Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Dazai, as should come as no surprise, was the middle child—and as such, had very little expectation for his own advancement. Born to a lord, yes—a high one—but with an older brother who would surely present as an alpha, Dazai was left with one task: to be the back up heir.  Not a particularly stressful existence—and that suited him just fine. It left him free to his own studies, with very little pressure, especially as a child—

He was simply given one obligation: to marry a well-bred omega, and to expand their family’s influence through such a match.

Which was how he ended up forced into expensive robes, holding his father’s hand as he was dragged in front of a crib, staring down at a pinched, flushed little face—wrinkling his nose with distaste.

“What’s that?”

Mori smiles apologetically, squeezing his fingers tightly. “Excuse him, he’s—going through a phase.”

Fukuzawa kneels beside him, placing one hand on his shoulder, pointing to the little creature, “That, is your future mate.”

Dazai is only 6, but he’s old enough to understand that’s what his parents are, and—

“It can’t even talk.”

“Yes, well, babies grow,” Mori mutters, clearly irritated as he looks over to Lady Nakahara apologetically, and she just smiles.

“It won’t be until you’re much older, he’ll be talking plenty by then,” she has a kind face, and beautiful, long red hair—Dazai doesn’t think he’d mind being betrothed to the little gremlin in the crib; if it looked a little bit more like her. “His name is Chuuya.”

His eyes slowly drift back down to the crib, and...

Dazai supposes, as far as babies go, Chuuya isn’t the ugliest one that he’s ever seen. There are small tufts of red hair, peeking out from under his blankets—and big blue eyes, and those actually aren’t ugly at all.

“...” Dazai creeps a little closer, wrapping his fingers around the bars of the crib as he gets a better look, his head tilting to the side. “...He’s gonna be mine?” Dazai asks slowly, because that’s how everyone always talks about it.

Mori makes a face, but Lord Nakahara nods, approving. “Yes, lad.” His hand rests on top of Dazai’s head—and Fukuzawa has always been a little bit more relaxed than other alphas—so he allows the Lord to get a little closer to their son than Mori would like, but—

It’s not up to him, is it?

His older sister, Kouyou—she had already been promised to Dazai’s elder brother, Odasaku. And both marriages would be likely to help end the mounting tensions between the north, and the south.

For that, Mori can tolerate the posturing.

He kneels down beside Dazai, who leans into the omega, holding his arms out expectantly, and Mori does pick him up, because he can’t help but dote on the little boy,

“You two are going to make this country a better place,” the raven haired man explains, and Dazai can’t really grasp how he’s supposed to do that but—

But he doesn’t hate the idea. It doesn’t seem that hard.

The betrothal is sealed with a gift—a small box that Dazai presents awkwardly, and Lady 

Nakahara accepts with a gracious smile.

“Say goodbye, love—you won’t be seeing him again for quite a while.”

Dazai doesn’t understand the point. He doesn’t remember being a baby, so Chuuya definitely isn’t gonna remember, but fine.

He reaches into the crib, giving the infant a small, delicate little Pat on the arm (because he’s 6, he doesn’t know how to say goodbye to a baby), and when he pulls his arm back, a tiny little hand wraps around one of his fingers, holding on with a surprising amount of strength.

Dazai pauses, staring down into big blue eyes, and—

And the little thing is smiling up at him—as Chuuya seems to have awoken from his nap, and in a good mood, no less.

A soft giggle echoes from the crib, and even Mori, who was the most apprehensive about this visit, can’t help but soften.

Dazai doesn’t make the explicit decision to smile back, but he does, letting the little thing hold onto his finger a little longer.

“Hi,” he mumbles, leaning closer, “I’m Osamu.” He thinks it over, “I’m not supposed to let anyone call me that, but we’re gonna get married, so I guess it’s fine.” 

He gets incoherent babbling and giggles in return, which is fine. “Yeah, I know, you can’t talk, but that’s okay. Once you know how to do that, you’re gonna come live with me,” He explains, like Chuuya can understand, or even remember, but—

The logic of 6 year old’s. 

“And then I’ll take care of you,” he explains, like it’s obvious. “Just get bigger, okay?” He pulls his hand out of Chuuya’s grip, giving his nose the lightest little poke, and Lady Nakahara winces, because their son usually hates that, but—

But Chuuya just smiles, cooing. 

Mori picks Dazai up again, and the little boy offers one final wave over his mother’s shoulder before they leave the Nakahara estate, “Bye bye, chibi.”

Honestly, both parents thought for a first meeting, it went very well.

Which, given how the next 17 years would unfold, was so ironic.

No one ever really told Chuuya that he was engaged to begin with, and he knew he was treated differently from the other children, just like ane-san, but...

It wasn’t until he was seven, that he came to understand the situation.

With the mounting tensions between local feudal regions, it wasn’t often that they received visitors at the estate, and with his parents away so often at court, Chuuya was left with the tutors, and...

Carefully sheltered.

Locked behind castle gates, unable to so much as mingle with the other children from the nearby villages.

Of course, he was still a terror, and an exhausting one.

“Chuuya Nakahara!” His governess is incensed, shouting at him from the castle steps, “What are you doing?!”

The little boy flips over, hanging upside down by his legs from a low lying tree branch. “I was helping—"

(A baby bird had fallen from its nest, and they have too many cats prowling the grounds, he had to do something.)

“Get down from there right now!”

“...Okay!”

Her scream echoes throughout the castle when the little boy falls on purpose.

“Why,” his mother sighs later, exhausted as she helps one of the nurses patch up the scrapes on his hands and legs, “Did you do that?”

“She told me to get down that instant, Mama,” Chuuya explains, wide eyed and innocent. “So, I let go.”

“...” The noblewoman stares at him with narrowed eyes, only to get a petulant look in return, and she heaves another exhausted sigh. “I suppose we’re just lucky that you didn’t seriously hurt yourself. Or visibly.”

“I guess,” Chuuya shrugs, uncaring. “Can I go play, now?”

“No.”

“Why not?!” 

“Because,” her voice is stern, “we have very important guests coming tonight.”

Chuuya seems eager at the mention of that, because they never get visitors, and he hasn’t met a new person in two years. “Who? Are there gonna be other kids? Can I play—?”

“They have a son, two years younger than you.”

What. So like, a five year old? A little kid? Well, that’s better than nothing—

“But you aren’t going to have time to play, Chuuya, this is important.”

“...” He sits back, crossing his arms over his chest. “Why?”

“Because,” his mother normally adores his spirited personality, but right now; she wishes the gods had given her obedient children, “Lord Fukuzawa and his sons are coming, and you are going to be expected to impress them.”

Impress? Chuuya doesn’t have to try to be impressive. He just is.

“Why?”

He’s in a why phase. Why. Why. Why. Why. Why, it drives her crazy—

“Because one of them is going to be your husband.”

And, apparently, everyone forgot that the only person who didn’t know about this, was the little boy who was engaged.

“...WHAT?!”

It’s a big tantrum. A huge one. There’s even a bargaining phase, where Chuuya tells his mother he’d be willing to marry his horse instead.

(She doesn’t accept, and Chuuya calls her a monster.)

“You know,” Kouyou comments next to his ear later, “It could be worse.”

Chuuya scowls, because he can’t imagine it.

They’re huddled together on the upper balcony, watching the guests arrive in the great hall. Technically they aren’t allowed to watch at all, but Chuuya was painfully curious, and his older sister is an enabler.

“Why am I not allowed to meet him?” Chuuya whispers, annoyed.

“Because he’s already presented,” Kouyou explains, “it would damage your reputation.”

“Presented?” The redhead mumbles, peering at the entourage. “How old is he?”

“My age,” so, thirteen, “and he’s already an alpha.”

“That’s early, right?”

“Mmhm,” Kouyou hums, “you’re lucky—they say the ones that present early are really strong.”

“Why does that matter?” Chuuya blinks. “It’s not like he’s gonna be lifting stuff for me or something. He has servants.”

Kouyou rolls her eyes, looking back down. “You’re such a baby.”

Chuuya flushes, poking her arm, “Am not!”

She shushes him, “If you act like a little beast, I won’t tell you which one he is.”

That shuts him up quickly, and she smiles. “...The one with the dark hair, just there—" he follows the line from her finger, down to the great hall below, and—

They’re thirty feet away, but Chuuya can see him. A gangly teenager, but tall for 13.

Chuuya has heard, in some vague way, that having a tall husband is a good thing.

Sharp features, thick, wavy hair with a slight wildness to it, mahogany strands sticking out in multiple directions—and Chuuya can’t really see his eyes, not from so far away, but he looks...

...The redhead shrinks a little, pressing closer to his sister’s side.

Kind of intimidating.

If Kouyou notices his nerves, she doesn’t say anything. “See that one, there, with the auburn hair? That’s his older brother, Sakunosuke—he’s going to be mine.”

Chuuya glances from one, to the other—and Odasaku is a little easier to look at. There’s something softer about him, a kindness in the set of his mouth, and he just looks like a decent person. “You’ve met him before?”

She nods, “Neither of us have presented yet, so we’re still allowed. You know, they say if there’s a war, he might be king one day.”

Chuuya’s frown deepens as he holds onto her sleeve, his voice tinged with anxiety. “But if there’s a war, Papa would have to fight, wouldn’t he?”

As one of the highest ranking generals in the royal court, that much is presumed.

“And?” Kouyou shrugs, “he’s the best swordsman in the country. Nothing bad would happen to him—or us.”

Well, that is true.

“Does that mean you would be queen?”

“Yes,” his sister smiles dreamily, “And you would attend me, and no one would be able to tell us what to do—well, except for Sakunosuke.”

“He doesn’t look very bossy,” Chuuya offers helpfully.

“No,” Kouyou smiles, proud of her fiancé, even if marriage is a long way off, “he isn’t.”

Well, that does sound really nice. They could climb trees, play with whomever they wanted, and Chuuya could eat all of the red bean buns he could stomach, instead of being stopped after three every time. It’s cruel and unusual.

The first few days of their visit are pleasant. The younger boy, Ryuunosuke, is a little shy and sickly, but he’s not bad at hide and go seek.

Of course, Kouyou doesn’t have to try hard to impress Mori, demonstrating her dancing, how masterful she’s become with tea ceremonies, and her skill with flower arrangements.

Chuuya...

Mori will be the first to admit, he’s an alarmingly beautiful little boy, and very likely to be one of the most handsome omegas of his generation, but—

But he’s hyperactive, irritable, and disinterested in impressing anyone. It’s only after his mother gives him an extremely stern lecture that he makes an effort, and...

His dancing is graceful, but clearly unpracticed—his tea ceremony is...

Well, almost comically bad, and when he tries to arrange flowers, he just gets frustrated and ends up putting them in his hair instead, insisting that they look prettier that way.

And they do, but that wasn’t the assignment.

The only area where he does excel is in academics, particularly in languages and literature, but—for a child that is expected to present as an omega, those skills aren’t exactly sought after.

Mori just admit, however, that he is impressed that a small child can appreciate poetic meter—particularly when Sakunosuke could barely read at all at Chuuya’s age, but—

It’s still a useless skill for the mate of a future nobleman.

The only positive side he finds in all of this is—maybe, the little boy might be intelligent enough to keep up with Osamu.

Maybe.

Chuuya would only have one real conversation with his future husband in the years before their eventual wedding, and it happened on the same visit. 

Running through castle walls on the count of ten, feet smacking against tatami mats as he skids across the floors, dashing through parlors and sitting rooms, trying to find the perfect hiding spot, and—

And one of the rooms he enters isn't empty.

Someone is sitting at the writing desk in the corner, a cup of tea sitting next to his hand, and a book in hand.

Chuuya stares at first, rooted in place, his breath caught in his throat as he takes the older boy in, the messy dark hair, the long fingers, wrapped around his teacup, the curve of his jaw. 

Dazai Osamu was intimidating from thirty feet away, but now, five feet from him? He's—

He starts to look up, and Chuuya might not be well behaved, but he has been brought up properly, and he knows how he's supposed to act around a higher ranking alpha (even if he absolutely is not allowed to be alone with one, and if his mother knew about this, she would faint.)

He spins around on his heels before the teenager can actually see his face, sinking down to his knees, hands balled up in his lap as he tries to catch his breath.

Dazai has felt a pair of eyes watching him for the past few days—and he never really had to guess who they belonged to, but now that he sees a mop of wavy red hair in front of him, facing away, he remembers...

Ah.

"There's the little bird that I've heard flapping around the rafters all week," he murmurs, rising from his seat. "You're a loud one, aren't you?"

Chuuya doesn't know how he feels about the young alpha's voice. It's smooth, just starting to become deep, as he starts puberty—but it's also arrogant and smug, putting the young boy's teeth on edge.

"I didn't know you were in here," he mumbles, not even bothering to attempt with an introduction, which Dazai finds a little funny.

Chuuya's voice isn't particularly special to him then, just that of a child--but the attitude, the young alpha finds that interesting. "I can see that, chibi."

Chuuya makes a face, but he doesn't move, because he isn't allowed, not until Dazai dismisses him. (Funny how he's following the rules now, even though he's already breaking an important one.)

"...What are you doing by yourself in here, anyway?" Chuuya mumbles, and Dazai stops, standing behind him.

"Writing letters."

"To who?" The redhead finds it odd, because he isn't that old, he isn't a grown up, he doesn't have people to be writing to.

"A friend." The vagueness makes his shoulders hunch irritably. "Why?"

"...You've never written to me." Chuuya grumbles. He didn't even know Dazai existed until three days before.

"Why would I?" The other boy asks, oblivious to the fact that he's sending his fiancé into a tiny internal fit of distress. "I don't know you." 

"Because we're gonna get married." Chuuya mumbles, dipping his chin even lower.

"Not for a long time."

"Ane-san talks to your brother all the time."

"Yes, well, I'm not my brother."

"I know."

Oh. Dazai doesn't mean to scowl, but there's something about that he doesn't like. "What would I write to you about?"

"..." Chuuya thinks about it, "...You could tell me what your favorite food is," he offers, and there's something so harmless about it, it throws Dazai off. "What kind of books you like."

"...Steamed crab."

"Huh?" 

"That's my favorite." Dazai sighs, lifting his chin, "And yours?"

Chuuya fiddles with his hands in his lap, his heart beating a little faster with excitement, "Red bean buns."

"There," Dazai murmurs, "we know something about each other."

The redhead smiles a little, pleased. 

“Now—”

“I like camellias.”

Dazai pauses, not having expected that interruption. “What?”

“Red ones.” Chuuya explains, picking at the hem of his sleeve, “Now you know two things about me.”

“...” Dazai can’t help but smile, just a little. “I suppose I do.”

Chuuya jumps, not expecting the alpha's voice to come from so close behind him, and then there's a hand, coming down to rest on top of his head.

"Fly away now, little bird." A voice murmurs next to his ear—and Chuuya can hear other voices, echoing from down the hall. "I don't want to get you in trouble."

Chuuya nods, free to rise to his feet, and he wants to turn around, even if it's not allowed, but he doesn't.

"You'll write to me?"

There's a soft little push against his shoulders, "Sometime, now go.”

He scampers off, and Dazai watches the little redhead go, his head tilted to the side.

He doesn't really want to get married—typically, he finds other omegas his age irritating and vapid, but...and he offers this comment tentatively, because Chuuya is still a child, and will likely change—

Dazai doesn't mind him. 

Their visit only lasts three more days—and Chuuya doesn't see or speak to his future mate again. Their first meeting would be considered inappropriate, and even though their parents don't know, they're very careful to keep the two separated.

Chuuya does get to spend time with Dazai's brothers (weird, now, to think that one day, they'll be his brothers too), and finds that he very much likes them both.

Ryuunosuke is a little timid, yes, but sweet, following him around like a little duckling, and Sakunosuke—who said that Chuuya is allowed to call him Odasaku—is very kind, gentle, and tolerant of Chuuya's endless questions.

(Chuuya can't help but think that it's very exciting, that he gets to call someone who might be a king one day a nickname.)

He doesn't want them to leave—mostly because it was so nice, having other people around the estate.

(But he also knows, with them gone, he won't get the chance to see Dazai again.)

"Excuse me," an attendant comes to him just before they leave, pressing something into Chuuya's hand, "the young lord wanted you to have this."

The boy looks down, unfolding his fingers to see a camellia blossom sitting in his palm, red petals the same shade as his hair, and—

And he doesn't think that he's ever smiled so much.

There aren't any more tantrums about him having to marry Dazai Osamu, not for the next few months.

He sets the blossom on his vanity, near his bed, looking at it every morning and night--pressing the petals between the pages of his favorite poems as they fall, because he thinks that it's important.

It's the first gift his fiancé has ever given him, after all.

(Or, better said, the first gift Dazai has given him that Chuuya knows about.)

The first letter he receives from the alpha is not a happy one.

He's eight years old, and the entire castle has been in a state for weeks, because ane-san has finally presented—

But not as an omega.

Chuuya doesn't understand, at first, the angry, desperate sobs that echo from her room, how she couldn't be consoled, not by either of their parents. Being an alpha is a good thing, isn't it? That's what everyone wants to be.

It was a shock to the family.

Of course, predicting how a child will present is not a science, but bloodlines can be predicted fairly well, and in Chuuya's mother's family, omegas are more common than alphas.

And given Kouyou's beauty, it was simply assumed—

But now, everything, including their alliance with the clan to the north, which was dependent on Kensuke Nakahara matching his children with Lord Fukuzawa's. And the more important match, of course, is with Fukuzawa's first child.

Chuuya kneels next to his sister, holding her hand tightly—and Kouyou can't even bring herself to look at him.

"Sire," one of their advisors murmurs from beside the throne, "if the boy doesn't present as an omega—"

The lord holds up a hand, silencing him. "We don't have much of a choice, do we?"

Chuuya's mother is pregnant again, but no one wants to let the political balance of the entire country hang in the balance for another thirteen years at the very least, not with the possibility of war so close on the horizon.

With Chuuya, they'll likely know what he is in four years or less, and with his size, along with his delicate features...

People are fairly sure that he will present as an omega, even if Kouyou's presentation has shaken them.

"Then..." Kensuke sighs, signing the papers from Lord Fukuzawa, "I suppose it's settled."

"..." Chuuya sees the way Kouyou's eyes flash with pain, and he glances back and forth between her and his father, confused. "I don't—"

"You'll be marrying Sakunosuke," Kensuke explains, handing the papers back over, "and we'll be finding a new, more suitable match for your sister."

"..." Chuuya doesn't know how to feel, at first. He hates seeing Kouyou so upset, because she and Odasaku had been such good friends, but...

If she's an alpha, and Odasaku is obviously going to present as one too...it never would have worked, right? At least this way, the two can still see each other. And Odasaku was so kind to him, Chuuya doesn't think that marrying the future lord would be such a bad thing, right?

And if he does end up being a king, then Chuuya would be his queen, and he and Kouyou could still boss everyone around, play all day, and eat red bean—

His sister yanks her hand out of his, rising to her feet as she runs from the room, her sobs echoing down the halls, and Chuuya...is forced to watch.

...buns.

His betrothal gift from his new fiancé arrives three days later, and Chuuya feels a little awkward, sitting in the throne room, opening the box while every single adult in his clan looks on, watching the little boy eagerly.

He lifts the earrings from the box, holding them close to his face for inspection. They're pretty, jade and sapphire, with a small, floral design, and he's never been given anything so fancy, his mother doesn't let him wear any of their more expensive jewels, worried what he would break them—

(Which is fair, he absolutely would.)

"...These are for me?" He asks slowly, shrinking guiltily under Kouyou's stare, and his mother nods, stroking his hair.

"Yes, love—he picked them out just for you.”

"Dazai never gave me anything like this," he mumbles, not looking away from the jewels.

Kensuke frowns, "Well—he did, when you were a baby—but we were going to wait and give it to you when you presented. I suppose we ought to send it back now—"

"No!" Chuuya mutters, setting down the earrings and pushing them away, making several of his father's advisors gasp in distaste. "It's mine!"

"Chuuya," his mother scolds him, her hands tightening on his shoulders, "there is no need for that kind of behavior—"

"He gave it to me," Chuuya mumbles, and his father is exasperated.

"Darling, he was a child himself, his parents gave it to you, really—"

"He didn't ask me to give it back." The boy protests, but it goes unheeded.

The gift is returned, before he ever even gets the chance to open it--and his parents can't fathom why the little boy sulks, shutting himself in his room for the rest of the evening, curled up in his bed—he has one of his books in his arms, but he never opens it up to read it.

(They don't know, of course, about the camellia flowers pressed between the pages.)

A letter came with Odasaku's gift, and his parents passed it along, assuming it came from Chuuya's new fiancé—

But it didn't.

Chuuya lays in his bed that morning, staring at the sloping, unfamiliar handwriting, and... 

Little bird,

He smiles, running his fingertips over the paper.

 I'm sure you probably aren't nervous—Odasaku is much better at first impressions than me. But if you are, don't be.

Chuuya rolls over, summer rays of sunshine streaming in through his window.

I can say without resentment that he's better than me in every way—and you'll be very lucky, to have him as a husband. You'll be very happy, and if you ever need for something—write to him. He's far too soft, he'll give it to you.

Chuuya supposes that he's right, and upon reflection, it seems silly, that he's so sad.

 Always yours,

It's a common sign off, if not a little affectionate—and Chuuya knows, that's probably just how the young lord was taught to sign his letters, but—

Always yours, Dazai Osamu.

Chuuya doesn't often wear the earrings Odasaku sent. Only on special occasions—otherwise, they sit and gather dust in his mother's armoire.

But Dazai's letter sits in a small box next to his bed, tucked away beneath pressed and dried petals, to be read whenever it strikes the boy's fancy.

The engagement rings with finality one year later, when news is sent to all of the clans in the country that Odasaku has presented as an alpha—and Chuuya watches with quiet heartache as his sister's eyes darken with pain once more.

Dazai doesn't write to him again, but Chuuya and Odasaku correspond regularly, a slow friendship forming.

Chuuya does like him, he is funny, in a quiet, simple kind of way—and his replies are always so thoughtful, and—

And they make Chuuya feel important, which, to a ten year old who has never once set foot outside of his estate, matters.

He even tries what Dazai suggested, mentioning in one letter that his mare was getting on in the years, and that his father would have to get him a new one soon—

And, before the week was even out, a new colt was in their stables, with a shining, well oiled saddle—European, which must have been rare, and expensive to find.

Chuuya doesn't mind him. The portraits he receives on his birthday show a strong, handsome teenager—eighteen, now, and he'll be twenty-six when they get married, a fully-fledged adult, which is strange for Chuuya to think, since he's only ten now.

Not a bad age gap, either—his cousin just came of age, and she had to marry an alpha from Kansai, in his forties.

But he does wonder about Dazai. If he's gotten taller now, and if that dark hair is still as unkempt, curling at wild angles.

Always yours.

He feels a little guilty, reading Odasaku's letters, knowing that he never...

Well, that doesn't matter.

Before very long at all, none of it does.

Chapter Text

Chuuya was only a child when the war broke out, and to him, it all seemed very sudden—and surprising, when he heard that the uprising against the king was being assisted by Lord Fukuzawa, who had been one of his staunchest supporters.

And, that as of that moment, Chuuya's engagement was broken again—because the Mori Clan was now considered to be their enemies.

No more letters, no more flowers, no more promises or gifts.

And, the castle was no longer empty. Soldiers were constantly trampling through the halls, and Kouyou, Chuuya's only childhood playmate, was taken away for combat training, and he...

Was left to the tutors, and the governesses. To kiss his father goodbye, when he left to fight in a conflict the child didn't truly understand—and to be reassured that he would return.

His mother's health never quite recovered after giving birth to his younger sister—but they weren't expecting it, when the sickness came.

It swept through the castle like a wildfire, taking half of the servants in the first week—and before they had time to retreat to the hunting lodges, where it might be easier to hide from the plague—

Lady Nakahara and her son were both bedridden, and all Kouyou could do was watch, writing to her father desperately, but getting to the front lines at a time like that wasn't easy.

The fever took his mother quickly, snuffing the breath from her like a candle being doused, but Chuuya wrestled with it for weeks, soft, horrifyingly weak breaths echoing in Kouyou's ears each night as she sat by his bedside, clinging to his hand.

"Stay with me," Chuuya would remember faintly, through a painful haze, her voice. "Please, love—stay with us."

By the third week, their doctors informed Kouyou—and their father, via letter—that there was nothing more they could do, other than making the boy comfortable.

Chuuya remembered almost none of it, later—only the fire that consumed his body—hearing the pained sobs of his family members as they tried to say goodbye, and then, seemingly out of nowhere, a doctor arrived during the night—and Kouyou was far too hopeless, too desperate, to turn him away.

A man named Yosano, a scholar from the capitol, one who had studied abroad for many years—and whatever was in the concoction he fed to the boy—it worked, because that morning, for the first time in weeks, he opens his eyes.

To find a young, raven haired omega wiping the sweat from his forehead—the doctor's daughter—and his sister on his other side, her eyes swollen and red from many nights spent weeping over him.

He lived—only to find out that his mother, and his infant sister, had not, leaving his survival to be met with a mixture of joy, and sorrow.

And, as his mother's mate—Chuuya's father never truly recovered.

It was considered one of the great tragedies of their time.

The battle of Misaka Pass is not remembered only as the day that one of the greatest warriors of their time, Kensuke Nakahara, was felled in battle—but also as the day that the hope of the next generation, Oda Sakunosuke, was struck down.

Everyone seemed so focused on comforting Chuuya after that—which he hated, because yes, he was sad for Odasaku’s death, but—

But it wasn’t the same pain that his sister felt, not by any stretch of the word.

Not that she would allow him to give her much comfort.

As the new lord of their clan—and Chuuya's new guardian, their relationship...

"I—what?”

...shifted.

"Darling," Kouyou sighs, barely looking up from the papers spread before her in their war room, surrounded by advisors, "please don't act like this is a punishment." 

"You can't—" the younger Nakahara pleads, his eyes wide and petrified, "You can't do this ane-san, please—"

Her eyes are pained when he grabs her hand, but her voice is firm, "It's a wonderful opportunity, you'll receive a world class education, and you'll be safe."

There's still a war raging, after all—and the monarchy has been on the retreat since their father's death. Sending Chuuya away—it might be painful, but it's also for the best. But Chuuya is eleven, he has witnessed the burials of two parents in one year, and he doesn't understand.

"But—But I need you," he mumbles, tears painting his cheeks, and she can't even look at him. "I don't want to go, I don't know them—"

"Lord Rimbaud was a dear friend of our father, and an ambassador to the king's court for 15 years—” Kouyou explains, "and his alpha is a duke, back in France, you'll be in very good hands."

"Yes, but I don't know them," Chuuya pleads, "I-I can learn how to look after myself, I won't be any trouble—and I'm not a threat to anyone—"

"Chuuya, love—" Kouyou sighs, her eyebrows knitting together, "—this is about your safety, do you understand that?" She finally turns away from her papers, cupping his face in her hands. "I cannot lose you too."

"...But you are," Chuuya croaks, eyes swollen, "you're sending me away—"

Lips press against his forehead. "For now," she murmurs, pulling him in, holding him close. The first time anyone has held him, since they buried his father. "And when this is over, I will send for you, do you understand?"

"..." Chuuya doesn't, and he doesn't want to go to the other side of the world, to a country he's barely heard of, with two people he's never met. He wants to stay with her, wants to help, but—

But he's just a child. All he can do is...

What he's told.

"She's waiting for you to present, you know," Akiko explains to him that night, as the servants pack his things into chests.

"What," Chuuya mumbles, glaring as he watches his robes end up carefully folded, pressed between layers of fabric, to help them keep on the ship, "do you think people would try to push her out, if I was an alpha?"

She's impressed that a boy so young would make such an astute political observation—clearly, his tutoring didn't go to waste—but she shakes her head. "No—she's taken firm control of the family, another alpha wouldn't be a threat." Especially not when she's about to be mated. "The sickness that took your mother—it impacted omegas, more than alphas." She explains slowly, sitting back on her hands. "Most of the nobility that survived--their children are all presenting as alphas. Meaning..."

That there's a deficit.

That's why the daughter of a court physician like Yosano was able to secure a betrothal to a high ranking, powerful noble like Chuuya's older sister. They'll be mated at the end of the year, once Yosano turns eighteen. And if Chuuya does present as an omega, he's suddenly...a very important political asset to his family. One of the most valuable marriages in the country. And in a time when they're torn by war—marriages are very important, the only alliance that anyone would consider iron clad, these days.

"So, if you present as an alpha, I'm sure she'll bring you back."

And that, at least, gives Chuuya something to look forward to. Something to hope for.

There's only one box that he refuses to let the other servants touch—one filled with letters, flower petals, earrings, and conflicting emotions.

He holds his sister for too long when they say goodbye, because he finds himself forgetting his mother's face now, as time goes by—and he's so afraid that one day, he'll return home to a stranger.

Arthur Rimbaud and Paul Verlaine are strangers to him, but they aren't cruel. Of course, Arthur is more patient with a frightened, grieving child than his alpha is—that's simply part of his nature—but Chuuya never feels unsafe with them. Or, well, not because of them.

He still trembles when storms rock their ship at night, clinging to the side of his bunk as the room sways, the lantern next to his face swinging violently with every jerk of the waves. He never liked the sea very much—and every time he sees water swish in under the door from the hallway, he becomes convinced that he's about to drown.

But he doesn't, somehow, and on the nights that feel the loneliest, he holds a letter in his hands, confused, because he doesn't know why it comforts him, but—

Always yours.

After two months by ship, carriage, and horseback, they arrive in Paris—and Chuuya is welcomed among high society as a strange, pretty little oddity.

His patrons had agreed to look after him out of kindness, yes, and a desire to maintain good relations between Japan, and the kingdom of France, but—

Chuuya could not have felt more alien in that environment, and he was expected to adapt. It was miserable at first, learning a new language—several new languages. Cards, (he had only ever known shogi, before), the harpsichord, court dances—first the Minuet, then the Gavotte, the Forlane, and the Allemande. And the bizarre table manners, the strange utensils, and the horribly constricting clothing, so tight and hot, he feels half strangled the first time he's wrangled into breeches and stockings.

But, for the first time, he isn't the unruly, difficult child that he was. He's compliant, and he works—hard—to participate in the lessons, desperately hoping, as one year passes, and he goes from twelve to thirteen, that he'll finally surprise everyone and go into a rut, just like his sister, and he'll be sent home.

And then, his whole life would change. No more stuffy clothes, dance lessons, and he could marry whoever he wanted, maybe even learn how to fight, and no one could tell him where to go, or what to do—

But, when he's thirteen, any dream of freedom is snuffed out, when he wakes up with searing cramps in his stomach, and a wetness between his legs.

He doesn't call for the servants at first, so someone could call a nursemaid to help him. He tries to convince himself that he's just sick, that it's just a fever, that he isn't—

But by the time morning comes, it's impossible to deny, and all he can do is roll over onto his side and cry, curling up into a tiny ball.

Because now, he isn't going home.

Now, he's just...a bargaining chip, one of the only ones his family has left.

Because he's alone, and he's afraid. Because it hurts, and he wants his mother.

And when Rimbaud does find him, he is kind, rubbing his back, giving him something to drink, in order to soothe the pain—and he tells him that it's normal, that every omega his age has to go through it, and that when he has an alpha, he'll come to enjoy this time.

Chuuya truly can't begin to fathom that, particularly not right now.

Of course, there's an unforeseen downside to the cultural differences between France and Japan, one that Kouyou couldn't have known, when she sent him there—

And that's...well, Catholicism.

In Japan, omegas are taught how to soothe themselves during heat, because while yes, virginity is important, there's no harm in allowing them to make themselves a little more comfortable.

And, they aren't forced to recluse themselves.

In France...

No one is cruel about it, Chuuya is always treated very well, but...

He's given wine when it hurts, sent to apartments on the opposite end of Verlaine's estate, and told to pray when the pain becomes unbearable.

Honestly, he might have thought to help himself, but he's been so thoroughly sheltered, he didn't even know that was an option. The one time he did, on instinct, put a pillow between his legs and try to get some relief, he was caught by one of the maids, who told the governess, who told Rimbaud—

And then Chuuya was subjected to the most mortifying conversation with a priest that he has ever experienced.

But, eventually, it isn't so bad.

No, he isn't a Christian, and he finds praying to some strange god bizarre, but the wine does help, if he just drinks himself into an utter stupor. And it's only once a season, after all. 

He learns attractive, appropriate skills that he actually likes.

Singing, painting, chess—and there are many poets in the French king's court who have taken notice of him, writing sonnets and playing them through the halls as he walks past.

Chuuya doesn't particularly care for being fawned over by men in their thirties and forties when he himself is still a child, just fourteen—

(Old enough to be married in France, as many curious nobles have pointed out, and there is a swarm of interest around him—but, thankfully, he isn't bound by their customs, but that of his own country.)

One that, by the time Chuuya is sixteen, he finds himself remembering less and less. Kouyou writes as much as she can, but given how far the letters have to travel to reach him, they only manage to correspond a few times each year, and with each passing letter, he learns of what he's missed.

He becomes and uncle, with Yosano giving birth to her first child with Chuuya's sister two years after he left for France—a beautiful young girl, he's told, named Kyouka—after the infant sister they lost, years ago.

The war changes each time she writes, and it's almost easier for Chuuya to keep up by snatching papers from Verlaine's office, sneaking into cloak chambers to read them under candlelight.

The king is dead, and his son, a boy of just nine, is being treated like a figure head by the advisors around him—Chuuya's sister among them, something he scolds her about, in his letters.

And Kouyou writes back, telling him that while his education must be very impressive, she has her own advisors on matters of politics.

He learns of battles like a bystander, even if members of his own clan are fighting and dying in it—thousands of miles away, and he can only learn in the aftermath, what truly happened.

One day, when he's sixteen, attending one of Verlaine's dinner parties, he pauses, his eyes fixing on a newspaper a nearby alpha is holding, and he sees a familiar name—

Dazai Osamu.

Intermingled with English, which has never been Chuuya's strongest language, so he struggles to understand. "Pardon, sir?"

"Oh?" The alpha glances up, a British envoy to court by the name of Shakespeare, "What is it, pet?"

Chuuya nods toward the paper in his hand, eyes curious, even if he's hesitant—un-mated omegas might be allowed to speak to alphas in the French court, but it still feels wrong, whenever he does it, "That story, in your paper—"

"Oh," he glances down, "yes, I suppose that would interest you, it's your homeland, is it not?"

The redhead nods, and the alpha shrugs, looking back down at the page, "Apparently, there's some sort of peace agreement in the works."

Chuuya's heart leaps into his throat. "Are—are you sure?"

"As any man can be, when he reads words printed upon the page," the Englishman smiles, not unkindly. "Poor thing, you must miss it very much, don't you?"

Chuuya bobs his head, his heart hammering against his ribs, because...

If he was sent away for his own safety, then...

Then he might be sent home.

And he's so excited, upon hearing that news—he forgets to ask why he saw Dazai's name on the front page.

As a matter of fact, in his hurry to write to his sister and ask if he could come home, he forgets that he saw Dazai's name at all. 

Across the world, sitting behind a low-lying table, wishing his cup of sake was not already empty, Dazai is...

Staring at the treaty before him, disinterested.

"...I know it isn't what you had in mind," Mori murmurs, holding his shoulders as he stands behind his son. He's only nine years older now, but the war has aged him so much—it's aged both of Dazai's parents, etching lines under their eyes, streaks of gray through their hair. "But—"

"I don't want it."

The words are uttered softly, but with an empty sort of finality.

"Osamu—”

"It was supposed to be him."

The grief in his voice is unbridled, and—

And Mori can't blame him for it. They've all been bearing it, for so long now. "I know, love, I know."

But Ryuunosuke presented as an omega, three months before—and they have no other heirs.  There was discussion, of trying to have another child—but at Mori's age, it would be horribly dangerous.

They did manage to secure a betrothal between Ryuu and the son of the former king, which does stabilize the situation, but—

But after the damage inflicted over the past 20 years, no one is willing to accept Shibusawa's son on the throne, even if Atsushi is seen as a good boy, with no ill will.

Leaving them with only one real option, only one family with the power, the means, and the public trust to take the reins—

Meaning that, by the end of the month, Fukuzawa Yukichi will be crowned as the next leader of their country.

And he only has one heir that can succeed him—the son who never wanted it.

Mori's fingers squeeze his shoulders, "And if he was still here," his voice wavers, "it would be him."

"..."

If Odasaku was still there.

Dazai closes his eyes, fighting back the memories of that day, but every time he sleeps at night, they flash behind his eyelids, tormenting him, forcing him to relive that last moment, over and over, wishing he had been faster, that he had been more clever, or—

Or that it had just been him instead.

"But—he wouldn't want to see it be for nothing, Osamu," his mother murmurs, and it aches, because it's true.

"I know," Dazai mutters, agonized.

He knows what his older brother would have wanted. What Dazai has to do, because if he doesn't—

Dazai doesn't have a reason to be here, if it isn't to finish what he would have wanted.

"There's...one other thing, we must discuss," Mori takes a deep breath, and Dazai braces himself, waiting—

"The Nakaharas." 

Negotiations are long, tense—the Mori clan still has more power in the North, yes, and more military might--but Kouyou, while she might be young, is formidable, making use of the family's old ties to the previous regime, and the fact that Northerners coming in to rule the capitol after centuries of the south dominating the country.

"The people are behind this, Ozaki," Mori murmurs, refilling his husband's glass of sake, "you're only prolonging an inevitable result."

"No," Kouyou murmurs, examining her nails, "I don't think that I am. You see," she glances up, accepting a cup of sake from her own mate, "I've received a very interesting letter, from the Czar."

Mori chokes on his tea, and Dazai's eyebrows shoot up into his hairline. "Of Russia?"

"You see, that was a very clever move you pulled, marrying Ryuunosuke off to Nakajima—we were backed into a corner, but they've made a very compelling offer."

Mori glances from Ozaki, to his mate, then to his son—and all three of them are baffled. "You would let a foreign, western power interfere in our affairs?" 

Fukuzawa's eyes narrow in disbelief, "Have you no national pride?"

"Of course," Kouyou shrugs, taking another sip, "but they weren't offering financial assistance, or military assets—they offered marriage."

Such a thing has never happened, not among the nobility within their own country. It simply...isn't done.

"You already have a—"

"My younger brother," Kouyou cuts Dazai off, finishing her cup. "The Archduke caught sight of him during a ball in Paris last summer, apparently, he was quite bewitched."

Dazai's stomach drops, and his shoulders tense because...

"Your brother is alive?" He asks flatly, his eyes snapping to Kouyou's mate, and Yosano very pointedly chooses not to meet his gaze.

Given his disappearance, so soon after the plague—and the fact that he was never spoken of—people, Dazai among them, had assumed that Kensuke Nakahara's only son had died with his mother, and...

Kouyou had clearly never discouraged such rumors.

"He was sent to study in Europe, for his safety. He's done quite well there, actually," Kouyou explains.

"And he's—?"

"An omega, yes."

"...Then you understand," Mori speaks up, eyes slightly narrowed, "as the highest ranking unmated omega in the court, you are obligated to give the royal family the first offer for his hand—"

"Yes," Kouyou agrees, setting down her cup, "but we haven't acknowledged a new king, not yet, and at the moment, there is a global superpower offering to back our efforts. In exchange—my little brother could be the Empress of Russia." She muses, leaning back, "Imagine that?"

"You would betray your country for that?" Fukuzawa mutters, stunned.

"It took less for you to betray your king," Kouyou fires back, tense, not expecting the snarl that draws from Fukuzawa's son, normally a quiet man, but now his hand slams down onto the negotiating table, making all of their cups rattle.

"I wouldn't suggest insulting my father's honor in front of me." Dazai hisses, "Not if you want your head to remain upon your shoulders."

Kouyou bares her teeth at him, letting out a low hiss in response, "I can assure you, I have no fear of you, traitor."

"I'm sure your father said the same thing," now they're both standing, "but he was clearly mistaken."

"Kouyou—" Yosano murmurs, grabbing the sleeve of her kimono, "calm down—"

"Give me one reason I shouldn't duel you right now—" the redhead is almost shouting, and Dazai doesn't back off.

"Because I would make a widow of your mate and an orphan of your child without a second thought." He gestures towards the door, "And then I wouldn't have to watch you squabble and waste time—"

"This squabble is about the future of our nation!”

"Which you would give away to the Russians, as a means of holding onto power." Dazai shakes his head, "And then you call my father a traitor?"

He wasn't always so quick to anger, they all remember a time when Dazai could always be relied upon to be the most even tempered alpha in a room, but—

But many of his better, kinder qualities went into the ground with his brother.

"What else do you call it," Kouyou draws herself up to her full height, trembling with rage, "when a man breaks an oath to his king?"

"..." Dazai's nostrils are flaring, and he is aching for his katana, to go outside and settle this without words, because he's tired.

Of the loss, of the meaningless struggle over minute displays of power, because what was it all for?

What did his brother have to die for?

"...If my father betrayed his king," Dazai says the words between clenched teeth, his eyes as sharp as a knife. "Yours betrayed his people long ago, for enabling a mad tyrant."

Kouyou remains silent, because there isn't an argument.

Everyone knew what Shibusawa was—and that he wasn't in his right mind, not in the end.

Everyone knows what he did, and that Fukuzawa was not in the wrong for breaking his oath, that he never would have, not without good reason.

"And if you want to destroy what remains of your clan's legacy, by all means," Dazai shakes his head. "Go ahead, sell your brother to the Russian Empire like a cheap whore, if that's how little he means to you. You'll be doing the same thing he did, but," Dazai shakes his head, "at least your father had the decency to pick a monster that we knew, rather than one we can't predict." 

With that, he storms from the room—and if Kouyou chooses to follow him, to try to duel him, he is more than prepared for that, but—

But no one does.

"...I see our future king is quite the diplomat," Yosano finally speaks up, her voice rather dry, cutting through the thick tension in the air like a knife. Her alpha is seething, and the only reason she isn't charging after Dazai with a blade is because the omega is absolutely smothering her in calming pheromones, stroking her arms.

"...Well, we're working on it," Mori mutters, thoroughly chagrined by his son's little display. "But—while he has little in the way of manners—he did have a point." He glances over at his husband, "Working with the Russians might help your clan in the short run, but it would forever taint you in the eyes of the people."

"Yes, well," Kouyou huffs, leaning back into Yosnao's arms, "that's why it was just leverage. We hadn't decided."

"I think," Fukuzawa speaks up, his voice conciliatory, "We both know that there's only one acceptable outcome, that being a union between our clans."

Which was always the original plan.

Back before all of this pain, loss, and bloodshed. Back when Kouyou was a child, with no power over writing the narrative—

But she has that power now.

"Such an arrangement would be our preference," Kouyou mutters, glaring into her cup. "But our terms would be firm."

"And what are they?" Mori asks, his voice gentle.

"...A permanent seat on the king's council," Kouyou murmurs, "a return of our landholdings prior to the war, and retaining our position within the military command."

"We can have our people discuss further details," Fukuzawa replies quietly, "but for now, I think it's best that we..."

Part, and lick our wounds.

"How—" She seethes, pacing in her chambers, "How dare he speak to me like—like I would ever—"

"Darling," Yosano speaks up from their bed, her lips turning down into a slight frown, "you told him that you would."

"Yes, well," Kouyou gestures wildly, her hair a mess from all of this pacing, it's damn near one of the tantrums that her brother used to throw, "I was bloody well posturing, obviously!"

"Yes, I know that," Akiko sits up, pulling her silk nightgown a little closer around her shoulders, "but you were very convincing, my love. It was magnificent."

"I—" the redhead hesitates, her ego very nicely stroked, but—

"Why are you placating me?" She mutters, her eyes narrowing. "You never do that."

"..." Yosano looks back down at her hands, and after a moment, "...I just think that the two of you have already lost one person that you both loved," she murmurs, her face pinched with concentration, "would it be so unreasonable, for you to share another?"

"..." Kouyou swallows hard, shaking her head, "I know, for your safety—for Kyouka's future, that I don't have a choice, but—after what I've seen today," she shakes her head. "I take no joy in the idea of giving my poor brother's future to that beast."

"...He is not a beast," Akiko murmurs quietly, and that makes Kouyou stop.

Of course, there had never been any real intention to give Chuuya away to the likes of Dostoevsky, just to cow the crown into giving them better terms for the engagement—but after that encounter, Kouyou worries, because—

Chuuya is delicate, not by nature, but by design, and they haven't given him the proper defenses to deal with a man like that, and the leader of the Nakaharas is no longer trusting of Dazai's temperament.

"...You say that like you know something that I don't."

Silence follows, and Yosano won't look at her.

"..." Kouyou walks to her wife's beside kneeling in front of her, tilting her chin up, so the omega will look at her. "Love, what do you know that I don't?"

Amethyst eyes stare back at her, hesitant. "I never meant to keep it from you for so long."

 FIVE YEARS BEFORE

She was not used to being roused in the middle of the night, taken from the palace gates, and loaded into the back of her father's carriage—and they would not say what it was for, only that the command came from very high up the ladder.

"Papa, I'm tired," she groans, pulling her cloak over her head, shivering against the bitter cold of the night.

"I know, my love—" the doctor sighs, tightening the straps connecting the horses to the coach. "And I would not bring you with me, were it not important."

She huffs out a sigh, pulling her legs up against her chest, wondering why it's taking so long for them to leave, if it's so urgent, or why they're packed for such a long journey—

"Where are we going?"

Her father grows silent, watching a figure approach from the castle gates, his cloak dark against the night. "...South," he murmurs, going to meet him in the courtyard.

Yosano turns around, her eyebrows knitting with confusion. South? But wouldn't that be—?

She hears voices behind her, the quiet discussion of where they would be going—the soft clinking of coins being exchanged. And, from the sound of it, it was quite a few coins.

"...Just the boy?"

"As many of them as you can," the stranger's voice is soft, but deep.

"Your grace—I will obey you, but, if you were found out—"

If he was found out, sending a doctor to save their enemies—the others would call it treason.

And Dazai likely would have been executed.

"It's too late to be worrying about that now," the figure murmurs, turning his head to glance back at the castle, "Go."

 PRESENT  

"Akiko..." Kouyou trails off, her lips trembling as she holds her wife's hands so tightly, "Why did you never tell me?"

"Because I thought—" Yosano swallows hard, staring at her lap, "I never saw his face, and I assumed it was Lord Sakunosuke."

Which, honestly, would have made more sense. Chuuya had been his fiancé for many years, and Kouyou before.

"And I...I was falling in love with you, and I thought you still wanted him, and I was—I'm not a decent person—"

Her voice breaks, and Kouyou croons for her, leaning forward to press their foreheads together, "Oh, my love—" she sighs, her arms wrapping around the omega, "That was so long ago."

"I know, but—" Yosano swallows hard, "—but then he was dead, and I thought, if you knew I had kept that from you, you would be angry—"

"Then why are you telling me now?"

"...Because I recognized Dazai's voice," the omega explains, and Kouyou stiffens. "And—while his brother's death might have changed him—he is not a monster, not one of any sort."

"..."

And of course, after hearing that, how could Kouyou say otherwise? 

Chapter Text

When Chuuya receives word that he is going to be allowed home—not immediately, but soon, he's overjoyed, assuming for the most part, that it's because of the end of the war.

He's seventeen now—and he hasn't seen Japan since he was a child. In many ways, France has become more of a home to him, even if it is an adopted one.

Of course, arranging for him to get back isn't simple, it isn't an easy journey, so—at first, it doesn't occur to him how convenient it is, that he'll be making it home just after his eighteenth birthday. 

Not until, three months before they're set to depart, an entourage arrives from his clan to bring him home, and one of their oldest advisors, Hirotsu, sits down with Chuuya, Rimbaud, and Verlaine—alone.

"Now," the older beta sits rather awkwardly on the sofa, finding European furniture utterly bizarre. “I’m sure you must be wondering about the circumstances under which your sister has summoned you.”

Chuuya blinks, looking from Hirotsu, to his benefactors, and he shakes his head. “I thought it was because the war was over...?”

“Yes,” Hirotsu agrees because that is true, strictly speaking, "but the war ended under...well, the peace agreement came with certain conditions."

Chuuya frowns, unsure as to what any of that could have to do with him—he hasn't even seen another person from his country in seven years. "And?" 

"...And one of them, was your marriage."

Chuuya blinks, his shoulders slumping.

Marriage?

That's the only reason his family has deigned to bring him back?

And he's a little bit young to have had three engagements, isn't he? Is the third time supposed to be the charm?

"To who?"

"Well," Hirotsu smiles, his eyebrows knitting together, "you might be a bit...familiar."

Chuuya's eyebrows knit together—because he's never actually been alone with an alpha outside of his family, not even Verlaine, after living with him for seven years. He isn't familiar with any—

"You see, Lord Fukuzawa has taken up his seat in Edo, and...in order to maintain the balance of power, you were selected to mate with his heir."

Oh.

Chuuya's throat is suddenly dry, and it's ten years ago all over again, remembering—

 "You must be the little bird I've been hearing, flapping around in the rafters."

"...Dazai Osamu?"

Hirotsu reaches into the bag by his side, pulling out a small, wooden box, and Chuuya's throat tightens. "Your sister has accepted, and arranged for a dowry—the ceremony 

is set for a week after your birthday—"

"So—" Chuuya swallows hard, knowing he can't protest—even if that would accomplish anything—because this isn't for him, this is for his clan. "So soon?"

"I'm afraid quite a lot hangs in the balance of getting this matter settled quickly, and smoothly." Hirotsu explains, handing over the box.

Chuuya handles it lightly between his fingers, unable to really process what is happening, what all of it actually means—

He doesn't get the chance to do that until much later, alone in his bed chambers, rolled onto his stomach, staring at the box in front of his face. It's much more grand than his last betrothal gift—likely because of the increase in the clan's status, since their prior arrangement.

The gold glimmers softly in the candlelight, rubies shining like liquid fire.

"Hair combs," he muses, picking one of them up. It's heavy, in his hand, clearly made of solid gold, and the gems encrusted into it are very substantial, "When would I ever wear hair combs?"

The earrings, at least, were slightly more practical.

"I believe you're intended to wear them to the wedding ceremony, your grace." Naomi is his new attendant—his very own, who works only for him, not the Duke, the lord, or anyone else—murmurs.

"It seems a waste." Chuuya murmurs, tracing his fingers over the rubies in a light, delicate pattern. "To spend so much gold on something I would only wear once,"

"I'm sure you'll wear them on other special occasions," the other omega sighs, carefully folding Chuuya's things, "when he is king."

Right.

Chuuya turns his eyes back to the combs, remembering being so small, so stupid, giggling with his sister about her being queen one day. Bossing entire palaces of servants around, eating as many red bean buns as he wanted—

And it was always her in the center of attention, with Odasaku. Never him.

Part of him wonders if this is the same gift Dazai gave him when he was a child, but...

The longer he looks at the combs, the more he notices—like the way the rubies and gold leaves look suspiciously like camellias—or the fact that there are several cranes carved into the sides of the combs, making him think not only is this gift new, but that—

 "Fly away, little bird--I don't want to get you in trouble."

--but that the prince also chose it himself.

The combs themselves are not the only items in the box, there are also countless loose pearls, diamonds, and sapphires—all connected by thin gold chains, and when he asks Naomi what they're for, she explains that they'll be woven into his hair—as a form of decoration.

And when she's brushing out his hair, just before he goes to bed, he asks, "...Have you met him?"

"...The prince?" 

When Chuuya nods, she hesitates, "I never worked in the household of the Mori clan, but servants do speak to one another."

"..." the redhead glances down, fidgeting with his fingers in his lap. "...What is he like?"

That sounds silly, doesn't it? It doesn't really matter, after all, if he's horrible, Chuuya still has to marry him anyway.

(Admittedly, the boy Chuuya remembers didn't seem very horrible at all, but that was a brief meeting with a thirteen year old, not the grown, twenty-four year old man he'll be meeting in a few months.) 

"He's..." Naomi hesitates, carefully brushing the ends of his hair--it's rather long, now, because the styles of the french court are so elaborate, and Chuuya detests wearing wigs—so it reaches all the way to the middle of his back. "...Very intelligent."

Chuuya frowns, because he isn't sure he wants to marry someone where, the first compliment a person could think of to give him, was 'he's very intelligent.'

He would much rather Naomi had said that he was kind, or patient, or funny.

All of the things his brother was, now that Chuuya thinks about it.

He can't lie, and say that he never had affections for Odasaku. He did, particularly after the letters exchanged, how kind and attentive the alpha always was, even from a distance. But...the relationship never had the depth of the one that Odasaku shared with his sister, and so he never felt he had a right to be sad when the engagement was broken off—or to mourn him, when he died.

"Is that all?"

"..." Naomi clears her throat, getting back to work, "He was the youngest general in our country's history to defeat the imperial army on the field of battle," she explains, and Chuuya's jaw goes a little slack.

"A general?"

"Towards the end of the war, yes," Naomi kneels down, reaching the very ends of his hair, "like I said—very intelligent."

Chuuya supposes that's a good thing. He's seen enough bright, intelligent young omegas slapped with the dullest, most uninteresting lords in the French court. If he really is so clever, at least he'll probably make good conversation.

"Oh," Naomi perks up, "and I've heard that he's excellent with a sword," once again, that's all vaguely impressive, but—it doesn't tell him anything about what Dazai is actually like.

"...Is he nice?"

Naomi thinks that over, and her comb stops. "...I know that he was very kind, but—" Chuuya pauses, not missing the past tense in her voice, "—that, after Lord Sakunosuke's death, he can be a bit..." she struggles, looking for the right word, without speaking ill of the prince, "...cold."

Chuuya contemplates that, his arms crossed over his chest. "...Cold?"

"That's just what I've heard," She shrugs, setting the brush aside, so that she can help him change into his night clothes. "But what a man is like in public, and what a man is like with his mate, those are two very different things..." She considers, for a moment, before adding, "I've heard he's a very good lover, though."

Chuuya stares. 

For a moment, his expression is so blank, so emotionless, that she doesn't really know what to think, but—

"A very good what?"

Naomi pauses, from where she was in the middle of unlacing the back of his bodice. "...Lover?"

"I heard what you said," Chuuya frowns. "What does that mean?"

"..." Naomi hesitates, glancing around, trying to figure out how she was unclear. "...I've heard...that he can..." she struggles, because it's difficult, phrasing things like this to high born omegas, "...satisfy an omega very well, in the bedroom."

"I..." Chuuya presses his lips together, trying to figure out what that means, how he's satisfying them, and why it has to happen in a bedroom? "...Is he in love with someone?"

"Not—" Naomi pauses, his night shirt in her hands, "Not that I'm aware of?"

"Then why call him a lover? And—what is he doing to them? He's not even supposed to be alone with omegas, is he?"

"I don't," the servant sputters, realizing she has tread on something that was not her place to tell him, "I don't think these were high born omegas, your grace, the rules aren't the same—"

"Oh," Chuuya thinks that over. Well, it's a little strange, for someone so high born to associate with the peasants, but that sounds...nice. Egalitarian. Like the Americans, and what not. "Well...I suppose...that's good." He mutters, his brow furrowed.

Naomi is frozen in place, glancing back and forth, trying to figure out if he actually understood. "You think so?"

"Well, Mama always did say that snobs were a terrible bore," Chuuya mutters, "I suppose it's good, that he has friends...all over."

That's one way of putting it, yes. 

Of course, Naomi does have the frame of mind to pass that along to Hirotsu, who has a very panicked conversation with Rimbaud and Verlaine.

"What do you mean, he doesn't know?"

"Good lord," Verlaine looks a little pale, "the boy was left under our care, I refuse to apologize for the fact that my husband did not educate him to become some sort of prostitute."

"I—” the beta shakes his head, "Your grace, no one would ever suggest such a thing, but does he even know, what's going to be expected on the wedding night?"

Both men look at Rimbaud, who stares at his hands, awkward, before he finally groans, "Oh, blast it, our sons were both alphas, I've never had to do that before—"

"Mon dieu, chéri—" Verlaine pinches the bridge of his nose, "I—" he glances over at Hirotsu, holding up a hand, "the boy will be spoken to," he then gives Rimbaud a stern look, "as soon as possible."

"..." The french omega shrinks, looking perfectly miserable at the concept. "Yes, yes, love, I understand."

At first, Chuuya assumes that he's done something wrong. He must have, because Rimbaud is pale, pacing back and forth in the sitting room, a rosary in his fingers, for some odd reason.

"...Is everything alright?" He asks quietly, and Arthur nods, dabbing his forehead with a handkerchief.

"Yes, little dove, don't you fret," he mutters, clearly very anxious about something. "You know, now, with your eighteenth birthday coming, and...Well, your impending marriage...there are certain things...married omegas ought to know."

Chuuya blinks, glancing around, trying to figure out why Rimbaud seems so stressed. "Like what?" 

"Well," Rimbaud clears his throat, and he stops pacing, "Do you...you do know, what the primary purpose of marriage is, correct?"

"..." Chuuya frowns, thinking, "...Alliances?"

"Well, yes, yes, you always have been an intelligent boy, bless you—that is one reason for getting married, but—but the primary reason, the reason god created omegas, and alphas separately—is to have children." Rimbaud explains carefully.

"...Oh." Chuuya's frown deepens. That does make sense. "Am I going to...?"

"As soon as possible, yes," the older omega nods, and Chuuya...

He doesn't hate the idea, actually. He's always loved children, always looked forward to having his own—and his mother seemed so happy, back when she was pregnant with his little sister. It didn't seem so bad. "Okay, I can do that."

"Well," Rimbaud cringes, twisting the rosary between his fingers, "there is a process one must go through, to create a child."

"..." Chuuya presses his lips together, staring. "...Is it difficult?"

"...It can be," Rimbaud fights the urge to cry, because this is the most awkward thing he's ever had to do. "On your wedding night—you understand that everything is different after that, correct?"

"...Yes," Chuuya nods, "he'll be allowed in my bed chamber—" then he stops. "...Wait..."

"What is it, love?"

"Why is Dazai-sama satisfying other omegas in their bedrooms?" Chuuya frowns, trying to figure that out, "And what does satisfying mean? Is he complimenting them? Or completing some sort of task?" Those are the things that satisfy him, anyway.

That, and back massages, when his heats are truly unbearable, and the wine isn't helping—but he's only ever received them from nursemaids, and he doubts that an alpha, particularly a prince, would ever deign to do such a thing.

"He's WHAT?!"

Chuuya nearly falls out of his chair with a surprised yelp, "Good grief, what did I say?!"

"I—” Rimbaud sputters, struggling to compose himself, "He—well, when you two are married, he'll only be going into your bed chambers, and if he does otherwise—you tell your sister right away, do you understand me?"

He sounds so serious, so Chuuya nods.

"..." The Frenchman lets out a shaky sigh. "Good, now—when he comes to your wedding night, you'll have to perform your...duties." He sighs, resuming his pacing.

"...Duties..." Chuuya repeats slowly. It sounds like chores, or something—and Chuuya has never had to do those, but now all he can imagine is having to clean up his bedroom or something while Dazai watches, which seems very...strange. "I think that might just be a French custom, that doesn't—"

"I assure you, love," Rimbaud mutters, his face a little pink, "this is a universal matter."

Universal. 

"...What do I have to do?"

"Well," Rimbaud frowns, "you don't actually have to do anything, but—you will have to take your clothes off."

Chuuya looks mortified at the thought, and Rimbaud nods sympathetically. "I know, but it usually doesn't last very long."

"Why do I have to be naked?!"

"I—it's a—physical task," Rimbaud mutters, "after all, the baby is going to be inside of you," and that vague, weird implication is the most vivid explanation of 'carnal relations' Chuuya actually receives. "And...it usually does hurt."

Okay, now Chuuya is starting to feel kind of scared. "...How much?"

"Quite a bit, at first, you might bleed, depending on what...he's like," Rimbaud makes a face, "but you'll get used to it."

"Does it hurt every time?"

"Well, never so bad as the first, no." Arthur murmurs, "And during your heats, it actually feels quite lovely." He pauses, mortified to realize he just used the word lovely to describe that in front of his ward. "But—the most important thing to remember is, you must reach the end in order to become with child. That is your most important task."

"...The end?" Chuuya mumbles, not sure about what that means. "How do I know it's over?"

"Oh, you'll know, dear—it's when he gets..." Rimbaud makes a face, once again, going with the word, "...stuck."

"...Stuck in what?!"

"You'll—" Rimbaud's hands flail with discomfort, and he shakes his head, "You'll understand when the time comes, it's just—something every omega has to learn, you'll do just fine." He mutters, shaking his head. "Just remember what I said—this is your most important task, as a mate. Do you understand?"

"..." Chuuya is a little concerned about his health, but yes. It's literally his only task that he's expected to perform for his clan, and he intends to do it well.

And, if he's successful, he gets a baby out of it. Which sounds nice, because he doesn't 

know anyone from the royal court, and his own child is going to be obligated to like him, right? So, at least if he has one fast, he won't be alone in a castle full of people who don't like him very much.

(Other than Dazai, in theory—but after Naomi's description, calling him intelligent, but cold, Chuuya isn't confident that his mate is actually going to care about him one way or the other.)

Weeks go by, and Chuuya's sense of anxiety only grows.

How bad is it going to hurt, really? Do they have to keep doing it until they know 

Chuuya is pregnant? Or is it just the one time? If it feels nice during heats, can they just wait until Chuuya is in one, so it doesn't have to feel bad?

He even goes so far as to try and ask the court physician about it, but—

He receives the same feedback.

That it will hurt, but that if he's lucky, his husband might offer him drugs or herbal teas that could induce his heat, and that if it was offered, Chuuya should take it.

He's stretched out across a sofa, contemplating that, when the letter arrives.

"Post for you, your grace."

It's odd, because other than his sister, Chuuya doesn't actually receive mail.

Even more so, being called 'your grace' all the time—because, in the eyes of the French court, as the fiancé of a prince, Chuuya has risen several ranks. "Thank you, Bianca," he mutters, taking the envelope in hand, and the moment he does, he freezes.

That hand—the sloping kanji characters on the parchment in front of his eyes—

He's seen it before.

Countless times.

Little bird—

He sits straight up, his heart pounding in his chest.

He...wrote to me?

"Good heavens, your grace, are you alright?"

"Yes," he mutters in a rush, moving to his feet. "Yes, I'm perfectly alright, madame—I'll take this in my chambers." He mutters, feeling very grown up.

With his very own letter from his fiancé that he'll be reading in his private apartments.

Because he is going to be eighteen in two months, he leaves for home in three days, and his future husband wrote him a letter.

He jumps onto his bed, bouncing a little as he fumbles for a letter opener, carefully tearing open the top of the envelope, careful not to ruin it, because it's only the second letter that Dazai has ever sent him, and he's going to want to save it—it's nice that he still has the first one, given how things worked out—

 Nakahara-san,

...aaaand the smile slips straight off of his face. 

Now, Chuuya only spent the first eleven years of his life in the court of his homeland, so he isn't particularly educated on the manner through which certain types of correspondence are sent.

For example, he does not understand that what he received from Dazai as a child was a personal letter, whereas what he's looking at right now is a carefully crafted document, one that Dazai did write, but his mother, along with several other advisors modified several times over.

And the entire tone of the letter just feels...

Well, impersonal. Or, as Chuuya has heard it put before, cold.

 I am told that you will be departing within the week of this letter's arrival—and it is my dearest wish that you should have a safe journey. You have been away from home for far too long, and I am sure that you must miss it dearly. 

Your sister has expressed her desire to house you in the week before the ceremony, but I have assured her that such efforts are not necessary, and we are more than prepared to accommodate you in the palace in the days prior.

Chuuya frowns, wrinkling his nose slightly.

He may not know what carnal relations are, or what it means to be satisfied in the bedroom, or what's going to get stuck, but he did spend his adolescence reading Austen novels.

And he knows that this is not romantic. Not romantic at all.

 Hoping that you are in good spirits, and good health.

Well, he isn't in good spirits now, that much is for certain.

Only one part of the letter makes him pause, his lips turning up, nearly against his will—

 Forever yours,

His fingers brush over the words, and his heart lurches. 

Dazai Osamu.

For just a moment, he sits there, smiling stupidly at that silly little phrase, his face warming up pleasantly—

Until he remembers the rest of the letter, and—

"Hmph!" He mutters, tossing it aside as he stands up, walking over to his own writing desk. He's never written to anyone but ane-san before, but he understands the purpose, and he has every intention of giving this man a piece of his mind.

"Your grace?"

He marches into the hall later, shoving the addressed envelope into Hirotsu's face. "Send this off for me, will you?" 

Hirotsu pauses, glancing down at the letter, then back up at his future queen, and...from the look on Chuuya's face, he can imagine that the contents of the letter are not positive, but he also doesn't dare to disobey him. "Chuuya-sama, I will—but...We leave tomorrow.”

"And?" Chuuya mutters, raising an eyebrow.

"The letter will probably barely arrive ahead of us—"

"Well," he mutters, turning around to march back upstairs. "As long as it arrives, I don't care."

"I..." Hirotsu glances down at the envelope, sagging. "Yes, of course.” 

The last weeks before Dazai's wedding are riddled with preparations, and every single day, waiting to hear if Chuuya's ship has safely arrived in harbor. It could be any day now, and Dazai does feel almost sorry for the poor thing, having to spend his birthday in ship after so many weeks at sea, but there's not much that can be done about that, and Dazai could, at the very least, try to give him a nice gift or something to make up for it—

"You know," Tachihara, one of the other northern lords to venture to the capitol under the new administration, "I'm surprised that you're not more concerned about the match."

"Oh," Dazai sighs, slowly tossing a rubber ball into the air and catching it in his hand, "his sister might despise me, but her family is getting rich off of the entire affair—I doubt things between us will become an issue."

"Oh," Michizou raises an eyebrow, "I presumed you had heard about the French, but if no one has told you..."

Dazai pauses, catching the ball in his hand. "...What about the French?"

"...Well," the other alpha shrugs, "you know about the dealings my father has had with the Portuguese over the years, I'm sure."

Dazai nods, of course he has—it's one of their only trading routes, at the moment.

"Yes, well—he told me that the French queen (who rumor has it was very fond of your fiancé) takes several omegas into her bed at the same time," Dazai gawks, and Tachihara adds, "and they take turns, servicing her."

"All at the same time?"

"I'm told she gets one on each end, yes—they even have a special word for it, you see."

"And has Chuuya—?"

"Not that I have heard, no," Tachihara shakes his head, "but he was a favorite of the court poets, many of them, so I find it hard to testify to his virginity—even though I'm sure his family must swear up and down by it."

Dazai frowns. His first reaction is to not care (even if he knows it will bother him, once they're mated, and the redhead is not just a stranger that he faintly remembers from his childhood.

A stranger that he has always retained fondness for, yes, but he's never even seen the boy's face, he just—

He just knows that he likes camellias, and red bean buns.

Not exactly enough to have a full impression off of.

(Odasaku did seem to have a high opinion of him, and that matters far more than any rumor that Dazai might hear.)

"Well, thank heaven for that," Dazai mutters, throwing the ball up in the air again. "The last thing I want is some silly, sheltered child." He mutters, "He's already younger than I would like."

"Eighteen? That seems standard to me, your highness."

"Six years is a long time, Michizou. I deal with squabbling children in court all day—I don't want one in my bed." Dazai sighs, tilting his head back. "It really is too bad his sister is an alpha. She's unpleasant, but at least we were born in the same decade as one another."

"Well—maybe the French were a good influence after all then, Dazai-sama."

"One can only hope." Dazai mutters, and just then—

"Your highness? A letter for you—from France."

He sits up, and his first instinct is to think that it must be news of Chuuya's arrival, but—

But when he sees the neat, clearly printed kanji that is not Hirotsu's, he raises an eyebrow.

"Who is it from, your grace?"

"..." Dazai flips it over with a flick of his wrist, pulling a dagger from his sleeve to cut it open, "I believe it is from my bride-to-be."

"Oh? He wrote to you on his own?" Tachihara perks up, "That sounds promising."

Dazai unfolds the parchment, and after reading out just one line, he lets out a surprised, barking laugh.

"What is it, Dazai-sama?"

"I—" he's wracked by another round of chuckles, shaking his head, "—nothing, don't worry yourself with it."

 Dear Sir, or Whomever it May Concern:

Dazai throws his head back and laughs again, before he even manages to get through another line.

 I am well, as is my health, but my spirits I cannot speak highly of, as I am about to spend six weeks on a ship, journeying to meet a man who could not muster more to put into a correspondence with the person he is about to marry, other than to enquire as to my sleeping accommodations. I am not,

Dazai notes that the word 'not' has been underlined, three times, he's assuming for emphasis.

 impressed, particularly from someone I have been told is a very skilled lover—

Dazai chokes, wishing he hadn't just taken a bite of his lunch, because he very nearly asphyxiates on it.

Good lord, who told him that?!

—that has been known to satisfy many omegas. I wish to make myself very clear: I am not,

(Once again, the word has been underlined, so Dazai assumes that it is very serious.)

satisfied. Not in the least. I intend to work very hard to please you, and I am aware of my duties, but I had many choices for a man to marry, and I accepted you. I certainly hope that was not a mistake.

Dazai stares, feeling...a little...

Chided, even though that letter was not his idea—he was the one who didn't want to make it so formal, but his father's advisors insisted that anything too intimate would be considered, 'inappropriate', and that Chuuya might not receive his correspondence at all if he so much as used an old nickname—

But then, when he remembers the 'To Whom it May Concern:' it all...clicks together.

"...Your highness?"

Dazai takes a swig of sake from his desk, shaking his head, "I think..." he mutters, trying to decide if he's amused, or annoyed, "...I think I'm dealing with a brat, here." He mutters.

Honestly, who throws a fit over a letter not being intimate enough when they have never officially met?

And he can't decide if he's intrigued by the fact that Chuuya chose to end the letter with the words, 'with all of my heart,' because that is very sweet, or if it's hilarious, given the over all tone of the writing.

What sort of person is he dealing with?

"Your grace?" Dazai doesn't even bother to lower the letter before he replies.

"Yes?"

"Your mother has sent me to inform you that Nakahara-sama has arrived in the harbor, and that you will be expected to receive Kouyou-sama shortly."

Dazai glances from the letter, to the servant, back to the letter, and he—

He starts laughing again.

What glorious timing. 

That being said, he doesn't actually meet his fiancé then, heavens no, that would be inappropriate.

No, instead he's forced to show his sister around the castle, making chit chat that neither of them are particularly interested in, while Chuuya trails at Mori's elbow, staring around the rooms as he walks through the castle, trying to process the fact that...

This is to be his home now, and while it is not Versailles, it's also far more grand than any of the estates Chuuya saw as a child, that is for certain.

And Mori was certainly not prepared for how odd their newest little addition to the clan was going to be.

Speaking his native tongue with a foreign accent, wearing trousers instead of changing into a yukata upon his arrival—and wearing his hair down instead of up, the way other court omegas might—and it does make a bit of a spectacle, given how long it is, and the unusual color, leaving many to stop in the halls and stare at the long, ruby waves falling down the boy's back, bouncing slightly from the briskness of his gait.

(Which is necessary, Chuuya has never had the privilege of walking slowly, not when everyone around him has always had much longer legs—so he does not have the slow, dignified pace of his court contemporaries.)

"I hope that you will find yourself quite happy here," Mori smiles, "You know—it is very nice to see you all grown up now."

Chuuya glances up at Mori, who, he supposes, is the queen now, since Fukuzawa has been coronated properly, "I do remember your visit to the estate when I was seven, it was so lovely, spending time with Ryuunosuke. I should very much like to see him again soon."

Even more fascinating to Mori, that even if Chuuya Nakahara looks strange, he does seem to be very well brought up, and well-spoken at that. "Oh, I'm sure he would be delighted—we're all very pleased to feel settled again, I'm sure the wedding will help with that."

Chuuya nods, pleased that Mori is pleased, because he does seem like a nice man, and as Chuuya's future mother-in-law, he does think that he could do worse—

"But actually, that was not the first time that we met, my dear."

"...Was it not?"

"Oh, heavens no," Mori shakes his head. "You were just under a year old, I believe, still a baby—I was surprised that Osamu took so well to you, he was going through quite the bratty phase, back then."

"...Dazai-sama was there as well?"

Mori can't help but smile a little at the tone in Chuuya's voice. "Yes, yes he was. You two were quite adorable, actually. Your parents were very pleased," they stop in front of Chuuya's chambers (or what will be his chambers, for the next three days), "I should like to think they would still be pleased, if they were here now."

"..." Chuuya grows quiet, for a moment, staring at his door, his eyes darkening—and Mori wonders if, perhaps, he was a bit too fragile for the topic—

"As do I, Mori-sama," he murmurs, bending lowly at the knee, "thank you, for making me feel so welcome."

"..." The door shuts as he steps inside, and Mori is left standing there, baffled.

Chuuya truly is a delightful young man, honestly, the more time Mori spends with him, the more pleased he is with the match, but—

"...What was that?"

Hirotsu steps forward, bowing, "Your highness—in the French court, they call it a curtsy."

"..." Mori tilts his head to the side, thinking it over. "I actually rather liked it. How peculiar," he mutters, turning away.

What sort of strange creature did they snatch from the Nakahara clan, anyway?

Said clan, as it seems, just so be in a bit of a tizzy.

"I—” Kouyou rubs her fingers against her temples, "I gave you," she turns to Verlaine, sticking her finger in his face, "one request, and that was to make sure that my brother was properly brought up—"

"And he was!" Verlaine shakes his head, clearly vexed, "we have loved and cared for that child as dearly as we would any of our own, and he has been very safe and well looked after—"

"And, I am told, thinks that children simply APPEAR after one prays for it to some christian god!"

"Don't be silly," Arthur mutters, rubbing the back of his neck, "we told him it was a stork—"

"Oh," Yosano groans, her face falling into her hands, "for the love of god, the prince is going to think he's—"

"Chaste?"

"Bizarre!" Kouyou half shouts. "In this country, people who are intended to bear children know how they are conceived!“

“And he does,” Arthur assures her, “we had a conversation just before we left from Paris, he knows what to expect on his wedding night.”

“...” Kouyou crosses her arms over her chest, tapping her foot. “Does he really?”

“If my mate says that he has done something,” Verlaine interjects, pushing his hair out of his eyes, “then he has. We are men of our word.”

“...Alright,” Yosano sighs, standing up and making her way into the hall, “I’ll discuss it with him myself.”

“Again?” Arthur groans, vexed, “the poor thing was already so vexed, when we discussed it before—”

They make an odd crowd, shuffling down the hall together, falling silent when they pass other groups of people.

“Why on earth was he vexed? It should have been a simple conversation.” Yosano mutters, shaking her head. “And he’s been presented for five years now, I should think he’s been through enough heats to know something of what’s supposed to go on.”

Both Frenchmen seem baffled by that statement, and Yosano—she knows they all speak Japanese, but she isn’t sure that they are understanding.

“I’ll have you know,” Verlaine grumbles, shaking his head, “he was one of the most highly regarded, well brought up omega’s in Paris. He even had the interest of the Dauphin, for a time.”

“How is that supposed to help now?”

“Because he is a well mannered, highly educated, and he is, quite frankly, dazzling.“ Verlaine speaks with no small amount of pride, even if Chuuya is not his child by blood, it is clear, from both of them, that they have come to care about the boy deeply. “The prince will see that, as everyone else has, and—”

They all pause when they enter Chuuya’s chambers, where he should be, and find them empty.

“...And this is very out of character,” Verlaine mutters, his brow furrowed.

Chuuya thinks, since this is to be his home, that he should not need to hide in his room until his wedding day.

And, if he should like to explore, then he will.

The hallways are long and winding, hard to keep track of—but no more so than the bowels of the manors in and around Paris—so he manages just fine.

It’s almost like walking through a memory, seeing the tatami mats and the shoji screens for the first time since he was just a boy, lightly dragging his fingertips against the thin, paper screens as he walks by.

And though he was waking with no clear destination, and making no attempts to hide himself from any guards—he somehow ended up in front of the one place that he should not be.

The prince’s office.

Which he might not have even known that was what it was, had it not been for the fact that he heard someone say Dazai’s name, and a low laugh in response.

“Surely, you just be a little nervous, your grace—I’m told that every alpha is, before their wedding.”

“Nervous...” Chuuya pauses, his breath catching at the sound of Dazai’s voice, so much deeper now, than he remembers—reverberating in his spine. “...is not the word I would use.”

“Why not?” Chuuya is straining, trying to catch sight of Dazai through the crack in the door without revealing his own presence—and he does catch a small glimpse of him, and—

Chuuya’s stomach fills with butterflies.

His hair is still unruly, the omega can see that much.

“He’s said to be the most beautiful omega in the country—and quite the spit fire, I have heard.”

Chuuya waits, hoping to hear Dazai agree with even part of that, when—

“I have never seen his face, I should not know if he is beautiful—” Fair. “But I do know that he is a spoiled child.” 

Chuuya freezes, his jaw slightly slack as he processes that phrasing.

A-a spoiled—

How—how dare—

He must make some sort of disgruntled noise, because the room goes quiet, and he sees that mop of dark hair turn towards him, and he—

He turns on his feel, almost stomping back down the hall, until he remembers such a thing would be very ungraceful, as Rimbaud would say—and so he settles for big, quick steps, his hands balled up at his sides, face flushing with anger—

What does he know of spoiled children?

After everything Chuuya has been through, has lost, without ever once complaining, because that was his duty—he's even supposed to let the man do something very painful and vague to him on their wedding night, possibly on a regular basis, and he didn't even complain about that, and this crude, cold, arrogant brute of a man is calling Chuuya a spoiled child?

He—

The fresh air of the courtyard is a relief to him, and he takes big, gasping breaths, trying to calm himself down. Chuuya has always had a natural temper, one that he has been told is very unattractive and unnatural, for someone of his disposition.

His governesses used to teach him the benefits of controlling his breathing, of counting to ten, or screaming into a pillow when he was alone—because his outbursts as a child might have been indulged by his parents, but once they were gone, that certainly stopped.

And Chuuya does not imagine that would be tolerated by his soon to be husband, and if this is what it is to be like, then he might as well learn how to start containing this new level of rage now.

"Stupid..." he growls, marching over to a large oak, because he is, he's so stupid, to think that some sweet words and a flower from his childhood meant anything.

He's lost perspective, being away for so long, and forgotten what the situation truly is. That the entire country has been torn to shreds by a war that he doesn't particularly understand, not because he is incapable, but because no one thought it worth their time to explain anything to him—

But what he does understand is that he is essentially being given to a family of traitors. 

Because that is what they are, no matter how pleasant they seem, no matter what happened in the past. And certainly, given the prior conflicts between their families, Dazai couldn't possibly hold any lingering affections for him—

"Stupid!" He snaps again, giving the trunk of the tree in front of him a kick with all of the force he can muster, which is actually a surprising amount—but it hurts, making him stumble backwards with a yelp, until—

Until he runs into something very solid, and warm against his back.

"Well,"

Oh. 

Chuuya's entire body stiffens, his breath halting in his lungs.

Oh, good lord.

He's right there, isn't he?

That voice, that deep, irritatingly alluring voice, is directly above his ear, and when he speaks again, Chuuya is rapt, "That could have gone better." 

Chuuya doesn't speak at first, because all he can focus on is the hands on his shoulders—heavy, long fingered hands, the warmth of which he can feel through the fabric of his robes, and—

He is touching him.

An alpha that isn't Verlaine, Chuuya's father, or his sister, is touching him.

That's never happened before. Not even so much as touching his hand, or even bumping into him in a hallway. Never.

"...Are you alright?" Dazai is not sure if he is, because that yelp did sound rather pained. Only silence follows, and after a long pause he asks, "Have you taken some sort of vow of silence?"

"I have nothing to say." He sounds very huffy, very indignant, for someone who is actually quivering under Dazai's hands at the moment. Not in an obvious way, but he can feel it.

"That certainly does not seem to be the case." Dazai murmurs, raising an eyebrow.

"Not to you."

Chuuya doesn't know how to feel when Dazai lets out a chuckle in response, low, and he doesn't know what this feeling is in the pit of his stomach, but it's distracting and he does not care for it, not at all. 

"Oh dear," there's something slow, almost...Chuuya doesn't have a word for it, it's outside of his vocabulary, but he's sure that it exists somewhere, in the books the other omegas carried around court that he was not allowed to read, but...

The closest word Chuuya can think of is predatory, but that isn't right. That makes it sound like it's a bad thing, and the redhead doesn't think it is. It just sounds like...

Well, no one has ever spoken to him like this before, so Chuuya has no frame of reference for what it sounds like, but he does know, is that he does not hate it, he's merely...

Confused by it, and his face is hot. Is he getting ill? Or is he simply that angry?

"I have made you quite frigid, haven't I?"

His fingers tighten slowly around Chuuya's shoulders, and a small, startled noise escapes the back of his throat, and the only word that manages to escape him, at first, is: "Quite."

That earns another laugh, and—and it's so easy, Chuuya thinks, to get caught up in the excitement, that he almost forgets how angry he is, but—

Almost, is the key word here. 

"Let me go," he mutters, softly at first, but when Dazai does not move, his voice hardens. "Now."

Those fingers do loosen, and Dazai sounds very surprised, but not upset. "You speak as though I am being untoward."

"You are." Chuuya's shoulder's hunch, and Dazai lets out a surprised grunt, letting him go.

"You do realize, in two days, I'm to be your—"

"But are you my husband?"

"..." Dazai's eyebrows knit together, because, once again, he's feeling scolded—which he isn't accustomed to, not from someone so much younger, and certainly not an omega. "Not yet—"

"Then do not presume to touch me before then."

Dazai balks, taking a step back, because—

He does not normally lean in to the benefits of his rank, but he should certainly think he can presume to do what he likes. "I did not expect—”

"I do not see how you could possibly be surprised," Chuuya is more than happy to show him frigid. "I'm sure a spoiled child could be much harsher with their language, if they wished to be."

Ah.

He pinches the bridge of his nose with a sigh. "You heard that."

"Obviously." 

"Then you should understand you are doing nothing to discourage that notion--"

"It is not my responsibility to discourage the misconceptions of an arrogant and self-important man."

Now, Dazai is starting to venture into the realm of no longer finding his fiancé's impertinence adorable, and more so disrespectful. "You have no idea what you are talking about—"

"And what do you know of me?" Dazai is also not used to people interrupting him. "Because you certainly did not wait to learn anything before you began insulting me to others behind closed doors—"

"I know that all it takes to dissatisfy you, my dear, is a very polite letter—"

It is very difficult, to argue with someone while he is facing away from him, but Chuuya endeavors. "I am sorry, your grace, for not setting my expectations lower for correspondence from the man I am meant to share my life with. I will endeavor to do so."

"You," Dazai sputters, struggling to catch his breath, because it feels as though the redhead has punched him straight in the gut, "have no idea how things like this are done, I did not even write half of what was said, my mother—"

"Oh, then should I have expected you to not write me at all?" Chuuya snaps, his shoulders tense. "Forgive me, I did not understand."

"I have written you before, as I'm sure you have forgotten—" 

"I have not." Chuuya shakes his head, and it's dark, but Dazai can see a few of the shorter waves around his face bouncing slightly from the force of his movement. "I was the one who asked you to write, but you did not deign to do so until we were no longer engaged." 

"I was a child, forgive me for not knowing what to say to you."

"You certainly had time to write to others, but not to me—"

Dazai does not know how, and does not wish to explain the fact that he was, quite simply, shy. "I wrote to you when I found it necessary.” 

That only seems to rankle Chuuya even more. "And you didn't find it necessary, to send me something, anything, in the months since our engagement, to give me some form of assurance that you do not despise me?"

"Despise you?" Dazai lets out a laugh, not amused, but shocked. "When have I ever even implied—?"

"Perhaps when you ignored me when you had months to reach out, or when you called me a spoiled child.”

"Yes, well, you're acting like a spoiled child—"

"You know nothing of me, or what I have been through—”

"I know that you have spent your entire life behind palace walls, with governesses, and socialites, and that you have no idea what the world is actually like—"

"Am I meant to apologize for the fact that I am not allowed to fight for my country?" Chuuya hisses, his hands balled into fists. "If I could have, I would have, happily."

Dazai squeezes his eyes shut, biting back his own utter frustration that someone who has not fought in a war, who has not seen the pain, devastation, and terror, would ever wish for that. "If you had seen it, you would not say such a thing."

"I have seen what it is like to be powerless, and then belittled by the very same condescending, arrogant alphas who have forced me to be." Chuuya snarls, "Do not use my upbringing as a weapon against me, sir, I did not choose it." 

That, finally, seems to sink in for him—at least a little, and when Dazai falls silent, contemplating what the younger man is saying, he notices the fact that Chuuya is shaking.

From rage, or some other emotion, Dazai does not know—but what he does know, is that he is... 

...Not proud of his conduct.

Chuuya is quiet, fighting to catch his breath, because he has never been in an argument with someone, not like this—he has never dared, and certainly, no alpha would have indulged it—

"I do not despise you," Dazai murmurs. "Not in the least." 

Chuuya did not know just how badly he needed to hear that, until Dazai actually said it, and his shoulders slump.

"Though I would understand," the alpha continues, his voice softer, much more gentle than Chuuya thought it could be, for someone described as 'cold.' "If you harbored such sentiments towards me."

After all, Dazai is not a fool, and he does understand that insulting the omega was not necessary—and that, for reasons out of his control, Chuuya might not have had a very high opinion of him to begin with.

"...I do not." 

His voice is small then, not the roaring that he offered to Dazai before, like an offended lion—no, now he sounds more like...an unsure little house cat.

"...No?" Dazai murmurs, taking a step closer, and Chuuya tenses again, because really, getting angry was the only thing that was stopping him from...

From being...

"No," Chuuya mutters, wrapping his arms very tightly around his middle, as thought that could somehow steady him. "I do not despise every single man who offends me."

"...You will have to tell me then," there is a cautious attempt, on Dazai's part, to be charming, "if any man dares to do so. I shall despise him on your behalf."

"...I am not in the habit of encouraging self-loathing," Chuuya mumbles under his breath, and the laugh that draws from Dazai isn't haughty or belittling, it's...

It's warm. 

"Far too late for that," Dazai's voice is close behind him again, and they aren't touching, but Chuuya can feel the heat of him, when he's standing so close. "But you're very sweet, aren't you?"

Chuuya can be, when he so desires—and something about the way Dazai is talking to him, it...makes him shiver, his head tilting forward, to the side, and he does not know what it means to present one's throat, that was never explained, but—

But the hunger that takes hold in Dazai's gut is sudden, and powerful, creating a tension in the air that even Chuuya is not oblivious to, even if he does not know what it means.

"Chuuya?"

"..." He swallows hard, his jaw aching from how hard it's clenched, "...Yes?"

"May I presume to touch you now?"

The redhead is very glad for the fact that the tree is so close, because if he had not been able to reach out and brace himself with one hand, he would have fallen over the moment that his knees began to wobble.

He doesn't know what Dazai wants to touch him for, or why, because it is not their wedding night, they are not in a bedroom, and—

And Chuuya has used enough bravery at the moment, he has none left to spare, and he is not curious enough to ask any more questions that might clue Dazai into—

"No."

Dazai lets out a surprised laugh, tilting his head. "No?"

Chuuya squares his shoulders, and he repeats himself. "No, I'm—I'm very tired, and if my sister, or the Duke knows I was alone with you before the—"

Dazai supposes that does make sense, because Chuuya did land today, and has not had a moment to rest. "Of course," he murmurs, taking a step back. "Later, then."

Not very much later, anyway. But at least Chuuya has more time to...

Contemplate it. And he does not know why it feels like his body is encouraging something that is supposed to be very painful.

Once he feels steady on his feet again, he makes to leave—only to pause. "...Dazai-sama?"

The prince glances up, surprised that the omega would choose to address him again, "Yes?"

"...Goodnight," Chuuya says it softly, and Dazai was not expecting such a thing, but—

"Goodnight, Chuuya."

Not cold, the redhead thinks to himself, slipping out of of the courtyard, quietly making his way down the castle halls, slowly winding his way back, until he finds—

Until he finds a small crowd inside his bedchamber.

"...Good heavens," he stops in the doorway, "am I hosting a dinner party? No one told me."

Kouyou whips around, and the moment she sees her little brother, she—

She's frozen, stunned. He is certainly not the pale, frightened little boy she set on a ship seven years ago—though not very much taller, she must note. "You—" She forgets everything she was about to say, rushing forward to hug him, "You are so grown up now, my darling, look at you—"

Only to be surprised by the stiffness of the embrace she receives in return, "That does tend to happen, sister, when one is away for so very long."

"..." She leans back, carefully brushing off where she has disturbed his robes, her tone suddenly much more somber. “I suppose you are right,” she agrees, “I’m glad you had a safe journey.”

Chuuya nods his head in thanks, and Verlaine focuses on the real question at hand, “And where on earth were you, dove? We were worried sick—"

"Before we left Paris, the court physician told me exercise would help," Chuuya explains, "so I took a walk."

"Help with what, love?" Rimbaud frowns, and Chuuya stares back at him innocently.

"My duties."

No such advise was given, but Chuuya has learned, very quickly, that if he connects anything to his duties or his heats, both men will accept the premise without question. "Oh, yes, of course darling, very good—but you should have asked someone to go with you—"

"I am to live here, aren't I?" Chuuya shrugs, stepping further inside. "It would be silly, to expect someone to be escorted about the halls in their own home."

Not that it feels like home, but—

But it is going to be, and Chuuya has been taught that, as the consort to the heir of this clan, it is his domain. He doesn't intend to give up one of his few areas of authority.

Kouyou and Yosano don't question the mention of duties, simply because they have no idea what that could possibly refer to, other than perhaps that of being a future queen, and—

And they do walk a lot, Kouyou supposes.

"Now," He glances over the room, "as lovely as it is to see everyone, I am very tired, and I would like to sleep."

It's strange, to hear the redhead speak with such a level of command in his tone, but—

But, as someone who is going to be mated to the crown prince in a very, very short amount of time, he outranks everyone else in the room, gender or not.

"Of course, love," Rimbaud murmurs, kissing his cheek, "Sleep well."

Kouyou seems reluctant to leave, but—

But they will have time to catch up later, and Chuuya truly does seem to be exhausted.

They don't know that Chuuya does not go to sleep just yet—instead, he lays in his bed, staring at the open box on his dresser, golden combs, diamonds, and rubies glinting back at him, and when he rolls over, he finds two letters, one old, one new—

Both signatures the same.

Forever yours. 

He spreads his fingers over parchment, like that could tell him if the words were true, or just formalities. Still, in the letters Chuuya has received from his sister, or back when he wrote with Dazai's elder brother—

No one else has ever signed something to him in such a manner.

 "I do not despise you,"  Chuuya rolls over onto his back, staring at the ceiling, both letters pressed to his chest.  "Not in the least."

Is he truly so desperate for affection, that the absence of Dazai's hatred is enough to make him so happy?

Or is it that there is something more, and Chuuya might have some small chance at a happy marriage?

Maybe even, if he's lucky, they'll only have to do...whatever it is...once, and then after that, they could be friends? He very much likes the idea of that. Dazai is irritating, but 

Naomi was right, he is very smart, and... there was actually something very exhilarating about going back and forth with him, even if it was a bit stressful.

And...

When Chuuya drifts to sleep, he presses his hands against his shoulders, remembering what Dazai's hands felt there.

Chapter Text

The next two days are frightfully busy. Chuuya is constantly being fitted for something, or trained in some form of ceremony, or being introduced to someone, anyone, except for the man who is to be his husband—

And in that time, there is not a moment, not a single opportunity, for Yosano to gain a second alone with him.

The only opportunity she truly has is brief, when the poor thing is already dressed and being passed about from one attendant to the other, and the entire palace--no, the entire court—has risen to a near frenzy of excitement.

It has been thirty years since a true royal wedding was held in the court of their country—and after all of the trials and devastation of the last decade, everyone seems to be rather invested in seeing something happy for a change.

Which is why, Yosano finds it so vexing and depressing that her brother-in-law seems so utterly frightened.

"Leave us," she murmurs, kneeling next to the other omega, taking the spot where one of his attendants was affixing the jewels he is to wear into his hair.

"My lady—"

"For just a moment." 

The doors shut, and when it's just the two of them, she leans her chin on Chuuya's shoulder, her fingers working through his hair. "You look perfect, you know. I'm wretched with jealousy."

That pulls a tired smile, "You should not be."

"Oh, don't flatter," Yosano smiles back, wrapping her arms around the younger omega from behind, and in this embrace, the redhead finally relaxes. "Anyone would be jealous of a face like that."

"..." Chuuya is quiet, his gaze distant, and Yosano presses on,

"What is worrying you so much?"

"...It's nothing." He mutters, glancing down at his hands, and Yosano...

Is not a gentle person, or tactful—but for once, she decides to go easy with him.

"Yes, well..." She goes back to adjusting his hair, "As you know, I have been mated very happily—and, compared to others who might have spoken to you about such things, recently." She points out, carefully pinning one comb into place.

Chuuya bites his lip, thinking, because that is true. Rimbaud and Verlaine have been mated for over twenty years, and maybe...he didn't...remember everything vividly. 

"So, if you have any questions," Yosano shrugs, getting to work on the other comb, "I would be happy to answer them."

"..." Chuuya squirms, fiddling with his hands awkwardly. "Does it really hurt that much?" He asks in a small voice, and Yosano pauses.

"I..." She frowns. "Hurt is not the word I would use. It can be uncomfortable, simply because it's a new kind of sensation—but once you adjust, it's actually very enjoyable."

Chuuya makes a face, "...Not just during heats?"

"No, no—not at all," Yosano shakes her head. "It depends on your partner, of course, it's more of a skill, really—"

Chuuya frowns. Having children takes skill? Is that why one must attempt to conceive multiple times?

"The bite does hurt, but not nearly as much as you would think, if you're properly distracted."

"I—” Chuuya chokes. "He's going to bite me?"

"I," Yosano's brow furrows, and she pauses in the middle of her work, "I should certainly hope so, that's how these things are—" She leans around to look at his face with a frown. "Oh, sweet boy, did no one tell you?"

Very clearly not.

Oh dear.

Not that she can really explain much now, not at all--they have maybe two minutes before the servants return, and the ceremony starts almost as soon as they do.

"On your throat, yes—and it will sting, but not too badly—it's how the mating is sealed, you see."

"...Do the teeth get stuck?" Chuuya asks slowly, and Yosano's eyes almost bug out of her head.

"...What?"

"Rimbaud, he told me something gets stuck, and that's how you know it's finished—"

Oh no, oh no, no, no—

"I—" She hears footsteps coming. "Look, just—" She's struggling, because she could have told Chuuya everything he needed to know, she's been trained by a physician, for goodness sake—but they don't have any real time, and she's struggling to pick out what the most important things are, that he could actually take in so quickly. 

"..." She pins the last comb into place, reaching down to take his hands, squeezing them tightly as he looks into his eyes, "You must understand—Dazai, he is not a cruel man," she murmurs, "I have known him to be capable of great kindness. And he will not hurt you."

"But I thought..." Chuuya frowns, "I thought it was supposed to—"

"If it hurts, you must tell him, and he will stop." Yosano assures him.

"I—" Chuuya doesn't have a real grasp for what the man looks like, not anymore, but he felt huge, standing behind him in the garden the night before. "What if he doesn't?"

If he chooses not do, Chuuya doesn't think he could do anything to stop it.

"He will, Chuuya, he will," Yosano shakes her head, "and if he doesn't—bite him. Or scream. He will listen."

Knowing that makes it a little less terrifying, actually.

There's a knock at the door, "Your highness? The others are ready—"

"Another moment, please—we shall be out shortly."

"But—"

"A moment." She turns her gaze back to Chuuya. "We can speak of this again, after your honeymoon, but it's important to understand—alphas do not hold all of the power in a marriage. I think you'll find, once you are more familiar—that not only is it pleasurable, but that you can use it to your advantage."

To his advantage?

"Because you have something he wants, and you decide when he gets it." Yosano explains forcefully, and Chuuya is trying to get it, but this is all so vague, he really doesn't know.

"You mean when he gets children?"

Her jaw is hanging open, "I—"

Another knock.

"Your grace—"

And then, there really isn't any more time. 

The doors open, and several attendants come forward, helping Chuuya adjust the hood of his kimono, pulling it down over his head—and Yosano is right there, helping him to his feet, her lips pressed tightly together, because—

Well, it's too late now, she can only...help him stay calm, because...

Good god, she can tell that the boy seems terrified.

The procession is larger than normal, given the scale of the occasion, with several priests, nobles, and shrine maidens waiting—along with the key members of both families.

Chuuya knew, of course, that Dazai would be escorting him to the shrine. That is tradition, and he's been studying the ceremony with his tutors for months, he knows it backwards and forwards.

What he was not prepared for, however, was that this would be the first time that he had ever seen his fiancé up close, particularly as a grown man of twenty-four years old.

And the first thing about him that Chuuya notices is that he's very tall. Actually, he seems to be the tallest person in the entire group, by far—even compared to his father, the king. His height only seems to become more daunting as they draw closer, because he's also broad. Not in a husky way, like the guards Chuuya had attending him in Paris, no, he's lean—Chuuya can tell as much from the way his hakama sit on his waist (which is narrow, compared to the breadth of his shoulders)—and it isn't hard to believe, from the shape of him alone, that he has been in many battles.

(In France, the aristocracy does not engage in such things as battles, and if an alpha is proficient with a sword, it is for fencing, or other sporting purposes. Or, if he or she desires to duel for the honor of an omega under their care, then they shall learn how to properly fire a pistol, but never anything more.)

In short, compared to Japan, the society Chuuya was socialized in was...they called it "civilized," but the redhead would use the word soft, if he was being generous, sheltered from violence.

Or, if he was being less generous, fraudulent—like many of the other courts in Europe, where the seats of political power were always so careful to insulate themselves from the costs of the wars they waged. 

Of all of the alphas who attempted to court him there (and none of them ever made it past Verlaine, poor things) none of them could have even named a battle, much less fought in one.

Which is why Chuuya is slightly baffled when he sees the bandages. From where he is, he can see them at the nape of the alpha's neck, just underneath his hair, continuing under the collar of his haori.

Is he hurt? The war has been over for nearly a year now, surely he would have healed, wouldn't he? He certainly didn't sound like he was in pain the night that Chuuya arrived—

But any further thought of that is thoroughly doused when they get close enough for Chuuya to see his face.

Oh.

The same sharp features he remembers from childhood, but more fleshed out, like what Chuuya saw was only a beginning sketch, and the man standing before him is a full portrait. A strong jaw, a sharp chin—high cheekbones, and—

And in all of the times Chuuya had glance him before, he was never close enough to see his eyes—but now, peering from under his hood, he can see that they are a surprisingly lovely shade of brown. Not dark, but...light enough to catch the rays from the setting sun, highlighting flakes of gold, green, and so many other colors, the redhead feels as though he might be content to take an entire afternoon, just sorting them out.

Dazai, however, is not experiencing the same delighted surprise at the revelation that his mate is not unpleasant to look at, but actually rather attractive.

No, he is experiencing no such revelations at all, because he cannot see even an inch of Chuuya's face.

It is traditional, of course, for omegas to wear hoods on their wedding days, Dazai would not begrudge his family that. But the hood is much lower than it is typically worn, all the way down to his nose, Dazai does not know how the poor thing can even see enough to walk— (which, he supposes, Chuuya might not actually be able to, he does seem to be holding onto Lady Yosano's arm rather tightly, he must be nervous about tripping and falling over)—and even when his mouth and chin underneath it, they are concealed by a thin layer of lace, obscuring even that from view. 

Dazai did not think himself eager for his marriage—as it was only a symptom of the greater problem in his life, that of the crown he is being forced to inherit. As a result, he never allowed himself to feel much curiosity about his mate-to-be.

At least, he thought that was how he felt, but now that any chance of seeing Chuuya's face has been stripped, he finds himself feeling...

...rising frustration.

His fiancé is deposited next to him, and there isn't much of a chance for talking before Chuuya is guided to take his arm.

(And, once again, Chuuya is slightly daunted by how big Dazai's forearm feels under his fingers, even through the fabric of his haori, and the other robes underneath.

He wants to dare another look at his face, but he fears that if he does look up right now, he might... Not keep his composure.

Nor is there an opportunity for them to speak much at all, not with several priests, Dazai's mother, and Chuuya's sister hovering close by—and the walk to the shrine feels like it takes forever, even if the redhead is sure that it must have only been five or ten minutes.

There is one point, when Chuuya stumbles over an unseen rock on the ground, that Dazai's arm tightens around his, holding him steady. And he speaks so lowly, that only Chuuya can hear it.

"Careful, now."

While the prince might be silently despising the hood and veil, Chuuya is grateful for them now, because otherwise, the fact that his face is burning would be on full display.

Eventually, they do arrive, just as the sun begins to set—and when Chuuya is kneeling down beside the alpha on silk cushions, watching as the priests set up a table, so that the sake might be poured, he finds himself realizing...

He was so nervous about Dazai, so unsure about what comes after and everything else—

Chuuya never gave much thought to the fact that today was his wedding day, the day he was raised to look forward to and fantasize about for most of his life.

And Chuuya cannot say that he is unhappy.

Dazai’s hands are graceful, as he pours the first cup of sake—taking three sips for himself, before passing it to Chuuya.

(When their hands brush together, that is the first time either one of them gets a scope of just how much smaller Chuuya is, or the fact that Dazai's fingers almost envelop his hand when the cup is passed between them.)

Dazai's thoughts on the matter, of course, are not exactly gentlemanly, and Chuuya is simply thinking that he must have a terrible time finding gloves that fit properly. Of course, they're likely custom made, but that must make it take such a long time to order them. Though, they must be very suitable for archery—

He winces, when the sake hits his tongue. It's far sharper to the palette than the wine he has become accustomed to—but, once again, this was something that they have prepared for.

Chuuya pours for him next, and Dazai's eyes are locked on him, eyeing the short, graceful movements of the omega’s arms, hoping he might get a glimpse, when the cup returns to his lips again—

But blast it, instead of lifting the veil, the creature simply slips the cup underneath it.

Surely, he isn't hideous, Dazai has heard the stories from Paris, enough accounts from his parents, and the other staff who have seen him since he arrived in the city. He knows the redhead is good looking—beautiful, supposedly, though every young, high born omega is said to be beautiful, excluding those who are truly unfortunate looking.

But, Dazai assumes he must be above average, to have secured so much attention abroad. And if so, why hide his face?

Their fingers brush together again, when the cup is offered to him—and Dazai willingly takes it, lifting it to his lips—and he can feel eyes watching him, even if he can't see them, from underneath the shroud—

But he does take the time to lick his lips when he is finished, rather slowly--a smirk spreading across his face when he can feel the creature next to him tense up.

Well, Dazai does not have to see him to affect him then, does he?

Chuuya is feeling a little lightheaded by the time they finish with the Sake—half, because he has never held liquor particularly well, and half, because the weight of Dazai's stare is heavy.

Offerings are brought, by Dazai's parents, and by Kouyou—and when that much is done with, Chuuya and Dazai themselves are set to move forward, each laying a clipping from a Sakaki tree upon the altar, and the priest speaks to Dazai, having the prince repeat his vows—which he does, his voice low.

Swearing to be honorable, to protect his mate, and any children they might have—and Chuuya would be lying, if he didn't enjoy hearing Dazai say the words,

"I will honor, and defend him—for all of my life."

It is part of the fantasy that everyone has, and Chuuya might be different in other ways, but in this, he is no exception.

But even more so, it makes him think—

Always yours. 

His own vows, Chuuya enjoys very much less, because he only has to make one:

To obey.

Expected, and he was prepared for it—he knows what his duties are, and while he might have struggled with his role as a child, he understands that his ability to be a proper mate does not just have an effect on his future, and happiness—but that of his family, as well.

Rings are presented, and Dazai's hands are much steadier than his, slipping the golden band onto Chuuya's finger. His own have the slightest, nervous tremor to them, when he does the same for the alpha—but Dazai makes no comment on the matter, and he certainly isn't smirking then, not when he sees the fact that the redhead does seem to be very nervous.

But then again, Dazai has also not spent very much time around omegas, not outside of Mori and Ryuu, neither of whom are particularly average, in temperament. If this behavior is abnormal, the prince quite simply would not know it.

It does seem a strange contrast, however, with the proud, somewhat ferocious little creature he met the other night.

But then, the drum is struck, and...

It is done.

The younger man tries to wrap his head around that, during the procession to the palace.

They're married. He is married. Something so permanent, so irrevocable, and it happened so...so fast, so easily, it almost doesn't feel real.

And it certainly doesn't feel real that the man on his arm is his husband, either.

The reception is not as long as others have been in the past, given that the wedding occurred later in the day—by design, because Rimbaud insisted on as much.

He did not think Chuuya could withstand the tension of having to sit through hours of dancing and dining, waiting for what was to come.

Everyone else scoffed, not understanding, but Chuuya is quite relieved for it now, because he has been rigid throughout dinner, not removing his hood (for that, Dazai is truly baffled.)

"...Goodness," Kouyou frowns, craning her neck from the other side of the room, trying to get a better look at her brother, "why is he hiding from him, like that?"

"..." Yosano tilts her head back, finishing her glass of sake in one, anxiety ridden gulp. "Would you like me to tell you now, or after we retire?"

"...You say that as though I will be cross," the alpha frowns, and her mate shrugs.

"You certainly will. You might even want to have your way with me a few times. I know, far too generous of me, but I am a giver—"

"Why are you trying to be cheeky?" Kouyou murmurs, her eyes narrowed as she stares over the rim of her cup.

"Do you not like it, darling?"

"You know that I do, very much," the noble frowns, "but I also know when I am being handled."

"I take it that means you would prefer to know now, then?" Yosano sighs, pouring herself another cup.

"Yes, before I begin to think the worst."

Yosano finishes this glass too in one, desperate swallow. "Would you like me to put it delicately?"

Kouyou sighs, because she knows her wife was not raised with court manners, "You know I prefer it when you speak to me plainly, my love."

Yosano clears her throat, her tongue loosened enough now, by the liquor, that she can actually say it with a straight face, "I'm not entirely sure he is even aware of the fact that the prince has a cock, and if so, where it goes."

Kouyou chokes. Not just in a small, subtle way, but so hard that someone actually has to reach over and beat on her back until she manages to clear her airway. "I—no, he can't possibly—"

"All he knows," Yosano mutters, "is that something gets stuck."

"No," Kouyou whispers, pale. "No, that must be a mistake—"

"He asked me if the bonding bite was how children were conceived," Yosano hisses, setting her cup down, "I am comfortable with the assumption that he knows absolutely nothing.”  

"That's—"

"Kouyou," her wife pleads, tugging at her sleeve, "we have to do something."

"What?" The alpha frowns, her brow knitting together "It's a little late for that, don't you think?"

"We—we could take him aside, or—"

"At most, we could get a few minutes with him, and even so, that is not a conversation that can be had in a few minutes. Honestly, I—at this point, it might be best to just let him—"

"No," Yosano shakes her head, "You cannot possibly think that—"

"Well, you were a virgin, and you seemed perfectly fine—”

"My father was a doctor, I knew what to expect, and you were not a prince that is six years older than me," Yosano huffs. "Honestly, how you could even think that those things are remotely the same—"

"Yes, but I'm just thinking that a rushed explanation where you and I are both in a panic might frighten him more." Kouyou mutters, "I don't see there being much to be gained from it."

That...

Yosano turns her head back to the royal dais, and she sighs.

That probably is true. "We could warn the prince?"

"Good heavens, why would we?" Kouyou mutters, "Chuuya would be furious, if he knew to be."

"What do you mean?"

"The prince already knows that my brother is a virgin. He isn't exactly going to try and take him like one of his geishas. If Chuuya knew how ignorant he was, I assure you, he would want to save face. He doesn't like looking like a fool."

"He might, if he thinks that his husband is trying to impale him and he does not understand why."

"Or, he might play along."

"That would not be the optimal outcome!" Yosano shakes her head, "And I assure you, it might not have occurred to you, since you've never been taken like that but it does require some amount of understanding to play along without panicking—"

Well, of course, when she puts it like that, Kouyou understands, and is even about to call over a page so that they might summon her brother for a quick word—

But then, the reception—which was intended to be short—is over. And while Dazai lingers, speaking with his father, and two of the other lords present—Chuuya is swept off by attendants, and...

And it is too late.

"I—" Chuuya pauses when he notices he's being led in a very different direction than what he is used to, "Where are we going?"

"To your bedchambers, your grace," Naomi explains patiently.

"But...they are on the other side of the—"

"Those were your temporary quarters," Naomi shakes her head. "Now, you will be residing with the prince, in his chambers."

"Oh."

In his chambers? Is the prince not meant to come to him, whenever he sees fit?

"Are we to share the same bed every night?" Chuuya murmurs, baffled.

"Yes, your grace."

How odd. 

Chuuya has never had another person in his nests, before. He hadn't had time to make a proper one, in the room he had been given here—but it seems very strange, that he should share it with someone so big.

"He seems too tall to be able to share a bed," he mutters to himself. "I don't know if there will be any room for me."

One of the other attendants giggles, and Chuuya cannot understand what is so funny about that. He does want to be comfortable, after all—

(Naomi is the only one who realizes that their new princess is not joking.) "Not to worry, your grace, the prince's chambers are very large, as is his bed, there will be plenty of room." She murmurs, and it might be above her station, but she does give the redhead's arm a comforting squeeze, which Chuuya is thankful for.

When they do enter his room, Chuuya finds it...

Fascinating, actually.

Books, lots of books, scrolls, some of them in languages even Chuuya has not seen, lining shelves on the walls. Maps that look like they might actually serve a purpose, other than being decorative—

And it smells different. Pleasant. 

A strange, almost alpine scent, like something he might find on a walk through a forest. Refreshing, actually.

After a moment, he realizes that is what Dazai must smell like, and his heart skips a beat.

"Your things have already been brought in, we settled that during the ceremony," Naomi murmurs, helping him with the heavy, outer layer of his kimono, along with the hood—and it is a lot easer to breathe, to think, without that weighing him down. "Is there anything I could bring you, your grace? To make you more comfortable?"

Chuuya mumbles something unintelligible.

"I'm sorry—?"

"Wine, please," he croaks, feeling rather pale. "I—if you could bring a bottle, and a glass."

"Yes," she agrees, bowing her head. "Right away."

She slips from the room, along with the other attendants, and Chuuya is left to...stew. 

Should he...get naked by himself? That has to happen, right?

The redhead paces back and forth, biting the knuckle of his index finger, thinking.

He always has had an excellent pain tolerance, and after what Yosano said, he isn't so frightened, but—it's the unknown that worries him.

He was rather ill, as a child. What if that impacted things? What if there is some function he is supposed to perform, and his body cannot do it properly?

What if, as Yosano phrased it, Dazai is not, 'skilled?' Or, even worse, what if Chuuya asks him to stop, and he does not? Is he really to bite him? Or to scream? Would anyone come if he did?

He stops in the middle of the room, pressing his face into his hands, trying to take deep, calming breaths.

It is fine. It has to be. People get married every day. Children are born. 

Yosano is mated with a child, she does not seem traumatized.

But—

But she married Chuuya's sister for love.

The redhead stops, his chest sinking. And while the prince does not despise him, he surely doesn't—

He does not love me.

How could he, when they have only spoken twice, once as children, the second time when Chuuya was insisting that he was not the stupid little child that he is behaving like right now—

But—

He presses his hands to his temples, gritting his teeth.

But he is not a child. Not anymore. He is of age, he is married, and he has...

Duties.

He sits on the edge of the bed, swallowing hard, and he—and he thinks.

Chuuya does not think he has the nerve to completely undress himself, nor could he, with how his obi is settled on his back, but—

But he can get someof it, which he does, taking off the upper layers—there are so many in wedding kimonos, he feels badfor giggling at the petticoats his friends in Paris had to suffer with—laying them carefully over the dresser, for the servants to fetch later, along with the veil.

And then, when Naomi still has not returned, he...

Tries...

To position...

Himself...

...appropriately.

It has to be in the bed, yes? So, should he just—

He climbs into it, which is a little awkward, when he's still wearing the kimono, even without all of the extra layers, but when he's lying there, awkwardly trying to arrange himself—

No, no, this can't be right, can't be right at all.

How does one just wait for one's husband to come in and do something to them when they don't even know what—

He's splayed on his back, staring at the ceiling, like it is somehow a mirror and he can glare at himself through it, for the fact that he is about to look like an utter fool, and—

"This is just ridiculous," he mutters, sitting up with a huff.

His stomach is no better, nor is just sitting on the edge of the bed, like he is about to say his prayers or something of the like.

He must get it right. It is his only job, he will not disgrace his family, not so soon after his return, not when this is the only thing they have ever asked of him—

When he's on his knees in the middle of the bed, facing away from the door, he just debates if maybe the bed thing was a bad idea all-together. Maybe he should have just sat at Dazai's desk and tried to look pretty, or simply remained standing, or—

The door slides open with a soft hiss, and his heart comes to a halt. 

Chapter Text

From Dazai's perspective, nothing actually seems amiss.

The room is in order, his husband seems to have taken the time to get a little bit more comfortable, and he is unaware of the floundering that just occurred, so—

From his perspective, Chuuya kneeling, facing away—

It actually looks like a somewhat seductive position, a tease, even, after how carefully his face has been hidden from Dazai all day, all week, even.

"..."

Chuuya hears the door sliding shut again, and he hopes that it is Naomi, but—

"Are the accommodations to your liking, my dear?" He asks softly, hoping the term of endearment might soften him up just a little, not sure if the redhead is not still cross after the other night.

Of course, Dazai has no romantic pretenses about this evening—they both have a task to perform, and the chances of Chuuya having any fondness for him are...

Well, after the attitude his sister has displayed towards Dazai, the personal history between their families, and Dazai's own behavior...

The odds are astronomically low.

But, he has no intentions of making it unpleasant. Dazai isn't a fumbling teenager, he knows how to please a lover, and he does think, if he is patient, he might be able to build a friendship.

He was lucky enough to be born to parents who loved one another—and at the very least, he does not want his mate to despise him.

Chuuya has already said that he does not, but—Dazai finds that most people do, once they get to know him better.

"Yes," the omega finally answers, not turning around. "They are."

He sounds tense, but—well, it has been a very long day, hasn't it? 

Dazai nods, letting out a sigh, stepping further into the room. After all, it's natural for him to be relaxed, Chuuya thinks to himself miserably, they're in his space.

"Your rooms in Paris, what were they like?"

Oddly conversational. Rimbaud did not mention talking. 

"...I had a balcony, over the gardens." Chuuya mutters, fiddling with the silk of his sleeve, bunched up in his lap. "And a window seat—excellent for reading."

"Do you read often, then?"

"As often as I can, your grace—but my selection from the library was limited."

Dazai pauses, tilting his head to the side, "You don't need to call me that, you know—unless you enjoy it."

Which is possible, some omegas are...attracted to rank, he supposes.

Chuuya's brow pinches. Unless he enjoys it? "Call you what, your gr—"

"That." Dazai interrupts. "No one would expect you to call me that." Silence follows, and Dazai comes to understand at least one of the reasons for the tense set of his shoulders, and...

He is surprisingly kind about it.

"I'm sure if I were to appear in the French court tomorrow, I would not know what to call you, either." He offers, and that—

That makes Chuuya's chest relax a little, because it does not seem like the prince is laughing at him, or that he finds Chuuya's confusion strange.

"It's a bit more formal over there, I think." Chuuya murmurs. "You would be expected to call me by my title as well."

"Even though we're married?" Dazai tilts his head to the side, and when Chuuya nods, he arches an eyebrow, "Should I call you your highness, then?"

"...No," Chuuya's voice is quiet again, "my name perfectly fine, your—" he hesitates, and Dazai offers, rather gently,

"My name is perfectly fine as well, Chuuya."

"..." His head lowers, and he nods. "Alright...Dazai."

The alpha steps closer, interpreting this as some amount of home sickness--because in many ways, France was more of his home. "Did you like them?"

Chuuya pauses, unsure of what he means, until he feels Dazai's fingers brush against the back of his head, and—

The hair combs.

"I did," the omega admits, because honestly, he did. "I've never worn anything like it, before."

"They suit you."

It's a small compliment, but Chuuya cannot help but beam a little with bride, that his husband is pleased by the sight of Chuuya wearing them. "I was not sure if that was intentional." He admits.

Dazai's finger slips down, slowly, tracing over the nape of the omega's neck.

Goosebumps spring up in his wake, an instant response that does make Dazai smile. "I was not sure if you remembered telling me that."

Chuuya's heart swells, and even if he is still so nervous, now he's biting back smiles instead of tears. "I remember that day very well."

Dazai's finger drifts around the curve of his neck, pausing over his pulse, and Chuuya knows, he must feel it throbbing there. "I'm afraid I could not find anything with red bean buns, so I thought—" That draws a surprised little laugh from the redhead, and it's such a sweet sound, it almost makes it hard for Dazai to keep speaking, "I thought red camellias would—"

And then, Dazai's fingers finally reach his chin, and he is finally able to turn Chuuya's head, so that they might actually look at one another, and then—

"...would suit you just fine."

Now, Dazai doesn't know how to speak at all.

How...

His eyes slide over the perfect bow of his mouth, soft, horribly alluring lips, delicate features, a button nose, dark eyelashes, and—

And what might be the most captivating eyes the alpha has ever seen.

How did no one warn him that he was marrying a—?!

Angel seems like a strong word. Yes, it's a ridiculous word, one that those silly Paris poets probably used, but something close. Surely, it could not be something of this earth, because no one is naturally so perfect. 

Chuuya did not know what was going to come next (as will shock absolutely no one), but of all of the things he had guessed, it wasn't—

He sees Dazai leaning in, and he isn't sure what the man is doing. Chuuya almost wishes he wouldn't, because he was quite enjoying his change to view the alpha up close for the first time, and then he's very close, still getting closer, what on earth—?

A soft noise of surprise escapes him when their mouths press together, and—

And, as one might expect, it does not hurt, but—but what is it—? 

Then, after a long moment, (one laced with confusion and embarrassment, because it's the most intimate touch the omega has ever experienced), he realizes...It's actually a little nice.

Warm, and the alpha's mouth is surprisingly soft, and—and there is something oddly pleasing about the pressure against his mouth.

Was this what Yosano meant, when she said it could be nice? Because if this is all it is, then Chuuya—Chuuya feels like he should find Rimbaud and give him a good kick for all of the fuss. He could do this all night—

At first, Dazai was a little concerned when his husband became so stiff under his mouth, and when it took him so long to relax, but eventually, when Chuuya does, the alpha takes that as a sign to press closer, slipping the omega's lower lip between his own, giving it a gentle suck, (and he is being careful with him, far more careful than any other omega he's ever bedded—not that he's ever been careless, but because given the importance of their relationship, he does want Chuuya to enjoy it—)

He just wasn't expecting the startled noise that Chuuya makes in response, but he also isn't pushing him away, so—

So, Dazai comes to the conclusion that, perhaps Tachihara's assessment of the French court was not accurate, but—

That isn't strange. Dazai has never been with a virgin, but he certainly doesn't mind it—if anything, it means that he can sure that his only experiences are good ones, which, given his other likely failings as a husband, is the least he can do.

And all of that would be fine, if not for the fact that...Even as Dazai is moving his mouth, trying to encourage Chuuya to do the same, but—

But the redhead isn't just responding with inexperience, or shyness, he—

He isn't responding at all. Not pushing him away, not saying no, not stiff, but—

Just, nothing.

Chuuya's eyes are half lidded when the alpha pulls back, and his cheeks are flushed—he doesn't seem upset, but—

"...Is everything alright?" Dazai asks slowly, and Chuuya barely manages a small nod, his voice faint.

"Yes," yes, it's very alright, he wishes Dazai would do that thing with his lower lip again, he rather liked that.

"...You're sure?"

Chuuya manages a nod, and when Dazai doesn't look convinced, he adds, "...Was I doing something wrong?"

"No," Dazai shakes his head, "I just..." One can't be wrong if they're not doing anything at all. "...Has no one ever kissed you before?"

"..." Chuuya shakes his head, "Not on the..." He trails off, struggling for words. "Not on the mouth."

His mother did have a fondness for kissing his cheeks, and his forehead when he was a boy, but it was nothing like this. Nothing like this at all.

Well. 

That's a bit...even for a virgin, he was told there was interest in Chuuya, he had thought—

But, well—alright. That's—fine. Really, no habits means no bad habits.

"...Is that a problem?" Chuuya asks slowly, "I—is this the sort of thing I should have—?"

Dazai interrupts him, assuming he knows what Chuuya is about to say, "No, darling, it's alright."

He thought Chuuya was going to say, 'The sort of thing I should have done before?' But what the omega was actually going to say was,

'Is this the thing I should have known about?' 

"Just..." Dazai stops, for the first time since seeing that face, and he actually tries to think. "That can't be very comfortable."

"Oh," Chuuya glances down at his kimono. The obi actually wasn't uncomfortable before, but in this position...

And being naked, that is a part of it, yes? So—it cannot be done until then, can it?

"I was not sure..." He trails off, his brow pinching with concentration, "If I was supposed to take it off myself, or..."

Well. Dazai supposes that someone who has never been to bed with anyone might not know the natural rhythms of such a thing. He certainly was not sure what to do during his first time, even if that time was a bit...hazy...

"I actually enjoy doing it myself," he murmurs, and Chuuya nods, relieved, because he doesn't know how to reach it anyway, and it seems much easier to just let Dazai to it.

And then, when Dazai is behind him and actually beginning the work of unfastening it, Chuuya pauses, and that phrasing finally hits him. "...Dazai?"

"Yes?"

"When you said you enjoy doing it yourself..." the belt loosens around his ribs, and 

Chuuya's stomach does nervous backflips, but he stays still, "...who else have you been undressing?"

Dazai's fingers freeze, and he—

He was not expecting to have this sort of conversation on his wedding night. Actually, he can't think of any other omega who would have asked such a thing.

But it is also not abnormal, nor is it inappropriate for an alpha to have experience before he is mated—and for Dazai, he wasn't...he did not disgrace himself, certainly, he doesn't know why Chuuya would be concerned.

"...This is not my first time doing this," the alpha admits, the silk wrapping coming away under his fingers with a slow slide of fabric, and with that out of the way, the thin silk layer that is left behind begins to slip down Chuuya's shoulders, might have slipped all the way down, if the redhead had not wrapped his arms around himself, making it stop halfway down his arms, and in the middle of his back.

"...Have you been married before?" Chuuya mutters, his eyebrows pinching together, and now Dazai is just as confused.

"...No, nor do I intend to marry again." He explains. "The honor of tolerating my company is reserved solely for you, now."

Chuuya thinks he could do more than tolerate him, if Dazai would kiss him again. "...I don't understand."

The alpha raises an eyebrow, reaching forward to skate his fingertips across Chuuya's bare shoulder blade, enjoying the shiver that draws out of him. "What is there to understand?"

"...Do you have any children?" Chuuya asks, because that would be a problem. He knows that bastards exist, even if no one has really explained how, and that for a new royal dynasty, that would be a terrible problem.

Not to mention the fact that, as Dazai's mate, he doesn't have very many jobs, and one of them is having his children. Chuuya likes having a job, and he would be very unhappy to find out that someone has already—

"What? No. I was very careful about that," Dazai reassures him, and that isn't what sets off alarm bells, because that's actually a reasonable concern, a much more practical thing than jealousy, which he might have expected (or even, been flattered by.)

"...Then what was the purpose of doing it at all?" Chuuya frowns. Surely, it could not have been practice? No one ever told him to practice anything related—even the things he was told came after marriage, those were all very carefully hidden away from him—

"...Chuuya..."

"What?"

"...It isn't only reason that people do this, you know."

"..." He was expecting many things, but not the look of a frightened deer that he's receiving in response right now. "...Why else?"

"...Because people enjoy it." Dazai frowns, "Both parties, if it's done properly."

"..."

That does line up with what Yosano said, yes. "...You're going to..." he takes a deep breath, "...bite me, then?"

"...Yes," Dazai agrees, glad that they are seeming to return to the same page, which he never thought would be so hard to get on to begin with. "I would not insult you by refusing to do so."

Well. At least he doesn't want to insult him. "Well," Chuuya swallows hard, tilting his head and closing his eyes, "I am ready."

"..."

He waits, silently, for the 'sting' or whatever, but nothing happens.

"Chuuya."

The redhead cracks one eyelid open. 

"...What?"

Suddenly, Dazai notices the fact that Chuuya isn't just shivering with nervousness, or excitement, but—

But he's trembling.

Dazai rises to his feet, taking a step away from the bed, and the omega instantly looks distressed.

"...Did I do something wrong?" 

"No," Dazai holds up a finger, trying to—trying to put all of this together, "But I need you to tell me something, right now."

"..." Chuuya nods, very serious. They are married now, after all, and the redhead has no intentions of keeping any secrets.

"What...exactly, do you think is about to happen?"

"..." Chuuya glances around, holding his robe, half on, around his body. "...That we're...about to..." he frowns, "...mate."

"Yes," Dazai agrees, "but what does that entail?"

"...You bite me," Chuuya offers, "I've had this conversation before. I know all about it." See? He isn't a spoiled...child, or anything. He is of proper age, and he is married. He can do this. "Twice, actually."

"..." Dazai crosses his arms over his chest. "What else?"

He almost pities the poor thing staring back at him, his lips parted in a perfect 'o', and he's clearly vexed. "...We both...we both remove our clothes."

Dazai feels a little relieved, because he was beginning to think that the omega knew nothing. "Yes, and then?"

"..." Chuuya clears his throat. "I-I don't know if we discussed a particular order—"

"This is not a graded test, sweetheart, just—everything you know."

"...I know that it can hurt, quite a bit," Chuuya mutters, and that makes Dazai stiffen with concern.

"Who told you that it would hurt?"

"Just my—"

"No one has ever tried to force you to do something, have they?" Dazai asks him very seriously, and Chuuya seems horrified by the suggestion.

"No!"

"I would not blame you if such a thing had happened, but if it has, you must tell me.”

"No one has ever touched me!" Chuuya snaps, tired of being interrupted and spoken over. "Not until...kissing you, nothing else like that has happened. Ever."

Even discussing it feels uncomfortable, even if that is what they are meant to be doing.

Dazai pinches the bridge of his nose. "I—it is much more than biting." 

Well, if that's true, Chuuya has no idea why no one said anything about it, because this feels—

This feels like he's failing, and he doesn't like it, because he really is trying his best.

"Well—" He takes a deep breath, "Whatever it is, just do it."

"I—" Dazai sputters. “I will not—”

Now, Chuuya has gone from distressed to devastated. “Why?!”

“Because you are petrified, and I will not—”

“Am I not—?” Chuuya glances down at himself, then back at his husband. “I—If you explain it to me, I can learn, I’m very good at picking things up quickly—”

“This is not like a new dance or a game of cards, Chuuya, it is much more serious than that...” Dazai shakes his head.

“...” Chuuya thinks back on his sister-in-law’s words, saying Chuuya had something that his husband wanted and all of that, and now— 

Now it seems like Chuuya’s husband does not want anything from him at all. “Am I—are people going to know, if we don’t do anything?”

“...” Dazai wishes he could say otherwise, but... “Yes,” he admits. “They will know.”

“...Then—” Chuuya swallows hard, “Then please, do not do that to me—”

Dazai feels a twist of panic when he sees that the younger man is about to burst into tears. “There’s no need for—”

“You said yourself, people would think it was an insult, if you did not bite me—" Chuuya mumbles, wiping at his face.

“I’m not saying that I won’t ever, just that I—”

“And if I can’t—if you won’t have me, I—” Chuuya is struggling, not wanting to lose his composure, but he is distraught, “My sister only brought me home for this, what if she—”

“She cannot send you back, darling, that is not in her power now.”

“Even if she can’t—everyone is going to think there’s something wrong with me—”

“No, but they might think something is wrong with me.”

“And do you think I want that?!” Chuuya shakes his head. “You reflect on me, now! Am I—" he bites his lip, “Am I truly so undesirable?”

“...I never said that you—" Dazai wipes a hand down his face, understanding that not mating with him is clearly just as upsetting, which means—

Which means there is no good outcome. None.

“Please,” Chuuya shakes his head, “I—if you do not, I won’t leave this room until you do.”

It seems like a childish threat, but...Dazai believes, from looking into Chuuya’s eyes, that the redhead has every intention of following through.

“I...” Dazai huffs, letting out a groan. “I am going to tell you exactly what goes on, and if you seem even close to as horrified as you do right now, we will be—”

Well, Dazai supposes he does not actually know what he would do. Chuuya’s insistence, while naive, is not misplaced.

It would cause problems for them, if the marriage was not consummated. Very quickly. Neither one of them has the luxury of waiting for the redhead to be entirely ready—and given this level of ignorance, Dazai does not know how long it would take for him to be ready—

And Dazai cannot wait and hope for a situation he does not have.

He can, however, eviscerate Chuuya’s caretakers for placing both of them in this position.

“...The first thing you must understand,” Dazai sighs, and Chuuya’s eyes light up hopefully, when he hears the alpha’s voice soften. He steps closer to the bed, and when his fingers brush over Chuuya’s cheek— 

“Is that I won’t hurt you, not intentionally.”

Relief, it’s so clear across his face.

“But if it does hurt, and you do not tell me—I will be very angry with you.”

Chuuya nods very seriously. If Dazai isn’t trying to hurt him, the omega thinks it will be fine. After all, he's always had an excellent pain tolerance.

"...Good," Dazai mutters, leaning back, "I'm assuming they never even told you what the act is called?"

"..." Chuuya swallows hard. "...Mating?"

"In a general way," Dazai fights back the urge to groan, rubbing the back of 

his neck, trying to work out some of the tension there. "But, more specifically, it's called..." Dazai never really thought about it, but he supposes there are many names for it. "I suppose the most technical term is intercourse, but no one calls it that—"

"Then what do people call it?"

"...Sex, usually. Or making love," he does not see the way Chuuya seems a little happier at the mention of the second name, "or fucking, if you're being crude about it.”

And then Chuuya pales. "I'm not allowed to—"

Dazai frowns. "Not allowed to what?" 

"...Say words like that." The redhead mutters, his hands tight in his lap, and Dazai sighs, rubbing his temple.

"The only one who could forbid you from something now would be me, or my father. Neither of us have done so."

That is strange to think about, but Chuuya supposes it's true. He's of age, no longer under another alpha's care—so the only ones who could give him orders would be his husband, or the king.

And if Dazai says it's alright, then...

"Now, the act itself...at its most basic function, is for having children, yes." Dazai explains, "You didn't have that part wrong."

Chuuya nods, pleased that he did know at least something.

"But it does not always result in children."

"Is that why you do it more than once?" Chuuya asks, and Dazai feels a little bit like a scoundrel, even though he hasn't done anything wrong.

"...If that's the goal, yes." Dazai clears his throat, "But—people also do it...recreationally. And, if they care for one another, as a means of expressing it."

Chuuya bites his lip, tempted to ask if that means that Dazai cares for him—but on that, at least, he knows better. "So...we're going to...have sex?" He asks slowly, trying to use the proper wording, and Dazai nods, glad that they have gotten through at least knowing what to call it.

Small progress, but progress.

"Now," Dazai supposes they have to get into the details of it, there's no more putting it off—and really, this is his omega, there is no reason that he should be embarrassed, but the tension around Chuuya is almost contagious, "During your heats," (the redhead shrinks a little,) "what is the first thing that you notice, that tells you it is that time?"

"...My stomach hurts." Chuuya mumbles, because it's true, that is always the first thing—

Well. Dazai had never thought of that. He's never been in heat himself, obviously, so he doesn't know the internal symptoms.

"The first visible thing," Dazai presses, "what makes it different than if you were simply under the weather?"

"..." Chuuya swallows hard, lowering his eyes, and his face is getting hot with...not shame, but certainly discomfort. "It gets...um..." He clears his throat. "...wet." 

"Yes," Dazai nods, his voice gentle, "Where?"

Oh, gods, do they really have to get into vivid detail? Can't he just—

"Between my..." Chuuya has to fight to get each word out, and he doesn't even know why he's so uncomfortable, it simply feels like he should be. "...legs." 

"And that..." Dazai supposes explaining what slick is and what it is for could come in a little bit, but he just wants to give him an over all idea, at the moment, "...wetness, you know where it starts?"

He must know, surely, from when he relieves himself—and when Chuuya nods, he feels a little relieved by it. "That's where it happens."

"...Sex?"

"Yes."

"It happens there?"

Dazai doesn't see how that could be surprising. "In its most technical form, yes."

"I..." Chuuya pauses, clearly thrown off. "Oh. You don't—" he swallows hard, "You won't be biting me there, will you? That doesn't seem—"

"Not unless you want me to, love, that wouldn't be necessary." Chuuya can't ever understand why he should want to be bitten anywhere, much less there.

"Then how--?"

"I..." God, it feels like explaining erotica to a nun, but there isn't a choice, so he might as well get it over with, "Put myself inside of you, there—"

"Yourself?"

Now, somehow, even Dazai is embarrassed, "My cock, Chuuya."

Chuuya actually does know that word, if only because he has one, but—

"You have one?"

Oh, good god. It's hard for Dazai to control his expressions, because he's already made the poor thing feel so foolish, he doesn't want to make it worse. "Yes, Chuuya, I have one."

"...Does mine go inside of you as well?"

Dazai chokes. "I—" he sputters, "No, it doesn't—"

"Why not?" Chuuya frowns, "That doesn't make any—"

"Because I cannot bear children.”

"I thought you said it wasn't only for—"

"Yes, well, your—omegas are designed to enjoy having an alpha inside of them, whereas..."

Oh. 

"...Would it hurt you?" Chuuya asks, his eyebrows knitting together, and Dazai...

Shakes his head. "I don't imagine it would, but I would not receive the same satisfaction."

"...And I will?" The redhead tilts his head, and Dazai nods.

"Hopefully, yes."

"...Does it look just like mine?"

"...It's similar," Dazai finally does sit back down on the edge of the bed, which Chuuya is relieved for—he finds he actually likes having his husband closer. "With a few minor differences."

"Like what?"

"...Well, I think the most obvious one would be that it's larger," that makes sense to Chuuya. Everything about Dazai is bigger than him, it would be strange if his cock wasn't. "And when I climax—" he says the word so casually, Chuuya doesn't even think to ask, "—the base of it swells, into what's called a knot."

"...Is that what gets stuck?" Chuuya asks slowly, eager that he's figured something out on his own, and when Dazai nods, he seems very pleased with himself.

Well, he can see how that would be uncomfortable, putting something large there, but if that's what they're supposed to do, then he can do it. Actually, it does clear a lot up, because now it makes sense, that they have to get undressed. "Where does the biting come in?"

Dazai reaches over, brushing his fingers over Chuuya's throat, and the redhead stiffens up. Talking about touching one another is one thing, actually doing it, that's another—

Dazai's thumb rubs over a small bump, just over the base of Chuuya's throat, and it's shockingly sensitive, making the redhead shiver, if only a little. "Feel this, here?"

Chuuya nods, lifting his chin up a little, to make it easier for him.

Sweet, Dazai thinks, his mouth softening from a frown, into something close to a smile. "When an alpha bites you in this place, it bonds the two of you together, permanently."

"...Binds us together?"

"Well," Dazai shrugs, putting it in the simplest possible terms, "it makes you mine," that much Chuuya understands, he was told that many times—

And then they come across the first thing about 'sex' or 'mating' that Chuuya was ever happy to hear.

"...and it makes me yours."

He was not expecting the omega to become so wide eyed at that, staring at Dazai as though the alpha had just told him that he was going to be receiving some sort of incredible gift. "You're going to be mine?"

The way he says it is so quiet, filled with awe, that Dazai can't help but feel a small burst of warmth in his chest, one that he never expected. "Yes," he agrees.

"Always."

Chuuya swallows thickly, his fingers tight and trembling in his lap, but now for an entirely different reason.

Always yours.

"Can you to that now?" He whispers, looking up at Dazai hopefully. "Please?" 

"...That usually comes at the end," Dazai explains, "it would be more painful for you, if you weren't...properly occupied, and...it isn't something I would want you to remember as unpleasant."

Chuuya doesn't see how he ever could, even if it was agonizing, but he nods. And he doesn't seem petrified anymore, so...Dazai feels a little less horrible, like he's forcing something on someone...

"Hurry, then."

Dazai shakes his head, his fingers sliding down from Chuuya's throat, over to his bare shoulder, tracing small, invisible patterns. "No," he murmurs, watching the redhead shiver, then frown.

"No?"

"We are going to go slowly, and if it hurts, or you become frightened, you will tell me."

Chuuya nods with a soft hum, watching him with a keen expression.

"I do not want to have to command it from you," he sighs, "so I am trusting you to be honest with me, understand?"

Chuuya nods again, and Dazai...tries to think of the way that will be easiest to do this. "How do you normally like to begin, when you're alone?"

Chuuya stares at him, like he's been asked something utterly bizarre. "What do you mean?"

"...When you satisfy yourself." Dazai frowns, leaning back a little, wondering how, after all of that, they managed to get off the same page again. "Surely—?"

There's a knock at the door, and they both pause.

"...Who is it?"

"Apologies, your grace," Naomi's voice echoes through the door. "His highness requested wine, and it took a moment for me to find it in the cellars--I can come back later, if you'd like--"

"Come in and leave it on the desk please."

The servant does so, keeping her eyes politely averted from Chuuya's state of half dressed, a little surprised, because she thought they would be much further on with it by now.

"Goodnight, your highnesses," she murmurs, lowering her chin as she backs out of the room, head lowered, and she slides the door shut.

"..." Dazai turns back to his husband, "I—just—" he rubs his forehead, and he starts to shrug out of his haori—which doesn't necessarily reveal more skin, but it does show Chuuya how solid and broad his torso is, no longer concealed by the baggy jacket. "Show me. I think that's the best way to start."

Chuuya pauses, looking up from Dazai's chest, covered now by only the fabric of his yukata. "...Show you what?"

"...How you take care of yourself, during your heats." Dazai explains, not unkindly.

Oh.

Well, now that Chuuya gives it some thought, that might help, Dazai is right.

He shifts a little, scooting towards the edge of the bed, one hand careful to keep the front of his kimono together as Dazai watches him move from the bed, to the desk. "It...um...usually takes me a moment." Chuuya mutters, and Dazai is patient.

"We have plenty of time, darling."

"...Okay," Chuuya mutters, sitting in the chair by Dazai's desk, working to uncork the bottle of wine. He pours himself a glass, and Dazai is surprised he took that sort of initiative, but he himself wishes he had a drink right now, so he can't blame Chuuya for wanting something to help himself relax.

But then, it's just...

Just Chuuya sitting there, quietly sipping, and doing nothing else.

"...I'm sorry," Dazai raises an eyebrow, pushing his hair back away from his forehead with his fingers, "I don't understand."

Chuuya glances up, a little remorseful, "I'm sorry, I didn't eat much at dinner, so..." When Dazai continues to stare, he adds, "If I have too much too fast—my stomach can get—"

"You don't need to drink faster," Dazai shakes his head, struggling to put it together. "Are you not comfortable with doing it in front of me...? There's nothing to be ashamed of, it's perfectly normal."

"..." Chuuya nods, "I'm not, I just...get a bit loud, once it settles in. I don't know if you'd like—"

Well, for the first time since they were kissing, Dazai is feeling a stirring of excitement, "I think I would like that, actually.”

Oh, Chuuya thinks to himself, confused, but relieved, how bizarre.

"—but I was waiting for the rest of it."

Ah, Chuuya frowns. He didn't really think that was necessary, but... "...Do you think it would help?" 

"...Yes," Dazai agrees, "I think it would."

Well, fine. Chuuya shrugs, setting down the wine glass, he doesn't have his rosary, but he'll make do—

And when he kneels down onto the floor, now Dazai is the one standing there, arms crossed, watching the redhead do a strange cross motion over his chest, and then—

"Mon Dieu, j'ai un trčs grand regret de vous avoir offensé parce que vous ętes infiniment bon...infiniment aimable, et que le péché vous déplaît..."

What...

Dazai's brow knits together.

What is he saying?

"...What are you doing?" 

Chuuya stops, glancing up, "...You asked me to show you?"

"What you do during your heats, yes, I—" Dazai stops, choking on his own words. "Is—" his eyes widen, "Is this the only thing you do?"

"...I also sleep a lot." Chuuya offers, trying to be helpful. "Should I try to do that—?"

"No, Chuuya," Dazai groans, pinching his nose, "neither of us would want you to sleep through it, I assure you."

"...Oh." Chuuya frowns, and Dazai can see it, anxiety creeping back into his eyes. "Is...Is this something I should have—?"

"No," the alpha murmurs, shaking his head, "someone should have told you, it isn't your fault..."

But now it's becoming rapidly clear to Chuuya that he was ill equipped, and that he must look like a fool, and...he does not enjoy looking stupid, particularly not in front of someone who was only recently complaining about Chuuya acting like a child...

"...it must have been very painful," Dazai offers softly, and Chuuya nods, almost not thinking about it, because yes, it was unbearable.

"It's a burden, but one everyone has to deal with," Chuuya mutters.

"No." He glances up, to find his husband staring at him very seriously. "It does not have to be like that, love. Not at all."

"...It doesn't?" Chuuya asks slowly.

"No," Dazai shakes his head. "And it won't be. Not anymore." He honestly never thought himself to be a particularly soft man, but even he is appalled at the thought that Chuuya has had to endure such a thing for five years.

Chuuya is pleased, because he's always been frightened of his heats, dreading them most of the time, having that eased would make him much happier.

But that doesn't make their current predicament any...easier.

Dazai presses a hand against his forehead, knowing there really is only one way to do this.

"...You do trust me, when I say that I won't hurt you?" Chuuya nods, because Dazai has seemed so sincere, every time that he said so. “And when I said that you are meant to enjoy it?”

When he receives another nod, the alpha sighs, moving towards the bed—and Chuuya watches, as he climbs in, moving to sit back against the headboard.

“Come here.”

Chuuya hesitates, glancing from Dazai, to his half empty glass of wine. “But I’m not—”

“It would be best if you weren’t drunk for this,” Dazai explains, spreading his knees. “Now, come here.”

“...” the omega rises up from his knees, however slowly.

It’s a little awkward, climbing back into the bed while holding his kimono on, but he manages, and once he’s close enough, Dazai’s hands find his arms, guiding him to sit between the alpha’s legs, turning him around.

“Lean back against me,” he murmurs, shifting them until Chuuya’s back is against his chest, and—

And now Chuuya can really feel the muscles of Dazai’s chest and stomach against his back, warm and firm, making him shiver.

It’s only when one of Dazai’s hands reaches down to grasp his, where Chuuya’s fingers are gripping the front of his kimono, that the redhead feels the nerves return.

“I’m going to show you, alright?” 

“...” Chuuya nods, swallowing hard, not knowing what to expect—

And then Dazai’s face is nuzzling into his neck, breathing him in, and Chuuya shivers. then comes his mouth, soft, slightly open lipped, pressing against the side of the omega’s neck. Soft brushes near his pulse, feeling the way that it’s speeding up.

His fingers gently pull Chuuya’s apart, and the silk slips from his grasp, allowing the front to fall open. He doesn’t rip the fabric away, or strip the omega bare—he just lets it sit naturally, only pushing it aside when he needs to. 

When his palm presses against Chuuya's bare chest, the omega lets out a soft gasp, shrinking back against Dazai, his toes curling against the sheets, comforted when the alpha nuzzles against him again. "Shhh..."

His eyelashes flutter against his cheeks when Dazai hushes him, and the skin of his palm is calloused, a little rough against Chuuya's skin, which has never even seen the touch of sunlight, much less that of someone else's hand.

Those fingers drift across Chuuya's skin, finding him soft, softer than the omegas Dazai had been with with—which he expected. The geisha and the commoners that have been in his bed before were usually not well fed—and many of them spend their childhoods working in fields, where Chuuya spent his with governesses.

He is somewhat more toned than a female might have been, and Dazai finds he likes that, likes the faint hint of muscle under his fingers as they skate down from Chuuya's sternum, finding one soft, flushed nipple, flattening it under his thumb.

Chuuya's eyes widen as he bites his lip, his hands unsure of what to do, so they slide down until they brush against Dazai's thighs, bracketing him—and they flinch away, because he isn't sure—

"You can touch," Dazai breathes against his neck, hot, patient, "if you want to."

"..." Chuuya's hands have a slight shake to them as they return, palms resting against the tops of Dazai's thighs, feeling thick, corded muscle there, through the material of his hakama. His palms barely cover half the breadth of each leg, and Chuuya thinks that just one of Dazai's limbs must be was thick as both of his.

They rest there lightly at first, unsure, but then Dazai pinches his nipple, twisting slightly, and Chuuya's mouth drops open, his head falling back against Dazai's chest as his hands tighten in the fabric of the alpha's trousers.

"O-Oh—"

"Are you alright?" Dazai murmurs, rolling the sensitive flesh between his fingertips, and Chuuya manages a shaky nod, his breath quickening as his skin starts to heat up.

This does not hurt, not at all.

Like the kissing, Chuuya is finding that...he actually does like it, quite a bit. And when Dazai's other hand rises up to give his other nipple the same treatment, Chuuya doesn't shrink away from it, rather he lets out a soft, pleasured sigh, closing his eyes.

"You can do this to yourself, when you're alone," Dazai explains softly, one hand slipping down over Chuuya's stomach, stroking over his ribs. Chuuya is a little baffled by that, his voice weak, but curious, "W-why would I...?"

"It feels good, doesn't it?"

Yes, Chuuya thinks, his spine arching slightly when Dazai's thumbnail scrapes over his nipple, drawing a soft whine from him—and when the alpha speaks again, his voice is slightly darker.

"That's reason enough, love."

Chuuya swallows thickly, his eyes squeezed shut, hands digging into Dazai's thighs, but the alpha isn't complaining, not at all. "A-and during my heats, sh-ah-should I—?"

"No," Dazai murmurs, and Chuuya is a little disappointed, because this would probably feel so nice during that time— "unless you would like me to watch, anyway."

"...What?" He croaks, squirming a little as Dazai's fingers drift lower over his belly.

"I'll be with you, and more than happy to touch you myself." Dazai explains, and Chuuya finds himself on the verge of tears. Not in a bad way, either.

"You..." he mumbles, blinking quickly to fight back the stinging in his eyes, "You won't leave me alone?"

That was always the most miserable, frightening part of it all—being locked in the far side of the estate, with servants only allowed to bring him wine and clear his sheets—no one was allowed to speak to him, under the belief that it would risk corrupting him in some way—

Only Rimbaud could, and when he did it was little help, he would just sit beside Chuuya's bed and read to him, usually something like the newspaper, or if he had caught Chuuya with the pillow again, scripture.

"Oh," Dazai sighs, not angry then, but he will be later, when he has time to think, "never, darling, never."

He feels almost guilty, because Dazai has never been a romantic or a kind man, but the standard has clearly been set so low for Chuuya, this must all seem very magical, when it is only the most basic task that Dazai could perform, as his husband.

Chuuya lets out a soft, happy hum, and there's this strange sensation building in the pit of his stomach. Warm, not unpleasant—like his muscles are slowly tensing, but not because Chuuya is expressly commanding them to.

He's also stiffening between his legs, which doesn't really happen very often, not outside of his heats. Back when he first presented, he would wake up like this sometimes, and he thought that he might be ill, but he was far too mortified to ask anyone about it—

So, he would lay in his bed and stare at the ceiling, quietly panicking, wondering if it was going to fall off or something. He had never heard of such a thing, but—but why would it be red and throbbing if something wasn't wrong?

But it always did go away, if Chuuya just sat still and breathed long enough, so he just...never gave it more thought than that.

And he doesn't know what is going to come next, but he does think that he wants Dazai's hand to move lower, and there's this building sense of anticipation—

Until he stops, and Chuuya feels like a fish, left struggling on the hook, waiting for something to happen.

"I'm sorry," Dazai murmurs against his neck, bringing his lips up, up, until he's mouthing at the underside of Chuuya's jaw, "These must be hurting you, after wearing them all day."

Chuuya is baffled for a moment, until Dazai taps his finger against the combs, and he does start to notice the strain against his scalp, having so much hair piled up on his head. "I wasn't sure how to—"

Neither is Dazai, honestly, he supposes Chuuya's attendants didn't have time to help him remove them before he arrived—or that maybe the new princess wanted Dazai to see him wearing them, which would be adorable, if true—but he sees no reason that he can't do it himself.

"Let's see..." he murmurs, guiding Chuuya to lean forward a little, so that the alpha can get a better look—and now that his kimono isn't trapped between Chuuya's back and Dazai's chest, it slides down to his waist, only hanging from his elbows now, and Dazai is treated to the sight of Chuuya's back.

Smooth, unblemished—shockingly tempting, actually, begging for marks.

But for now, Dazai focuses on probing around the combs with his fingers, finding the pins holding them in place and slowly, carefully removing them. "Do you like having it so long?"

"In Paris—there is a certain height one's hair must achieve during a ball—" Chuuya explains, sighing with relieve as the tension in his scalp begins to ease, "—and I truly despised the wigs, so..."

"Wigs?" Dazai quirks an eyebrow, removing one comb, reaching over to set it on the beside table, carefully repeating the same process with the other.

"...Fake hair," Chuuya explains, "they put powder on them, to make them look white."

"How odd," Dazai muses, "I understand why you never wanted to wear them."

They were hot and itchy, and you would have to lay there for hours with your head in a molding block while the royal hairdressers added all of the adornments.

"Do you like it long?" Chuuya murmurs, and Dazai does not have time to think about his response before the final pin is removed, and a thick curtain of heavy red waves is slipping down across Chuuya's shoulders, reaching the small of his back, and—

Red hair is uncommon anywhere, really, but especially so, in Japan. Dazai never been fascinated by it—he's seen Kouyou's hair countless times, after all, but—

But now he feels almost spellbound, eyeing the contrast between the cinnamon curls and Chuuya's bare flesh, his eyes widening.

"..." He leans forward, carefully gathering it up around his fingers, lifting it up and pushing it over Chuuya's left shoulder, so that he can lean forward, kissing his neck again, then the top of his shoulder, earning more silent shivers. "I do," he murmurs, his fingers stroking Chuuya's spine.

There are still gems in his hair, the occasional diamond, pearl, and sapphire littered throughout—but they don't seem to be causing him discomfort, and Dazai finds the sight very lovely, so he leaves them.

Then Chuuya is being guided to lean back against him again, this time more comfortably, even if his torso is mostly bare. And Dazai's hands are back, sliding over his sides, and his mouth is near glued to Chuuya's shoulder, sucking lightly at one place, pleased by the noises dripping from Chuuya's lips, his chin sinking forward as he's wracked by shivers.

"Still alright?" When Chuuya nods, his hand finally slips lower, coming to rest on Chuuya's inner thigh, long fingers able to wrap nearly all the way around as he guides the redhead to spread his legs, even as Chuuya is shivering, shaking just a little under Dazai's hands.

One arm wraps around his middle, steadying him, while Dazai's thumb strokes over the sensitive skin of his inner thigh, holding him close in his arms, whispering in his ear, "Breathe, little bird—"

Chuuya's eyes widen.

"—I've got you."

That nickname has the opposite effect, and instead of the deep breaths Dazai probably wanted him to take, they're short and quick, his heart hammering against his ribs. "You—" he whispers, half chokes, really, “You remember—”"Surely," Dazai's hand creeps higher up his thigh, "you must not think yourself so forgettable."

"I—” Chuuya stammers, struggling for words, "I thought you didn't—”

"I was horribly curious about you," Dazai murmurs, nails lightly scraping over his skin, "I always felt you watching me."

"...I wasn't supposed to," Chuuya admits, "Mama was furious, when she caught me—”

"I know," Dazai smiles against his shoulder, "I would have stared at you too, but someone was always hiding and turning around when we happened to be in the same room."

Chuuya bites his lip, half sheepish, half amused, "It was against the rules, for you to see me—"

"The only rules you seemed to follow then," Dazai chuckles, and Chuuya really isn't noticing, just how high that hand is getting on his thigh.

"When..." the redhead closes his eyes, "When you took so long to write, I thought—"

"Sweet words have never been a talent of mine," Dazai explains. "I thought, no matter what I sent, you would be disappointed."

"...Then why did you write to me?" Chuuya murmurs, and Dazai's hand stops, just short of its destination.

"...Because I was...spiteful."

Chuuya raises an eyebrow, shocked. "Spiteful?"

"I had been raised to believe that you were mine," Chuuya shivers, just from hearing Dazai say the word—mine. "When they made an arrangement with Odasaku instead...it felt as though something had been taken away from me."

Chuuya can't explain why he feels so validated by that, because he had felt the same way, even if there was no word for it at the time, no way for him to explain it.

"And that you must have been happier, to be given to the elder brother—and that he was much more likable than me," he doesn't sound so playful now, remembering. More remorseful than anything—or saddened, by the memory of what he has lost.

He is still not convinced, even now, that they would not have all been better off if it had been him struck down that day, that the crown would be passing to his brother, and Chuuya along with it.

"Even at 14, I was so..." the laugh is soft, self-deprecating. "I wanted to see to it that you would remember me—my mother was furious, when he found out."

"...Why?" Chuuya murmurs, lifting his chin slightly.

"He said showing you that kind of attention would only confuse you, and that if I continued to write to you, it would damage your affections for my brother." Dazai sighs. "So, I did not."

That certainly does clear up some of the confusion, and after a long moment, Dazai's hand moves again, this time, finally brushing against Chuuya's—

"Ah—" His hands are back on Dazai's thighs now, digging in as the alpha wraps his fingers around him, loosely, but still it's—

"Good?" Dazai murmurs next to his ear, and Chuuya nods, fervently, biting his lip. "Tell me clearly, love."

"Y-yes," he whimpers, his thighs trembling still, but less with the nerves now. "I t-thought, it was supposed to happen in m-my—"

"But this feels good too, doesn't it?" Dazai points out, giving him a long, slow stroke, his thumb lightly tracing one of the veins in Chuuya's length, pushing thin, delicate skin as it slowly makes its way up, before his index finger drags over the tip, catching a drop of fluid there.

Chuuya can't speak, doesn't trust himself to, can only nod, his breath escaping him in ragged pants.

"Do you see that bottle on the table, darling?" Chuuya's forces himself to open his eyes, his cheeks dusted pink as he turns his head. He does see it there, a small vial, sitting near where Dazai set his combs earlier.

"Y—" The next stroke makes him let out a soft moan, feet digging into the mattress. "Yes."

"Hand it to me."

The task is a bit daunting, Chuuya almost drops it twice, because Dazai's hand doesn't stop, and Chuuya would not dare to tell him to pause, because it feels so good—

He settles back against Dazai's chest, and the prince finds it amusing, that the little thing is doing that now without being told, and when he hands the bottle to him, the alpha's voice actually rumbles next to his ear, clearly pleased, "Good boy."

The redhead glows under that praise, even if it was so small of a task, he really didn't earn it, but—

But he likes it, when Dazai sounds pleased with him.

"Open it for me, will you?"

Even more difficult, given how his hands are shaking, but he does, struggling not to spill anything (he doesn't know what it is, or what it's for, but Dazai has earned enough trust over the last few minutes that Chuuya doesn't feel the need to ask any questions.)

Once he's completed that task, the prince lifts his hand away from Chuuya's cock, earning a disappointed sound, and, smiling, he takes the bottle, pouring a small amount of clear liquid into his palm. "You can also do this, when you're alone."

Chuuya is about to ask what, but then Dazai's hand is back on him, slick now, with some sort of oil—and he forms a fist around him, slowly working his fingers up and down, and...

"Oh..." His eyes roll back into his head.

Oh, oh, that's so—

"Good?"

"Yes!" He cries, thighs tense and shaking as he turns his head, his cheek pressing against the front of Dazai's yukata. "God, yes—"

The sounds alone are enough that Dazai is starting to find himself becoming aroused, but he pays no attention to that, working his hand a little faster, knowing that this is not going to take very long, but that it's important to show the redhead what pure pleasure feels like, if only to set him at ease, and make him a little more eager for the rest.

"Breathe in for me," he whispers in Chuuya's ear, "nice and deep," Chuuya does, taking a deep, rattling breath, even if he isn't sure why. "Out, now."

Omegas are taught, shortly after presenting, how to hold back their scents. In Japan, only in public, but in France, clearly, it must have been constant, because even in this instance, Chuuya is holding back.

Dazai understands that most of it is about concentration and breathing—almost like sucking in one's gut, when they don't want their stomach to show—he heard his mother explaining it to Ryuu, not very long ago.

Chuuya releases his breath, a long, shaky moan escaping him, and finally, Dazai can smell him.

Soft, floral, but not sickeningly sweet, the way some younger omegas can be. It shoots straight up Dazai's nose, clouding his head just a little, and this time, when his lips brush against Chuuya's shoulder, he can't help it, he bites.

Not too hard, but hard enough to make Chuuya jump, gasping out from the sensation. "I—" he chokes, assuming it must have something to do with the fact that he did let his scent out, and that might have displeased him, "I'm sorry—"

"No," Dazai's voice comes out in a rough growl, and his grip on Chuuya tightens, his thumb dragging just under the head of Chuuya's cock, feeling it throb under him, "you," he lifts his head, burying his face in Chuuya's neck, breathing deeply, "smell divine."

Oh.

Chuuya's eyes roll back into his head, and his hands—one of them, anyway--cautiously rises up from Dazai's leg, carefully intertwining itself in his hair, which was combed and pushed back for the wedding, but still feels wild under Chuuya's fingers, even now.

"...I-I kept it." He blurts it out, unsure of why he chose this particular moment, even if it was not truly a choice.

"Kept..." Dazai takes another deep breath, and it's strange, there's something poking against Chuuya's back that wasn't there before, but they have shifted a little bit, it might be his hip, or something else, but it feels rather large, and warm— "Kept what?"

"The—" Chuuya chokes, his legs spreading a little wider, "The letter—!"

Dazai's breath halts, even if his hand doesn't, and Chuuya is just now starting to build up the confidence to rock his hips into Dazai's hand, increasing the friction, and oh god, he—it's like a tightening in his gut, and it feels ridiculously good, like all of the sensations he could possibly feel have been concentrated in one part of his body, throbbing, pulsing down his legs, making his knees curve up and spread wider, until he's perfectly spread out under the alpha's hands, breathing raggedly.

"You did?"

"I-I didn't forget you," he whimpers, his fingers tightening in Dazai's hair. "I-I would read it all the time, that—that was why I hated the second one so much," he groans, his back arching slightly, "B-because the first one, it w-was—"

He kept it?

Dazai truly had almost forgotten about it, it had been so long—and after so many years of assuming that Chuuya was dead, the redhead, he...

He remembered me. 

Suddenly, he's taken back to being a 14 year old boy, not prone to outbursts, but smashing things when they told him, not understanding.

 "Give him someone else!"

Being treated as though he was immature, selfish, and unreasonable—and realizing later that he had, in fact, been selfish, immature, and unreasonable, feeling so entitled to a boy who never knew him, who would never remember the lesser man he could have had, but rather the good man he was being promoted to marrying.

But Chuuya...

He...

"D-Dazai," he pants, squeezing his husband's leg as his entire body begins to shake, "I-I think something's—happening—" he mumbles, and the alpha's arm tightens around his middle, holding him steady as he squirms.

"I know, darling," kisses are pressed against his jaw, "keep breathing," his mouth is so close, and Chuuya wants to be kissed there again, but doesn't know how to say so, "let yourself feel it."

Chuuya does, taking deep, gulping breaths as the tightening in his stomach finally snaps, and then—

And then everything is just white noise, and he feels completely disconnected from himself, like he's just floating in a hot, blinding sea of sensation, his entire being contracting in powerful, rhythmic pulses of pleasure, blood rushing in his ears, broken cries and moans dripping from his lips.

And, when he eventually starts to come down, Dazai is still there, whispering to him, his lips at his jaw, stroking his thighs. There's this soft rumbling in his chest, one that Chuuya curls into, turning his face into the front of Dazai's shirt, shivering.

(He does not know what crooning is, not yet, but he does know that whatever it is, he likes it.)

He realizes after a moment, that his own chest is rumbling, and he leans back, confusion clear across his face as he presses a hand over his throat, and—

And Dazai smiles, and for something that he always assumed he would find irritating, he finds Chuuya's surprise at all of this, actually...

Endearing. Adorable, actually.

"Easy now, little bird," he lifts Chuuya's hand from his throat, pressing his lips to the inside of the omega's palm, "it's just a little purring, is all."

Chuuya tilts his head to the side. That makes him sound like a house cat or something, but...

It does feel nice, to do it. Satisfying, even.

Dazai takes the time to clean off his hand, as well as Chuuya's legs and stomach (even if such efforts will soon be fruitless), giving the younger man a moment to recover, but—

But without any warning what-so-ever, Chuuya twists around in his arms, leaning up, and clumsily, but eagerly pressing their mouths together.

Dazai lets out a surprised grunt, not displeased, but—

Well, it certainly is not the most skillful kiss Dazai has ever received—and it's very clear that the omega still doesn't know what to do with himself, but—

But it is such a departure from the terrified reaction from earlier that Dazai is eager to encourage it, cupping the back of his head, slowing him down, teaching Chuuya how to move with him, slowly coaxing his lips open—and when Dazai's tongue slips into his mouth, the redhead shudders, his hands flying up to the alpha's shoulders, squeezing tightly.

It's all going so marvelously, in fact, that Chuuya does not realize that he is essentially naked, now, silks bunched around his thighs, but everything important is exposed--and that he is straddling his husband's lap.

One of Dazai's hands settles in the small of his back, stroking his spine, while the other tangles in his hair, and when they finally do part to catch their breath, Chuuya mumbles against his mouth, almost shy again, now that he isn't completely mindless with bliss, "Thank you."

Dazai pauses, raising an eyebrow as Chuuya leans back, "For what, exactly?"

"Well..." Chuuya frowns, staring at him like it should be obvious. "That felt very nice."

And, as he understands it, when someone does something like that for you, you thank them. It's just manners, after all.

"I..." Dazai shakes his head, trying not to laugh at him, because he does seem serious, "you are very welcome, but you don't need to thank me."

"And I can do that whenever I want?" Chuuya murmurs, his arms sliding around Dazai's neck, tentatively, and when his husband does not stop him, Chuuya settles into his lap comfortably.

Desire still gnaws at him, and Dazai nods, "Yes, as much as..." he grits his teeth when Chuuya's backside slides against his crotch, unintentionally. "As much as you like."

"And it helps, during heat?"

"A little, but..." Dazai shakes his head, "during heat, it really only helps when you touch..." he trails off, his hands sliding down to find Chuuya's thighs, cupping the back of them, smiling when that makes his husband shiver, sliding forward against his chest, burying his face in Dazai's neck.

His hands slide up, up, up, and—

They both stiffen, realizing now, when they had been too distracted before, that 

Chuuya is already...

His face immediately flushes scarlet as he starts to lean back, somewhat mortified, "I-I'm sorry, that—this doesn't happen, unless I'm in—"

Dazai's hands tighten around his hips, keeping him in place, "Easy," he murmurs, leaning up to catch Chuuya's mouth in a kiss, soothing him, "it's alright, that's—" he smiles a little, but does not laugh, he has come to recognize how much that bothers the omega, "—that's what is supposed to happen."

"...It is?" Chuuya asks in a small voice. He's always associated the wetness with... unpleasant memories, being uncomfortable, and everyone around treating him as though he was...

Dirty, during his heat. He...eventually came to view it as...

"Yes," Dazai shakes his head, his thumbs rubbing circles into Chuuya's hips, "it's meant to help with..."

Oh. Oh.

Because it goes in.

It's all coming together now, and Chuuya feels frustrated that no one told him. He is not simple or incapable, he would have understood, and this would not have all been so upsetting, or confusing.

"You don't mind it...?"

"No." Dazai shakes his head, "As a matter of fact..."

Chuuya makes a surprised little yelp when Dazai tips him backwards, until his back is pressed against the bedsheets, and Dazai is hovering over him, between his—

Chuuya gulps.

Between his legs.

Something is pressing against him again, this time against his thigh, and it's easier to get a better scope for it now, and for Chuuya to notice that, whatever it is, it's much bigger now, than it felt against his back.

"Do you still wish to continue?"

"..." Chuuya nods, leaning up to kiss him again, but Dazai leans back, almost teasing about it, a small smile on his face.

"I need you to say it, love."

"...Yes," Chuuya mumbles, looking a bit cross when Dazai's mouth doesn't immediately return, "Now, come back—"

"I'm not going anywhere," he murmurs, pressing his face into Chuuya's neck, laying kisses against his skin, trailing lower. Into the hollows above his collarbone, down the middle of his chest—and then, he decides to wrap his mouth around one of Chuuya's nipples, giving it a slow flick of the tongue—

"D-Dazai!"

He feels a smile against his skin before the alpha starts to suck, making the redhead positively writhe, and somewhere, amid holding on for dear life and being silently stunned at how sensitive his chest can be, when Chuuya always thought that part of his body somewhat innocuous—

Chuuya thinks his husband is being smug, and he doesn't know how to feel about—

Dazai's mouth is on his stomach now. His ribs, more accurately, but marching further south.

Chuuya stares at the ceiling, not unhappy with the current state of things, but irritated by his discovery of the fact that the only thing he is queen of, at this moment, is the kingdom of confusion and ineptitude.

Why is Dazai not naked yet? And why is he kissing Chuuya's navel? It's very nice, it feels good, but—the redhead can't understand the purpose of it, because what Dazai was doing before, he said that was to show Chuuya how to touch himself when he was alone, and Chuuya might be flexible from practicing with the ballet for a time, but he certainly can't kiss himself there—

And if this is getting to the sex part, then Dazai should be naked, shouldn't he? Or at the very least working to rectify that—

Dazai's teeth scrape over his hipbone as his hands push Chuuya's thighs wider apart, and Chuuya's fingers knot in the sheets. "I-Dazai—"

"You know," the prince murmurs, drawing out a surprised moan when he turns his face into Chuuya’s thigh, slowly sucking a small, dark mark into place, utterly satisfied by the sight of it, “you could call your husband by his first name, if you desired.”

Chuuya is so distracted by that notion, he does not even watch as Dazai works his mouth further up his thigh, pushing it up, using a hand tucked into the bend of Chuuya's knee.

Dazai Osamu. The prince. The general. Someone who has loomed so large in his life for so long, even though, until very recently, they had barely even spoken.

And now, that person, larger than life, always too far away, always somehow making Chuuya feel lonely in ways that he could not explain, is his husband.

Why shouldn't Chuuya call him by his first name?

All of those thoughts are disrupted, however, when Dazai licks a long stripe up his thigh, tasting the wetness there, and Chuuya out a surprised noise, his face darkening, "W-what are you doing?! That's—"

Dazai's teeth scrape him then, and he absolutely, shudders, digging one foot into the blankets, his knee pulling up—which the alpha takes advantage of pushing his head forward, the stubble on his cheeks scraping against sensitive skin, licking up more of him.

"Tasting you," he practically purrs, and Chuuya gulps down air, his chest heaving.

"W-why?"

"Because," Dazai digs his tongue into Chuuya's skin, sucking for a moment, until the omega is nearly beside himself, "you taste wonderful."

Now, Dazai is not above admitting the fact that he is, at heart, a bit of a scoundrel. (This is something Chuuya is too young, too unaware to know now, but he will, after the early years of their marriage.) And there is an opportunity here, in Chuuya's...complete lack of knowledge.

If he is embarrassed about everything, he is not particularly more embarrassed about certain things than he is of others.

Meaning, that while court omegas in Japan are certainly more aware of sexual relations than the well brought up omegas of Parisian society, because they know more, they also know which acts are considered...

'Beyond the pale,' one might say.

So, when Chuuya feels Dazai's mouth there, he makes the same startled, pleasured sound that he did when Dazai touched his cock for the first time, his spine arching off of the blankets. "Oh—!"

He—is he really--?

The flat of his tongue slides over him slowly, and Chuuya can feel every inch of it against him, and it feels—it feels like something he ought to confess to a priest about, he—oh—

"O-Osamu..." There's a groan, vibrating against the most intimate parts of him, and Chuuya fists the sheets, trying to catch his breath.

It's different from when Dazai was touching his cock. That was wonderful, but this—

There is something much more intimate about this, though Chuuya could not explain how, or why—

"Is—is this—" he's actually squeaking when Dazai teases his entrance with the tip of his tongue, hinting at penetration, but not providing it, "—standard?"

No, most well bred omegas in their court would be a bit scandalized, and most high-born alphas do not enjoy servicing their mates, even if slick does have a pleasant taste to it.

But Dazai spend most of puberty on the battlefield, or in Okiyas. As far as princely behavior goes... Dazai is almost as ignorant of that as his husband is of what is normal in the bedroom.

But, once again, he is just a bit of a scoundrel.

"Yes," he murmurs, leaning back, and the words he says next—he has no way, the poor man, of knowing just how much or how soon his words will come back to haunt him, "Are you enjoying yourself?"

"I—" he feels ashamed to even admit it, but Dazai was so stern to him when they started, about being honest, "yes, but—"

"You are a princess now," Dazai points out, and when Chuuya notices the fact that his lips and chin are a bit wet, he feels like he might faint, "if you enjoy something, you are not to be denied."

Well, when he phrases it like that—that makes it all seem perfectly within the normal bounds, and Chuuya has never been royalty, so obviously, he wouldn't know.

Dazai is almost certain that it isn't going to work, until he hears Chuuya whisper shakily, "...Don't stop."

"..."

Oh, Dazai pushes Chuuya's leg up again, he was not lying, before.

"You need only ask nicely, little bird."

Chuuya's eyes roll back into his head, "Please, don't stop..." He moans, arching when Dazai's face meets his ass again, his tongue moving with more force now.

So pretty, so pliant, so sweet—

And he practically sobs when the alpha's tongue slips inside.

Dazai is realizing two things.

One: Chuuya really does adjust very quickly.

Two: Dazai is enjoying this much more than he thought he would.

It isn't long before the omega is completely soaked, almost as much as he would be if he was in heat, which was Dazai's goal (his gentlemanly goal, anyway, his other interests were...less than honorable.)

Chuuya can't really describe the feeling—but it's good, good enough that he's throbbing against his stomach again, that tension is building up, and—

And there's one point where Dazai's tongue flexes just right, and for the first time, Chuuya feels that stretch inside, and—

Dazai makes a small noise of surprise, because he wasn't expecting the omega to wrap his legs around his head and squeeze, which, of course, Dazai doesn't mind, he's just a little suffocated, but that's worth it, to feel Chuuya's thighs trembling around his ears, and the noises he's making right now...

Are heavenly.

The redhead lets out a discontented whine when Dazai leans back, but he can't be too upset, not when those hands are on his thighs, pinning them down, "Please, don't—"

“I’m not stopping, love," Dazai assures him, kissing his way back up his thigh, then his hip, and his stomach again.

Chuuya's lips turn down into an angry frown, because it certainly does feel like he's stopped, but—

But then something much more solid than Dazai's tongue is pressing against his entrance, thicker, and—

He stiffens at first, when Dazai's finger presses inside of him, his eyes blowing wide open, heart thudding unsteadily. "Ah—I—!"

Given how wet he is, and the fact that Dazai's tongue did stretch him a little bit, it sinks in to the second knuckle with little resistance, and once he meets it, he stops, pressing another kiss against Chuuya's stomach, looking up at his face, repeating the same question he has asked many times already that night, "Good?"

It--Chuuya can see what Yosano meant. It is uncomfortable, but only because he isn't used to it, and he wouldn't call it pain, more like...burning, a sensation that is slowly fading, as the finger settles inside of him.

"Chuuya?"

"Y-yes," he murmurs, and for someone who didn't even know what Dazai had between 

his legs an hour ago, "but I think I liked..." he swallows hard when Dazai's finger slips deeper, taking shaky breaths, "...the other part better."

Dazai's face drops into his stomach in an attempt to hide his laugher, which only half works, because it tickles, and then Chuuya is squirming.

He's very honest, isn't he?

"Are you laughing at me?"

"No, no, my love, I would never—" Chuuya seems soothed after that, shivering as his ribs and hips are peppered with more kisses, and Dazai assumes it is simply because he is distracted, which allows Dazai's finger to sink all the way in, earning a quiet, unsure moan, before he slowly begins to move it in and out.

(He is rather impressed with the younger man's grit, actually, he expected him to become afraid and ask to stop far sooner than this.)

But really, Chuuya is feeling it, but he's far more focused on something else.

My love.

Did he mean to say that? He's called Chuuya other things, this evening—darling, dear, and all of that, and love a few times, but all seemed honeyed words intended to relax him, not—

Not my love.

He couldn't love me, could he?

Chuuya certainly hopes that Dazai could come to love him, but doesn't see how the man could have such affections presently, even if—

Even if Chuuya thinks he already cares for his husband, more than he ever expected to. 

Maybe it was because his expectations for this evening were so low, or that everyone had described him as a beast to Chuuya beforehand, or—

"Merde—!" He gasps, his eyes snapping wide open as his back arches so far, it almost hurts, and then, once he realizes what he just said, his hand claps over his mouth.

Oh god, he's never—

But what was that—?

Dazai glances up, uncurling his fingers from inside of him (Chuuya was so lost in contemplating his husband's affections, he didn't actually notice that he had added another), "Are you alright?"

"What was that?" Chuuya squeaks, both hands over his mouth.

It felt good, but it was startling and—and sudden, and—

And Chuuya does not know how he feels about the slow smirk spreading across the prince's face.

"Oh," his fingers slide in, curling again and Chuuya is reduced to a mass of whines and squirming, "I found you,"

He found what, exactly?

Dazai's mouth returns to his skin, but his time moving back up, towards his chest, over his collar, and finally, they're kissing again, and Chuuya is returning it desperately, both arms clinging to Dazai's neck as those fingers continue to twist inside of him, and—

And if this is anything close to what sex feels like, Chuuya does not mind it. Actually, he wants it. Wants more. Wants it now.

Every time Dazai's fingers curl in, it's like he's reaching up and grabbing the redhead's heart in his hand, building him up slower than when his hand was on his length, yes, but so much more intense, and—

And that feeling is building again.

Oh.

Chuuya is absolutely delighted. Can that really happen so often? Is he going to get that floaty feeling again? Oh, he hopes so, he really liked that—

Then the fingers are gone, and he is empty, and—

And he's a little angry about it, his eyes snapping open, and when Dazai sits up, he follows, ready to give him a piece of his mind, when—

When he notices what Dazai is actually doing.

He's got one hand in the front of his yukata, pulling at the ties underneath, and then the front of it slides open, revealing...

More bandages.

There are gaps—between his chest and his ribs, and above the waistline of his hakama, but...

Chuuya's lips turn down into a frown as he reaches out, his fingertips brushing over Dazai's chest, just over his heart—and the alpha allows him to do so without complaint, watching him with a somewhat guarded expression, not sure of what he'll—

"Does it hurt?"

He assumes Dazai would not be wearing them for no reason, after all.

The prince's eyes widen for a moment—then, they soften, his hand reaching up to cover Chuuya's, twining their fingers together, over his heart.

"No, little bird, not anymore."

But that tells him that there was a time when it did.

The Yukata comes off, revealing the shoulders, biceps, and forearms that Chuuya has felt many times that evening, and he even becomes daring enough to lean the rest of the way, reaching down to tug at the front of Dazai's hakama, curious to see if he'll be stopped, but the prince allows it.

Chuuya is starting to feel a surge of confidence rise up in him, because this is good, and he wants it, and from the way Dazai has been talking, it doesn't actually seem that bad at it, and—

And after a few short tugs of Chuuya's fingers at the lacings at the sides of the trousers, they slide down, revealing—

"..."

The change in Chuuya's expression is so sudden, it's almost comical.

He can't—what—he—

"...Chuuya?"

"I—no."

Dazai sits back on his heels, raising an eyebrow, "What do you mean, no?"

"T—that—" Chuuya really can't stop looking at it, he wishes that he could, but he can't, "—is not going to work."

"..." Dazai isn't sure whether or not to be offended, or flattered. "I can assure you, it works just fine."

"You told me it was like mine!" Chuuya snaps, shaking his head, feeling downright—misled, bamboozled, deceived.

"No, my dear," Dazai does not know where all of this patience came from this evening, but he does not think he shall ever possess it again, "I said there were a few minor differences—"

"That isn't minor," Chuuya shakes his head, "it's—it's—as big as my arm!"

Oh, and now the bastard has the nerve to look flattered. "Now, I think you're being a little dramatic—"

"No, I'm not!" Chuuya shakes his head, not dramatically at all. "It—it won't work."

Dazai can't manage to hold back a small laugh this time, which only vexes him more. "What do you mean?"

"That is not going to fit inside of me." Chuuya shakes his head, his face suddenly becoming very grave. "I'll die."

"..." A long silence follows, and then—

"This is not a laughing matter!" Chuuya snaps, horribly irritated that his husband is laughing so hard that he almost falls over. "I'm being perfectly serious!"

"It—look," Dazai struggles to catch his breath, wiping at his eyes, "if you would rather wait until you're more used to this, I am willing to do that—"

"It doesn't matter how used to it I am!" Chuuya snaps, "It isn't going to get any smaller, is it?!"

"...Well," Dazai gives that some thought, "not in any sense that would help your predicament, no."

"You are mocking me, aren't you?"

"In my defense," Dazai bites his lip, his shoulders shaking, "you are being very funny."

"I have reasonable concerns!"

"Maybe understandable, but I wouldn't say reasonable.”

"I have survival instincts!"

"Chuuya, it has fit many times before, I assure you.”

"Must you remind me of how many times," Chuuya grumbles, feeling the first spike of actual jealousy, now that he has a better grasp on what Dazai has actually done with others, "and were any of them as small as me?"

"..." Dazai pauses, thinking about it, and the longer it takes, the huffier Chuuya becomes, ready to ask just how many others there were, that it takes him this long to think it over—

"Yes, I believe one was smaller, actually."

That thoroughly takes the wind out of Chuuya's sails. "...Really?” 

"Yes," Dazai nods somberly, "God rest his soul.”

Chuuya actually punches him in the arm for that one, "Stop laughing at me, this isn't funny!"

"Obviously he survived," Dazai rolls his eyes, "I have never heard of a cock so large that it would seriously injure someone—"

"Well," Chuuya crosses his arms over his chest, "I have."

Dazai would be enjoying this conversation, if he had not been fighting Chuuya's scent, the taste of his slick, and a pulsing erection for an hour. "You have?"

"Yes," Chuuya lifts his chin, haughty. "I have."

"Darling, forgive me for doubting your reports, but you didn't even know that alpha's had cocks until I told you—"

"In Paris," Chuuya cuts him off, "there was a girl, Isabeau Fontaine, I think it was—she spent the evening with an alpha before she was married, and she was dead within the week." He shrugs, "At first I thought it very strange, that the two things should be connected, but now it seems very clear that he must have been much too large."

"..." Oh, Dazai cannot help it, he has to indulge, "and who, may I ask, told you this harrowing tale?"

"The Duke," Chuuya murmurs, a very reputable source, indeed.

"I see," Dazai nods, very seriously. "Her poor family. Had you ever met her?"

"Well, no." Chuuya shakes his head, "I was 14, I wasn't allowed to go to society functions yet."

"Ah, so this was shortly before you began going to such things?" Chuuya nods, and Dazai tsks under his breath, "And shortly after you presented?"

Chuuya nods again, "Only a few months after, yes."

"Chuuya."

"What?"

"He made that up."

"..." Chuuya frowns. "Why would he make up something so horrible?"

"Did you want to risk being alone with an alpha after that?" When Chuuya shakes his head, Dazai spreads his hands, "There you go."

"I—" Chuuya frowns, biting his lip, because, upon contemplation...

That does make more sense, actually.

"The point is," Dazai shrugs, "it will fit, and it won't hurt you—but if you're too frightened, I am willing to wait—"

"I'm not—not frightened," Chuuya sputters, "I—I simply have spacial awareness—"

"Darling, look at me," It's hard to, when Dazai has made him feel so silly, but he does, "This," he raises three fingers, holding them side by side, "is how much was inside of you, just now."

"..." Chuuya stares, because—it didn't feel like that much, but when he sees Dazai's fingers now, well—it actually looks like quite a lot.

"And as I recall," Dazai continues, "you were rather enjoying that."

"..." He was, actually. Quite a lot. To the point where he was angry when it stopped.

Dazai feels a little ridiculous, but he can tell that this is going to be a continuing issue in their marriage if they don't deal with this now, so...

He reaches down, taking himself in hand, and with the other, he compares it to three fingers, so Chuuya can get a better grasp.

"..."

Well, actually...It's still a lot longer than Dazai's fingers, and a good bit thicker, but...The difference might not be as vast as Chuuya initially thought.

"...And you're sure it won't—"

"Sweetheart," the prince sighs, pressing one hand under Chuuya's chin, so the omega will actually look at him. "What have I been telling you all evening?"

"..." Chuuya lets out a shaky breath, "that you won't hurt me."

"And have I?" Chuuya shakes his head, and Dazai asks again, "And if I thought there was the smallest chance that this was going to seriously hurt you, would I be willing to do it?"

"..." Chuuya licks his lips nervously, "I don't think so, no.”

“Now,” Dazai shakes his head, “If you don’t want it right now, there are other things we can do,” Chuuya is intrigued by the premise of that, “And the mating itself can wait—”

“...You mean you won’t bite me?” Chuuya frowns, his stomach sinking.

“...Mating bites are almost always performed when the two are knotted,” Dazai explains, and when Chuuya stares— “...when it gets stuck.”

“...” That drives him into a moment of quiet contemplation.

“I really am content to wait;” Dazai insists, even if the idea of stopping now is misery itself. “But you must tell me now—because if we continue, and you ask me to stop...I will try, but it isn’t going to be as easy.”

If it won’t seriously hurt him, and Dazai has promised not to make it painful...

There’s a determined glint in Chuuya’s eye. “...I don’t want to wait.” 

Dazai is staring at him with a slight frown, because he can tell that Chuuya is more motivated by wanting to receive a mating bite than he is by the sex itself, and he assumes that's because of expectations.

"And you do understand that nothing disastrous will come of it if we do not, yes?"

(He isn't wrong, but what he doesn't understand, is why Chuuya wants the bite so badly.)

 "...and it makes me yours."

Chuuya nods, very seriously, and then...Dazai sighs, deciding to...test his sincerity. "Touch me, then."

Chuuya pauses. "...I'm sorry?"

Dazai raises an eyebrow, "If you're not frightened, then touch me." It relies upon the redhead to initiate, and Dazai is fairly sure it will be easy to discern from that, if Chuuya is capable of going further.

"I'm not frightened," Chuuya murmurs, somewhat grouchily, a slight pout in place—but he's clearly cowed by the suggestion.

None-the-less, he sits up a little more, pressing a kiss against Dazai's lips, soft, very sweet, and the alpha enjoys it, but—

"Not what I meant, little bird."

The pout deepens against his lips. (Even if Chuuya truly can't be that upset, not when Dazai calls him by that name.)

He's so cautious as he slips his lips to the side, kissing the corner of Dazai's mouth softly, like that might not be correct, but when the alpha's lips turn out onto a slight smile, that bolsters him, leading him to press kisses down Dazai's chin, along his jaw. He isn't as confident about it as the older man was, and he doesn't suck or bite, mostly because he's just nervous, and he isn't exactly taking his time to explore.

He does pause, again, when he reaches Dazai's throat, because from there on, there isn't actually a lot of exposed skin for him to touch. "...Can I..." he mumbles, his hands flat against Dazai's chest. "Do they...come off?"

"..." It does not occur to Chuuya then, would not occur to the redhead until later, when he knows his husband better, that Dazai was anxious, mostly because the alpha is rather good at hiding it. "...Later, after."

Oh.

Chuuya nods, even if is a little confusing. They're supposed to be naked, and while he could perceive that bandages might not count as clothing, but...

But he wants to feel Dazai under his hands, skin on skin, in ways that he never could have imagined before tonight, and he still doesn't know how to explain, but—

But he pushes past that, leaning up to kiss his lips again, this time deeper. Dazai accepts it, smiling a little when Chuuya's tongue presses into his mouth, giving him a playful little bite that makes his husband moan, and he's about to point out that the omega is stalling again, until—

Until Chuuya's hand, still unsteady but not trembling, presses against his thigh, sliding up—and they do shake, just a little, the closer they get—to the point where Dazai is about to tell him it's alright, and he doesn't have to—

Chuuya's fingers, soft, warm, brush against his shaft, and after his first instance of direct contact against his cock that evening, Dazai can't help but tense, letting out a low groan.

The redhead pauses, his eyes slipping back up to Dazai's face, fingertips frozen against the underside of his length, and—

"Good," Dazai forces the words out, "keep—keep going." 

Emboldened by that, Chuuya's fingers skate down the length of him, and Chuuya wishes he had known more about touching himself before, because that might have helped, with this. What Dazai did before, that was so good, and Chuuya—

Chuuya does not think he could give his husband the same...level of enjoyment.

Dazai's flesh only feels a little more unfamiliar than Chuuya's own, soft, delicate skin that is hard and pulsing at the same time, and—and maybe Chuuya was a little harsh when he first saw it, because other than the size, it really is very similar to his own, which makes it a little less intimidating.

A little, not a lot, because when he tries to wrap his fingers around it and make a fist, the way Dazai did before—he can't actually reach all the way around.

But he does try giving one stroke with his thumb, slow, careful, and he feels Dazai shudder a little in response, and—that seems to be a good thing, so he does it again, before slowly moving his fingers up, along the shaft, feeling it throb under his touch.

He doesn't have any oil on his fingers, not the way that Dazai did before—so it's a little dry, but Dazai has been on edge for so long, he is beyond caring about that, reaching down to wrap his fingers around Chuuya's wrist.

The redhead freezes, his eyes flickering up, but instead of stopping him, Dazai just 

...he just helps him, guiding Chuuya's fingers up and down, even showing him how to rub his thumb at the tip, and—

And Chuuya knows he probably should be watching, for future reference, but he can't look away from Dazai's face--the crease in his brow, the tension in his jaw as his own pleasure builds, and—

Dazai does not know why Chuuya is pulling him down at first, his hand cupping the back of the alpha's neck—but then his husband is kissing him again, and—

And Dazai can't help but smile into it, because he's realizing the little redhead likes kissing him, and so he kisses Chuuya even more sweetly for it, one forearm propped up next to his lover's head, holding himself up as he nips at Chuuya's lips, feeling the younger man's breath speed up every time Dazai brushes against him with his tongue.

With Dazai over him like this, laying between his legs as their hands work together, it's only a matter of time before his length brushes against the wetness on Chuuya's thighs, and they both shudder—

(Chuuya from a mixture of anxiety, and anticipation—Dazai, from rapidly thinning self restraint.)

"If you..." Dazai struggles to keep his voice even, leaning back from the kiss as their hands come to a stop, "If you don't wish to continue, now is the time to—"

Chuuya shakes his head, cheeks scarlet, and—even if he is very nervous, he knows that Dazai won't hurt him, so...

So, he spread his legs a little wider under neath the alpha, and the words that reach Dazai's ears are so...so...

"D-Don't stop," it's an unsteady whisper, spoken from trembling lips.

"Please, Osamu—don't—don't stop."

Dazai is suddenly overwhelmed by a feeling he hasn't...really...experienced before. A warm rush in his face, building up in his throat, choking the very breath out of him, and the only thing he knows to do about it is to kiss Chuuya again, again, and again, until the omega is pliant under him, sighing against his lips, his hands in his hair.

(Dazai wasn't wrong, Chuuya loves kissing him, thinks that he could taste his husband's lips until he faints from a lack of air, and that would be just fine with him.)

Finally, Dazai's hand slips under one of Chuuya's thighs, finding the bend of his knee, pushing it up, and Chuuya is pliant still, letting him, even if his fingers tighten in his hair. He keeps his leg there, even when Dazai lets go, assuming the prince must have put it there for a reason, and then—

And then the head of his cock is against Chuuya's entrance, and the redhead feels like he's at the edge of a cliff, about to be shoved onto the rocks below.

It's fine, he reassures himself, squeezing his eyes shut, I won't die, Verlaine made that up, and he won't hurt me, he promised he wouldn't hurt me—

Then, there's a whisper, "Deep breath, love."

He obeys, taking a deep breath in through his nose, his hands sliding down from Dazai's hair to wrap around his neck, bracing himself—

Then, there's pressure.

Faint at first, rapidly growing, and for a moment he tenses, legs shaking with nervous energy, but Dazai shushes him, his hand reaching over to stroke his cheek from where his arm is propped up next to Chuuya's head.

Then, there's this smell, the one Chuuya first noticed when he came into the room, alpine, familiar, but stronger now—and it feels like it's all over, rushing up his nose, making his head feel airy and light, and—

Chuuya lets out a shuddering breath, and something inside of him gives way, making Dazai slide in past that first ring of muscle.

The omega gasps sharply, lips trembling as Dazai's mouth brushes along his jaw, his cheek, whispering words of comfort close to his ear.

"Beautiful..." Chuuya drowns in the sound of it, eyes slipping shut as he struggles to breath, feeling ever inch as it sinks deeper, "Hold onto me."

And he does, his arms tight and quivering around Dazai's neck.

It is, as Chuuya first surmised, huge. And there are moments when he has to choke out, "W-wait—" so Dazai can stop, and Chuuya can struggle to right his breathing, and the alpha always does, sucking at this one spot on Chuuya's neck that makes the 

omega's head go a little hazy, before he gets a broken command to resume.

It's an arduous process, one that Chuuya can only estimate takes at least half an hour (later, Dazai will tell him that it was only the span of around two minutes), but eventually, he feels Dazai's hips pressing against his ass, and—

And that must mean it's all in, yes?

"Perfect..." Dazai groans against his temple, kissing his cheeks, and Chuuya only realizes then that he shed a few tears during the process, "Doing so well..."

That only draws more tears from him, not the bad kind, but simply because Chuuya had been so afraid for his moment for so many weeks now, and now that they're finally here—

He thinks I'm perfect, Chuuya swallows thickly, turning his face into Dazai's neck, he—he thinks—

"Does—" Dazai swallows down a moan, because Chuuya is blinding around him, hot, wet, impossibly tight, muscles pulsing, trying to suck him in even deeper. "Does it hurt?"

A little, but not in a sharp, searing way. It's not so different from the burning he felt before, from Dazai's fingers—but slightly more intense, accompanied by a dull ache. An ache that actually was much more uncomfortable when Dazai was about halfway in, but actually eased, the deeper he got, as Chuuya's entrance adjusted to the stretch.

Now, the longer the alpha stays still, the easier the discomfort becomes, and it's just...

It's just different. Warm, and the pulsing that Chuuya felt before, when he had Dazai under his fingers, he can feel that inside of him now, like a second heartbeat.

"Chuuya?"

Right.

"N-no," he mumbles, nails biting into Dazai's shoulders through the bandages, and there was one thing about sex that no one told Chuuya, one that he had to figure out completely on his own.

The rush of unbridled affection that would suddenly well up inside of him, from being connected to another person so intimately.  

Honestly, Dazai wasn't wrong, Yosano wasn't wrong, this is, like everything else they've done tonight—so nice, Chuuya can understand why people do it for fun, or why it's not only for children—

(Even if it does upset him a little, to think that others have felt his level of connection with his husband, but—)

But then, Dazai starts to move, and Chuuya makes a small noise of displeasure, one thigh wrapping around his back—and it's not like he could stop the alpha, but the prince halts anyway, his voice tinted with concern, "Are you alright?"

"Y-yes," Chuuya mumbles, his arms tight around him, and Dazai is confused a minute, then, by why the redhead is trying to stop him, "i-it isn't over, is it?"

Dazai pauses, trying to process that question, because he was struggling to keep up with the redhead's complete and total lack of understanding before, but—

But what?

"No," Dazai mutters, though he must admit, he's glad he isn't a young virgin himself, because if he truly had finished so fast, Chuuya's reaction would have been so mortifying, he does not think that he would have ever recovered from that question.

But now, his head is muddled by the sensation of being inside of the omega, and it's getting harder for Dazai to follow what he means.

"T-then why are you—?" Chuuya chokes, his thigh trembling around Dazai's hip, and—

Oh. 

As far as Chuuya knows, even as far as Dazai's explanation, which was the most complete one that Chuuya had been given—

He just thinks that once Dazai is inside of him, he gets 'stuck,' and that's it.

And maybe, if the alpha wasn't already deep inside of him, he would have had the patience to explain it with words, but—

But he really just does not have it in him right now.

One of his hands finds the side of Chuuya's face, bringing him in for a kiss so slow, so deep, that Dazai can feel his husband go lax underneath him, and he uses that as an opportunity to pull halfway out before Chuuya can protest, then slide back in in a shallow, experimental thrust.

And the only thing he did not think through was that, while kissing Chuuya is an excellent means of distracting him, the feeling of the omega moaning against his lips is—

It makes Dazai lose his head, just a little bit.

He sets a slow, shallow rhythm, one that he can manage while still retaining some control—and that Chuuya is easily overwhelmed by, trembling underneath him, his chest heaving.

It's—it's so—

Every time Dazai slides back in, he hits something inside of him, a place that seems to be connected to every other part of Chuuya's body, making his legs jump, like a marionette plucked by its strings.

Good, good, so good that Chuuya is throbbing against his stomach again 

and he doesn't really understand the point of this, but—

 "It feels nice, doesn't it?"

Well, that might be the point. And from the soft growls and moans that are occasionally ripping out of the alpha's throat, Chuuya can tell that Dazai is definitely enjoying it as much as he is, but there's also a tension to his shoulders, in his expression, like he might...

Chuuya thinks he might be holding back, but he isn't sure.

"O-Osamu—" his name feels so much more natural now, than the first time when Chuuya said it. Now, when his eyes flicker down to look at him, Chuuya reaches, and Dazai lets out an affectionate huff of amusement, not needing to ask what the younger wants, leaning down to give him another kiss.

His hands are in Dazai's hair, fingers scraping against his scalp, and—

And he tries rocking his hips down against Dazai's, which results in the alpha sinking in a little deeper, a little harder, and Chuuya can tell, from the hitch of Dazai's breath against his mouth, that the alpha likes it.

And Chuuya likes it too, his thighs tightening around Dazai's hips as the alpha speeds up, not dramatically, but enough for Chuuya to realize that faster actually feels better, like there's this building sense of friction against his inner walls, one that is just turning his insides into liquid heat, but tensing them up at the same time.

One hand drops down onto Dazai's shoulder, nails scraping, and Chuuya is moving his own hips now each time, trying to chase more of the sensation, but in this position, and with how heavy Dazai is on top of him, there's really only so much he can do, so—

"Os—Daz—Hngh—!”

It's hard to get a single word out, because every single time he tries, Dazai is grinding against that spot again, and all Chuuya can do is let his jaw fall open and moan mindlessly, but—but he does manage to choke out one word.

"H-harder!"

Dazai can feel the more rational part of his brain slowly starting to shut down, and—and even if he knows it's Chuuya's first time, if he wants it harder—

The next thrust is more of a slam, drawing a choked, high pitched yelp that is almost a scream, but not quite—and Dazai is almost worries that he's hurt him, until it fades into—

Into what's actually a pretty loud moan, much more enthusiastic than what Dazai was expecting from a very shy virgin, but—

But he likes it, and he starts to set a much more powerful pace, pulling out a little more each time before slamming back in, and the moans are becoming even louder, more frequent, more desperate—

From her post in the hallway, Naomi can barely focus on her needlework (she's stabbed her thumb twice), and when she glances over at one of the royal guards, she clears her throat, "Is this..."

There's another muffled scream down the hall, and her face darkens just a little.

"Average, for a wedding night?" She's not an ignorant, sheltered omega from the court (even if her brother is very protective) but she's never heard anything like this.

She had been so worried for her new master, after his questions about relations between mates—fearful that she might have to run to one of the Nakaharas and get him help, if things went wrong—

(Now, she's pretty sure that she hears a moan.)

The guard, a grizzled, older veteran of Fukuzawa's court, shakes his head. "Not among arranged marriages, no."

Even he looks a little scandalized.

One of the older maids pauses as she walks down the hallway, a basket of laundry propped on her hip. "...Well," she glances from Naomi, to the guard, back down the hall, in time for them all to hear their prince's name echoing down the corridor, "at least there won't be any concerns about an heir."

On that, all three of them agree.

Chuuya isn't sure if he ever actually wants this to be over. With every passing moment, it gets better, so much better, and he can hardly think, hardly breathe—

And the longer it goes, the more Dazai's control slips, and Chuuya sees glimpses of something very different—

Something he likes.

The moments when he gets rougher, when his hands holding Chuuya's hips down in an iron grip, when he growls, pins, and bites.

Every time he does bite Chuuya, he wonders if it's the bite, but it never feels any different. Good, yes, especially when he sucks on the skin apologetically after, but—

But when Dazai does bite him, that means it's going to be finished, and Chuuya doesn't want finish, even as he feels that tightness building in his gut again, wants to feel this way forever, wants Dazai inside him forever—

And he thinks, from the way Dazai's rhythm is slowly starting to break down, that the alpha might be starting to feel overwhelmed too, and there's this weird, inexplicable sense of pride in Chuuya's chest at the thought.

"C-Chuuya—" His heart skips a beat when he hears his husband growl his name against his throat.

I'm going to make him do that again, Chuuya thinks to himself faintly, fingers scraping against Dazai's back.

I don't know how, but I'm going to make him say my name like that again.

The feeling is closer now, so much closer, he's right there—

Dazai's voice is in his in his ear, and the world could end right now, and it would still be the only thing that mattered. "Hold onto me."

Chuuya doesn't think, doesn't have to, he just does it, clinging his arms around Dazai's neck, his ankles crossing at the small of his back, and that brings their stomachs together, trapping Chuuya's cock between them, and every movement of Dazai's hips creates so much friction, it's—

It really only takes three more thrusts before Chuuya's entire world falls apart.

It's so much more intense than his first climax, because before, that was all about him, Dazai's hand on him, and nothing else. This, there's another person in this feeling with him, moaning his name, kissing him, forcing his inner muscles to strain to keep Dazai in, even as the alpha keeps thrusting, and it's the most perfect kind of ache there is—

And then, Dazai's hips begin to slow, and it feels—

It's hard for Chuuya to think when he's floating like this, riding waves of pleasure, but it feels like Dazai is getting bigger inside of him. A lot bigger.

Oh. Oh.

He cracks his eyes open, his heart somehow speeding up even more.

Is this—?

Before he can look, Dazai's hand slides up into his hair, fingers knotting in his curls, and before Chuuya can really ask why, his head is being twisted to the side, pinned against the pillows, and—

Chuuya never thought he would enjoy being handled so roughly, he's always been a bit haughty in that sense. There was one guard that actually threw him into the back of a carriage once, when they were hurrying away from a street fire in Paris.

Even if it was for his safety, Chuuya had been furious enough to order the young man to run laps around the garden in the Verlaine estate for the better part of an hour. Rimbaud thought it odd, Chuuya said to labor under the sun was to be closer to god.

(Really, it just gave him weird feelings, watching the man sweat in the afternoon heat as he ran past.)

But he likes this, likes it when Dazai is rough with him, makes him feel small and vulnerable and owned—

Then, there finally is a sting, clear and sharp, and his eyes blow open wide as he lets out a surprised gasp. 

His instinct is to try to get away from it, shrinking back, but Dazai's hand is iron in his hair, holding him still, letting out a sharp growl, and—

And Chuuya's eyes get just a little wider before they go half-lidded, and he relaxes under the alpha's jaws, and he doesn't know, then, that Dazai is actually working very hard, even as his head is muddled from everything else, to distract him from the pain, continuing to work his hips, even as his knot begins to swell to the point where moving is very difficult.

(No, Chuuya doesn't know it now, but he will later, and he'll love his husband even more for it.)

He doesn't actually know how long it takes before Dazai grows still, or his teeth unlock from Chuuya's throat. Neither of them seem to have any care for time, exhaustion, or anything else—just holding onto one another, shivering as they try to catch their breaths.

Dazai's jaw aches when he finally lets go, giving the mark a few lazy passes with his tongue, tasting iron—and pride, when he feels the omega (his omega, now) shiver under his touch.

Chuuya's ankles unhook from behind his back, thighs quivering from the exertion as they fall open around him, and Dazai—

Dazai just buries his face in the redhead's throat, nuzzling his nose against the mark, feeling the connection between them solidify, and Chuuya's chin drops down, his cheek resting against Dazai's hair tiredly, his arms still looped around Dazai's shoulders as he nuzzles against dark, unruly curls.

He's bearing all of Dazai's weight right now, but if the omega minds, or is in any discomfort, he does not say so.

It's only when Dazai feels the soft vibrations against his nose, that he realizes—

Chuuya is purring, and he's holding him.

 "Give him someone else!"

The alpha's throat aches as his arms slip underneath Chuuya's back, holding him so tight, the redhead almost can't breathe.

Dazai did not—

He swallows hard, fighting back—fighting back so many different emotions.

Dazai had not expected to feel this way.

Chapter Text

TEN YEARS BEFORE

"I," The sixteen year old frowns helplessly, watching dark ink stream across the floor from where the well has shattered, broken pieces glinting against dark tatami mats, "Osamu, you know I did not ask for—"

"But you did not refuse, did you?!" Dazai has never—

Odasaku watches helplessly, glancing over at their father, who seems just as perturbed.

Dazai has never been like this.

"Your brother will do what he must," Fukuzawa shakes his head, "and you will support him, as you have always done."

Dazai can't sit still, can't sit down, he's been a mess of restless anger and uncontrollable distress since they said it—

 "Now, your brother will require a more suitable match, and the Nakahara boy well be the best option."

"Why?!" He shakes his head. "I am a member of this family, if I keep him, the alliance remains the same—"

"You do realizes 'he' is not a toy that you were given, and is now being taken away from you," Mori points out, thoroughly exhausted with this display. "He is a living, breathing child, one that you have never spoken to—"

"You promised me," Dazai snaps, his hands trembling fists at his sides, "what is the point of a betrothal if we break it so easily?!"

"We did not promise you anything," Mori snaps right back, "we promised his parents that one of their children would marry one of our sons."

"He—" Dazai points to his brother, whom he has never been hostile towards, not until today, "He does not even want him—"

"And you do?!" Fukuzawa places a hand on his mate's shoulder, and Mori shoves it off, infuriated. "You do not know him, and we will find you another match with another omega that you do not know, and you will never know the difference!"

 "You'll write to me?"

The young alpha has never been one for tears, not since he was a small boy—Mori can't even recall the last time he saw him cry, but it must have been very soon after he started walking on his own, no longer asking to be held the moment he was put down.

He's also never been prone to tantrums, using his scheming personality to get his way more often, sneaking off to do whatever he liked anyway, or manipulating people until he got what he wanted—

But now he is smashing things, and Mori does see the familiar glimmer of tears in the boy's eyes, even if they do not fall.

What on earth?

"Why," Dazai shakes his head, his jaw tightening, "could he not have anyone else? There are—there are so many other families—"

"Osamu," Fukuzawa sighs, not unkindly, "if it was so simple, we would not need to arrange our matches in the first place."

"What is the point of being the most powerful family in the north if we cannot do what we please? Just—"

"Osamu—"

"Give him someone else!" The boy's voice lowers from a shout, to something more pleading, and Mori sees—

Mori sees the other two alphas in the room softening, melting like the snow on their estates each spring with the coming of the summer months.

They pity him, because they are soft.

"Leave us." Mori mutters, rising to his feet.

"Mother," Oda speaks up, his eyes sympathetic, "I would be willing to—"

"Now." The omega snarls, and—

And Dazai's father and brother relent, rising to their feet as they leave the room.

There has always been a complicated dynamic, within Dazai's family.

Mori's clan is old, powerful, and few were more respected—until the only surviving heir was an omega, without even a distant cousin who could come and take up the inheritance, saving the family from ruin.

Dazai's mother was an orphan from the northern invasion when he was fifteen years old. Forced to be clever, or to be torn apart by the political wants and desires of the other northern lords.

It is more difficult, here. They are not soft and fat, like the lords of the south—not when there are constant, looming threats of invasion from clans to their north, on the island of Hokkaido.

Mori Ougai had the choice to remain a frightened child, or to sharpen himself. To take every lesson—and all of the lessons Mori has learned in his life have been very painful—and never forget it.

Every scar, a helpful memory. Something to add to his arsenal, so it cannot hurt him again later.

Marrying a young samurai like Yukichi had been viewed as a bizarre choice, at the time.

He came from a wealthy family, yes, but with little connection to any noble line—and many assumed that the foolish, omega lord of the north had gone and done something emotional, marrying for love. 

He had not.

He loves his husband now, loves him fiercely, but that love was something they built, not something that existed when they first met.

Mori married someone with an army. Someone who could fight. And someone who did not understand the world of politics. 

Yukichi is dependent on him for that. Dependent on Mori's noble birth, his education, his advice.

And, while they struggled in the first years of their marriage, he did learn how to protect Mori from the things he was the most frightened of.

The one thing that he was frightened of.

So—within Dazai's family, at least—appearances are not what they seem, and while Fukuzawa might be the head of the family in name, by law—it has always been Dazai's mother, who controlled the family—even if he has the sense to pretend otherwise in public.

"Sit down, before I have one of the guards come in here and embarrass you." The older omega snaps, and Dazai almost does not listen, his pupils dilated with rage, his nostrils flaring. "Now, Osamu, I will not ask again."

"..." Angry, glaring, he drops down onto one of the cushions on the floor, his hands bunched into fists against his knees.

"When did it begin?" Mori asks flatly, and when Dazai does not answer, he repeats himself. "Your attachment to the boy, when did it start?"

"..." The alpha wishes to deny it, but he knows his mother would be able to tell, and that there isn't a point. "...I don't know," he admits, his eyes downcast. "We met, once."

He can feel the judgment in Mori's gaze, the silent concern—a sense of distrust that has never been extended towards Odasaku.

Only Dazai. 

"I will only ask once," Mori's voice is low, cautious, like he's afraid of what Dazai will say, "if you have done something that I cannot forgive you for."

Dazai flinches, a slightly horrified expression taking over his face at the mere implication. "...You really think I would do something like that?"

The silence that follows hurts, like a knife that is slowly, carefully being driven into Dazai's back. His mother's gaze is dark, unknowable, but—

But when the one person who is obligated to love you believes you are capable of being so monstrous. "What have I ever done to make you think so little of me?"

He silently hopes for an explanation, or maybe a denial, that Mori is not implying that Dazai violated someone who is still a child.

"You haven't denied it yet."

It's a slap to the face. 

"No," Dazai mutters. "We spoke, nothing more. I didn't even see his face."

"But you were alone?"

"..."

"Such a thing could damage him, if people knew—"

"He found me," Dazai protests quietly. "I was thirteen, I couldn't have done anything anyway—"

"You would be shocked," Mori's voice is quiet, but cold, "what people will believe young, powerful alphas are capable of."

"But you know that I am not." Dazai pleads, and he wishes, above everything else, that his mother would believe it.

Dazai knows, of his three sons, he is the one that Mori loves the most. It has never been a secret, even if his mother has never said so.

And he also knows, of all of his children, Dazai is the only one that Mori fears. But his mother has never told him why, and Dazai is beginning to fear that he never will.

"I do not know why, then," Mori murmurs, eyes narrowed, "you have made such a mess over a boy you have only met once."

Dazai wishes he could explain, but—but he doesn't know either.

"...He liked me." The boy murmurs, eyes downcast. "When he hears about this—"

 "I like camellias, by the way—red ones."

He spent hours that day, thinking about, if he had the nerve to write Chuuya a letter, what he would say. Walking through the garden, examining camellia blossoms one by one, until he found one without a single wilted petal.

"—he's going to think I let him go."

There was such a vulnerability in that voice, Dazai remembers. A fear of not being wanted.

Now, sitting under his mother's distrustful gaze—Dazai knows how that feels..

"That is exactly what you will do," Mori's voice isn't cruel, more practical than anything. "And he will be betrothed to a first born, someone who will make him very happy, and he will forget you."

The words cut, even if they are not meant to.

 "You promise, you'll write to me?"

"No." Dazai's jaw locks. "He won't."

"Osamu—”

I won't let him.

"He liked me."

"A child liked you, not the man he will grow into." Mori sighs, sitting on the floor next to him. "Osamu, look at me."

He does, even if he does not want to, and Mori sees now, the hurt in his eyes.

"Oh, little one," he sighs, even if Dazai is not little any more, "I wish I could tell you something different," his mother reaches over, taking one of Dazai's fists from where it is sitting in his lap, squeezing until his fingers unfold. "But you are far too clever, and I think it is far more cruel tell a lie." His thumb strokes over Dazai's palm.

"You are not your father's son," he murmurs, and when Dazai's eyes snap up to meet his, Mori's gaze is...filled with far too many emotions, pain, fear, and worry. "You are my son."

On that much, they both agree.

Fukuzawa carries honor like a second skin—and he has no skill for deception, and kindness, it comes to him naturally.

Odasaku is the same, always has been, for as long as Dazai can remember him.

But kindness—Dazai has to work to be kind, has to fight against the instinct to win, simply for the sake of it, the need to dominate, just because he can.

"There are things about this world that they will never understand," Mori explains, face gently lit by lamp light. "They don't...think like us."

They're too kind to. Too trusting.

"If your father was a farmer, you could do as you liked," Mori explains softly. "Maybe you would have been happier for it—and in many ways, I wish you had been...but you were not." His fingers wrap around Dazai's palm, squeezing. "You were born to this family, and this..." Mori sighs. "Whatever this attachment is, it is a symptom the fact that you have allowed yourself to remain a child."

And Mori wishes he could be, for a little longer. Wishes he never had to teach Dazai these lessons—he remembers how badly they hurt.

"You must find that part of yourself, and kill it." Mori murmurs, shaking his head. "That is the only way that we are to survive."

"...Survive?" Dazai asks slowly, not understanding, not yet.

"There will be a war, one day, not so far from now." Mori sighs, bringing Dazai's hand into his own lap. "And if we do not secure victory, there will be no mercy for us." Mori explains. "They will execute your father, first. Then your brother." He turns his gaze to the candle on the table, flames reflecting the dark hollows of his eyes. "They will wait to see how Ryuu presents. Hopefully as an alpha—and then he'll be executed as well." Mori eyes never move away from the flame, becoming distant. "There are far worse things for him, if he does not."

"...What would they do to you?" Dazai asks quietly, and Mori's expression remains unchanging.

"Nothing that you need to worry about," his mother sighs. "And you—they might let you go."

"...Why would they let me go?" Dazai asks slowly. Let him go, even if they would kill both of his brothers, and his father? He's no different from any of them, an alpha, with the crime of bearing a family name that could pose a threat to the royal family, and their power.

Mori does not answer, and Dazai knows, the longer the silence lasts, that he will not.

"...And how do you know there will even be a war?"

"..." Finally, Mori turns his gaze back to him. "The king's...ailment is becoming more severe."

They both know that ailment is a gentler word for madness.

"He was a cruel man before, but now..." Mori sighs, squeezing Dazai's hand tighter. "It is only a matter of time, before something transpires that cannot be undone."

"...How can we be sure of that happening?" Dazai frowns, "The king has capable advisors. Like the Nakaharas, and the Ozakis—they would stop him before—"

"The King has done such things before," Mori murmurs, "when he was in a proper state of mind—and they allowed it." His hand is so tight in Dazai's now, it actually hurts. "They enabled it." Mori shakes his head. "It's only a matter of time, now, before it becomes unmanageable. And when that happens—" he looks up at Dazai, and he's never seen his mother like this, but—

Mori is pleading with him.

"I wish I could allow you to be a child, Osamu, I know you would be happier." He reaches up, pushing Dazai's bangs out of his face, behind his ear. "But your father and your brother—they do not have the hearts for what is coming, what must be done, and I cannot do this by myself." 

Silence follows as the weight of it settles on Dazai, and for a boy of fourteen—

It is so heavy.

"...What does this have to do with Chuuya?" He asks slowly, his voice unsteady.

"His family...is going to be important, no matter what comes, or how the war ends." Mori explains.

That, Dazai understands. The Nakaharas are an old family, wealthy, with a noble title, connections to the military—and they don't have a smudge of indecency upon the family name.

A rarity, these days.

"They have one omega to marry off now, and..." Mori sighs "Lord Nakahara will not settle for you, Osamu. You're the second born. You won't inherit the family estate, or title—you could be many things, a general, a scholar, but...not someone they would give their only omega to. Even if your father and I would allow it."

It hurts hearing it, but Dazai knows that Mori is right. "Then why tell me all of those things about a war, and how I can't be a—"

"Because," Mori sighs, "you need to stop being so sentimental, my love, it will not serve you well."

"I—"

"And if you truly cared for the boy, you would understand that this is a good thing for him," Mori shakes his head. "He is going to have security, and you know that your brother is a good man, who will treat him well."

Dazai does, he wants to rip his heart out before he admits it, but he does.

"Chuuya is not like you, Osamu, he will never have the same opportunities." Mori shakes his head. "He cannot choose what he wants to be, who he shall marry, or what kind of life he will lead—but he can have a good one, with your brother."

"...Could I not give him a good life as well?" 

Dazai asks it so quietly, and Mori's eyes soften as he leans forward, kissing his forehead. "Of course you could, darling. And someday, you will make an omega very happy," he give his hand one last squeeze.

"Just not this one."

Dazai lays in bed that night, staring out the window, thinking.

About where Chuuya is, how he will react, when he hears the news. What he might think.

About how unfair it is, that Dazai was denied the one thing that he has ever begged for.

 "You don't even know him."

Dazai knows he doesn't, and that his mother was right.

 "And he will forget you."

Dazai's eyes drift over to his desk, the pen and paper, waiting so temptingly.

 "You'll write to me?"

He sits up, determined.

It takes a long time, mostly because Dazai wastes so much of it staring at a blank page, trying to think of how he ought to even begin, because it has been a year since they spoke last, what would he even say? What would Chuuya want to hear?

The first words, come easily.

Little bird,

And the sign off—it might seem a little odd...sentimental, even. Not something he would normally say, but...inexplicably...

Always yours,
Dazai Osamu

It felt like the truth.

He tried to say that he never thought about him, in the months that followed. That he didn't seethe when he was helping Odasaku pick out a pair of earrings to send the boy.

But he did try to put it out of his head.

He tried to forget.

'He asked about you again."

Dazai does not look up from his cards, sipping from his glass of sake. "If you think that attempt to distract me is going to stop me from winning all of your money," the teenager drawls, throwing a few more coins into the pot, "you're as stupid as that mustache makes you look."

Oda pauses, touching his lip self-consciously. "You're just jealous because you can't grow one, little brother."

"..." Dazai arches an eyebrow silently. As someone who presented as an alpha two years before his brother (who is also two years older than him, meaning Dazai was four years younger than Odasaku was, when presenting), they both know he could grow one.

He simply prefers not to look ridiculous.

"...You only hate it because mother hates it," Odasaku sighs, sinking lower in his seat, hiding his face behind his cards.

"Have you ever considered that mother has a good sense of what looks good on you and what doesn't?" Dazai sighs.

He might be sixteen now, and Odasaku eighteen—but the older they both become, the more clear it is that one of them...is much more mature than the other, even if he has his...vices.

"Yes, well—he really did ask about you," Oda grumbles, folding, placing his cards down on the table.

"Because I am your brother, I'm sure he inquires about our parents and our little brother too." Dazai sighs, looking back down at his cards.

"Yes, but he expressed specific concerns. Apparently he heard about your duel with Lord Miyagi's son, and he wanted to know if you were alright."

Dazai chokes. "You—he doesn't know about the circumstances does he?"

Odasaku snorts, shaking his head, "He's still just a boy, Dazai, how could he?" The other alpha relaxes at that, looking back down at his cards. "Though you do seem very disturbed by the thought of him finding out, for someone who doesn't care."

"...Do not do that," Dazai mutters, his fingers tightening around the cards. "It isn't fair."

"Osamu, I've told you before, if you want—"

"What you are willing to do does not matter." Dazai is cold, his eyes hardening. "You're acting like a sentimental child." 

Odasaku flinches, startled by his brother's words, by his transformation, really, from the clever, curious boy that Odasaku once knew, to—

To the politician sitting before him, one who gambles, drinks, and whores his feelings away. "Osamu—"

"It's your turn, bother.” 

It was a year later, when the final straw broke.

At a ball, of all things.

Dazai is seventeen, bored, fighting the urge to be destructive. He hates the palace, hates the south, hates feeling watched.

Odasaku thrives, shines really, he always has. He can smile, make conversation, pretend the people here don't make him sick. Dazai could do the same thing, but he's far less tolerant to it—and is much happier to sit on the palace balcony, leaning back on oak railings as he takes long, slow drags from his kiseru.

"Are we in the mood for sharing?”

He glances up, his heart leaping when he sees a curtain of red hair—

Connected to a tall, female alpha.

“...Kouyou-san,” he lets out a low stream of smoke, “You look lovely, this evening.”

“Thank you,” she sighs, leaning back against the railing next to him. “And are you willing to share?”

It seems there’s nothing in my life I can keep to myself anyway, Dazai thinks to himself bitterly. Why should anything else matter?

“I don’t know if it would be to your tastes, my lady,” Dazai shrugs. “This breed of tobacco is quite strong.” 

Kouyou scowls, offended. “There’s no need for the patronizing attitude, Dazai. I’m an alpha now, just like you.”

“...” Dazai snorts, handing her the pipe. “Not just like me, no.”

She rolls her eyes, taking a puff or two, only to cough because—it is rather strong, actually. “What? Because I’m a woman?”

“No,” Dazai shakes his head, taking the pipe back, breathing in a long, smooth drag. “Southern.”

“Bah,” Kouyou rolls her eyes. “You northern lords, thinking freezing your balls off every winter makes your harder than the rest of us.”

“And you don’t think the same?” Smoke fans from Dazai’s lip like a dragon’s breath, and Kouyou pauses, staring.

There has always been something familiar about Dazai, in a strange way—one that she has never been able to place. The shape of his mouth, the set of his jaw...

But where has she has seen it before, she could not place.

“I think they’re all talk, mostly.” Kouyou shrugs, and Dazai tilts his head to the side, looking her over.

“Would you like to find out, my lady?”

“...” her eyes widen, “Is that a challenge to a duel, Dazai? At the King’s birthday feast?”

“It can be,” Dazai shrugs, looking up at the sky. “It’s been a rather dull get together, so far.”

“How many duels have you been in now?” She sighs, taking his pipe again, hoping that practice makes perfect, “Seven?”

“Nine,” Dazai corrects her, taking it back.

“If I didn’t know any better,” she chokes, hacking up the smoke she just inhaled, “I would say that you wanted someone to kill you.”

“That is what second sons do, my lady.” Dazai drawls, tapping the excess ash out of his pipe, over the side of the balcony, onto the gravel below. “We attend parties that we don’t enjoy, and we wait to die.” Another drag from the pipe silences him, but only for a moment. “Speaking of, how is my future brother-in-law?”

“Oh...” Kouyou wrinkles her nose, “perfect.”

“...” Dazai snorts, “That was very nasty of you.”

“What?” 

“It isn’t his fault that you aren’t marrying my brother. You can blame what’s between your legs for that.”

Her face darkens, and Dazai hopes she might take him up on a fight, he’s itching for one, but she doesn’t. “I never told him it was his fault—"

“No,” Dazai shakes his head, “you just silently resent a little boy for a situation utterly out of his control,” the alpha snorts. “That’s much better.”

“...” her eyes narrow. “He isn’t a little boy anymore, he’ll be presenting any day now.”

“What is he, eleven?”

“Yes.”

“A child.” 

She huffs, looking away. “I don’t know how you can be so blasé about the whole thing. You were insulted too.”

“Chuuya and I never shared the prior friendship that you did with my brother.” Dazai shrugs, “You can’t miss what you never had.”

“You ought to tell him that, then.” Kouyou mutters under her breath.

“What was that?”

“Nothing, I...” She sighs, shaking her head. “I just worry about his temperament.”

“How so?”

“He has the best match in the kingdom, and if you were to listen to him complain, you’d think that he did not want to be engaged at all.”

“Complaining?” Dazai can’t help but smile at the notion, “Whatever about?”

“Dance lessons, mostly—and constantly fretting over the fact that he’ll have to live in the north one day,” she sighs “He loathes the cold.”

“He’s a child, Kouyou. Children complain.” 

“...I wish you could extend this patience and understanding for my brother towards someone else,” the redhead grumbles, “It’s unlike you.”

“You’re six years older,” Dazai shrugs, “Would you like me to treat you like a child?”

“Maybe,” Kouyou huffs, her bravado fading a little. “...Or tell me how to deal with one.”

“...” Dazai sighs, closing his eyes. He tries not to think about the younger Nakahara too often. It doesn’t matter now anyway, not anymore. “Stop being so dismissive of him.”

“I—!”

“That wasn’t an attack, my lady, that was friendly advice.” Dazai tucks the pipe away in the front of his yukata. “He doesn’t need you to agree with him, he just wants to feel listened to.”

“And how would you know that?” Kouyou sighs, pressing her hand to her temple.

“I was a difficult child who liked to complain at some point or another,” Dazai snorts, “or so my mother is always telling me.”

“If you’re so understanding, why don’t you marry him then.” She’s an angry teenager, one who can’t really understand the shrouded pain in Dazai’s eyes, and doesn’t expect his reaction—

“Even if I were, it would not change your situation,” his voice is cold, so frigid, it’s...startling, when Kouyou compares it to the boy she once knew. “I wonder which one of you is really complaining like a child.”

She falls silent, shocked.

Dazai was gentle, as a boy. 

Intelligent, but never condescending. He was just...

Shy, curious, and kind, in a quiet sort of way.

She sees very little trace of that now.

“...And,” Dazai continues, “I don’t want to be engaged. I’ve learned the benefits of being a free man.”

“...” Kouyou seems just as eager to change the subject as he is. “Yes, I heard about that geisha of yours.”

Dazai blinks innocently, “Which one?”

Kouyou snorts, unimpressed, “The geisha. The one from Kyoto. Sasaki, wasn’t it?”

Suddenly, Dazai wishes he was still smoking. “What about her?”

“The rumor is that you’re in love with her.”

Dazai snorts derisively. “No, I am not.”

“But you are her danna,” Kouyou tuts under her breath. “You’re so young, to entertain such scandal.”

“You know,” Dazai raises two fingers, calling over a servant walking around with a tray of sake, “A danna is not always involved with their geisha.”

But Kouyou does not miss the fact that Dazai does seem a little pleased, referring to someone as his.

“I’m simply her patron,” he shrugs, taking a cup and raising it to his lips, “the rumors saying otherwise are fantastical.”

“Oh, I’m sure they are,” Kouyou replies dryly. “And you simply find her an excellent entertainer?”

Dazai smiles faintly, “Why yes, I do. An excellent flutist, actually.”

She can imagine Dazai must find the woman’s mouth very talented indeed. “I also heard that you had a bastard with her.”

That actually makes Dazai laugh, “Do you think I would be alive right now, if I had?”

“...no,” Kouyou admits. “Your mother would have killed you.”

“Exactly.”

“But fooling around like this will make it harder when you marry.” 

Dazai's smile is far too knowing, his eyes distant. "What a shame that would be, my lady."

"Are you hoping to remain a scoundrel all of your life? Or a dramatic death at the hand of some other alpha you have offended?"

"Whichever comes first, my lady, I'm not picky." Dazai's eyes drift over to the party. "You should find my brother and say hello." She sees him hesitate, and he shrugs, "It will pain him, if he learns you were here, and you ignored him."

"..." Kouyou pushes off of the railing with a sigh, "I cannot decide if you are a saint, or simply the coldest man I have ever met."

Dazai's lips twitch. "Then I shall wait until you decide to be insulted."

"How you can just..." She shakes her head, walking inside. "It is beyond me."

Dazai does not think himself a saint, but he is proud of himself, for not asking what he wanted to.

Does he ever ask for me? Or has he forgotten?

He was eight, when they met. Eleven now. By the time he is old enough to marry Dazai's brother, he won’t...

Dazai very much doubt that the redhead will remember any of it at all, and that, he thinks, is for the best.

Eventually, people begin to realize that a rich, un-betrothed young alpha is lingering on the balcony, and his place is not so peaceful anymore. It is only then, that he chooses to wander the palace corridors, warm from drink and smoke, trailing his fingertips along the walls as he walks.

He has never liked this place.

They do not come south often, even less, these days. His parents were present at court every season, but after Dazai's mother became pregnant with him, they returned to live in their northern estates permanently, only venturing to the capitol for the most important events of the year.

Or to visit the Nakaharas, but those visits have become less and less now, and Dazai has stopped accompanying them, when they do.

He only came to this event, because he was forced.

The king turns 50 today, and even Dazai ignoring such an event, as the son of a powerful man, in a powerful family—that would be a great insult.

That does not mean, however, that the palace makes him any less uneasy.

It is a place heavy with history, the violent kind—ghosts hanging thick in the air.

When Dazai was a boy of just 9, one of Shibusawa's vassals attempted to plot a coup d'etat. One that was doomed to fail from the very beginning, of course, as all of the others had.

But everyone knows the story.

Of how he was brought to the throne room, forced to his knees—and every lord and lady of Shibusawa's court, including the man's own son, were forced to line up, each delivering a cut, until he was left on the floor, broken, bleeding, to draw his last breaths.

Dazai's father drew the king's ire, that day—for slitting the man's throat before he could be forced to suffer any longer.

When every other alpha in the room had been too petrified to do something, Fukuzawa had done what was right—and when his own life was threatened for doing so, his reply had been—

 "Only weak men are cruel for the sake of it."

Dazai stands alone, in an empty throne room—over the spot where, he assumes, Lord Higuchi met his final moments.

 "And you are not weak,"

The young alpha stares at the throne, a chill running down his spine, like the ghost of a knife at his back.

 "Are you, your majesty?"

"You know," a voice drawls from behind him, ambling, slightly slurred with drink, "it is a crime, to stand before the throne when it is empty."

The teenager turns around, startled—and when he sees the man before him, he immediately drops into a bow, his heart in his throat.

"Oh, there's no need for that." Shibusawa smiles faintly, leaning against the doorframe as he gestures for the young man to straighten up. "It's a silly rule—from my grandfather, I believe. Some strange idea, that it might tempt disloyal lords to try and take it for themselves." He examines fingernails, stained black with ink and charcoal.

They say the king spends his days locked in his study more often than not, studying ancient texts, looking for long forgotten secrets.

Others say that his madness is no such thing at all, that the legends of the royal family are true.

That they truly are descended from gods, dragons, and that Shibusawa cannot be burned by mere flames. And that is why the man always has a faint sheen of soot—because he has tried to burn himself many times.

"But you are not a disloyal young lord with a death wish," Shibusawa sighs, looking back up, "are you, Osamu Dazai?"

"...No, your grace." The teenager replies, his expression guarded. "I just...have never been one for formal gatherings."

"...Nor have I," the king offers a slow smile. 

Dazai knows, in this situation, he should try to be flattering. "I take it as a great compliment, to have something in common with my king."

"As you should," the ivory haired man sighs, "but I think we should have many things in common, my boy."

"...I was very sorry to hear about the late queen," Dazai mutters, eager to shift the topic of conversation. "It must be very difficult."

"..." Shibusawa grunts under his breath, disinterested. "A weak woman, with an even more delicate constitution. I was not sorry to be rid of her, even if I did lose some of my best concubines in that plague..." He seems vaguely irritated, remembering. "I suppose I am glad she gave me a legitimate heir, before she passed. That is the only marital duty the woman ever managed to satisfy."

Dazai does not think he shall ever marry himself, but to hear an alpha speak of his mate with so much contempt makes him...distinctly uncomfortable.

"How is the prince, your grace? I hear his own birthday is not far off."

"Yes," Shibusawa sighs, even more irritated by the mention of his son. "He'll be turning five, I believe." 

Dazai does not know much about the goings on in the south, but he does know that Prince Atsushi is turning six.

"You must be very proud."

"..." The king wrinkles his nose, his expression darkening, and Dazai is at a loss, he's only been complimenting the man. "There is too much of his mother in him. He is silly and stupid, and the dynasty will not survive a fortnight once I am gone."

That...is a stinging indictment of a child who is only just now learning how to read, but Dazai knows better than to say so.

Shibusawa glances up, his eyes lighting up slightly, when he examines the face of the young man before him, "You also have too much of your mother in you, you know that?"

Dazai's shoulders become slightly more rigid—because while his own relationship with Mori is complicated, he would sooner cut a man down, even a king, before he would listen to his mother being insulted. "That should be the highest compliment you could ever give me, your grace." Dazai replies, his voice firm. "I will treasure it."

"...Such a dutiful son," the king murmurs, his eyes locked upon the young man's face. "They are very lucky to have you—though I suspect lordship would be more suited to you, than your elder brother."

"You think too highly of me, your majesty." Dazai shakes his head. "No one could be more suited to lead our clan than Sakunosuke."

"And a dutiful brother," Shibusawa sneers, his gaze becoming irritated again (he oscillates rapidly, Dazai notices, between self-satisfaction and irritation), "gods, you really are perfect, aren't you?" His eyes slide up to the ceiling, glaring. "It's like I am to be punished, or something of the like."

Dazai is frozen, not daring to speak—partially because the king seems unstable, now, and partially because...he is well and truly baffled.

"Though I suppose it must bring your mother's husband some comfort," he drawls, like his words are casual, and they don't bear any consequences, "to know that Sakunosuke was born first."

"..." Dazai's brow knits together. Yes, he is aware of the fact that Odasaku is better than him, if not in ability than certainly by the goodness of his character—but he does not think that their father loves either one of them more than the other. He has always endeavored to treat both boys fairly, and Dazai has never felt that his brother was inappropriately favored.

"...You know," Shibusawa pushes off of the doorframe, walking closer. "When I first learned that your mother was with child, I was very eager, to hear the reports of your birth."

The young alpha is frozen in place, his eyes wide as the king circles him, silently sizing him up, like a lamb about to be sent to the slaughter.

"Of course, when I heard of the timing, I knew it was in my favor, but then...when I heard of your appearance," he shrugs, throwing his hands up, "hair like your mother's, yes—but brown eyes?" The king shakes his head. "I thought that it might run in his husband's family, and I did not give you another thought."

No. 

Nausea creeps through him slowly.

Stop talking.

"I think I first realized it when you presented, and your mother had to bring you to the capitol, to be shown before me." Shibusawa laughs softly, his voice vindictive. "I did enjoy that."

"Your grace—" Dazai tries to stop him, because he can't—

And can't unlearn this. What the king is saying—it cannot be undone.

"I saw your eyes," Shibusawa stops in front of him, placing his fingers under Dazai's chin, forcing him to turn his face up, "And I realized—they are just like that of my own mother," he murmurs, examining the gold and hazel flecks around the boy's irises. "That was when I first suspected."

"...My father has green eyes," Dazai mutters, pulling his chin out of Shibusawa's grip. "Your first suspicion was right, your grace, brown eyes do run in his family."

"..." Shibusawa smiles faintly. "I suspected it again, when it took your older brother so long to present. You do know, I'm assuming, that all children from the same parents should present at around the same age?"

Dazai does, but never had reason to think that it mattered. Not until now.

"Thirteen, that's...early." The king muses. "And at seventeen, your brother was rather late."

"...That is hardly reason to suspect—"

"And," Shibusawa shrugs, "it is possible, for Lord Fukuzawa to have returned from putting down rebellions in the north in time to conceive you, but..." the king trails off with a smug, lopsided grin. One that Dazai now finds sickeningly familiar. "You would have been premature."

He glances the young man over, tall, broad, very healthy. "And that certainly does not seem to have been the case."

Dazai's mask of composure finally slips, his expression utterly agonized, and the king watches closely, obviously enjoying the suffering that he has wrought. "Why are you telling me any of this?"

"Oh, I think it's very important to know where one comes from." Shibusawa muses, "And, if I should die before I manage to have a proper son, well..." He shrugs, "Do me a favor and kill your little brother, will you?" The king steps back, taking his leave of the room, "I shall have no peace, knowing that a cowardly whelp sits upon the thrown our ancestors built."

Our ancestors.

Dazai's gaze slowly turns to the throne, sitting empty—and he is alone in the room again.

The ghosts, they feel heavier now, than they ever have before.

He does not return to the party. Does not show his face and force a smile.

"Mori, is your son quite well?"

The noble glances up from his drink surprised by the question. He can see Sakunosuke in the corner, laughing with the other alphas his age, and nothing seems to be—

"Osamu, I mean." Lady Nakahara explains. "I was returning from a walk about the garden, and I saw the boy vomiting behind the guard station, I was worried that he might be ill—"

"Oh," Mori sighs heavily, pinching his nose. "I'm sure he'll be fine, he just...you know how alphas are, at that age. He thinks drinking his weight in sake will show the court omegas what a man he is."

"Oh, I remember when Kensuke and I were that age," Lady Nakahara laughs, shaking her head. "He'll grow out of it, surely."

"Yes..." Mori mutters, lifting his own glass to his lips, wishing he had something much stronger, when he sees that the king has returned to the engagement, silently wishing that they could just—

Yukichi's hand is at his back, and the omega shrinks just a little with relief. "Would you like to retire for the evening, my dear? We have a long journey home in the morning."

"...That we do," Mori agrees, offering Lady Nakahara a polite nod. "Until next time, my lady—give Chuuya our best, will you?"

"Of course, my lord."

"What on earth happened?" Nobuko sighs, pulling herself up to sit in front of her vanity, grabbing an ivory comb for her hair, which is a disaster.

Dazai sits up, rubbing his forehead. "What time is it?"

"Noon, my lord," the geisha murmurs, glancing over her shoulder to watch the alpha, very curious. "I've never seen you in such a state."

"..." Dazai reaches for the sake bottle near Sasaki's futon, irritated to find it mostly empty. "I had to go to a party," he mutters, downing what remains of it. "Those never end well for me."

"Ah," she turns slightly, propping her arms up on the back of her chair, eyes glittering with amusement as she watches her patron. "Did you run into an old flame? I can only imagine the drama, you must tell me everything.”

"It was nothing of the sort," Dazai sighs, very tired.

"I only assumed, my lord," Sasaki tilts her head, "you've never held me so...desperately before."

Desperate is one word for it—her back is a maze of bites, scratches, and bruises. She enjoyed every one of them, but it's difficult for Dazai to see them right now. "I was almost afraid you were going to really bite me." She murmurs, leaning her chin on her hands. "That would have been quite the scandal."

"There are many ways that I am willing to die," Dazai mutters, rubbing his temples as he rises to his feet, finding the scattered pieces of his wardrobe from the night before, "publicly eviscerated by my mother is not one of them."

"Would he really hate me so much?"

"Sasaki."

"What?" 

Dazai glances over at her, almost pitying as he pulls his arm through the sleeve of his yukata. "Don't start this again."

"..." Her gaze lowers, and her voice becomes quiet, no longer as playful as it was. "I'm sorry, Osamu—I was only joking."

They both know that she wasn't. 

She was his first, and the affection between them is long standing, and very real. Sasaki knows the young man cares for her, can see it in his eyes. She also knew, from the very beginning, that she could never be the mate of a noble, she never had such pretenses—but as an omega in her position, she never thought she would be anyone's wife, or mate.

Sasaki was raised to be a mistress, a well-kept one—and a comfort to men like him, a place that they can come to for respite.

So, she never expected Dazai to mate with her, or to be his partner in life, or the mother to his children--

But a danna provides for a geisha for life, and for someone who has made such a commitment to her, she did expect Dazai to be more free with her, with the one thing that he can give her—

His heart.

But Sasaki's danna has always been cold. Unemotional. Hostile, even, when she would try to push him to open himself to her.

"...Whatever it is," she murmurs, rising to her feet, turning around to meet him in the middle of the room, "I could help."

Her arms wrap around his waist as she hugs him from behind, pressing her face between his shoulders.

Dazai fights back irritation, because—he knows she is doing what she has been taught, trying to offer him comfort, even if he knows it is futile.

"..." He places a hand over hers, where they rest against his stomach. "I know you would try." He admits, before guiding her to let go. "And I appreciate it."

She frowns, her eyes sharp with disappointment as she watches the alpha finish getting dressed. "Must you go so soon? It's only been a few hours.”

He does spare her a kiss, and the embrace is enough to make her relax, curling into his chest, trying to hold on when he lets go. "My family is returning to our estate today, unfortunately."

Her hands tighten in the front of his yukata, "Follow them later," she whispers against his lips, and her scent is there, tickling under his nose, "stay with me a little longer."

He hums against her, his hands tightening on her shoulders, and she purrs softly in response.

Tempting.

If only because it's distracting, but good distractions are so hard to come by these days.

"I wish I could," he sighs, letting her go and pushing her away, "but I don't have a choice."

She drops onto her cushions as she watches him go, irritated.

"Loneliness is a choice, Osamu," The alpha stops in the doorway, not looking at her. "I do not know what you are always punishing yourself for," she mutters, "but you should not force those who care about you to watch."

"..." Dazai tightens his belt, leaving an envelope on the table. "I might be back in a few months—for the opening of the season."

And with that, he's gone—leaving Sasaki among her thoughts, to try and put together what could have happened.

Because something must have, right?

It’s weeks, before either of his parents speak to him. Not for lack of trying, but simply because Dazai has a talent for avoiding things.

Drinking, gambling, returning at all hours of the night. 

It is only when he slips back into the great hall, very early one morning, that he finds someone waiting.

His mother, in a chair, reading by candlelight—and when he sees Dazai, the book snaps shut. “Where on earth have you been?”

Dazai rolls his eyes, making his way towards the stairwell. There's a slight swagger in his step, and he isn't drunk, but he's certainly a little fuzzy from too many cups of sake. "Nowhere that you should concern yourself with."

"..." His mother's eyes narrow. "Excuse me?"

"I," Dazai turns around, leaning against the stair railing, "have come to appreciate a habit of yours. I think I am going to take it up."

"And what is that?" Mori asks slowly, rising to his feet.

Dazai's smile is sharp, frigid—and it gives the older omega pause. "Keeping things to myself."

"..." Mori's stomach sinks "I don't know what you're referring to, but—"

"Do you remember what you told me, when you broke my engagement to the Nakahara boy?" Dazai muses. "It was very compelling. Something about a lie always being far more cruel than the truth?"

"Osamu—"

"You were right." Dazai's eyes narrow. "It is a cruel thing, to lie to someone. But it's also easier, isn't it?"

"If you have something you would like to say, Osamu, speak plainly." Mori mutters, his shoulders setting in a defensive line. "But this disrespect is not—"

"That's an interesting choice of words," Dazai muses, "disrespect."

Mori fights the urge to bare his teeth at the young man, knowing that asserting himself too aggressively with his son will make him look weak. Of course, he knew that there would come a day when Dazai would become difficult to control. He's too clever, too stubborn, and Mori...

"Speak plainly, Osamu." He mutters, stepping forward. "It's far too late, and I am far too tired to play these games with you."

It really is too late, Dazai thinks to himself bitterly, much too late.

"When were you going to tell me?" Dazai asks flatly, "Was I supposed to figure it out on my own, at some point? Or did you want me to live my entire life in ignorance?"

"..." Mori's lips press tightly together, and this—

This is a nightmare he's had before. Many times. Pushed it to the back of his mind, and pretend that it would never be real.

And of course, it always was just pretending. He knew, one day, it would happen. That they would be here, on this staircase, that his son would be looking at him with such contempt—

He always knew, when this moment came, that he would have a choice to make.

"...Who told you?"

Dazai's eyes flash with agony, one final string to be cut, his last hope that his mother would deny it, would tell him that Shibusawa was delusional, and that there was nothing to his words. "My father told me."

Mori's lips drain of color, they're pursed so tightly. "That man is not your father.”

"What should I say, then, mother?" Dazai sneers. "The man who sired me? The one who humiliated this family? Who else knows?"

"...No one." Mori mutters, shaking his head, eyes downcast.

Dazai has never known his mother to back away from an argument, but here Mori is, not defending himself, and—

And Dazai can understand why, because the man Mori married, the man who raised him—he is among the best that there is, someone who should never be betrayed, or dishonored.

"Does your husband know?" Dazai asks.

Cold, so cold.

Not reacting the way he might have, years ago, when he was a boy still—because—

Because Mori told his child to destroy those parts of himself, and his son listened.

"...Yes, Osamu." Mori sighs. "He knew it was a possibility."

"...How could you?" Dazai mutters, shaking his head, and his mother's silence infuriates him, because after so many years of being lied to, he deserves an explanation. "I would understand if you didn't care for him—"

"I do." Mori mutters. "You know that I—"

"I don't know anything!" Dazai snaps, and for the first time—the first time in his entire life—he sees his mother flinch. "I don't know how you could do this, how you could lie to me, how you could be so stupid—"

"It wasn't--"

"You told me before, how horrible he is," Dazai can barely speak, but he forces himself to, his voice trembling with rage, and—

And pain, so much pain.

"How could you have a—" he almost says a child, but that wouldn't be true. "—a bastard with someone like that?" 

"Osamu," Mori takes a shaky breath, fighting to steady himself, "you are not a bastard, your father claimed you—"

"But he isn't," Dazai's voice breaks, for just a moment. "Is that why you've always hated me?"

Those are the only words Mori Ougai ever could have heard that would have broken him.

"No," he croaks, shaking his head, "you know—you know I could never—"

"I know," Dazai mutters, his expression wrathful, even if tears slip down his cheeks, "that you have always expected the very worst of me. Is—is it because you're ashamed of me?"

"No," Mori shakes his head again, and Dazai has never seen his mother emotional, but now he's shedding tears of his own, following Dazai up the stairs. "No, never—"

He reaches for his son's arm, but Dazai wrenches it from his grip. "Then what? Are you afraid I'll go mad, like him? Or that if there was a war, and people found out about me, they would want me on the throne instead of—" He can't even say Odasaku's name, not now, and he chokes out, "Instead of the son that you wanted?"

The force with which he pushed his mother away was enough to make Mori stumble back, almost losing his balance on the stair, barely catching himself on the railing.

They stare at each other now, both silently horrified. "Osamu, I love you."

"That is not the same as wanting me." Dazai shakes his head, his cheeks wet with tears. "And I—" his laugh is so bitter, "I know you, I know what you must have done."

Mori claps a hand over his mouth, and that's the only confirmation Dazai really needs.

"...How awful did it feel," he mutters, fingers tense and trembling around the bannister, "going through the trouble of finding a doctor, taking whatever tea they made for you, and praying that would solve it?"

"Don't—"

"What did you do, when you found out it didn't work?" Dazai breaks, for a moment, because—

Because he's still only seventeen, and it hurts, it feels so hollow, and empty, and—

And alone.

Horribly, utterly alone.

"The moment," Mori is choking on tears, trembling, and this doesn't feel good, this isn't vindicating, hurting his mother doesn't make Dazai feel better, "the moment I held you, I loved you," he pleads. "I always have, Osamu, always—"

"But you also resented me, didn't you?"

Both of them stop at the sound of footsteps, and the faint light of an approaching candle from down the hall. Dazai remains frozen in place, while Mori turns around, wiping his face, trying to catch his breath.

"..." Fukuzawa stops at the top of the stairs, surveying the scene before him. "Osamu, you're finally back, your mother was beside him—"

And then, he sees Mori. Facing away from him, quiet, but—

Trembling.

"...What in god's name is going on here?" He asks flatly, and when neither of them answer, he sets the candle down on the side table at the top of the stairs, hurrying to his mate's side, placing his hands on Mori's shoulders—

And stopping, when Mori cringes away from him.

Slowly, he turns to look at Dazai, his expression stern. "What happened?"

"...You were a part of it," the teenager shakes his head, taking a step away from them both. "You—" he chokes out another broken sob, "You probably hate me too, right?"

"What—?"

"He knows." Mori's face falls into his hands, and he's silent, but it's obvious that the older omega is in tears. "He knows, Yukichi."

"..." Fukuzawa has never looked so tired, so much older, until this moment, all the of the air seeming to leave him in a heavy sigh. "Osamu, I—how did you—?"

"He told him," Mori chokes, and of course, Dazai sneers to himself, that traitor couldn't even say his co-conspirator's name. "It must have been when—when we went to the birthday feast."

"...It isn't how we would have wanted you to find out," Fukuzawa mutters, his jaw tense. 

"Oh?" Dazai snaps, his tears slowing down as anger begins to really take hold. "How did you want me to find out, then? Were we going to have a family discussion about it? A fireside chat? I doubt it—"

"There was discussion of telling you when you turned eighteen," his father begins, "but that was always going to be your mother's decision—"

Dazai's gaze hardens. "His decision? To tell me about my life? How—" He shakes his head, taking a step back from them both. "How could you forgive him so easily?!"

Fukuzawa's eyes widen, and Mori places a hand on his arm, but the alpha speaks over him, "You don't even know what you're—"

"Yukichi, don't—"

"How could I? You never tell me anything, and he—" Dazai shakes his head, glaring at Mori's back, "He's always talking about sacrifice for the family, when he's the one—!"

"Enough." Fukuzawa snarls, and when Mori squeezes his arm tighter, he covers his mate's hand with his own. "I know you want to protect the boy, but I will not let you torture yourself—"

"Please, don't—"

"...Protect..." Dazai stumbles back another step, the color draining from his face. "Protect me from...?"

"There was never anything for me to forgive, Osamu." Fukuzawa shakes his head, wrapping an arm around Mori's shoulder, pulling the omega tight against his side. “Never."

Mori covers his mouth with his hand, his shoulders shaking as he silently breaks down, turning his face into Fukuzawa's arm.

 "He has already gone too far before."

Dazai's knees buckle, and he lands hard on the heels of his palms, his stomach falling, falling, it won't stop falling.

 "And they allowed him to do it."

He looks down at his own hands, his vision blurring.

 "They enabled him."

"He—" Dazai's hands shake as he looks up, and neither of his parents—neither of them can really look at him.

 "I need you to tell me now, if you have done something that I cannot forgive you for."

"Apologize." Fukuzawa growls, holding his mate so tightly.

"Stop, he didn't—"

"Apologize to your mother, now."

"...I'm sorry." Dazai says the words hoarsely, unable to get a full breath.

"Osamu—" He thunders past them, down the stairs. He can't stand to hear Mori like this, his voice utterly broken, "Osamu, wait!"

The doors of the Great Hall slam shut behind him, and it only takes a few strides to reach his horse, and—

And then he's gone.

"...Father?" Sakunosuke stops on the stairway, rubbing his eyes groggily, until he sees—

Until he sees his mother, uncharacteristically distraught, trembling in his father's arms, and—

And then, sleep seems very, very far away.

"...What has happened?"

The eldest son's boots hit the ground heavily as he slides off of his horse. 

Dazai doesn't turn around.

They used to come here every day, as boys.

The hill is high above the rest of the Mori family's lands, overseeing the mountain valley. From here, one can see the new settlement of Aomori, to the east, and the mountains caging them in from the west. 

In the summer, it's an endless field of color—the blue of the sea, lush green forests, wildflowers all around. Now, in autumn, it's a field of orange, red, and yellow—like a pit of flame has engulfed the entire valley. "Did they tell you to come find me?"

"No," Odasaku shakes his head. "They said you would want to be left alone."

"...They were right."

It's then, when he notices the fact that the front of his little brother's yukata is open, and the tantō blade in his hand.

"Osamu," he pales rushing forward, "what are you—?"

"I'm not going to." Dazai mutters. "I wanted to, but..." He stares down into the valley, eyes distant. "I decided against it."

Not yet.

Odasaku sinks to his knees beside him, shaken, and then...

"...Did you know?"

His voice is so small, when he asks, because he doesn't think he could bear to know that, all of this time, his brother knew.

"Not until this morning, no." Odasaku shakes his head, reaching around to wrap his fingers around Dazai's wrist, squeezing, until the younger alpha slowly lets go of the blade. "And it changes nothing—"

"It changes everything." Dazai shakes his head, eyes unmoving from the horizon.

"...You are still my brother, Osamu." Odasaku's voice is low, but resolved. "There is nothing any man could ever do that would change that."

"I..." Each breath, each word, feels like one too many. "I will be your greatest burden, do you understand that?"

"Family is never a burden."

"Sakunosuke." Dazai squeezes his eyes shut. "If people find out, they will use me to shame you, or to undermine you—"

"And who is to say that anyone should find out?" Oda shakes his head. "You are far more dangerous to the king and his allies if people know what you are," his hand slides down from Dazai's wrist to wrap around his fingers, squeezing them gently. "And even if it were to become a problem, as your elder brother, it is my duty to protect you."

"Duty." Dazai repeats faintly, almost unfeeling, at this point.

"The greatest honor I shall ever have," Odasaku shrugs, "even if you are a pain, at times."

The ribbing that would have normally brought up his brother's mood does absolutely nothing now. The eldest can see it in his eyes. Osamu is in a dark wood, now. Far too deep, for Odasaku to reach him. He can only...

He can only watch.

"I have to kill him." The older man pauses, his eyes slowly reaching Dazai's face, "I cannot live with myself, if I don't."

And I cannot die, until I do.

He waits for Odasaku to tell him that he is being too rash, or that it cannot be done, that they are lucky for the peace that they have been afforded it, and that this is not worth disrupting that, but—

"Yes," Odasaku agrees, "I do not think the king can be allowed to live." 

Dazai supposes he should not be shocked. Mori is their mother, after all.

Someone that either one of them would die for, without a second thought.

"Now," Odasaku rises to his feet, "come home with me." He tugs on his brother's hand, insistent, but Dazai does not immediately rise with him, he frowns. "You know I will not leave you alone in this state, Osamu. Come on."

"..." Dazai's chin lowers, and when he speaks again, he sounds utterly ashamed. "I do not think I can show my face to them right now."

"...Oh, Osamu." Odasaku sighs heavily. "You must understand that no one blames you for—"

"I blamed him." Dazai growls, his voice raw. "I looked him in his eyes, and I blamed him."

"You did not know—"

"But I should have!" Dazai snaps, yanking his wrist out of Odasaku's grip. "And now, I—I don't even know if I could look him in the face."

"And what would you do instead?"

"There are families in Kyoto I could take an apprenticeship with." Dazai mutters.

"No."

"How hard do you think it must be for him, looking at my face every day?" The brunette swallows hard, his eyes haunted. "It would be easier for him, for everyone, if I were to just—"

"He adores you, you fool." Odasaku sighs, shaking his head. "You are his son."

"I am a reminder."

"His pride and joy, actually."

"Do not mock me," Dazai's voice breaks, and Odasaku...reaches down, placing his hand on top of his head, the same way he once did, when they were young boys, racing to the top of a hill. The winner would have to carry their swords back down to the house, when they finished practicing.

Odasaku would win the race every time, but he always helped Dazai carry his load before they were even halfway back down to the valley.

"I know," Odasaku's voice is firm in his ears, and, in the end, "it might be easier to run away from this. To shut yourself away, and never face it. And given the kind of man that your father is, you might think it in your nature, to hide from us, from yourself."

In the end...

"But," Odasaku kneels by his side, taking Dazai's chin firmly in his hand, forcing the teenager to look up at him, "while the man who sired you is a coward without honor," his younger brother's eyes widen slightly, "the man who raised you is a samurai." Odasaku finishes firmly, "We are his sons," Dazai swallows thickly, his eyes hot with emotions, "and we do not run, Osamu. Do you understand me?"

In the end, it is Odasaku's words that save Dazai's life.

No more running. 

He does rise to his feet, and he does return home, by his brother's side.

For the first time in so many years, he realizes, staring at Odasaku's back as they descend into the valley—that his mother was right.

 "He will marry a good man who will treat him well."

Yes, in the end, it is a good thing, that Odasaku was given the Nakahara boy instead.

I am not a good man, Dazai thinks to himself, but he is.

Someone who can indulge beautiful, silly little birds, who have an adoration for camellias and red bean buns.

He finds his mother that morning, holding Mori in his arms as the omega weeps, telling Dazai over and over again, that he is loved, that he is sorry, that he wishes things had been different—

They both do.

There comes a moment in a boy's life, when childhood officially ends. Dazai always thought his came many years before, when his mother told him to find the child within himself, and kill it.

But part of it, the gentleness, remained.

But when a boy holds his weeping mother in his arms for the first time, and the entire world feels a little less safe, that is when childhood truly dies.

Mori's head ends up tucked under his chin, with Dazai's arms holding him as tightly as he knows how to, tighter than the two have ever embraced, until now.

"I'm going to kill him." He whispers quietly, and Mori just nods, because—

Because when Dazai first began promising to kill the king, very few people believed him.

But Dazai knew, from the very first time he uttered the words, that he would.

Holding his mother now, watching the flames in the fireplace slowly fade, embers reflecting in his eyes like burning coals—Dazai finds that part of himself.

The soft, shy, hopeful child, one who held onto memories of a boy he couldn't have for far too long.

And he kills it.

He slowly sharpens it, turning the lesson into a scar. Allows every last ounce of hope he had for a different life, a different future, to fade.

 I have now utterly ceased to be a human being.

It was not a transformation that would happen slowly, rather one that would take several years. Countless weeks of whittling himself away, until he felt nothing.

Nothing at all. 

Dazai sits by the fireside that night, long after the rest of the castle has gone to sleep, unmoving, unchanging as he watches the flames burn down from a roaring inferno, to a softly crackling pile of his embers.

And when Osamu sticks his hand into the coals—it does not burn. 

Chapter Text

War follows, only three months later.

What happened to Dazai’s mother was not an oddity—and the next time it does happen, it’s the young daughter of Lord Haruno. So young, in fact, that she had barely even presented.

But this time, the North is not fresh off of a rebellion. Mori is not locked in his chambers for months, barely able to look at his husband. This time, they are prepared for the fight—and they do, viciously.

It does not take long for Fukuzawa’s eldest sons to earn a reputation.

Odasaku is a thing of fame on the battlefield, renowned for his abilities with a sword, and Dazai, well—

He is just as renowned for combat, but even more so for strategy. For being the battlefield sent to make the worst choices, the vicious ones, the killer instinct that can turn a battle.

A reputation so vicious, it earns him a new name—

The Demon Prodigy.

But war never feasts upon the land alone. No, it carries several other symptoms with it—ravaging the kingdom, and it’s people.

Famines, destruction—

And plagues.

It was a vicious fever, one that swept through the south like a wildfire, taking house after house, and god, Dazai prayed.

Prayed it would come for the king. Prayed it would give him a slow, undignified end.

But, rather than that, it came to the houses of the king's advisors instead—even some of those closest to him.

"It's a shame," Mori sighs one morning, helping Ryuu with his breakfast. The boy is getting a little old for eating in their mother's lap each morning, but Mori never tells him that he cannot. "About Lady Nakahara, and her child."

Dazai's chopsticks freeze over his plate, and Odasaku glances up, his eyes widening with concern. "What do you mean?"

"The sickness came to their estate three weeks ago," Mori sighs. "I'm afraid it's already taken her, and—"

"Which child?" Dazai asks, his voice carefully disinterested.

"Oh, the little baby," his mother sighs, sounding heartsick over it. "She was just six months old, you know."

Dazai knows he might be a little heartless for being relieved.

"Mama," Ryuu stops eating, looking up at Mori with wide, frightened eyes, "Are we going to get sick too?"

"No, no," Mori kisses the side of his head, picking up the little boy's chopsticks, making sure that he keeps eating. "It is far away from us, and we've taken measures."

It's become very clear now, that the disease largely only kills omegas and children—and in the instance that it does turn its jaws north, there is a plan to isolate the Mori Clan's estates, with enough provisions to keep the castle under siege from the illness for as long as it takes.

"But what if it does get to us?" Ryuu frowns, clutching the front of Mori's robes. "Will we—?"

"If any such thing happened," Dazai glances over at his little brother, "I would find the best doctor in the kingdom, grab him by the ear, and drag him to your bedside." He offers a conspiratorial wink, making the little boy smile, "And he would make you better."

"You're lucky, to have such dedicated older brothers," Odasaku snorts, taking a sip of his wine, "This one is even willing to commit crimes for you."

"Many crimes," Dazai agrees, and now, instead of fretting, the little boy is laughing.

"Don't encourage him," Mori sighs, exasperated, but—

But it's been a very long time since they were all together like this, feeling like...

Like an actual family.

Dazai always feels it when they're together like this, a hint of happiness, and...he's afraid to allow himself to experience it, because the moment that he does—

"It is a shame," Fukuzawa sighs, pushing aside his own plate, "she was a good woman. I'm sure her husband must be beside himself."

Mori nods in agreement, handing Ryuu's chopsticks back to him, so that the little boy can go on feeding himself. "And his son has caught it now, the poor thing." 

Dazai freezes.

Every time he does, something always goes wrong.

"You mean Chuuya-kun?" Ryuu frowns, worried for his former playmate. "Is he going to be okay?"

"...I don't know, my love," Mori sighs, "the reports say that he is very sick, I don't..."

"Is there nothing that can be done?" Odasaku frowns, "His father is one of the most powerful lords in the south, surely—"

"There is a war," Mori shrugs, "it isn't as easy for information to pass freely, these days—and with how beside himself his father must be, I'm not sure that he'll be able to do much of anything before it takes the boy," the older omega sides, petting Ryuu's hair, lowering his voice, "I'm afraid he might be gone already."

"That..." Odasaku glances down at his plate, his brow creasing, "is a shame, you're right."

"..." Dazai's chopsticks stab into his eggs a little more aggressively.

"What the—?!" Odasaku grunts, later, when he ends up shoved back against the wall inside of the stables, only to find his little brother glaring down at him, eyes buˆrning, "What has gotten into you?!"

"Are you really going to do nothing?" Dazai hisses, his fingers tight in the front of his brother's robes.

"I don't—?"

"He's your fiancé," Dazai mutters, "even if there is a war, do you not feel any responsibility for him?"

"...Osamu..." Odasaku frowns, "He was my fiancé. That promise was ended the moment the war began."

"What, and the three years you two wrote to one another mean nothing now?" Dazai shakes his head, infuriated. "If it was his older sister, you would be riding south now."

"And if it was his older sister," Odasaku counters, his gaze becoming much more stern, "you would not give a damn."

Dazai's expression freezes, and Odasaku shoves his hand off. "I am not unsympathetic to your attachment to the boy," he mutters, "but he was your fiancé much longer than he was mine. If anything, we bear equal responsibility for him. And you know, as well as I, that it is out of our hands." He brushes off his front. "The best thing you can do is take your mind off of it, or pray. Helping would mean riding south," Odasaku walks over to his horse, sliding one foot into the stirrup as he pulls himself up into the saddle. "And for either one of us, that would be suicide."

He rides off, and Dazai is left staring at the wall where his brother once stood, thinking, his hands balled up into fists at his sides.

It would be suicide, wouldn't it? After all, if one of them was caught by the king's forces, execution would be the only end in sight.

A swift one, if Dazai is lucky. If the nobles kill him before Shibusawa ever learns that he was captured.

But, somehow, in the grand scheme of things—that matters very little.

It's a difficult journey, even in the best of times—more so, when one rides hard through the night, pelted by the rain, avoiding garrisons of troops, sickness, and death.

But Dazai finds, the older that he gets, that risking his own life brings an odd form of comfort to him. As though he has control over his death, when, in reality, the sweet release of oblivion is something he knows he will be denied.

Because he is not finished. Not yet.

The palace doctor refuses to see him at first, but then, with a katana in one hand, and a bag of coin in the other, the northern lord becomes very persuasive.

His hood is still over his face when he escorts the doctor to his carriage, keeping an eye out for anyone who might be watching, a hand over the blade at his waist.

"Is it just the boy, I should be looking out for—?"

Dazai tells himself that this is strategic. That one day, the war will be over, and when it is, their family will have to resume relations with families like the Nakaharas—and when they do, what he does tonight will pay him back ten times over.

He tells himself that it isn't self-serving. That he has not thought about Chuuya in many years, and he will not think of him again, after this.

A strategic move, and nothing more.

"As many as you can," he mutters, glancing around, making sure they have not been seen. "But him first."

"Yes, my lord—"

"Now, go."

He watches the carriage fade into the night before leaving himself, not stopping to rest for a single night the entire journey there, or the entire way back.

There is one moment when he hesitates, in the fork in the road leading to Kyoto. To the Okiya.

To her.

But he keeps North.

When he arrives in the stables near their estate, the sun is still not yet up, and he is dead on his feet, ready to find his bed and sleep until the world ends.

He leads his mare in by the bridle, placing her in her stall, only to notice—

Someone is already waiting.