’s used to being told no, or telling himself that it’s wrong, or living with the petrifying fear that if he does admit to something like that, he’ll be rejected.

But with Dazai looking at him like that, Chuuya knows that this is okay. Maybe a little nerve wracking and definitely embarrassing, but okay.

He’s nervous, wide eyed, and vulnerable. But he says it.

“I want it.” Dazai is staring back at him, his breath catching, and Chuuya’s tongue darts out to wet his lips, and he forces himself to re-phrase it. “I want you.“

Something about that makes Dazai’s eyes darken, and Chuuya feels a tug in the pit of his stomach. “And I want you,” Dazai says it so effortlessly, “so fucking much.”

Chuuya’s face is warm, and his fingers are fidgeting nervously where Dazai is hanging onto his hands.

God, Chuuya wants to hear him say that again.

The bed suddenly feels daunting, but Dazai’s hands are gentle as he walks Chuuya towards it, until the backs of his knees hit the edge of the bed, and Chuuya sits down heavily, bouncing slightly against the mattress.

“Hey,” Dazai brings their hands up to his lips, brushing his lips across the back of Chuuya’s knuckles, and for the second time that evening, he asks, “Do you trust me?”

Chuuya barely manages to find the words, “You know I do.”

Dazai’s lips don’t move from his hand, but he smiles at Chuuya with his eyes alone. “Good,” he murmurs, letting go of Chuuya’s hands as he sinks to his knees in front of the bed, “then let me take care of you, alright?”

Chuuya wants to open his mouth and protest—he doesn’t want to be taken care of, he doesn’t want Dazai to feel like he has to coddle him, but... At the same time, the look on Dazai’s eyes makes his legs feel gelatinous. He’s crouched on the floor in front of Chuuya, but he doesn’t do what Chuuya expects. He doesn’t go for his zipper, he doesn’t roam his hands over Chuuya’s thighs...

Dazai goes for his shoelaces, of all things. Slowly, with steady fingers, he unlaces Chuuya’s boots, pulling the knots loose until he can slip one off and set it aside, repeating the same process with the other. And there isn’t anything erotic about it, not at all—but the nature of the action, the inherent care behind it, leaves Chuuya with bated breath.

Dazai straightens, using one hand to gently push at Chuuya’s shoulder until he lays back, letting out a soft huff as his back meets the mattress. Dazai is over him, guiding Chuuya to shift until they’re both laying against the sheets, Dazai’s forearms propped up next to Chuuya’s head while he kisses him.

It’s like easing into a hot bath, intimate, slow.

Chuuya was expecting some sort of frenzied mess, yanking at each other’s clothes frantically—like that one time in the kitchen—until they got what they needed. But Dazai’s hands aren’t wandering. He isn’t pushing or frantic. His kisses drift over Chuuya‘a cheeks, his chin, his neck.

One of his arms drifts down from Chuuya’s head, down to his side. He takes the redhead’s fingers in his own, gently threading them together, unfolding Chuuya’s clenched fists until they relax.

“Hey,” Chuuya’s eyes open, darting towards Dazai’s face, and his breath catches when he sees the look in Dazai’s eyes, the softness there. And he repeats, yet again, “I love you.”

Chuuya’s fingers tighten slightly in his, and he whispers it back, his body shivering as Dazai starts to slide down. “I—I love you too.”

Dazai’s fingers are on his belt, and Chuuya /tries/ to stay still. It’s not a big deal, not yet—they’ve been here before. This part is nothing new. But he still bites his lip when Dazai’s fingers tug at his zipper. He’s only half hard—the nerves are holding him back—but when he looks down, meeting Dazai’s gaze, how quietly heated it is as he pulls Chuuya’s jeans down his thighs—

Well, Chuuya isn’t half anything anymore.

He lifts himself up a little bit, making it easier for Dazai to strip the denim away and toss it aside.

Dazai pauses, staring at I’m for a moment, his eyes unreadable. “...Dazai?”

“Sorry—“ Dazai exhales slowly, sliding down until he’s laying between Chuuya’s legs, his palms slowly sliding up his inner thighs, “I’m just—" His voice is strained. “—gonna be distracted, for a minute—“

Chuuya lifts his head curiously. “Distract—? Nngh—!” He drops his head back down, clapping a hand over his mouth when Dazai’s lips press against his thigh, just above his knee. Chuuya never really thought of his legs as /sensitive/ before, but—each press of Dazai’s mouth makes him gasp and jump.

“What—“ Chuuya squeezes his eyes shut, his toes curling when Dazai’s lips reach the hem of his boxers, pushing them higher up his thighs, “—do you need to—shit—" he hisses when Dazai adds teeth, a shiver wracking his spine.

“Can’t help it,” Dazai groans against his skin, “I’ve been thinking about it for a long time—" Dazai mumbles, slowly, painstakingly forming a chain of love bites and bruises across Chuuya’s skin, until the redhead’s thighs are quivering around his ears. “—and you’re don’t make it easy—"

Chuuya frowns through the haze of want, his toes curling where his feet are pressed against Dazai’s back, his legs thrown over the older boy’s shoulders. “What—what’s that supposed to mean?”

Dazai glances up at him through his eyelashes, his hands toying with Chuuya’s waistband as his mouth scrapes over his skin, finding a spot that makes Chuuya stiffen and fight the urge to whine.

“Do you have any idea,” Dazai tilts his head, and Chuuya catches his breath when his boyfriend’s hair presses against his opposite thigh— “what I’m looking at right now?

Oh fuck.

Chuuya bites his lip, and he /wants/ to look away, he can’t deal with this—

Not this again.

Dazai lifts his mouth away, just long enough to pull Chuuya’s boxers down, and Chuuya does lift his hips to help, in spite of the sudden urge to crawl under the bed and die.

Chuuya feels exposed, naked from the waist down, and Dazai is right there. he’s never been insecure, especially not when it comes to his body, but he’s still human, and part of him is nervous that he doesn’t hold up under strict scrutiny—

“Shit,” Dazai mumbles under his breath, nodding his head, like someone’s knocked the wind out of him and he has to shake it off. “Can you—" he’s interrupted by Chuuya’s gasp of surprise when he sinks his teeth in where the redhead’s hip meets his thigh, but he presses on, “—do something for me?”

“H—What?”

“Nightstand—" Dazai can’t bring himself to utter more than just short phrases now, every moment his mouth isn’t on him feels wasted, “—top—“ his tongue sneaks out to slide over Chuuya’s hipbone, making him groan, “—top drawer."

Really, if Chuuya had all of his mental faculties, he wouldn’t have been slightly confused when he reached out, fumbling, his fingers almost missing the knob because Jesus, Dazai’s mouth won’t stop.

He fumbles blindly through the drawer, knocking aside pens, old headphones, the occasional extra battery and then his fingers come into contact with something small and plastic, and when he grabs it, lifting it up towards his face—

Oh.

Dazai feels him stiffen, glancing up with concern. “If you want to stop—"

“No— Chuuya responds sharply, tossing the bottle down to him, “—if you ask me one more time—“ he grumbles, doing his best not to jump when he hears the bottle opening.

“Sorry,” Dazai presses a kiss against his stomach, but he doesn’t sound sorry at all, “but I’m going to ask a few more times."

It’s not like Chuuya didn’t know that this would, eventually, be a part of it. Honestly he feels so stupid now, because he could have practiced for this. What if he doesn’t react the right way? Or—what if he just doesn’t like it?

“You’ve—“ Chuuya squeezes his eyes shut, “—you’ve done this before, right?”

There’s a pause, and he opens his eyes to question him, but he can’t ask anything after that, because Dazai’s tongue is working up the underside of his cock, his hand wrapping around the base, stroking him at an easy, leisurely pace.

“I mean—technically yes.”

Technically?

Chuuya wouldn’t exactly qualify what Dazai is doing as a blow job, more like a series of brief, maddening touches that leave him squirming and heated. And the intention is probably to work him up, to keep him relaxed, and it’s working, but—

“What does that—?”

Chuuya cuts himself off with an embarrassed, choked noise when he feels Dazai’s fingers brushing—

Well—

They’re there, and suddenly Chuuya feels daunted. It’s going to hurt—he’s already read about that, but—that’s not really gonna be sexy for Dazai, is it? How does anyone ever get thorough this without having a heart attack? Chuuya really can’t—

One rather sudden suck at the head of his cock makes him snap out of it, his thighs spasming around Dazai’s head.

“I mean—“ Dazai’s fingertip pushes in slightly, and for now, it’s just a little bit of a burn, not painful, just weird, “Never with a guy, but...” he eases his finger in a little more, and it starts to sting.

Chuuya bites his lip, staring at the ceiling. Should he try moaning, or something? Was that what the others did? God, Dazai is going so slow and it still hurts. Even as he’s squirming and gasping against Dazai’s tongue, slowly sliding over his length, it hurts. Is there something wrong with him? Is he just that bad at this? Is it not gonna work? Would Dazai he mad if he didn’t—

“Chuuya—" Dazai taps his fingers against Chuuya’s hip, and when Chuuya looks down, Dazai is staring up at him. “Do you need to stop?”

Chuuya is hesitant, but he shakes his head. He is not going to be the person who tapped out after one finger, he isn’t—

Dazai raises an eyebrow. “Are you sure?"

“Yes Dazai, I’m sure—" Chuuya mutters, drooping his head down against the pillows. “I just—need a second—"

“You need to relax," Dazai’s free hand is rubbing up and down his thigh, soothing, if not a little distracting. “Breathe."

“I—I am breathing—“ Chuuya grumbles.

“No, just—“ Dazai sighs, and Chuuya is internally cringing, because this isn’t sexy and honestly, if he was Dazai, he wouldn’t be turned on right now— “Take a deep breath.”

“What is this?! Yoga?!”

“Trust me.” Chuuya is hesitant, fighting the urge to be defensive—but he complies. Once he does, Dazai presses a kiss over his hip, “Now let it out, nice and slow.”

Chuuya resists the urge to grumble about the fact that Dazai really does sound like he’s teaching a yoga class or something, but he does—and Dazai’s finger slides in to the next knuckle.

Chuuya lets out a low hiss, and Dazai doesn’t move. But it isn’t as bad now. Not good, but it isn’t unbearable either.

Honestly, he feels mislead—that or he has a way lower pain tolerance than he thought, because in every scrap of literorica or porn movie he’s ever seen it just goes right in. That, and if there is and foreplay like this, everyone seems to be having a fantastic time.

And it isn’t helping Chuuya’s nerves that the last time he got this far in bed with someone, he had a near mental breakdown.

But he keeps breathing.

Finally, after what has definitely been a few minutes, Dazai has one finger fully seated inside of him.

God.

Chuuya feels like a failure of abysmal proportions.

Dazai, for some reason, doesn’t seem as concerned. He stops at points to ask if it hurts too much, but he seems more intent than anything. He holds still while Chuuya adjusts, never moves a muscle without asking, and it’s almost baffling to Chuuya, just how much lube they’ve gone through already.

But the pain isn’t there now. Still a little bit of an ache, but bearable.

Then, as his breathing starts to even out, and his jaw unclenches—Chuuya realizes that he’s relaxed. It sounds obvious, but you don’t realize how hard you’ve been gritting your teeth until you stop.

“Can I...?”

Chuuya nods quickly, one arm thrown across his forehead.

Dazai’s finger starts to move, slowly working in and out—and it—

It’s slowly moving out of the territory of bad, and into the territory of I can maybe handle this and with one particular flex that makes Chuuya‘s knees jerk, a little good.

And then Dazai’s mouth is back on him, and they’re steadily moving in the direction of very good.

Just when Chuuya’s starting to pant, his hips involuntarily bucking up into Dazai’s face, he peeks out from under his arm—

And Dazai is frowning.

Chuuya’s stomach immediately clenches with insecurity. Did he do something wrong? Is this taking too long? Should he be more vocal? Is there—?

Dazai notices now still he’s gotten, and he meets Chuuya’s gaze— “No, no—" he croons, like he can immediately see what Chuuya’s thinking, “—you’re perfect—“ Chuuya sincerely doubts that. “—it’s just—" Dazai’s frown deepens, and now Chuuya is, for the millionth time that evening, lost— “—a little less intuitive to find than I thought—"

Now, one might assume, being a very frustrated, very gay teenage boy, Chuuya would know what Dazai was talking about.

But, after years of hating himself every single time he felt a little tingly while watching Samurai movies, it took a lot of emotional legwork for Chuuya to even look up basic porn.

And even then, he usually had to pause it or look away before they got that far, so was Chuuya aware of what Dazai was trying to do?

No. Not really.

But asking would mean admitting that he was an idiot, so he keeps his mouth shut and nods, like ‘yes, yes, it can be very challenging, I too have often wondered—‘

“Can I add another?”

It’s daunting.

Chuuya nods quickly, putting his arm back over his face, but Dazai stays still, his expression stubborn.

“I’m going to need you to say it.”

“Yes, Dazai,” Chuuya snaps, wishing he had also been a whore during his first year, because then he wouldn’t seem like such a—

And then there’s another finger pressing inside of him, and Chuuya feels like he’s been sucker punched.

It isn’t as bad as the first one, because now Chuuya is learning how to catch his breath, fighting the urge to close his thighs and tense up.

“You know,” Dazai sounds completely casual right now, like he’s in the middle of checking his tire pressure or something and not holding Chuuya in a very vulnerable position, “In this situation I’m pretty sure you could call me by my first name.”

Chuuya blinks.

It’s not like he doesn’t call him Osamu. He does. Just not often, because nobody else does, and it just seems so intimate—

Oh.

That’s sort of Dazai’s point, isn’t it?

Chuuya is so focused on that point, he isn’t expecting it when Dazai’s fingers scissor inside of him, and he cries out.

“God—!"

“—that’s not it either—" Dazai smiles wickedly, pushing his bangs back as he leans in more, pushing Chuuya’s thigh up higher on his shoulder for better access, “—but very flattering—"

“Shut up,” Chuuya whines, wiping his hands down his face. “You’re the most annoying—!”

Dazai does it again. And the stretch that used to burn and make Chuuya‘s insides feel like they’re splitting open is starting to feel so nice—\.

Dazai’s mouth isn’t even on him anymore, but Chuuya lets out a moan anyway. It’s soft, a little unsure. But Dazai reacts.

His fingers dig into Chuuya’s thigh, his eyes are a little wider than they were before, and he does it again, repeating the same motion over and over, until Chuuya is starting to rock back against his fingers instead of away from them.

“Chuuya?”

Chuuya doesn’t know how he’d expected to make words right now. His cock is throbbing and leaking against his stomach—his sweater is riding up, all the way to his chest, and now he’s so heated that he wants it off. “W—what?“

“Do you have to cover up your face like that?”

“Daz—“

“Chuuya.“

“Why—" Chuuya squirms when Dazai’s fingers slow down, his foot digging into his boyfriend’s spine with protest, but Dazai doesn’t complain, “—does it matter?”

“Because you’re beautiful.” Dazai tilts his head to the side, like it’s so obvious, and Chuuya hates him. “And I wanna see you.”

Chuuya doesn’t move, and Dazai leans his head against Chuuya’s thigh with a pout. “Please?"

Slowly, with a long suffering sigh, Chuuya moves his arm.

Dazai stares up at him, his pout rapidly shifting into something different, something hungry.

“There.” His fingers start moving again, and Chuuya has to cling to the sheets to stop himself from covering his face again. And Dazai just stares at him, kind of like he’s just caught up in the wonder of it all, which Chuuya can’t even /begin/ to understand—

And then, his fingers hook and drag as they slide out, and something odd happens,

They hit this spot, this one strange, seemingly random angle, and—

Chuuya is so thankful they’re home alone, because he hasn’t ever cried out that loudly before.

Dazai is victorious. “And there it is.”

God, Chuuya can’t think—his legs feel shaky and out of control, his breaths are quick and staccato. He fumbles for the hem of his sweater, pulling it over his head and tossing it aside, not even thinking about the fact that he’s completely naked now.

Dazai hits it again.

And here’s the thing about Dazai—one Chuuya had all the information to figure out before, but he just never quite put it together.

Dazai doesn’t just like to be good at things, he likes to be the best.

And when it comes to Chuuya, well...Things tend to escalate.

So once he’s found what he’s looking for—and Chuuya is so glad that he did, whatever it is—he hones in on it, and—

He’s relentless. 

“Daz—“ Chuuya’s thighs are trembling, and his spine is arching off the mattress, “—O—Osamu, I—"

Saying his name causes an acceleration.

“So fucking gorgeous,” Dazai breathes, looking like the cat that’s caught the canary, “Fuck, Chuuya—“

Chuuya’s eyes are squeezed shut, his chest is heaving, he can’t hold back the moans.

It’s so good, it’s so, so fucking good, why haven’t they done this before? How are they ever supposed to stop?

Dazai asks if he can add another and Chuuya manages to babble out a yes, barely even coherent.

That burn slows things down a little, but it’s almost nothing now compared to the throbbing in his cock, the coil of heat tightening in his stomach, and then Dazai grinds all three fingers into that spot, and—

Chuuya’s eyes snap open.

Oh.

Oh wait.

It’s too good—

“Osamu—"

“God,” Dazai sounds raw, “I love the way you say that—"

“W—wait—" he pauses.

“Does it hurt?”

“No! It’s just—"

“Do you want me to stop?”

Chuuya really just wishes he could master this whole communication thing, but his brain is fried. “No! I’m just—"

And then Dazai starts moving his fingers again, and Chuuya can feel himself hurtling towards the cliff.

“You—“ he chokes on a moan, “if you don’t stop, I’m gonna—"

And, well, if Dazai had slowed down a bit, he might have processed that quickly enough, but in his delight at figuring out how to make Chuuya‘a voice break, he got overeager and—

Well, now the horses have left the station.

“Fuck—!”

The first time Dazai touched him, Chuuya really did think it was the most powerful orgasm of his life.

It had nothing on this.

It’s loud, cursing, trembling, and Chuuya is writhing through it. And when he comes down from it, breathless and trembling, he groans in a very different way. “Fuck, I’m sorry, I—“ he can’t quite catch his breath, “—I tried to tell you—"

“Chuuya,” Dazai interrupts him, his voice far away and dreamy, “I’m not mad."

Chuuya leans up on his elbows to lean down at him, and to Dazai’s credit he doesn’t look mad at all.

Chuuya frowns. “But we didn’t get to—" Dazai catches his hand, lacing their fingers together and kissing Chuuya’s knuckles.

“Really,” Dazai shakes his head, “that was...” he looks delighted. “God,” he presses his face into Chuuya’s thigh. 

He presses lazy, open mouthed kisses against Chuuya’s skin, and Chuuya is still a little mindless. “...Good?”

Dazai laughs weakly, “Chuuya, I—" his voice is slightly muffled by Chuuya’s skin, “I don’t think someone has ever made me this crazy in my entire life.”

Normally, if an eighteen year old said that, Chuuya would snort and say, ‘Okay, sure.’

But given Dazai‘s long and distinguished career—

Well, it’s actually pretty flattering.

“Well—“ Chuuya whimpers a little at the emptiness when Dazai’s fingers slide out. “Get up here.”

Dazai does, pressing leisurely kisses up Chuuya’s stomach, his chest, and then his lips. It’s slow, lazy—and then Chuuya realizes.

Dazai is /completely/ dressed.

And Chuuya is /very/ naked.

“...” Dazai pauses when he feels Chuuya frown against his mouth. “...What?”

Chuuya presses his hands to Dazai’s chest, making him lean back— “You really think we’re done?”

Dazai blinks, “Well, I don’t expect you to be bouncing back anytime soon—!” He cuts himself off with a very undignified grunt when Chuuya grabs him through his jeans.

“So?"

“I—“ Dazai lets out a soft gasp when Chuuya squeezes him again, a little shell shocked when he remembers how shy Chuuya had been about touching him the first time, “—would obviously love a little help, but you don’t have to—"

Chuuya flips them over, his eyes determined.

Dazai doesn’t really expect more than another handjob, and honestly, after all the times they’ve been interrupted, he’s so fucking grateful for just that.

And then he notices Chuuya is sliding down, and hey, it’s hard to find zippers in the dark, Dazai gets it—

But then Chuuya’s face is directly over Dazai’s crotch, and Dazai...No, it can’t, God doesn’t love him enough, this can’t be happening—

“You’re—" Chuuya takes a steadying breath as he works at his belt. “You’re gonna have to tell me what to do, alright?”

“I—" Dazai chokes. 

Because Chuuya’s obviously never gone down on anyone before, and he’s only watched Dazai do it twice. He yanks down Dazai’s zipper before he can lose his nerve, and Dazai hisses at the release of pressure.

And then, Chuuya is tugging his pants down, and—

God is real.

Chuuya has to pause and marvel for a second because...Well, he’s obviously touched Dazai before, and sure, he felt big in Chuuya’s hand, but—

Now that it’s right in front of his nose...That was supposed to fit inside of him?

He’s about to try and fit it in his mouth?

And Dazai, bless him, is terribly patient but his squirming makes Chuuya snap out of it.

Right. Right.

He looks up at Dazai through his eyelashes, awaiting further instructions.

Dazai isn’t really quite sure how this became his life. “Um—" he clears his throat, “You’re not—“ Dazai swallows thickly, “—going to be able to get all of it, so—"

Chuuya instinctively wraps his hand around him, because he thinks that’s what Dazai is getting at—and it’s what Dazai did to him before.

“Great,” Dazai croaks, “looks like you get that part.”

And Dazai is pretty sure the fact that he is so obviously affected is making Chuuya calm down, because now he’s staring up at Dazai with an arched eyebrow, stroking him, the head of Dazai’s cock so close to his cheek—

Wait. Calm down.

Dazai looks at the ceiling. “I should warn you, this really isn’t going to be much of a lesson—I’m not gonna last very long—"

His entire body shudders when Chuuya presses a hesitant, but maddening kiss against his head. “Is that okay?”

“...Yes, Chuuya,” Dazai feels like he’s about to go into cardiac arrest, “—that’s—that’s more than okay—"

“What else?” Chuuya’s breath isn’t fanning over him, and Dazai isn’t sure if this is a wet dream, or torture.

“You—" Dazai hisses when Chuuya’s free hand cups his balls, tentatively rolling them his palm, “—I—usually like it when someone starts at the head, but you don’t have to—"

“Why wouldn’t I want to do what you like?”

“I—“ Dazai groans impatiently, “I don’t know, I guess everyone has their own method—"

“I don’t plan on having anyone else’s dick in my mouth,” Chuuya frowns. “So what you like is really the only thing I care about.”

Dazai presses his hand to his forehead.

Jesus Christ.

“Are you trying to give me a heart attack?”

Chuuya genuinely looks confused. “No?”

God, Dazai’s head falls back against the pillow, and Chuuya slowly leans in, wrapping around the head of Dazai’s cock, and—

God, it’s good.

He’s a little slow at first, swiping his tongue under Dazai’s head without being asked, and Dazai is letting out a startled groan.

There is one close call with his teeth, which Dazai quickly warns him about but after that, it’s just Chuuya slowly working him in deeper, occasionally pulling off to gasp for air, or to ask if he’s still doing it right. And it’s a little messy at times, but somehow that makes it even better, Dazai really can’t explain it.

Even worse, it seems like Chuuya is genuinely enjoying it, making these soft, but definitively pleased sounds while his mouth is around him, and—

Dazai presses his fists to his forehead.

He really, really can’t deal with this.

Then Chuuya pulls off, licking his lips. “Hey—Osamu—" That tone is new. There’s something teasing about it. “Do you have to hide your face like that?”

Dazai’s heart does a triple back handspring that barely lands. “Okay,” he practically wheezes when Chuuya’s mouth wraps around him again. “That’s /fair/, but—I should warn you--if I look at you,” Dazai isn’t even a little embarrassed to admit it— “I’m gonna finish.”

"..." Chuuya blinks, surprised, “like—as soon as you—?”

Dazai nods emphatically, staring pointedly at the ceiling. “I can say it with a—" Chuuya does this thing with his tongue against Dazai’s slit, and he keens, “—r—reasonable amount of certainty, yes—" Dazai is trying not to buck up into his mouth, and it’s so hard—

But then Chuuya is grabbing Dazai’s hand, and guiding him to thread his fingers through Chuuya’s hair. “Then go ahead.”

Dazai stares at the ceiling fan, frantically mouthing ‘thank you’ to whatever god, deity, or whatever may be looking down on him.

Chuuya’s mouth slides back around him, Dazai looks down and—

The sight of Chuuya, flushed, his lips wet and stretched around his cock, looking right up at Dazai—

Well...

He really wasn’t kidding.

It happens fast, and when Dazai tugs at Chuuya’s hair, signaling for him to pull off, the redhead just closes his eyes and presses closer. It was not the most drawn out, expert blowjob Dazai has ever received. Not even close. It probably lasted maybe five minutes.

But he has never, ever, had such an intense orgasm in all his life, his fingers tightening in Chuuya’s hair as his entire body convulses.

And he’s never cried someone’s name so loudly before, never like this.

Then, as if Chuuya hasn’t already taken several years off of Dazai’s life in the last hour—

He swallows.

Dazai is laying there, limp and stunned when Chuuya pulls off, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, and he’s pretty sure his soul has just left his body entirely, and it’s dangling somewhere near the rafters in the attic.

“You—" Dazai pants, leaning up in his elbows, “—you didn’t have to—"

Chuuya blinks up at him, “But that’s what you did, when you did it to me—"

“—that situation was a little different, you know—“

“—Well,” Chuuya licks his lips, “I actually didn’t mind it.”

Dazai stares down at him, his jaw slightly slack.

...where did he find him, again?

Chuuya makes a small noise of surprise when Dazai grabs him by the arms, pulling Chuuya on top of him and pressing their lips together.

“Osamu—" he grunts, “—that’s gross—" he pushes at Dazai’s chest, “—my mouth was literally just on your—“

Dazai shakes his head, hugging him even tighter, “Don’t care—“ he mumbles between kisses, groaning a little when he can taste himself on Chuuya‘s tongue. “—love you—“ his hands slide into Chuuya’s hair, guiding him to tilt his head back so Dazai can kiss him even deeper, “—so much—“

Chuuya is breathless and languid against him, his arms twining around Dazai’s neck, “I—I love you too—“ he pants, “—but you should at least—mmph—!”

Dazai doesn’t stop kissing him, not until they’re both slumped and boneless against the sheets.

“Well,” Dazai sighs softly, nuzzling his face into Chuuya’s hair. “Didn’t think I’d get that far on the first date--"

"--you really cant help yourself, can you?”

Dazai grins against his hair. “Nope!”

Later, when they’ve both showered and Chuuya is settling against Dazai’s chest, his boyfriend stiffens. “Oh—I almost forgot—"

Chuuya lifts his head to look up at him, raising an eyebrow. “...Forgot what?"

Dazai gestures for him to move, and Chuuya does, reluctant and sleepy as Dazai slides out of bed, moving across the room to rummage through his suitcase. “What is it?”

Dazai straightens up, a box in hand, “Did you really think I wasn’t gonna get you something?”

Oh.

To be fair, Chuuya got Dazai something too, his brain just isn’t really back to firing on all four cylinders, not yet.

“Okay,” Dazai sits on the bed next to him, and he looks a little antsy, “—before I give it to you, you have to promise you’re going to keep an open mind.”

Chuuya blinks. “Why would I need to do that with a gift?”

Dazai shakes his head, clearly intending to remain tight lipped. “Just promise.”

“...” Chuuya frowns, but Dazai seems so /serious/, so... “I promise.”

Dazai relaxes a little, handing the box over. It’s long, narrow, and almost flat, soft to the touch, with the name of a store Chuuya doesn’t recognize stamped across the front in gold lettering. He looks down at the box, then up at Dazai, then back down at the box. “...Why are you so nervous?”

“Chuuya,” Dazai huffs, “please, just open it.“

Chuuya relents, looking back down and lifting the lid.

Sitting on a bed of crisp, white tissue paper, is a...choker. Soft, matte black leather.

“Before you say anything,” Dazai holds his hands up, “I wasn’t sure how you’d feel about it, but—you seemed so nervous about taking the bandages off, and I thought—"

Chuuya bites his lip.

“—and it’s /not/ for girls, I asked—" Dazai really isn’t one for babbling, or to be nervous in general, “—and I thought it might make you feel a little more—“

“Osamu,” Chuuya’s voice is thick, unsteady. “Stop talking.”

Dazai looks a little frantic. “Are you crying?"

“No.“ Chuuya glances away, wiping at his eyes irritably. “I’m not, it’s just this is—“

Really fucking considerate. And sweet. And—it looks expensive, and Dazai really thought about it, and—

“So—“ Dazai is peering at him, uncertain, “—do you like it?”

When Chuuya manages to find his voice, he nods, “Yes, Dazai, I like it.”

Really, he loves the idea behind it more than anything, and Dazai for thinking of it.

“Can you put it on, for me?”

Dazai nods, “Yeah, I—" he clears his throat, “—come here.”

Chuuya hands then box over, scooting over before turning around and lifting his hair out of the way.

For just a second, when Dazai’s fingers brush against his throat, his stomach flips uneasily.

But Dazai presses a kiss to the nape of Chuuya’s neck, and the moment passes.

The band of leather settles over the base of his throat, just beneath his Adam’s apple, and Dazai fastens the clasp. “That’s not too tight, is it?”

Chuuya shakes his head silently, and when Dazai’s fingers start to retreat from his throat, Chuuya catches them with his own, holding them there.

“...Chibi?”

Chuuya leans back until his back is pressed against Dazai’s chest, holding the older boy’s hands against his throat.

He can’t explain his emotions right now.

He’s happy, he’s angry, he’s warm, but he’s a little bitter. And, more than anything, he feels safe.

And loved.

It’s been a very long time since Chuuya has felt both at the same time.

“Thank you, Osamu,” he mumbles, barely able to say the words. “I—I think I needed this.”

Dazai relaxes, leaning in, reading his chin on top of Chuuya’s head. “Well,” Dazai finally frees his hands, moving to wrap his arms around Chuuya, holding him so tight that it’s hard to breathe, and—

Chuuya doesn’t want anything less.

“I always want to give you what you need, you know.”

It’s such a simple thing to say, but at the same time it’s not that fucking simple, because not many people in Chuuya’s life have actually tried to do that.

“...You okay?” Dazai asks, leaning around to get a better look at him.

“Yeah, I just—" Chuuya laughs weakly, turning his head and tilting his chin up, so he can kiss him, “I just love you, that’s all.”

Dazai smiles against Chuuya’s mouth.

“Oh, is that all?”

Chuuya hums contentedly--and then he frowns.

“And now I definitely don’t want to give you what I got you.”

Dazai gasps, offended. “Why?!”

“Because I didn’t know we were going with something sentimental!” Chuuya groans. “Now mine just seems stupid!”

“Really, I’m sure it’s not—"

“No,” Chuuya shakes his head, “no, you’re gonna have to wait for me to find something else—“

“But Chuuya!” Dazai whines, “Now I really wanna know what it is!”

“Too bad!”

“Please! Chuuya, come on, it’s Christmas—"

“You’re gonna make fun of me."

“I’m not!” Dazai protests, cursing himself for being such a little shit his entire life, because Chuuya definitely doesn’t believe him, “I swear, I’m not!”

“...Do you promise?”

Dazai nods eagerly. “I swear."

“...” Chuuya hunches his shoulders, hanging his head sheepishly. He slips out of Dazai’s arms, walking over to the dresser, pulling the bottom drawer open.

The box he returns with is bigger, neatly wrapped, and topped with a bow.

Dazai reaches out for it, but Chuuya pulls it out of reach before he can grab it. “Before you say anything,” he warns, his eyes narrowed, “it’s practical."

Dazai blinks, a slow grin forming. “It is?”

“Okay, nevermind—"

“Chuuya, I’m sorry! Lemme see!”

“...” Chuuya, reluctantly, his expression resigned, hands it over.

It’s a little heavier than Dazai expected—and he has to pause, just to admire the care Chuuya took in wrapping it—but his curiosity gets the better of him.

Finally, he tears away the paper, revealing—

“Headphones?”

Chuuya has his arms crossed over his chest and he’s grumbling. “Noise cancelling headphones.”

Dazai glances down at the box again. To his boyfriend’s credit, they are pretty fancy. They’re sleek, wireless, they even have a white noise function.

“Before I say anything—" Dazai bites his lip. “I really want to know what you we’re thinking when you got these.”

“...” Chuuya pokes at the carpet with his toe. “...so you don’t wake up during the 3 a.m. Russian soap operas...and you can study through the Skype calls.”

Dazai smiles so softly.

Really. He’s been in love with Chuuya for a long time, since he met him, if you think about it. But he’s not sure he’s ever loved his boyfriend more than he does in this particular moment.

“Well, you cant take them back.” Dazai clutches the box to his chest. “I love them!”

Chuuya stares at him suspiciously, but Dazai seems sincere “...Really?”

“Yeah—" Dazai reaches out with one hand, pulling Chuuya back towards the bed. “You were trying to think of something I needed—" he points out, kissing the shorter boy’s forehead. “—and they are practical.”

“...fine,” Chuuya relents, allowing himself to be pulled back into bed. Dazai carefully sets the box aside before pulling him in. “But I’m your birthday, I’m doing something sentimental.”

Dazai smiles against his neck, his nose bumping against the choker. “Really?”

“Yep.” Chuuya responds, his voice grim. “Something really fucking sappy.”

“Sappy?” Dazai’s smile just keeps on getting wider.

“You heard me.” Chuuya pulls the blankets up. “So you better brace yourself.”

“I’m looking forward to it!”

Really, he’s the worst.

There are still things that Chuuya needs to tell him—issues lurking on the horizon that he really doesn’t want to think about—

But right now, all he wants to do is just lay here, and enjoy being with him. “Dazai?”

“Hmmm?”

Chuuya presses closer against him. “Merry Christmas.”

Dazai closes his eyes, hugging him tighter.

He really, really wishes these moments were slower, that they didn’t go by so fast—

“It’s the best one I’ve ever had.”

—but he has a feeling that they’re going to have many, many more.

Chapter Text

It’s so cold, and really, Chuuya could live with that, except —

“I stand by the fact that we should’ve just stayed up. My brain feels like it’s coming out of my eye sockets—"

—for that.

“You were the one who wanted to go to the shrine with me, idiot!”

It’s a New Year.

“Yeah,” Dazai whines, hanging off of his boyfriend’s arm as the shorter boy practically drags him up the steps. “But four a.m.?! Chuuya, I love you, you know I do, but this is just twisted—"

Chuuya looks at him like he’s grown a second head, “It’s a pretty normal tradition!”

“No! You go at midnight when everyone is still sleeping and get the good fortunes,” Dazai mumbles, his hair even messier than usual.

“Pretty sure that’s just what delinquents do. You’re supposed to go at sunrise—and your tradition wasn’t exactly normal either!”

“Oh—" Dazai lifts his head from Chuuya’s arm with an impish grin, “I definitely made that one up.”

“... I got naked at midnight for no reason?”

“I mean—” Dazai seems a lot more awake now, “There was a reason—ow! Chuuya, don’t kick me—!”

“You’re the WORST—!”

The line is a little long—Chuuya Blames the fact that it took almost fifteen minutes to get his boyfriend out of bed—and it’s a matter of minutes before he hears a familiar voice calling.

“Hey! Chuuya!”

He turns his head, Dazai slumped and grumbling against his shoulder. “Gin?”

His friend smiles and waves, flanked by their brother, who, as per usual, flushes and shrinks a little under Chuuya’s gaze—and Higuchi, whom Chuuya hasn’t spoken to since...well, since he was with Yuan, is standing to Gin’s left, eyeing Dazai curiously. “Happy New Year!”

“Happy New Year—" Chuuya smiles a little, still hesitant now that he’s noticed Higuchi, “—I didn’t know you guys were gonna be here—"

“And I wasn’t expecting you to bring Dazoo.” Gin smiles slyly.

That seems to wake his boyfriend up with a start, and he finally looks up.“...You were there that day,” he smiles thinly, only a little embarrassed by the memory, “Gin—and...” he peers over at the blonde, “—Higuchi?”

She seems genuinely surprised that he remembers. “Uh—yeah. That’s me.”

Dazai’s eyes slide over to Gin’s brother, and they narrow.He doesn’t say anything, electing to simply wrap his arms around Chuuya’s middle rather tightly, forcing the redhead to stumble and lean against him.

“Seriously?!” He grumbles, casting Dazai an annoyed look.

“Sorry,” Dazai hums innocently, “still sleepy.”

“...Sorry about him—"Chuuya mutters, looking back over at his friends. “He’s being a baby.”

Gin snorts, shaking her head, “It’s fine—I had to drag Ryuu out of bed too.”

“Yeah,” Chuuya smiles at his old friend wryly. “You always passed out on the bus on the way to matches. How’s the team doing?”

Akutagawa bows his head respectfully, which Chuuya has always found endearing—his old teammate has always been a little too formal. “Everyone misses you, Nakahara-senpai, but we’re managing.”

Gin elbows his side “You could always say youmiss him, dork.”

“Could you not?!” Ryuu looks mortified, and Chuuya’s rubs are starting to ache a little from how tightly Dazai is hugging him.

“Don’t tease him, Gin,” he wheezes, pointedly stepping in his boyfriend’s foot until Dazai eases up on his grip, “I’m glad to hear things are going well.”

They end up waiting in line for nearly an hour, with Gin and Chuuya Banting back and forth lightly, while Akutagawa slowly but surely wilts under Dazai’s stare.

“What’s your fortune?”

“Eh,” Gin looks unimpressed, “Good health.”

Higuchi punches the air, “I got a love one!”Something about that seems to bother Gin, and Chuuya can guess why, but he knows better than to question it.

“I got financial trouble...” Ryuu mutters, his brow pinching. “...But I don’t have any money to lose. Am I gonna go into debt...?”

Chuuya glances over at Dazai.“What’s yours?”

Dazai glances up from his paper and smiles, the dimple in the right side of his mouth making Chuuya’s heart skip a beat. “Little blessing.”He leans forward, kissing Chuuya on the nose “But I’ve already got one—ow—! Don’t punch me—!”

“What did you expect?!”

“I expected you to say, ‘Oh Dazai, you’re so right, I am the best thing that’s ever happened to you—'” he pauses when he notices the intensity of Chuuya’s glare. “...What?”

“That’s quite a falsetto you we’re using to imitate me.” The redhead growls.

Dazai laughs nervously, his eyes widening, “That’s—that’s not—!”

“Chuuya!” Gin interrupts them, “Lay off him—what’s your fortune?”

Chuuya glances down at his own paper.

Curse.

“...Just another health one,” he mutters, folding it up before Dazai can lean over his shoulder to peek. “Pretty boring.”

They make it home just after seven a.m.

“Did you have to be that way with Ryuu? He’s easily intimidated as it is, y’know.”

Dazai doesn’t look even a little ashamed, “He was staring at you.”

Chuuya lets out a long-suffering sigh, hanging up his coat. “He’s not my type.”

Dazai nods emphatically, “I know—I’m one of a kind.”

Chuuya snorts and rolls his eyes. “Cocky, much?

“It’s one of the things you love about me,” Dazai yawns. “I’m going back to bed. Coming?”

Chuuya shakes his head, “I promised Ane-san I’d Skype her when I got home—go ahead.”

Dazai presses a lazy kiss against his hair before heading upstairs, and Chuuya sits at the table.Dazai goes back to Kyoto tomorrow.It’s something that’s been on his mind since Christmas—and he knows putting it off for a week wasn’t the right thing to do—

(Mori’s incredulous stares have gotten more and more frequent.)

And it isn’t exactly something he can hide long termIt didn’t feel like something he was hiding from Dazai, not at first, but now...

Well, Chuuya knows he’s put it off long enough that Dazai is going to see it that way, regardless.

When Dazai wakes up a few hours later they spend the afternoon watching movies, packing, sitting together under the kotatsu while Chuuya finishes off an ungodly amount of red bean buns. But the tense silence hovering around Chuuya doesn’t slip Dazai’s notice—and by the time the day is coming to an end, he’s tired of waiting for Chuuya to come out and say it.

“Alright, I cave—" Dazai props himself up on his elbow, staring at his boyfriend from where Chuuya is sitting by his desk, combing his hair after a shower. “What is it? You aren’t mad about the shrine, are you? Because I was only kind of jealous—"

“No, Dazai....” Chuuya sighs.

“I’m not mad, I’m just—" he bites his lip, leaning back in his chair. Part of him just wants to make something up, to pretend the problem doesn’t exist. But it does.

“You’re just.... what?” Dazai raises an eyebrow, more concerned now than he was before.

“Last semester...”Chuuya takes a steadying breath. “Something happened—and I didn’t tell you, because I knew you’d come running home—"

Dazai frowns, his eyes filled with a grim mixture of concern and frustration, “That sounds like the sort of thing you should have told me.”

Chuuya winces.“Dazai, look—" Chuuya is flipping the comb in his fingers nervously, “—it’s not something you can fix, I just—didn’t want you to end up skipping out on your exams because of me—"

“What happened?”

“...” Chuuya stares at the floor. “The prefecture judo finals—my mom showed up.”

Dazai is stiff, but silent, and Chuuya continues— “She—I don’t know what she thought, but—I think she wanted to try to work things out, and when she realized she couldn’t...” Chuuya swallows hard. “She told me they were changing the charges against my father.”

“...Excuse me?”

“They dropped it down to aggravated assault,” Chuuya isn’t spinning the comb around anymore, he’s gripping it so tightly that the plastic is shivering under his fingertips, ready to snap.

“Why do you look like you think I’m about to be pissed at you?” Dazai frowns.

Because you are.

“...Because they gave him bail.”

Ah.

And now, the frustration Chuuya saw earlier /is/ starting to shift into anger.“For how long?”

Chuuya presses his lips together for a moment, attempting to brace himself. “Since the end of last month.”

“...Yeah,” Dazai’s voice is clipped, but low. He never raises his voice at Chuuya when he’s angry—and really, despite the fact that they’ve known each other for over a year, his anger has rarely been directed Chuuya’s way—but it’s obvious that he isn’t happy.“That’s something you should have told me.”

Chuuya stares at him, waiting and watching as the gears in Dazai’s brain spin. He doesn’t want to make it about himself, Chuuya can tell. But Chuuya also remembers the look on Dazai’s face when he woke up in the hospital.

“Can he just—be out on the street?”

Chuuya shakes his head, setting the comb aside. “He’s in house arrest, as far as I know. And Mori said I could probably get a restraining order.”

“He knows about this too?”

“Dazai,” Chuuya’s voice is soft, “be mad at me, not him.”

Dazai falls silent again, clearly struggling to process it. He isn’t looking at Chuuya—his head is turned away, and his hands are tightly clenched against his legs.“And you decided not to tell me until the night before I have to leave you here?”

“Well,” Chuuya squirms, guilty.“I guess—I got paranoid that you might do something...rash,” he admits, reaching up to rub the side of his neck, but instead of finding bare skin, he finds leather instead—and it grounds him, even now.

“Rash?”

“Like you might try to take a semester off or something.” Chuuya mutters.

The silence that follows tells Chuuya that he really wasn’t paranoid. “Dazai, you are not going to do that.”

His boyfriend makes a face, his brow pinching. “I know. It’s just—"

“It’s not like I’m in any danger, okay?” Chuuya reaches over to touch his arm, trying to soothe him, “I get why you’re worried, but—"

“How can you know that?”

Chuuya leans back in his seat. “Because he has a tracking monitor, and because if he tries to violate the conditions of his release, he’s back in prison until the end of the trial. He isn’t stupid—"

“No, he’s just a psychopath—" Dazai snaps, instantly regretting it.It’s not about him. Logically, he knows that. “...How did they knock down the charges?”

Chuuya shakes his head, “I—I don’t know, I’ve been staying out of it, I just—" his face sinks into his hands, and his shoulders slump. “It’s not like I have any control over this.”

Guilt is cold and heavy in Dazai’s gut, and he sighs.“Come here.” Chuuya glances up through his fingers and shakes his head, but Dazai just stubbornly holds his arms out. “You can come over here, or I’ll come sit on you—remember how that went last time?”

Chuuya does.

He gets up, somewhat reluctant as he crosses the room. Once he’s in reach, Dazai catches his wrists and pulls him in, until Chuuya’s head is resting in his lap. “I’m sorry.”

Chuuya glances up, surprised— “Why are you sorry?”

Dazai’s eyes are conflicted. “I made you feel like you couldn’t tell me.” His fingers brush through Chuuya’s hair. “My reaction should be the last thing you’re worrying about.”

“Dazai—" Chuuya shakes his head, his jaw slack, “—don’t apologize for caring—“

“No, it’s just—it’s my job to be there for you, isn’t it?”

Normally, Dazai seems so sure of himself—particularly in these moments. But right now...he sounds...Disappointed in himself.

“Hey—" Chuuya reaches up, grabbing Dazai’s collar and pulling him to lean over, so their faces are inches apart, “—you have always been there for me.”The guilt in Dazai’s eyes makes Chuuya’s heart ache. It’s the same guilt from that night in the hospital. The guilt that made Dazai almost terrified to touch him after.Chuuya brushes his thumb over Dazai’s lip, “You have,” he repeats himself firmly. “More than anyone else.”

Dazai’s eyes flash with something, an emotion so unfamiliar, so dark, Chuuya doesn’t even recognize It—but then it fades.

“Well—" Dazai slips his arms under Chuuya, pulling him further into his lap. “I can tell how much it’s been bothering you—and you couldn’t talk to me.”

Chuuya opens his mouth to warn Dazai against beating himself up again, but Dazai talks over him, “But now you can,” he reaches up to tuck Chuuya’s bangs behind his ear. “So, I want you to answer me honestly.”

Chuuya waits, leaning back so he can meet Dazai’s eyes.

“Are you scared?”

Chuuya is quiet for a moment—and then he shakes his head. “No, I’m just...angry,” he admits softly, “Like—I’m really pissed about it—all the time.”

“You deserve to be,” Dazai murmurs, one hand rubbing up and down his back, “He belongs behind bars.”

Chuuya tilts his head forward until his chin is resting against Dazai’s shoulder. He tries to focus on the soft cotton of Dazai’s shirt, the smell of his shampoo, the way his hands feel on Chuuya’s back. It doesn’t make the anxiety and the anger go away, but it helps.

“The sentence is going to be lower.” Chuuya mumbles. Dazai doesn’t speak at first, but they both know.

What could have been twenty years has now shrunk down to three to ten. Parole could come even sooner. Chuuya might still be in university by the time his father is a free man.When he thought about it before, he imagined dealing with the emotions that would come with it in his thirties, maybe even his forties. But this almost feels like a joke.

“Dazai?”

“Hmmm?”

“When you graduate…” Chuuya mumbles, his mouth brushing against the front of Dazai’s shirt, “are you coming back to Yokohama?”

Dazai raises an eyebrow.“To be honest with you, that depends on a lot of different factors.”

“Like what?”

“Well you,” he frowns when he feels Chuuya stiffen, “and before you even start, we would have been dating for over four years at that point. I’m allowed to plan my life around you a little."

“No, no—" Chuuya sighs, shaking his head, “I’m not upset about that—I just—I don’t think I’m gonna want to come back.”

He would rather put some space between himself and the bad memories. Preferably a few hundred miles.

“...” Dazai’s voice is gentle when he speaks again, “Where do you wanna go?”

Chuuya thinks about it. “Tokyo is practical, I guess—or maybe Osaka? I’m not—"

“If you could go anywhere.”

Chuuya raises an eyebrow. “...Anywhere?”

Dazai nods, rather serious, and Chuuya frowns, deep in thought. “I guess...Kouyou’s dad lives abroad,” Chuuya muses softly. “I always thought that would be nice.” He still remembers summers spent visiting Europe, how different her father was from his own...

They’re fond memories. “But realistically, Tokyo is a big place, so…”

Dazai doesn’t argue.

The next day, Chuuya can see every single line of his boyfriend’s face screaming in protest as they walk to the train station. “I’m gonna be there in February—it isn’t as long this time—"

But they both know that isn’t why Dazai looks so reluctant.

“No more secrets, okay?”Chuuya is reluctant at first, but Dazai tilts his chin up, forcing the redhead to look at him. “I promise I won’t freak out—I won’t do anything stupid. I just...need to know if you’re not okay.”

Chuuya nods, leaning into his touch. “...I can do that.”

Dazai hooks his finger under the choker sitting around Chuuya’s neck, pulling him up into a kiss.

And really, in the last six months they’ve perfected the art of kissing goodbye. It’s slow, intimate—and Chuuya knows to take his time with it now, taking in every single detail.“I love you, you know.”

Chuuya hums against his lips, his fingers twisting in Dazai’s hair.

Of course, he knows.

“I love you too.” It used to feel like such a monumental thing to say—and in just two weeks, it’s started to feel like the most natural thing in the world.

“Well, that’s a relief," Dazai snorts, “Otherwise I’d be worried about someone stealing you away from me while I’m gone.”

“You’re obnoxious.”

“What? It would be karma, if you think about it…”

When the train pulls away, February feels like a lifetime to get through.

The days feel so slow.

Chuuya is starting to feel like his entire life is just in pause. He’s waiting. On the trial. On getting to see Dazai again. On graduation. There are good /moments/. Baseball practices, movies with Gin and Higuchi, Skype dates with Dazai, which are chaotic, and occasionally feature Dazai’s roommate appearing in the background, causing Dazai to flail and clutch his laptop to his chest to ‘shield Chuuya from his hideousness’, which makes Chuuya think the Russian probably isn’t hideous at all.

“Chuuya?”

He pauses in the doorway, confused.Mori usually doesn’t make it back from the hospital in time for dinner—and he’s never home before Chuuya makes it back from school. “Hey—" he frowns, stepping in the doorway, slipping his shoes off and setting them aside. “Is everything okay?”

“Of course,” Mori rounds the corner, and he isn’t wearing his normal scrubs or his white coat, the way he normally does during a workday. “But we need to talk about something somewhat...important.”

Chuuya frowns, “Okay—? But—that makes it sound like something is definitely wrong—"

“There really isn’t—"Mori runs his fingers through his hair, “I know—look,” he gestures between himself and the high schooler. “I know that I’m not exactly your parent, but...I’m responsible for you. And you’ve been avoiding the topic, but we’re running out of time—"

“Time for what?” Chuuya blinks.

“To talk about your options,” Mori’s brow is pinched with worry. “I’m not going to tell you how to handle what’s going on with your parents—" Chuuya is resentful of the way he visibly cringes at the mention of them. “—but you need to make an informed decision,” Mori rubs the back of his neck, clearly as uncomfortable with bringing the topic up as Chuuya is with hearing it.

Chuuya’s brain is telling him that this isn’t a big deal, it’s a normal conversation—one that they need to have. His body isn’t doing that. It’s firing off every single alarm. “I—" Chuuya’s voice wavers, and he fights to find the edges of his nerve, to hold on tight until he finds the steel in his gut, “—don’t really think there’s much left for me to do.”

“Well—" Mori glances behind him, back towards the living room, “—I brought someone for you to talk to.”

Chuuya bites his lip, already exhausted with the idea. “I’ve already been going to therapy, okay? I don’t need—"

“He isn’t a therapist, Chuuya.”

He blinks slowly, “Then what...?”

“Chuuyaaaaa-nii!” A blonde blur of bows and frills appears from behind Mori, running over and leaping into Chuuya’s arms. He catches the girl, patting her hair as he stares over at Mori, completely baffled, “Elise-chan? I didn’t know you were visiting today—"

The middle schooler leans back with a pout, “It wasn’t the plan, but I’m staying with Uncle Yukichi! Dad needed him to come over for some reason—so I came along!” She clings tightly around Chuuya’s waist. “But they said you have to talk to Uncle Yukichi and I can’t even listen because it’s adult stuff—"

“It’s private, dear—" Mori explains, gently peeling Elise off, “you and Chuuya can spend time together later.” the young girl gives her father a distinctly annoyed look, shrugging away from him.

Mori’s eyes are strained.Chuuya has become closer to Elise since he started living here—mostly because Elise will talk to anyone but Mori.

“...he’s right,” Chuuya mutters, reaching out to pat her arm. “If you’re still around tomorrow, I could take you to the mall with some friends of mine.”

Elise looks /delighted/, “Really? Highschool kids?”

Chuuya nods, smiling a little, in spite of it all. “You remember Gin.”

“Yeah—" Elise bobs her head, “—she’s the—"

“They,” Chuuya corrects her gently, making Elise flush and quickly adjust,

“—sorry, they—they have the coolest clothes!”

“We can plan more in a little while, okay?”

“Okay!” She hums, leaning up to kiss Chuuya on the cheek before running back upstairs. She has a room of her own, one Mori is constantly fussing over—but she’s hardly ever in it.

When she’s out of the room, Chuuya looks at Mori, confused once again. “Why do you want me to talk to Fukuzawa? I’ve never even met him.”

Mori seems a little busy staring after his daughter, his shoulders slumped dejectedly, but then he turns his attentions back to Chuuya. “He’s going to give you advice on what your options are—how to move forward from here.”

Chuuya keeps on hearing that, over and over.His ‘options.’“I don’t think there are really options—" Chuuya mutters as Mori takes him down the hall, leading him by the arm. “—if I’ve learned anything in the last few months, no one really cares about what I want in this situation—"

“Chuuya—" Mori squeezes his arm, “—that isn’t true.”

Chuuya doesn’t have the chance to stay more before they step into the living room—and Fukuzawa Yukichi is...not what Chuuya expected.

He’s sitting in one of the armchairs by the fireplace, and he bows his head politely to Chuuya, but doesn’t get up to shake his hand.But when Chuuya notices the cane leaning against the chair, he doesn’t exactly take it personally.

He knows the man must be around Mori’s age, but the silver hue of his hair makes him look older—not to mention the lines around his eyes “I’ve heard a lot about you, Nakahara-kun.”

Chuuya makes a face and shakes his head, “Chuuya is fine by me, if you don’t care.”

“Chuuya, then.”

“I’ll give the two of you some privacy,” Mori mutters as Chuuya sits down. On his way out of the room, he pauses by Fukuzawa’s chair, and it doesn’t slip Chuuya’s notice when Mori’s fingers linger against the former lawyer’s arm for a moment longer than what’s probably necessary. “Thank you again, for doing this.”

The silver haired man shrugs, his expression gruff. “It’s the least I could do.”

With that, Mori leaves them.

“...Did he tell you why I’m here?” Chuuya shakes his head, but if Fukuzawa feels any awkwardness, he doesn’t show it. “He asked me to talk to you about—"

“—my options.” Chuuya finishes for him, somewhat flatly.

Fukuzawa raises an eyebrow. “Yes, I’m an attorney.”

Huh? Chuuya’s mind sneaks back to that day with Edogawa-sensei, mentioning…suing the school. “I—"

“I’m grateful that you came today, but...” Chuuya bites his lip. “That whole thing got so much attention, I had to transfer. I don’t want to make it worse by causing any trouble.”

“It’s your choice—but I want to be clear,” Fukuzawa has a way of staring him down. Chuuya isn’t sure if it’s intentional or not, but it makes him feel almost self-conscious. “The last thing you need to be concerned about is causing trouble for anyone.”

Chuuya lifts his head, tilting it to the side. “How do you figure?”

Fukuzawa considers his words before speaking again.“Do you know what a ‘duty of care’ is?”Chuuya shakes his head.“Well...” Fukuzawa sits back, “When you walk into a school building, you give up certain rights, don’t you?”

Chuuya frowns, trying to put together what he’s trying to say, but it all sounds…pretty alien. “...What do you mean?”

“You can’t come and go as you please. There are rules you’re supposed to follow”

“Well...” Chuuya blinks, “Yeah?”

“You’re required by law to attend, and when you do, they have a certain amount of control over you—and that creates a duty to keep you safe,” Fukuzawa explains carefully, stopping at points to make sure Chuuya is understanding.“And as I understand it, your school was involved with you being placed back at home. Is that true?”

Chuuya doesn’t like to think about it—remembering that day has never done anything good for him. “It is.”

Fukuzawa reaches for his briefcase. “I’m going to need you to walk me through how that transpired. Is it alright if I take notes?”

Chuuya stares, tapping his foot nervously as the man pulls out a voice recorder. “And—if I decide I don’t want to do anything about it—you aren’t going to tell anyone about this stuff?”

Fukuzawa nods seriously.“Anything you say stays between you and me. Regardless of what you decide to do.”

Chuuya is hesitant. Everything about this goes against what he’s been taught. He didn’t complain about things. He wasn’t the kind of kid to scream, ‘unfair’ just because things went sideways.

Growing up, he learned to associate perceived ‘toughness’ with approval. He didn’t cry when he got hurt. He didn’t show it when he got scared. And every time he failed to do that, it felt like a failure.Admitting that he’s still hurting feels like an admission of weakness.

But Fukuzawa doesn’t push. He doesn’t try to make him talk—and that gives Chuuya the space to realize rust saying it out loud doesn’t change anything—it doesn’t change who he is.

So, he starts talking. Slowly, haltingly, like he’s recalling a bad dream he’s almost forgotten.

The first time Fukuzawa stops him, holding up a single finger, it’s with a question Chuuya doesn’t expect, “It was a police officer in the room with you?”

Chuuya nods, somewhat hesitant. “Is that bad?”

Fukuzawa shakes his head, scribbling down that detail. “Who else was there?”

“The principal, and my parents—"

Fukuzawa’s pen halts again. “They were in the room the entire time?”

Chuuya nods, drumming his fingers against his thigh. He has to fight the urge to minimize it, to explain it wasn’t a big deal, that he could handle it.“Is that a problem?”

Fukuzawa simply gestures for him to keep going—and Chuuya does. He walks him through the rest of that day, expecting that to be the end of it.“How many days passed between your returning home and your hospitalization?”

“Uh...” Chuuya squints. “About a week, I guess—why?”

“Did anyone from school check in on you during that time?”

“...” Chuuya shakes his head.

“And did you sustain any injuries before that night?”

Chuuya bites the inside of his cheek, but he nods. “The doctors said I had two fractured ribs that probably came from before...”

“And you went to school with those injuries?”

Chuuya nods, resisting the urge to cradle his stomach at the memory.

“Did anyone ask you how things were going at home? If anything was going on?”

“No...”

“Do you remember doing anything abnormal? Something noticeable?”

It’s hard, looking back on it—the details are hard to keep track of. Chuuya can only think of one thing— “I couldn’t really keep up during gym without coughing—that was pretty strange, for me.”

“No one asked about it?”Chuuya shakes his head.“You weren’t sent to the nurse?”

Fukuzawa asks a few more questions, mostly along the same vein: if any effort was made to check on Chuuya’s wellbeing.

The answer each time is the same: “No.”

The lawyer sets down his pen. “Well—it’s a somewhat cut and dry case.”

Chuuya waits to hear the explanation, the words he’s become painfully accustomed to: ‘there’s nothing you can do.’

But that isn’t what the man says.

“The moment they put a police officer in the room, there was evidence from that they believed there was a possibility that your safety was at risk.”

...There was?

“From the moment they displayed that awareness, they had a duty to conduct a reasonable amount of care—that would have meant inquiring about your safety.”

Chuuya’s stomach twists with guilt, “They did, okay? I didn’t tell them anything—”

Fukuzawa shakes his head. “That would not have been possible for you to do with your parents in the room,” he explains softly. “No court would reasonably expect that if you.”

“So—you’re saying—"

“Legally, I’m telling you that it’s an act of negligence, but personally,” Fukuzawa sighs, “I think they let you down.”It’s an interesting way to phrase it—because up until this moment, it never seemed like anyone owed Chuuya anything, much less that he could have been failed in some way.“And when someone does that—it’s important to hold them accountable,” Fukuzawa continues, his tone soft.“Because when we don’t, they do it again.”

“I don’t think there’s anything else my dad could—" Chuuya starts, his mouth turning down at the corners.

“From what I understand, you fought back,” his chest is so tight all of the sudden,“and that the doctors credited that with saving your life.”

Chuuya’s eyes drift towards a particular spot on the floor, a small tear in the rug. “I still wouldn’t have made it, if it wasn’t for Captain Tachihara.”

“But—” Fukuzawa doesn’t reach out or try to touch him, but there’s a strength in his gaze that makes Chuuya feel embraced. “—you’re here, Chuuya. Because you fought back.”It reframes a shameful, terrifying moment as a triumph, and Chuuya doesn’t know what to make of it.“What about the next time a child in that school needs someone to step in?”

That hits Chuuya hard.

“What if they don’t fight back?”

Chuuya’s mind immediately flickers to Gin. Their parents didn’t seem to exactly mind when they came out, but…What if they had?

“You wouldn’t be causing anyone trouble.” Fukuzawa emphasizes.

“...So, you want me to sue them?”

“I want you to do what’s best for you.” Fukuzawa shrugs. “If that means letting this go, then fine—but that should be based off of what you want, not any concerns about making a scene.”

Chuuya nods slowly, trying to wrap his head around it. “Can I...think about it?”

Fukuzawa nods, setting his notebook aside. “You have plenty of time—you turn eighteen in a few months, correct?”Chuuya nods, struggling to swallow the onslaught of information.“After that, you have five years until the statute of limitations expires.”

It’s more time than he would have thought, but Mori made this conversation seem so urgent.

“Do you have any questions for me?”

Chuuya pauses.

Oh.

There is one other issue that’s slightly more immediate.

“Did—Mori explain how the prosecutor changed the charges against my Dad?” Fukuzawa nods.“...Do you know why?”

Fukuzawa shakes his head, “I can guess—" he leans forward, with what seems to be no small amount of effort, reaching for his cane. “—but I wouldn’t want to speculate before speaking to the prosecutor. “Would you be alright with me looking into it?”

Chuuya nods hesitantly, and Fukuzawa pushes himself to his feet, leaning heavily the cane, offering his free hand to Chuuya, who lurches forward to shake it. “Then I will.”

“I don’t," Chuuya swallows hard, “I don't have any money, I couldn’t—pay for—"

“Don’t worry about that,” he waves that statement off. “I’ve been out of practice for three years now—I’m just happy to be of use.”

He stays for the evening, arguing quietly in the corner with Mori over some book, while Elise insists on making Chuuya stay up and watch music videos from her favorite idol group, stretched out behind her while she giggles and fiddles around on his laptop, braiding her hair.

It reminds him of Sunday nights with Kouyou, back in middle school. Everything was a lot simpler, back then—but this isn’t so bad.

Overall—it’s a nice weekend.

When he makes it back from the mall that Sunday afternoon, having already dropped Elise back off with Fukuzawa, he finds Mori slumped over the kitchen table. His papers are scattered under his arms, a cup of tea half finished.

“...” Chuuya bites his lip, caught up for a moment. He wants to thank him, but—there never seems to be a good time.

Mori wakes up later with a futon thrown around his shoulders, one that hadn’t been there when fell asleep. His papers are carefully stacked next to him—his teacup washed and left in the bottom of sink.

And it’s nice.

Chapter Text

“Are you sure you don’t want me to just come down and ride back with you?”

Chuuya snorts. “I’m one year younger than you, I can ride the train by myself.”

“I know that! But what if you get bored?”

“I’ll bring a book.”

“What if you get motion sick?!”

“You aren’t using me to get out of your midterms, Dazai.”

He can practically hear his boyfriend pouting over the phone. “I could tell them my grandma died—"

“You are not gonna do that!”

“I’m honestly a little offended you don’t want the extra three hours with me!”

“Stop making me sound like the weird one!” Chuuya snaps, “Besides, you should consider yourself lucky Mori is letting me come up for the weekend by myself.”

“Why wouldn’t he let you?!”

“I dunno,” Chuuya hums, shoving his toiletries into his suitcase. “Pretty sure he thinks you’re a bad influence.”

“Me?!” Dazai huffs, annoyed. “I’m his NEPHEW, he’s supposed to love me unconditionally—"

Chuuya is biting back laughter. “He definitely loves you—but you did accidentally use airplay when he and Elise were in the living room, when you were showing me the—"

“You PROMISED you would never speak of that again!” Dazai wails, and Chuuya’s stomach hurts from holding back shrieks of laughter.

“I was vague about it, at least!”

“Still!” Dazai whines, “let’s not joke about the most traumatic moment of my entire life.”

“Including the—?”

“I know what I said, Chuuya.”

The redhead snorts fondly, rocking back on his heels. “Anyway, you’ll get to see me in a few hours, alright? Now go take your test.”

“...Fine,” Dazai sighs dramatically. “But I’m rewarding myself afterwards.”

Chuuya’s stomach does a backflip. “Well,” Chuuya clears his throat, double checking his suitcase to make sure he has everything, “that would be reasonable.”

“But really, I don’t know if I even wanna Chuuya, I’m so tired, and statistics is so stupid—"

“Dazai—"

“When am I ever gonna USE it—"

“You’re a finance major, you know." The younger teenager points out dryly,

“Sure, but I’m sure I could get by without it, okay? It’s so boring—"

Chuuya clears his throat, forcing his voice into a slightly higher pitch, “Osamu-kun.”   The other end of the line goes completely silent.“...Dazai, are you—?”

“I’m listening.”

Chuuya rolls his eyes at the way Dazai sounds completely rapt. But he still does the voice that Dazai always jokes about wanting him to do— “Do your best, okay?”

The silence that follows is even longer, and Chuuya is surprised by how serious and determined Dazai sounds.“I’ll destroy it.”

“What?!” Chuuya squawks, almost dropping the phone.

“The test, I’ll make them regret ever writing it. I’ll get every single answer.”

“—you’re an idiot—"

“—and make them wonder why they made it too easy. Then they’ll institute a curve, further crushing my opponents under my heel. Then, I’ll bring you the head of my opponent, proving my victory—"

“What the fuck?!”

“Well, not an actual head, probably just my class ranking, don’t freak out—"

Chuuya rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling so much it hurts . “Stop stalling.”

“Fine, fine,” Dazai groans, “but I am going to kill it.”

Chuuya’s smile is soft . “I know. I’ll see you after, okay?”

“Mmm...” His boyfriend huffs. “Love you.”

“I love you too, weirdo.”

Mori fusses over him one last time before he heads to the station. “You have everything?”

Chuuya nods, “Clothes, my ID, toiletries—"

“And your chargers?”

“ And my chargers.” Chuuya finishes confidently.

“And you’re on the four o’ clock train on Sunday, remember?”

Chuuya might have been annoyed by this a year ago—but now he’s grateful to have it. “I remember, Mori.”

“Good—one more thing,”Chuuya doesn’t know what he expected Mori to say… “I made Dazai get tested ages ago and it came out clear—but you should still use protection, just in case.”

—but it wasn’t that .

“We’re not—" Chuuya sputters, instantly maroon “—he has a roommate!”

“Have a safe trip!”

The train right really isn’t bad , and Chuuya did end up bringing a book. But as they drew closer and closer, well...

The book got less interesting.

He hasn’t exactly told Dazai that he’s been accepted to Kyoto yet, but when the city lights come into view…It doesn’t seem like a bad place to be.

His feet barely touch the train platform before he’s yanked into an embrace. “Hey,” he mumbles, pressing his face into Dazai’s jacket. “Did you kill it?”

Dazai’s voice is muffled by Chuuya’s hair, “There were no survivors.”

Chuuya breathes him in for just a second, barely able to keep one hand on his bag to stop it from rolling away. “Wait...” he pauses, tilting his chin up, “...did you get taller?!”

Dazai winces a little. “Just a couple of centimeters, really—"

Chuuya’s expression is grim.“How tall are you now, Dazai?”

He isn’t normally the type to be nervous , but Dazai seems reluctant to answer. “Like I said, it’s really not even that much—"

“You cracked 180, didn’t you?”Up until recently, Chuuya thought his growth spurt was coming. He really did.And he isn’t sensitive about his height, he’s really not .It’s just hard cramming so much talent into such a small container. That’s all it is. He isn’t bothered.

“...It’s 181, now.”Almost six fucking feet of unfairness.Chuuya has been 160 centimeters since he turned sixteen.“...Chib—" Dazai stops himself from using the nickname, realizing that would add salt to the wound right now. “Chuuya?”

“I’m happy for you.” Chuuya mumbles through clenched teeth.

Really, Dazai would be concerned—but he’s grown seven centimeters since they met, and he’s learned to let the emotions pass, because Chuuya doesn’t actually dislike Dazai’s height.It’s actually the opposite, but Dazai would never do his boyfriend the indignity or pointing it out— n ot right now, anyway.

“Well—you look nice,” Chuuya huffs. “But you’re done now, right?”

“How am I supposed to know that?” Dazai snorts, taking Chuuya’s bag and slinging it over his shoulder.

“You’re eighteen.” Chuuya mutters, grabbing his hand as they leave the station. “How many more growth spurts could you possibly have?!”

For Chuuya’s sake, Dazai hopes he’s done.“I hope so too—getting new pants was a pain, honestly.”

“Don’t patronize me.”

Dazai bobs his head seriously, “Got it.”

Kyoto is still a big city—but compared to the Yokohama-Tokyo area, there’s something almost lazy about it, an old-fashioned sort of charm.More than anything, it feels far away. Chuuya knows he’s a hypocrite, having Kyoto as his first choice after throwing a fit last year about Dazai not making Chuuya a factor in his college decision.

But he can’t really help it.

“Is your roommate home?”

Now Dazai is the one that looks grim. “I’m sure he is.”

“...” Chuuya looks up at him curiously, trying to decipher his expression. “I thought you two were getting along lately?”

Dazai shakes his head, “I’m sure that’s about to change.”

“Look, I get you two had a rough start, but…"

Any confusion around why Dazai has been acting so weird about Chuuya meeting Fyodor evaporates the second they make it in the door.

“Dazai, welcome back!”

He’s never gotten a welcome before.And this motherfucker actually took a shower and is wearing decent clothes. His hair is combed and pushed away from his face, he’s wearing a fitted, long sleeved shirt, and—

He looks good .

For a fucking snake .

His eyes turn to Chuuya, and he smiles in a way that Dazai would only admit was Charming if you were peeling off his toenails one by one.“You must be Chuuya-kun.” Dazai hawks at the familiarity, even more offended when Chuuya doesn’t correct him.And then Fyodor does the unthinkable.

He breaks rule number one: no touching.

He walks over, taking Chuuya by the shoulders, and kisses both of his cheeks.

No .

“It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”

Chuuya looks surprised, while Dazai is openly glaring, his mouth hanging open and his hands curled into fists.But, to Dazai’s utter horror (on Chuuya’s part, rage on Fyodor’s) Chuuya shrugs it off. “It’s nice to meet you too.”

“It’s Dosto—" Dazai cringes at how cute it is when Chuuya pauses, screwing up his faces as he struggles to pronounce the foreign name, “Dostoev—?”

“Please,” Fyodor takes one of Chuuya’s hands, squeezing it gently, making this stupid level of eye contact, “call me Fyodor.”

“Well—" Dazai uses his grip on the back of Chuuya’s shirt to tug him back—a mistake, because it makes Chuuya look like a kitten being dragged by the scruff of his neck—something Chuuya does not appreciate. “You’ve Met, and Chuuya and I should really be going to dinner—"

“Oh?”

“Can I come along? I haven’t eaten yet,” he asks innocently, clasping his hands behind his back.

Dazai’s hackles are up . “I’m sorry, Chuuya and I don’t feast on the souls of the innocent, it probably won’t meet your dietary requirements—"

  “Dazai.” Chuuya glares.“Don’t be an ass—" Dazai’s mouth is agape . How is Chuuya taking the freak’s side right now?!“—you can come with us, as long as you’re fine with Soba.”

“As a matter of fact,” Fyodor grins, reaching for his coat “it’s one of my favorites.”

It’s a nightmare. Dazai’s in hell .

His attitude doesn’t improve when they’re at the restaurant, and Chuuya is crying with laughter, wiping at his eyes as Fyodor finishes telling a story involving his brother, a KIA Sorento, and a bear . They’ve been living together since August, and he hasn’t told Dazai anything interesting about himself, other than the fact that his entrance exam score was exactly one point higher than Dazai’s.

Like a bitch .

“How is he alive?!” Chuuya wheezes, gulping down some water as he catches his breath.

“Oh, he got a pretty nasty head wound but mother likes to say it gave Ivan’s personality a little extra flair.”

Dazai wants to chime in with a funny story of his own, but he doesn’t have a brother and there aren’t any bears in Yokohama .

“Has it been hard for you, being so far from home?”

Fyodor’s smile fades.“Some days are easier than others,” he admits, “but I needed a change of scenery. And—I think it’s taught me independence.”

Dazai internally scoffs. If he needs a ‘Change of scenery’ then why does he never fucking leave the dorm room?! And how is he independent if Dazai is the one cleaning up his messed all the damn time?! That isn’t independent . But for some reason Chuuya seems to be eating it up. “I’m sure it’s hard—but it’s impressive.”

Dazai sneers.

Impressive .

They talk about music, movies, video games—really, it’s Dazai’s fault because he probably could have limited the conversation more, but he’s been sulking too much to interject.Really, it feels like the part in a teen movie where the rival is moving in on the main character’s girlfriend, but she’s too oblivious to notice. But Chuuya isn’t the oblivious type…

Dazai recalls what things were like before he was dating, and he feels a little doomed.

And Dazai doesn’t want to be in this movie. He’d rather be in Lord of the Rings or something, screaming at Chuuya to throw Fyodor into the fires of Mount Doom.

“Oh? Chuuya-kun—" Fyodor reaches over, “—you’ve got something on your—" his hand stops in midair, and he swears when a shoe collides with his shin under the table.

Hard .

“So sorry, Fyo-dor~” Dazai smiles sweetly, “—muscle spasm.”

Violet eyes narrow.

A battle has begun.

Dazai leans over, slinging an arm around Chuuya’s shoulders and turning his face so he can look at him. “And what do you know—" Dazai leans in, licking a stray drop of sauce from the corner of Chuuya’s mouth. “You do have something on your face.”

Chuuya looks mortified . “Dazai, what the fuck —!” He hisses, pushing Dazai’s face away. “We’re in a restaurant—"

“Sorry!” Dazai hums, licking his lips. “It tastes better on you, though.”

Well, he may have won a small battle, but after that, he’s in trouble .

Chuuya starts ignoring him.

And really, for the first ten or fifteen minutes, Dazai takes his exile with grace.But by the end of dinner, he’s openly sulking and contemplating whether or not he can shove Fyodor into traffic on the walk home.

He really wishes he could have just put up with the rats .

Chuuya finally acknowledges his existence again when they’re heading back, and Fyodor trails behind them to take a phone call. “What is with you today?!”

“What’s with me?!” Dazai hisses. “He kissed you—"

“On the cheek . Isn’t that normal in Russia?”

“We aren’t in Russia . He knows that was crossing a line—we even had rules—"

“Rules?!”

“Don’t get caught up in the details—" Dazai waves that off. “You see what he’s doing, right?!”

 Chuuya blinks. “Well. He’s hitting on me, right?”

Dazai’s jaw drops. “ You knew?!”

Chuuya tilts his head to the side, “I mean—sure. But he’s obviously doing it to piss you off. You’re just helping him out by falling for it.”

Dazai is affronted , “That’s not—!”

“And really, I shouldn’t be surprised, you got jealous over Ryuu.”

His past choices keep coming back to haunt him.

“That doesn’t mean he isn’t serious, Chuuya,” Dazai mutters, crossing his arms over his chest, “you don’t get what that bastard is capable of.”

“Dazai," Chuuya snorts, “he’s your roommate, not a super villain.”Dazai isn’t so sure.“Actually—I like him.”

Dazai chokes on his own spit. “What?!”

“Really—have you ever even spoken to the guy?” Chuuya raises an eyebrow. “Because you have a lot in common.”

Dazai looks mortally insulted, “We do not!"

“Really, if you took your head out of your ass, I think you’d be friends.”

Dazai would honestly rather go on a girl’s trip to Las Vegas with Yuan.Really, if it wasn’t for the fact that she tried to pressure Chuuya into sex, Dazai would want to send her a lengthy apology letter right now.“After this weekend, I’m never letting you two in the same vicinity ever again—"

“Might not be able to avoid that one,” Chuuya mutters under his breath, and Dazai pauses.