“You’ve LOST IT—!”

“Chuuya! You PROMISED!”

“I didn’t think you were gonna go overboard! I thought you just wanted a PICTURE!”

“Yes! But you have to make the right expression! How is this supposed to last me a whole YEAR?!”

Packing Dazai up for college has been a /disaster./
Read Parts I and II here —> https://twitter.com/cataclysmiceve1/status/1247903213862277123?s=21 https://twitter.com/cataclysmiceve1/status/1247903213862277123
Chuuya is sitting on his knees on Dazai’s bed, glaring at his boyfriend with his hands on his hips. Dazai leaves for Kyoto at the end of the weekend—and he’s not exactly been /happy/ about the move, but...

Now he’s almost manic.

“Look, I said you could take a picture of me—“
“—but I don’t know what else you want from me. I’m wearing the jersey—“ he gestures to the way it’s dangling all the way to the middle of his thighs, lifting up a finger, “I’m /smiling/,” he lifts up another finger—

“—you /were/ smiling—“

Chuuya holds up a third finger, “—you have a camera! That’s all you need to take the damn picture!”

“No, Chuuya, /no/—“ Dazai pouts. “You aren’t looking at this from the right angle.”

“What angle should I—?!”

“Imagine—I’m at university, I’m meeting new people, and they ask—“
“—Dazai-san, a handsome son of a gun like you must have an adorable girlfriend waiting at home—!”

“—but you DON’T—!”

“—and then I say, ‘Ah, I have my Chuuya-chan!’”

Chuuya turns /maroon/. “When have you ever called me /chan/—!”

“And THEN I pull out my wallet—“
“—I thought you were just gonna put this on Instagram?!—“

“And I have a picture of the most gorgeous man in the world, staring into the camera with an endearing expression, biting his lip, maybe a little bit of a /blush/ wouldn’t hurt—“

“—this keeps getting more COMPLICATED—“
“And then they all bow down to me with jealousy, because they all can see /I/ have stolen the best boyfriend in the world for myself—“

“Dazai, /shut up/—!”

“/Or/,” Dazai smiles, drumming his fingers against the camera sinisterly. “You could have a /rival./“

“A /what?!/“
“Some beautiful college girl, intent on stealing my heart away from you—“

“—this isn’t a /shoujo/, Dazai—!”

“And then when I pull out this picture, her hopes and dreams are crushed, because she knows she can’t compete!”

Chuuya pauses.

Dazai catches his breath.

/ Oh my god. /
/ He’s thinking about it. /

Chuuya reaches up to fiddle with his hair, uncertain, his cheeks turning a little pink at the idea of someone trying to take Dazai /away/ from him, and he’s not even there to /stop them/, and—he bites his lip—


The next photo is a selfie, one that Dazai promises is /just/ for him, of them laying back on the bed, Dazai holding the camera high above his head, while Chuuya has his arms thrown around his neck and is pressing a kiss to his cheek.

The flash clicks and Chuuya leans away—
—rubbing his hands over his cheeks, slapping them a couple of times to try to shed the embarrassment of it all. “There. You happy?”

“Just one more!”

Chuuya groans. “What /now?/“

“Well, now I need a sexy one—!”


“I’m VERY aware of your—“
“—gender, Chuuya! I had an entire crisis over it!”

“From what I gathered you moved past it pretty quick.”

“Hey, if you’re gonna be bi for /someone/, it’s not the worst way to find out—“

“Shut /up./“

Saturday is a mess of boxes, bubble wrap, and Dazai /whining./
“Why does it matter how it’s folded? If it fits then it’s fine—“

“It’s gonna /wrinkle them/, Dazai.” Mori is long suffering, forcing Dazai to go through and /re-fold/ every single t-shirt in his suitcase. “And then you can put them straight in the drawer at the new—“

Dazai snorts. “Because I’m gonna have all of my clothes folded and put away at school.” He gives Chuuya a look while spinning his finger around his head, like— ‘Crazy, right?’

Chuuya looks less than amused. “Says the one who wants me to come and visit.”

Dazai looks stricken.
“What? My dorm has to be perfectly clean or you aren’t gonna come see me?”

Chuuya shrugs, “Do I /look/ like someone who wants to sleep in a pig sty? And asking you to fold your clothes isn’t ‘perfectly clean,’ you drama queen—“

Mori /loves/ that boy.
The room that has slowly started to feel like home, filled with old baseball trophies, movie posters, books scattered across the floor, is stripped bare. Dazai’s bed is still there, so is his desk, but—

Chuuya bites his lip.

Kouyou is prattling on over the phone speaker.
“—he keeps on trying to find things to fix. Can you believe it? I really never took him for the jealous type, but I call a plumber /once/ without letting him check the sink first, and suddenly I have a kink for overalls?! I can’t—“

“—uh-huh—“ Chuuya replies absentmindedly.
“—and he’s /eighteen/, he doesn’t even know HOW to fix a sink—“

“Men?” Chuuya offers, reaching under the bed to grab a book that had fallen underneath, the last stray bit to be packed away.

“/Men./“ Kouyou agrees emphatically. “How is packing up that disaster of yours going?”
Chuuya could argue that Dazai is a completely functioning human being, but—

Well, ane-san’s /met/ him.

“It’s going alright—we’re loading the last boxes up now.”

“How is Dazai gonna handle the drive?”

Chuuya makes a face, his brow pinching with worry. “We’ll figure it out.”
Dazai could take the train most of the time, but for a move like this, with so many boxes...

They couldn’t really avoid going in a car.

“I’m sure he’ll be okay, Chuuya—“ Kouyou’s voice is warm, comforting, “—it’s just one day of his life—and he’ll have you with him.”
“Yeah...” Chuuya mutters, shaking his head. “You’re right. It’ll be fine.”

“He’s lucky for have you, you know.” Kouyou says softly. Chuuya glances over to the bed, remembering the first night he slept there.

As if /Dazai/ is the lucky one.

“I’ll call you tomorrow, okay?”
“Love you.”

“Love you too, ane-san.”

He hangs up, tossing the phone down on the bed.

It’s a short jog down the stairs, going to drop the book off in the proper box in the kitchen, and he pauses.


The doctor is standing in the kitchen, staring at the doorframe.
14 months ago, he got the worst phone call of his life. He only ever had /one/ sibling—and he and his sister weren’t that /close/ in the end.

And moving into her house, looking after her boy—it so often felt like living in the shadow of her life, the parts he missed.
But right now, he’s running his fingers over fading marks in the wood, and his throat is tight for an entirely different reason.

Osamu, 101 cm, ‘06

Osamu, 128 cm, ‘10

Osamu, 150 cm, ‘14

Mori presses his fingertips over the height that he estimates must be 174 centimeters.
Chuuya stands behind him, his eyes flickering to the window, where Dazai is pushing a box full of school supplies into the car. “...He /does/ love you, you know.”

Mori doesn’t answer, but when Chuuya puts a hand on his arm, he covers it with his own. “...he’s a brat.”
Chuuya finds himself repeating Kouyou’s words from earlier with complete sincerity. “A brat that is /really/ lucky to have you.”

Everyone needs a father—and some are better than others.

“Thank you,” Mori mutters, his voice tight. “I’m going to—help him before he—“
“—breaks the car door trying to cram in anymore boxes.” Chuuya nods, letting his arm go.

That night, he ends up tangled up with Dazai under his comforter, folding and unfolding their fingers together while Dazai nuzzles his face into Chuuya’s hair. “You set the alarm, right?”
“For six a.m.?” Dazai groans softly, his arm tightening around Chuuya’s middle, pulling him tighter against his chest. “/Yes./“

“And the backup alarms?”

“Can’t /you/ be my backup alarm?”

“I promise, Osamu—whatever you’re imagining right now, it would /not/ be sexy.”
“I beg to differ—“ Dazai starts when Chuuya rolls over suddenly in his arms, pressing his face into Dazai’s neck, holding on tight. “Hey—“ Dazai’s voice softens as he hugs the redhead tighter, his hands rubbing up and down his back.

“It’s not for forever, you know.”
Chuuya squeezes his eyes shut, trying to focus on memorizing the smell of Dazai’s shampoo. “I know.”

“And I’m going to come home and visit /all the time/—“

“I /know./“ Chuuya mumbles, swallowing thickly. He feels so damn pathetic. He isn’t the first person in the world to have—
—their boyfriend move to college. It’s normal. People go through this all the time.


Chuuya has been through a /lot/ in the last 6 months.

Having Dazai around makes everything feel /okay/, and now—

“And if you call me,” Dazai kisses his jaw softly. “I’ll drop everything.”
Chuuya /does/ believe that, and it makes him smile. “I’m not gonna call you during class, if that’s what you’re hoping for.”

Dazai snorts (because maybe he sort of /was/), and tilts Chuuya’s face up, kissing him softly. “I only /sort of/ had my hopes up.”

That earns him a laugh
Dazai falls asleep almost curled completely around Chuuya, and Chuuya drifts off with his legs tangled around his boyfriend’s waist.

It’s quiet. It’s /safe./

/ Guess I’ll tell him later,/ Chuuya thinks to himself, his eyes drifting shut.

Being on the verge of tears when—
—you say ‘I love you’ for the first time doesn’t make for a great confession.

Chuuya has known for a long time—and he was unaware of it for even longer than that, but—

He doesn’t think this is just some intense, overblown teen romance.

It’s something more than just skin deep.
Chuuya hugs him a little tighter when the alarm blares in the morning, his nose brushing against the bandages peeking out from under Dazai’s collar.

No matter how long he wants the weekend to last, Sunday is here anyway.

“Wait for...” Dazai yawns, “the backup...alarms...”
Chuuya rolls his eyes and moves to get up, but Dazai’s arms hug him closer, and—

Chuuya buries his face in Dazai’s shirt.

Five more minutes /really/ won’t hurt anyone.

But 6:15 comes around, and Chuuya dutifully—and very /un-sexily/—becomes the final back up alarm.
“Go with me?” Dazai whines as Chuuya shoves him (ramming his shoulders into his back and practically forcing Dazai, who doesn’t want to walk) into the bathroom to take a shower.

“Yes Dazai, I’m going to let you take my virginity in the shower while we’re half awake—“

The door slams in his face, and Dazai moans. “You’re MEAN—“

“And you’re a PAIN in the mornings, you know that?!” Chuuya grumbles, walking off to the guest bathroom to take his own shower.

Thankfully, they planned for Dazai’s inability to function before 10 a.m.
The car is completely packed, everything is ready to roll out—all they have to do is get dressed and /go./

But just going is half of the problem.

Chuuya can see Dazai getting more and more tense as they eat breakfast, his shoulders hunching.

He hasn’t been in a /car/ since...
Well, since the accident.

Mori wordlessly slides an orange pill bottle across the table, and Dazai stares at it long and hard.

“Just for today.”

Normally, Dazai has fought tooth and /nail/ when it comes to taking anything for the anxiety, but...

He takes it.
The walk out to the car feels like it stretches on forever—but without looking down, Chuuya threads his fingers through his, and—

Dazai feels a little better.

Mori climbs into the driver’s seat, while Dazai and Chuuya load into the back. Chuuya is looking around for the—
—information packet on Dazai‘s dorms that he tucked into the pocket on the pack of the passenger’s seat the night before, only to have Dazai push him back against the seat. “Daz—“

His boyfriend leans over him, yanking Chuuya’s seatbelt into place with a click.

He’s /tense./
“Sorry.” It’s clipped, and his hands are bunched into fists, resting against his legs.

“...” Chuuya reaches over, working to unfold Dazai’s fingers, slowly but carefully, until his hand is flat in Chuuya’s palm. “It’s okay—look at me—“ Dazai does, his lips trembling slightly.
Chuuya presses his fingers into the center of Dazai’s palm, soothing him as best as he can. “It’s gonna be fine, okay?”

The car engine starts, and Dazai grabs Chuuya’s hand suddenly, squeezing so hard that it /hurts./

They try talking at first, to keep his mind off of it—
—but that’s only seems to make Dazai /more/ agitated, so they settle for Mori turning up the radio.

By the time the medication /really/ takes hold and Dazai starts nodding off, Chuuya is loosing most sensation in his fingers.

Finally, he slumps against Chuuya’s shoulder.
He drifts in and out of sleep for most of the ride, vaguely aware of Chuuya and Mori speaking quietly, or of the way Chuuya’s fingers are gently moving through his hair, constantly coaxing him to /relax./

“We could’ve just mailed it all to Kyoto.” Dazai groans at one point.
“I would’ve swallowed the cost of that,” Mori calls from the front, “but it would’ve taken /weeks/ to ship that many boxes at that weight.”

“I could’ve lived out of a suitcase for a few weeks,” Dazai practically whimpers when a semi passes them in the next lane.
Chuuya kisses his temple, guiding Dazai to press his face into Chuuya’s hair instead of looking at the road. “We’re almost there.”

Dazai is clammy and pale, but he relents. “Next time, just ship me in a box too.”

They arrive in Kyoto by the early afternoon.
Dazai practically launches himself out of the car as soon as it comes to a stop, taking a good five steps away from it before he starts to seem /comfortable/ again, running his hands through his hair. “See?” He smiles, still /white as a ghost/ “I made it! I told you two not to—“
“—worry about me!”

Mori and Chuuya /stare/, but silently agree that today is not the day to call Dazai out on the false bravado.

Kyoto is /unfamiliar/, but not necessarily /bad/ either. “How far is it to campus from here?”

“Twenty minutes walk, give for take,” Dazai yawns.
They’re carrying up boxes—really, /Dazai is/, he still finds a reason to make Chuuya carry everything that’s just a little /lighter/. It’s ridiculous, since Chuuya can lift /more/ than him on a good day, but—

Dazai /still/ worries about his ribs.

They reach the front door.
Chuuya raises an eyebrow when he opens it, letting Dazai walk in ahead of him with his boxes. “It’s bigger than I thought.”

“Oh,” Dazai glances back over his shoulder, “they sent me an email last week—I have a roommate.”


Well /that/ puts an end to Dazai’s suggestions—
—as to what they’re going to do when Chuuya /visits./

“They can do that at the last second?”

“Yeah,” Dazai shrugs. “Some sort of ‘special case,’ I don’t read the whole thing.”

“That’s gonna get you in /trouble one day/, you know.”

Mori leaves them to unpack boxes while he—
—finds lunch for them. Dazai goes about fussing about getting his books organized on the shelf /exactly/ the way he wants them (Chuuya insists it makes no sense, but he has a /system/) while Chuuya goes about hanging his posters on the walls.

“I still don’t /get/ these movies.”
“What’s not to get?” Dazai glances up from where he’s debating the color palette ratio of one cluster of books to the next. “They’re classics.”

Chuuya stares at the ‘Dirty Dancing’ logo and shakes his head. “Isn’t the guy in this one a huge asshole?”

“That’s not the point!”
“Then what /is/ the point?”

“The connection between him and Baby!” Dazai throws his hands up, “it’s like I don’t even /know/ you.”

“She could probably do /better./“

“So could you, but you’re pretty happy, right?”

Chuuya looks /affronted./ “You’re not an asshole!”
Dazai stares at him with a raised eyebrow and Chuuya looks away sheepishly. “Okay—well—you’re not that /kind/ of asshole.”

“Than what kind am I?”

“The lovable kind,” Chuuya mutters under his breath, but he doesn’t say more.

It’s not the right time.
At one point they take a break, laying back on Dazai’s small, dorm bed, staring at the tiled ceiling. “You know,” Dazai says it so casually, Chuuya doesn’t see the oncoming attack. “This is pretty good practice for later down the line.”

Chuuya blinks. “For when I go to college?”
Dazai shrugs, “I guess, but I was actually thinking—“

Chuuya turns onto his stomach, barely able to fit on the mattress next to Dazai as it is—

“—of when we get a place together.”

Chuuya flails so violently that he falls off of the bed with a short /shriek./

Dazai /laughs./
“Does that really sound that bad?”

“Dazai!” Chuuya snaps, rubbing his tailbone and glaring, “you can’t just /spring/ that on me—“

“It’s not like I asked you to marry me or anything! I was just /saying/—“

“You’re trying to /rile me up/—!”

“—That it’s probably going to happen!”
It’s not like Chuuya hasn’t thought about it from time to time.

...Okay, maybe he’s thought about it a /lot/, especially with Dazai getting ready to leave.

And then there’s that /other bit./

// “It’s not like I asked you to marry me!” //

“You are SO red—“

“Shut UP—!”
Mori makes it back shortly after that—and after lunch, it doesn’t take much longer to finish settling Dazai in. The room actually looks /cozy/, aside from the bare half that’s been left open for Dazai’s roommate.

“Well—“ Mori checks his watch. “—we’ll already be getting back—“
“—fairly late as it is, so—“

“—but don’t you think you should stay the night?” Dazai is clinging to Chuuya so much that the redhead may as well be in his /lap./ “—it’s basically too late already! We might as well call it!”

“I have /work/ in the morning, Dazai—“
“It’s just the sick and dying!” Dazai whines. “They can wait!”


Normally Chuuya would be arguing with Dazai for being ridiculous and whiny as well, but...

He /really/ isn’t ready to leave yet.

But they have to.

Which is how they end up in the parking lot.
Mori gave Dazai an awkward but tight hug before getting into the car, and now he and Chuuya have been locked into a tight embrace for at /least/ two minutes.

“Go over the checklist one more time?”

Chuuya sighs, hugging tighter. “Two phone calls a day.”

“At least one selfie per day.”

“Preferably shirtless—“

“/Dream on./“


“You have to answer me /honestly/ when I ask you if you’ve eaten dinner.”

“Me? Following the honor system?”



“And...” Chuuya sighs, biting his lip.
“If I have a dream, I call you.”

Dazai leans back to give him a serious look. “No matter what time it is.”

Chuuya swallows thickly and nods.

“Check.” Dazai glances back at the car and sighs, squeezing Chuuya around the waist. “And I’ll be home to visit—“
“—in a month.” Chuuya finishes for him. “I know.”

An entire /month./

Which may not sound like much, in the grand scheme of things—but Dazai has managed to get separation anxiety after a /school day/ without the redhead, so—

This is going to be /miserable./

“Yeah?” Dazai looks into the redhead’s eyes, and he seems...nervous, and after the way the last few months have gone for them, Dazai can’t blame him.

“I...” Chuuya swallows hard, glancing away. “I just...” he looks like he wants to say something /so/ badly, but it just...
“...I’m really gonna miss you.” He finishes, his voice surprisingly small.

“...I,” Dazai leans down, pressing their foreheads together. “Am going to smother you /so thoroughly/ with texts, that you won’t get the chance.”

Chuuya snorts, “That’s pretty /romantic./“
Maybe Dazai’s words aren’t that romantic—but the way he kisses Chuuya afterwards is.

After almost /losing/ him, Dazai has gotten pretty adept at kissing the redhead like he’s the only thing in the world, dipping him back, his hands pushing Chuuya up and into his chest until—
—Chuuya is practically melting into him, his hands winding into his hair.

Even the car horn blaring doesn’t make them jump apart immediately. “A month,” Dazai mumbles against his mouth.

“A month,” Chuuya repeats faintly.

Dazai doesn’t really know /how/ he manages to let him go
But he /does/, and Chuuya walks backwards slowly, until his back hits the car door. “...I’ll call you when we get back, okay?”

“Okay.” Dazai mumbles, his stomach sinking as Chuuya climbs in, and Mori throws the car into drive.

He /hates/ this.

The ride with Mori is quiet.
It’s weird, because their connection was always /through/ Dazai. They have a rapport of their own, now, but—

Chuuya hasn’t completely adjusted to the fact that /Mori/ is the closest thing he has to family right now.

“He’ll be fine,” Mori reassures him, eyes on the road.
Chuuya nods. He knows. Logically, he knows. Dazai is smart, capable, and generally resourceful—really, it’s just /missing/ him that is going to be the problem.

Ironically enough, things for Dazai were not, in fact, fine.

His personal hell began at around nine.
He was stretched out on his bed, /trying/ to finish a movie on his laptop, silently bemoaning how the redhead lead made him think of his boyfriend, when he hears the door knob start to jiggle.

“Are you /sure/ this is the right one? It looks all wrong!”
“I’m sure, Ivan—and that’s what dormitories in Japan are /supposed/ to look like, you know.”

“But they’re so—“ Dazai sits up as the door opens—

Only to see two Russians in his doorway, one with long, almost white hair, and the other with shoulder length, black hair.

He makes eye contact with the dark haired one, and neither of them smile. “Hello,” the boy smiles, speaking in heavily accented Japanese. “My name is Fyodor—I’ll be your roommate this year.”

Here’s the thing—Dazai wouldn’t have liked his roommate no matter /who/ it was—
—because they were always going to be the main obstacle between Dazai and his current goal in life: advancing his physical relationship with his boyfriend.

But there just /something/ about this guy that instinctively sets Dazai’s teeth on edge. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
They explain they arrived later because of the flight and the. Jet lag after leaving Moscow—and the two spend /all night/ (and in turn, they keep Dazai up all night) setting up Fyodor’s side of the room.

And there’s an unfortunate thing they don’t know:

Dazai speaks Russian.
So when the two spend the entire evening keeping Dazai awake after a /very/ long day, and quietly laughing among themselves and insulting Dazai’s taste in decor—

Dazai is /stewing./

It’s almost 6 a.m. when Fyodor is saying goodbye to his older brother.

“You’ll call?”

Fyodor seems a little irritated as he offers him a rushed hug. “I promise I’ll call. Now—don’t you have a flight?”

“Right, right,” he sighs, glancing over to Dazai, switching into Japanese— “It was nice to meet you, Dazai—have a nice school year.”

Dazai smiles back sharply.
“Oh, thank you—and I wish your parents the best of luck finding that summer house in Odessa. The real estate market in Ukraine is so unpredictable right now. Have a safe flight!”

He says it /all/ in perfect Russian, and now the other two boys are staring at him in horror.
It was the absolute /worst way/ to get off on the right foot.

Back in Yokohama, Chuuya wakes up curled up against a pillow, sprawled across Dazai’s bed.

It didn’t feel so big in here before.

He rolls over, staring at the ceiling.

It’s going to be a long, /long/ year.
It’s only a week later when it’s time for Chuuya to start back to school—a week filled with talking on the phone every morning and every night, awkwardly taking pictures of himself on his morning runs to send to Dazai—

But now Chuuya has to start his third year at a new school—
—and he has to do it by /himself./

The new uniform feels stiff and unfamiliar—a buttoned up black jacket instead of his usual coat and tie.

Mori gave him a rushed pep talk on the way out the door—but it wasn’t the same.

Chuuya’s mother always made the first day an /event./
His neck feels oddly naked and uncomfortable—the bruises faded weeks ago, and one small scar remains—but he liked having them there.

It made him feel a little less exposed.

But he can’t really do it like Dazai does, so why bother?

He’s introduced during home room.
“Everyone—this is our transfer student, Nakahara Chuuya. Please make him feel welcome.”

Chuuya bows politely, and he can feel every single eye on him.

Transfers aren’t common. Third year transfers are /rare./ And in a competitive school like Keio?

Almost unheard of.
Everyone greets him quietly, and Chuuya moves to take his seat. “Pssst! Chuuya! Chuuya-kun! Hey! Hey! Over here—!”

Chuuya turns his head from his seat to see a familiar blonde waving at him enthusiastically—and from beside him, a redhead who is /also/ waving, but more subtle.
“...Kenji?” He bobs his head, beaming eagerly.

“I can’t believe you’re in our class!! 3-B is gonna be the coolest one in the school now!!”

Chuuya smiles, reluctantly beginning to feel /a little better./ “I don’t think one person makes that sort of difference.”
“Are you coming to practice today? Oh—oh my GOD—“ Kenji clutched his hands over his face with excitement, “you could just join the team for real now!!”

“I’ve never really played before—it wouldn’t make any sense—“

“But you were showing US what to do at the end of last season!”
“Or are you gonna join judo?” Tanizaki offers, tilting his head to the side. “That was your specialty, wasn’t it?”

“I—“ Chuuya is a little overwhelmed, “—honestly I didn’t think past the first day—“

“Well—find us at lunch, okay? We’ve got so much to talk about!”
Chuuya nods, and the teacher silences them after that.

To Chuuya’s surprise—he actually /likes/ Dazai’s school...a lot.

The teachers are attentive, the classes are interesting—and when lunch rolls around, he’s swarmed with boys he already knows.

It’s just...really /nice./
“Nakahara-san—“ Atsushi sniffles when he embraces him later, during practice, on his knees and hugging Chuuya around the middle. “I—I’m s-so glad you’re h-here—“

“Atsushi.” Chuuya blinks, patting his head awkwardly. “You know you can just call me Chuuya, right...?”
“He’s lost it,” Ranpo sighs, adjusting his cap. “He took Dazai’s graduation pretty damn hard.”

“R-remember how he convinced me I was gonna die b-because I swallowed a piece of g-gum?”

Chuuya nods sagely. “He’s a dick.”

“Yeah,” Atsushi sobs affectionately, “a huge dick!”
Later, during the warm up drills, Edogawa raises an eyebrow at Chuuya from the bench. “You know you’re an actual student here now, right?”

“Yeah, thanks to you—“

“I /keep telling you/ not to mention that—but you could actually try out for the team.”

“Yeah, but—“ Chuuya sighs.
“—I’d rather save that spot for someone who is actually gonna be here all three years.” Chuuya really, /really/ regrets that his last year with his soccer team would have started /today/, and—

Now he’s missing out on that.

Ranpo watches him closely.
“You know, for someone dating /Dazai/, you’re pretty mature.”

“He can be mature when he wants to be,” Chuuya defends him dutifully before cracking a smile. “But yeah, he’s usually a pain.”

“Well,” Ranpo stretches, “I can think of one spot you could take without taking someone—“
“—else’s. You wouldn’t even have to miss out on Judo. I’m assuming you /are/ going for that, right?”

Chuuya nods hesitantly.

“Well—you honestly started doing the job last season. We normally have a girl from Aoyama do it, but this time we got a first year, and Kyouka-chan—“
“—doesn’t know what she’s doing, and with Yosano gone—“

Chuuya looks a little startled. “You want me to be team /manager?/“

Dazai is /hissing/ with jealousy when Atsushi and Junichiro FaceTime him during practice. “The year AFTER I leave, the team gets the most GORGEOUS—“
“—manager it’s ever had?! It’s not FAIR—“

“We’ll treasure him, Dazai-senpai—!”


Chuuya sighs, resting his palm against his forehead.

Dazai is /ridiculous./

“How was the first day?” Chuuya closes his eyes to focus on Dazai’s voice, sprawled in bed.
“It was actually pretty good.” He admits, tracing his eyes along the small dents in the ceiling where Dazai would always toss a ball against it while he was thinking. “What about yours?”

“Oh, my roommate is a rotten piece of shit, but classes are nice.”

“Sorry, chibi—I switched into Russian because /I/ have the decency to insult someone in their native language. Isn’t that right, Fyodor?”

He hears muffled snapping on the other end of the line. “He’s in the room right now?”

“He never fucking leaves!” Dazai says cheerfully.
Chuuya wants to tell Dazai to /stop/ being an ass, but...on the other hand—

“I’ve never heard you speak Russian before.”

“It was my elective in highschool. Honestly, I never thought it would come in this handy—“

“It’s actually pretty...” Chuuya trails off.


It takes a WHILE for Dazai to respond, and Chuuya can almost hear the wheels turning in his boyfriend’s brain as it starts to turn back on.

“...Oh /really?/“

Chuuya nods, biting his lip and smiling, the stress from the day starting to melt away. “Makes me wish...”
“...you were here.” It’s easier to be like this when Dazai isn’t /looking/ at him. It makes Chuuya feel...

Kind of /confident./

“I was wishing I was there /before/, but now...” Dazai switches to Russian again, and Chuuya can tell whatever he’s saying—

It is /not/ wholesome.
And there is /something/ about it, not knowing what he’s saying but recognizing his /name/ here and there, in that rough, low voice Dazai is using...

“Or something like that.” Dazai trails off, stretching out across his dorm bed with a smirk—

Fyodor looks /scandalized./
There’s a long length of silence on the other end. “...Chuuya?”

More silence.

“You there?”

“...Yeah, I’m here.” And suddenly—Dazai feels his blood rapidly migrating /south./

Because Chuuya sounds—

He sounds /turned on./

“Well—I’ve got—homework, so—“

“On the first day?”
“Yeah—“ Chuuya’s voice is a little higher than usual and he sounds /breathless./ “I’ll call you in the morning, okay?”

“...Okay.” Dazai frowns, wishing he’d said a little more of that in /Japanese./ “Sleep good, Chuuya.”

“Yep! You too!” The line cuts off with an abrupt click.
Dazai stares for the screen for a second with a sigh, glancing over at his roommate, who is trying very hard to be more interested in his laptop.

“The chibi likes Russian?”

Dazai /scowls./ “His name is Chuuya—and yes, he does.”

Fyodor shrugs, going back to his screen.
“I wonder how he would feel if he heard it from a native speaker.” Fyodor muses.

Suddenly, Dazai isn’t riding /quite so much of a high./

For Chuuya, he would qualify the first two weeks of school /cautiously/ as a success. He has a new friend group, he qualifies for Judo—
—and genuinely, everything seems to be evening out.

Well. Except for one thing.

There is /one/ kid who, for some reason, has it out for him.

“I’d ignore him if I were you, honest.” Tanizaki yawns. “He thinks he can act however he wants because his parents have money.”
“I honestly feel a little /bad/ for the guy.” Atsushi admits, and Chuuya gives him a /look./ “What? Nobody likes him. His friends tolerate him for the gifts. That’s it.”

“And honestly,” Junichiro yawns, taking a big bite of his rice ball, “he calls himself /Ace./“
“That /screams/ inferiority complex, if you ask me.”

“It also could be because you’re dating Dazai!” Kenji offers. “He did kind of steal the guy’s girlfriend back when he was a first year.”

Chuuya rolls his eyes. Ah, so a /pattern appears./

“None of that shit is my problem.”
And honestly, Chuuya doesn’t even give a shit that the dude is trying to bully him. He’s only /160/ cm tall, he got plenty of shit back in middle school, he can fend for himself just fine.

It’s the /way/ the creep is going about it.

“Oh, /excuse me/, princess—“
He makes a /big/ show of giving Chuuya a /very/ wide berth, holding both hands up as if the idea of even getting /close/ to touching him is distasteful. “I didn’t mean to get too close there—hope you didn’t get /excited./“

Chuuya pauses in the middle of the hallway.
If it was something simple, like being picked on for being the short kid, Chuuya could kick his ass to make a point.

If it was about Chuuya being the new kid, who cares? He’s already made friends.

But this isn’t about any of that.

This is about Chuuya being the /gay/ kid.
Reacting at /all/ draws more attention to it, and—

Defending his sexuality has never exactly been Chuuya’s /strong suit./

So Chuuya shrugs, holding his chin high even though he wants to crawl into the sewer grate and /die./ “No worries—you’re fine.”

And he walks away calmly.
Except for the fact that he doesn’t /feel/ calm.

“Wow,” Tanizaki commends as they follow behind him. “He took that really—“

Chuuya slams the bathroom door so hard, it’s a miracle the entire thing doesn’t shatter.

“...well.” The third year finishes lamely. “Should we...?”
“...Yeah.” Atsushi nods. “His day is just gonna get worse if we let him break something...”

It takes so long to talk him down in the bathroom, they almost miss practice.

“Something is /definitely/ wrong,” Dazai mutters over the phone that night. “Might as well tell me now.”
Chuuya sighs, burying his face into the pillow for a second. “I need you to be honest with me for a second—and to take what I’m about to ask you /seriously.”

“It’s bothering you.” He can hear the frown in Dazai’s voice. “I’m obviously going to take it seriously.”

“...Do I—“
“If you didn’t know me, and you were just looking at me—would you be able to tell if I was...” Chuuya swallows hard, rubbing his neck—an anxious habit that he never used to have before.

“If you were what?”

“That I’m gay.”

“...” Dazai’s voice is /oddly/ calm. “What happened?”
“Just a stupid thing at school—“

“It doesn’t /sound/ stupid—“

“You didn’t answer.”

There’s a pause on the other end before Dazai says, “I’m not sure I /want/ to answer.”

Chuuya recoils. “Is it /that/ bad?!”

“No! But you already try to act differently so people /won’t/—“
“—think you’re gay. And Chuuya,” Dazai sighs heavily. “When I first met you, I never thought about whether or not you were straight.”

Chuuya narrows his eyes. “Then what /did/ you think about, Dazai? Because I don’t get—“

“I thought about how beautiful you were, mostly.”
Saying shit like that sounds so /blunt/ coming from Dazai, and Chuuya’s face is /burning/, because he can tell the older boy /means it./ “Not handsome?”

“Chuuya,” Dazai sighs, “you can use whatever word you want if the gender connotation bothers you, but—you’re the most—“
“—attractive person I’ve ever met. Okay?”

Chuuya’s heart is /pounding./

“/Seriously/, the hardest thing about being up here is just not being able to /look/ at you, all the time—“


“Honestly, Chuuya. I don’t think a person can ‘act gay.’ You’re just you.”
Chuuya presses his palm to his face. It’s easy for /Dazai/ to say all of this—his sexuality, the way he expresses himself—he’s never been forced to justify it to anyone before—

And that’s really all Chuuya knows.

“Well—someone at school doesn’t think that way.”

“Ace.” Chuuya huffs with a small sneer. “Such a weird fucking name—“

“He’s been bothering you?” Dazai just sounds /weird/, but Chuuya is replaying the incident in his head over and over, getting more angry over it each time.

“He called me a ‘princess.’”

“...Did he /really?/“
“Yeah—and he acted like I might jump his dick or something if he got to close—“ Chuuya grits his teeth. “He’s a huge piece of shit.”

“Oh—I remember.” Dazai muses, and for a second Chuuya is /baffled/, because—

How is Dazai not as furious about this as he is?

“—‘princess’ isn’t inherently an awful thing to call someone. I’ve called people that before.”

/He’s called Sasaki that before./

That’s what he’s probably thinking, and it has Chuuya’s stomach twisting with jealousy. “He didn’t mean it as a /pet name/, Dazai.”
“That’s not my point—“ Dazai sounds lost on thought. “—I’m just annoyed that he made it into a negative thing.”

“Wha—?” Chuuya throws his hands up “What the hell does that mean?!”

“Well, what if /I/ wanted to call you princess?”

Chuuya’s jaw /drops./

Dazai is mostly distracting the redhead to make him feel better—and honestly, it /is/ working—

“You value your life too much to ever pull something like /that/—“

“I don’t know, in the right /context/—“

They bicker back and forth, but eventually Dazai gives him a real answer:
“I think you should dress how you want—/act/ the way you want. Because otherwise, you’re just letting him control your life.”

It hits Chuuya hard—because he’s never thought of it like /that/ before. “Okay—I guess—you might have a point.”

“I usually do, you know.”
The next day, during lunch, Chuuya is turning the idea around in his head, over and over—something Dazai has mentioned before—

Is Chuuya holding himself back from doing the things he /wants/ to do, just because he’s worried about—?

Well, that doesn’t even feel like a question.
He glances over at Junichiro, looking him over and raising an eyebrow. “Hey, Tanizaki—“


“I’ve been meaning to ask—“

Exactly thirty days after he left, Dazai is on the train back to Yokohama. It’s a short visit—only for the weekend, but—

It’s /more/ than worth the trip
Dazai’s cheek is resting against the window, watching the landscapes slip by—but as they pull into the city and make it to the proper platform, he notices a familiar face, and he /beams./

Despite being in an interior compartment, Dazai is one of the /first/ to make it off.
“Daz—/mmph/!” Chuuya doesn’t really get the chance to greet him before he’s swept up into a /huge/ hug, quite literally dangling off the ground as Dazai kisses him /senseless./

“What are—?” Chuuya’s eyes slip closed for a moment when Dazai /deepens/ the kiss, and he groans.
Chuuya really almost /does/ let Dazai kiss him until he’s an absolute /mess/, but he has the sense to remember where they /are./ “Dazai!” He groans, punching him in the chest. “Could you /not/?”

Dazai isn’t very apologetic, “I needed to make sure you tasted the same!”
“The same?!” Chuuya squirms in his arms until his feet are finally touching the ground again. “Why would I taste any /different/?!”

“Things can /change/, you know—“ Dazai pauses as he sets Chuuya down, taking the redhead by the chin. “...Chuuya...”


“Did you...?”
Dazai reaches over, delicately touching Chuuya’s earlobe with his fingertips. “Did you get your ears pierced?”

“Oh—yeah.” Chuuya blinks, tilting his head. “I thought Junichiro’s looked cool, so—“

Dazai looks /shocked/, and suddenly Chuuya isn’t so /sure./

“Is it a problem?”
Dazai shakes his head a little too quickly, and Chuuya can see his—

Is he /blushing?/

“It’s not—I’m just surprised.”

“Well...I always wanted to, but my D—“ Chuuya winces a little “—my Dad never let me.”

Dazai squeezes Chuuya’s chin a little tighter without meaning to.
“When did you do it?”

“After school, the day we talked about Ace.” Dazai scowls but it quickly turned into a pout.


“Did you hold Junichiro’s hand when they did it?”

“/No/, Dazai, I didn’t hold anyone’s /hand/—“

“I could have!”

“You can do that next time.”
“You’re going to get /more?/“

“Yeah,” Chuuya shrugs, grabbing his hand as they move to leave the station. “I like the cartilage ones.”

Dazai feels a little /lightheaded./

“What is it?”

“I’m just happy feel more comfortable expressing yourself,” Dazai croaks, trying not to—
—think about how much he wants to know what the studs in Chuuya’s ears feel like under his /teeth/—

At the beginning of their relationship—and it’s weird to think that it was only /months/ ago—Dazai never thought about having /sex/ with Chuuya. Not as much as he would have in—
—different circumstances. With the women he had been with in the past, it was generally the first and only thing on his mind. Maybe a little less with Sasaki, but...

With Chuuya, it only became a /concrete/ possibility in Dazai’s mind the night after the baseball championships.
And the /fire alarm./

Dazai grits his teeth at the memory.

And the thing is—now, the abstract concept of what Chuuya might look like in the heat of pleasure, the sounds he might make—

They aren’t so abstract anymore.

And now Dazai hasn’t been able to stop thinking about—
All of the things that they /haven’t/ done—and the fact that he’s crammed into a tiny dorm with a snoopy Russian that never /leaves/ doesn’t make anything any easier, because now it’s rare for Dazai to even be able to relieve some of that tension by /himself/—

—he gets, with everything that’s happened, with all of the things Chuuya is working through with his /own/ sexuality, that having sex isn’t exactly at the /top/ of his priority list.

And that’s /totally fine/, it just—


Did they make it back to the house already?
“Sorry—“ Dazai breathes out, moving to walk up the steps with Chuuya. “Spaced out.”

Chuuya eyes him with a raised eyebrow. “Well—hurry up, alright?”

Dazai raises an eyebrow back at him, but he agrees. He makes it into the doorway, shrugging out of his jacket. “Is Mori at work?”
“Yep—he doesn’t make it back for another forty five minutes.”

Dazai tilts his head. It’s weird—normally his uncle would’ve wanted to be there when he got back—

“And Oda and your sister?”

Chuuya clasps his hands behind his back. “They should get here at around the same time.”
Dazai scratches his head “Okay—so /no one/ else wanted to greet me on my first visit after moving away?”


“/Wow/—I just—they could be a LITTLE more excited—“


“What am I? Chopped liver? Do they even KNOW how many times that stupid rat’s parents call a day?!”
A sharp punch to his arm makes him look down with a glare, “I’m allowed to be a LITTLE HURT, Chuu—“

His boyfriend yanks him down by the collar of his shirt, until they’re eye level with one another.

“I told everyone you took the one o’ clock train instead of the one at noon.”
Why would he—?

Dazai might be a little self centered and at times a little presumptuous when it comes to what Chuuya is thinking—but he isn’t /stupid./



“We had forty five minutes and now you’ve wasted /three/ of them being a drama queen, so unless you want to—“
“—waste the rest of it—“

Dazai /really doesn’t./

Now, normally, there’s an understanding between the two of them about man handling. Chuuya isn’t exactly sensitive about his height—but he doesn’t exactly like being tosssd around like it’s /easy/ either—

But /desparate times./
He swoops Chuuya off of his feet in mid sentence, expecting the redhead to protest, but—

Chuuya just slides his fingers into his hair and hitched his legs around Dazai’s hips, and suddenly Dazai’s head is /spinning./

He barely manages to kick the door shut.
They don’t even make it past the kitchen.

Chuuya makes contact with the counter and pushes back on it without hesitation, leaning back and unhooking his legs from around Dazai so he can yank at his shirt, untucking it—

Before, things have always been so /slow/ and hesitant.
Now, it feels frantic—and Dazai realizes the moment Chuuya’s fingertips dip under his shirt, brushing against his stomach, making the muscles there tense—

Chuuya’s never even /touched/ him there before.

Dazai groans softly against Chuuya’s lips as the redhead’s palms flatten—
—against his abs, sliding around to his hips, pressing into the small of his back—

And Dazai has never considered himself a terribly /reactive/ lover, he’s always been the type to be a little distant from the Act, to think through his next step—

That’s /impossible/ right now.
All he can think about is how Chuuya’s skin felt under his hands that night, how he needs that again, /more/ if it—

But when he reaches for Chuuya’s shirt, his hands are slapped away.

“Don’t—“ Chuuya groans against Dazai’s mouth, his hands sliding down to fumble with his belt—
“/Distract me/, alright?!” Dazai’s heart is in his /throat/, and he reaches out blindly to brace himself against the counter, his arms bracketing Chuuya. He knocks over a stack of mail, sending it scattering to the floor, but he doesn’t /care/—

“Are you—?” Dazai pants.
Chuuya’s fingers are shaking. It’s not noticeable, only a slight tremor, but it’s enough to make Dazai grab his boyfriend’s wrist before he can finish unzipping Dazai’s jeans. “Are you /okay?/“

Chuuya nods, slightly breathless himself. He doesn’t /look/ upset, but Dazai can’t—
—help but worry it’s all just false bravado, that Chuuya feels like he /has/ to do this—and the very idea of that makes Dazai feel a little /sick./

“Dazai, I’m /fine/,” Chuuya mutters, shaking him off as he goes for his zipper again. “I’m just—“

“Just /what/?”
“I’m /nervous/ damn it!” Chuuya snaps. “That doesn’t mean I don’t /want/ to, I’m just—“

It dawns on Dazai then, that Chuuya is worried about doing a /good job./

Which, really, given how repressed Dazai is, Chuuya doesn’t even have to be /passable/, but that isn’t the point—
“Chuuya,” Dazai exhales shakily, reaching forward for Chuuya‘s wrist again, but instead of stopping him, he pushes his hand forward, so he can feel just how /hard/ Dazai is already. “You /really/ don’t need to be worried.”

Chuuya is /red/, but his fingers slowly start to relax.
🚨 a bit NSFW after this point 🚨
After a second, they tighten, gripping Dazai through the open front of his jeans, and the taller boy hisses softly, his face heating up.

Chuuya’s fingers, slightly more confident now, drift up and /tug/ at the waist and of Dazai’s underwear, pulling down until Dazai is exposed—
—and then those fingers are wrapping /around him/, and Dazai /moans./

It takes him a minute to realize why Chuuya hasn’t started /moving/, and it’s because Dazai still has a /vice grip/ on the redhead’s wrist.

“I—Sorry—“ he breathes out harshly letting him go.
Chuuya simply responds by tilting his face up to kiss him, and Dazai just /crumbles/ into it, his knees unsteady as Chuuya's fingers start to /move./

Dazai is sure, if you forced him to be objective, it's not the best handjob he's ever received from a technical perspective.

Every single brush of the redhead's fingers over his length, while occasionally clumsy or even a little too /forceful/, has Dazai clenching his teeth, swearing, gasping Chuuya's name--

And the way Chuuya is /kissing/ him just isn't fucking /fair./
Normally, kissing Chuuya is /slow/, intense, and /deep/--and it's not like this isn't intense, because /Jesus/--

It's just that it's /slightly/ messier than usual, like Chuuya is somehow /teasing/ Dazai with the way his tongue is sliding into his mouth, and--

When did Chuuya--?
--learn how to /kiss/ like that?

He doesn't even /notice/ the way Chuuya has been slowly (and somewhat /clumsily/) been unbuttoning his shirt, not until it's completely open, and Chuuya's palm is pressing over his chest.

And Dazai really isn't /proud/ of the fact that hearing--
--Chuuya /moan/ when his fingers brush over his muscles makes Dazai /noticeably harder/ under Chuuya's fingers. And then Chuuya's nails are scraping over his skin, and Dazai's heart is /pounding/--

And then Chuuya's thumb slides over his head with /just/ the right amount of--
--friction, and Dazai breaks the kiss, their lips swollen and wet, taking shuddering gasps. "Chuuya--" he squeezes his eyes shut, "--if you keep doing /that/--"

He cracks one eye open, and he swears he can see Chuuya actually /smirk/, and--

Chuuya does it /again./

Dazai didn't exactly /envision/ his first orgasm at Chuuya's hands being in the /middle of his kitchen/ on a Friday afternoon, but /here they are./

He collapses against Chuuya for a moment with a swear, his shoulders shaking as he works to even out his breathing, and Chuuya--
--seems /very/ pleased with himself, reaching over to grab a napkin--conveniently nearby, given their location--while his other hand strokes through Dazai's hair. "/There/," he mutters, "now we're even."

Dazai snorts weakly, lifting his head from Chuuya's shoulder.
"Was that really bothering you?"

Chuuya shrugs, looking away sheepishly. "Kind of, yeah."

"..." Dazai smiles /so/ softly, leaning forward to nuzzle his face into Chuuya's neck again. "What a gentleman."

"Shut up, Dazai, I'm just /being considerate/--"

"I'm serious! /Or/--"
He smiles slyly, lifting his face, pressing his lips to Chuuya's ear, relishing in the feeling of metal under his lips, "I /could/ call you princess, if you like that better."

To Dazai's /delight/ and Chuuya's utter fucking /humiliation/, he /shivers./

"You are the /worst/--"
"What?" Dazai laughs softly, nipping at his earlobe--careful to /avoid/ the new piercing (for /now/) because he's sure it's still sore-- "It's 2020, Chuuya--it's /okay/ if you like the nickname."

Chuuya is quiet for a second, and Dazai knows he's /taking in/ that information--
--considering it, and packing it away to process /later/. "You're still an /ass./"

"I never denied that," Dazai smiles, a little smug. "How much time do we have now?"

Chuuya looks down at his watch, his cheeks still flushed. "...Twenty minutes."

Dazai smirks.

Chuuya jumps and /groans/ softly when Dazai squeezes him through his pants, throwing his head back--and Dazai can't really /resist/ the exposed column of his neck. He leans in, pressing his lips over Chuuya's pulse, throbbing under his skin--and the redhead stiffens.
Dazai pauses--this isn't a /new/ reaction. Chuuya has done this /every single time/ Dazai has kissed him there since the incident--and every time, Dazai has offered to /not/ do it again, only to get the same response--

// "No--it's okay, Dazai--"//

// "But Chuuya, I--"//
// "Exactly. It's /you./" //

So, Dazai has learned to stay still and wait for the anxiety to work itself out, and when Chuuya /does/ relax, he presses soft, open mouth kisses up and down the side of his throat, and Chuuya holds his shoulders /tightly./ "We really shouldn't--"
"Why not?" Dazai purrs, squeezing the redhead again, purely for the pleasure of feeling Chuuya arch and squirm against him. "Twenty minutes is /plenty/--"

"It's cutting it close, and I don't want to end up like /you/ after the fire alarm--"

"I'll admit, that was tragic--"
"/Yeah/," Chuuya frowns, pushing Dazai's hand away, "and I do /not/ want to be dealing with a raging hard on when my /sister/ is here--"

"Well--" Dazai glances down, then back up. "You already have one right now."

"It'll go down."

"It could go down /faster./"

"...If someone interrupts us, you are going to make a /scene/ so I can sneak off to the bathroom, got it?"

"Making a scene is my specialty!" Dazai responds cheerfully, unbuckling Chuuya's belt /slightly/ more gracefully than what Chuuya had managed with his own.

"I /know./"
It's when Dazai starts dropping to his knees that Chuuya makes the most /undignified/ noise Dazai has ever heard, knotting his fingers through his hair to stop him. "What are you doing?!"

Dazai raises an eyebrow, eye level with Chuuya's underwear. "Following my passions?"
Chuuya's face is starting to match the color of his hair. And for come reason, even though they are /very much alone/, he lowers his voice to a scandalized whisper. "Have you ever even /done/ that before?"

"Sucked a guy off?" Chuuya winces at Dazai's bluntness.
"Never. But there's a first time for everything--"

"And you think /now/ is the best time to try and figure it out?!" Chuuya hisses.

"Chuuya--are you /really/ saying no to a blowjob right now?"

The shorter boy pauses, realizing how /bizarre/ he's being.

"Because if you don't-"
"--want me to, I can stop--" And Chuuya /knows/ that it's a sincere offer, and that Dazai won't be /mad/ if Chuuya tells him to stop, but--

"..." Chuuya turns his face up to look at the ceiling, biting his lip, and his face on /fire./ "I never said that."

"So you /do/ want it?"
Chuuya wants to die. Preferably, in a fire. "Are you actually going to make me say it?"

Dazai waggles his eyebrows at him, "Nothing is sexier than /consent/, Chuuya."

The redhead huffs. "/Yes/, Dazai."

"Yes, /what/?"

"We do /not/ have time for this, you piece of--/GOD/--!"
While Chuuya was /chastising/ him, Dazai took it as an opportunity to pull the redhead's underwear down and out of the way--

And Dazai will admit, it's a /little/ different when you aren't on the receiving end of it, but he's been given /quite a few/ blowjobs in his life.
He's /more than familiar/ with the theory. So he looks and /sounds/ a lot more confident than he feels when he takes the base of Chuuya's cock in his hand, leaning forward to drag his tongue up the underside.

But the choked /scream/ Chuuya lets out?

/Very reassuring./
"D--/Dazai/--Jesus--/fuck/--!" Chuuya's chest is heaving, and he's already a /mess/, and honestly, this is the best idea that Dazai has /ever/ had.

He's leaning back on top of the counter, his hands scrambling to brace himself on something, /anything/, while his hips are--
--bucking up into Dazai's touch, so much so that Dazai has to wrap his hand around Chuuya's right him pretty /firmly/ to keep him in place, which just makes Chuuya moan even /more./

And it's easy to lose himself in /that/ train of thought, wondering how Chuuya would like being--
--/pinned down/, but that's a discovery for /another time./

He doesn't go for anything too /complicated/, not this time, anyway, when they're under a time constraint--but oh /god/ if he /did/ have the time--

Well, you can /imagine./

Instead, he settles for slowly working his--
--tongue over the head while stroking him at the base, shivering when Chuuya's hands tug at his hair, feeling his thighs trembling around Dazai's ears--

It's not /that/ different from when he's gone down on girls in the past. Well, the process is /very/ different--
--but the over all /reactions/ are similar. Except for seeing /Chuuya/ like this, flushed and squirming under Dazai's mouth, gorgeous, /sinful/ moans dripping from his lips as he looks down at Dazai, eyes half lidded?

That's an entirely different ballgame.

"Dazai--Dazai, I'm--"
To Chuuya's credit, he does try to /warn/ him, and despite this being the obvious and /natural/ conclusion to this particular activity, Dazai never /actually/ thought about what he was going to /do/ when this happened--

And, as usual, things don't exactly go /smoothly./
Chuuya /does/ reach his climax, convulsing and tugging at Dazai's hair, and Dazai doesn't really know what to do other than what he's already /seen/, so--

He just /swallows./

It isn't that bad, a little bitter, but honestly, when it's /Chuuya/, Dazai doesn't care--
--That isn't the problem.

It's that while they /did/ technically have enough time, it was /barely/ enough time.

Meaning that Dazai can hear the front door opening, and he still has his boyfriend's cock in his mouth.

And said boyfriend is /not/ running at full capacity.
"Did..." Chuuya is breathing hard, his face is /so red/ and his eyes are /so wide/, and his voice is rising in volume and pitch, "Did you /really just/--?!!"

Dazai pulls off, making Chuuya yelp at the sudden influx of cold air, and quickly straightens up, clapping a hand over--
--the redhead's mouth to make him /stop shrieking in embarrassed indignation/.

"Anyone home?" Mori calls out from the foyer, and Chuuya's eyes somehow get /bigger/ as he scrambles to pull his pants back up.

"Just a second!" Dazai calls back pleasantly, frantically--
--buttoning up his /shirt/, mouthing 'thank you' to his boyfriend when the redhead starts working to fix /Dazai's/ pants as soon as he finishes with his own--

Mori's footsteps probably aren't actually that loud, but it sounds like /impending doom/--

Chuuya finishes buckling--
--up Dazai's pants, and for a second, Dazai really thinks they've pulled things off without a hitch--

Until Chuuya moves to hop down from the counter, forgetting he's only a matter of /seconds/ out from an orgasm, and his legs completely give out underneath him.
Dazai /winces/, but it's /way too late/ and Chuuya goes down with a /loud/ yelp, landing /directly on his ass./

Dazai reaches for him quickly. "Are you /okay/?!"

"I don't you we didn't have /time/!" Chuuya hisses.

"Well, I mean, we /did/--"

"We did /NOT/--"

They both glance up, very rumbled, flushed, and a little sweaty--but /dressed/, to see Mori standing in the doorway, looking completely baffled. "What happened?"

"Uh..." Dazai looks from where he's halfway down to help Chuuya back up, to Chuuya, who looks like a deer in the--
--headlights, then to Mori, who doesn't seem to have /any idea/-- "...The chibi was trying to climb on the counters to reach the top shelves again!" Dazai blurts out, and Chuuya looks /appalled./ "He didn't want to wait for me to come back from the bathroom!"

Mori frowns.
"Chuuya," he puts his hands on his hips, and Dazai waits for a, 'Dazai is /obviously/ lying, spill it', but instead-- "I bought the step stool for /exactly that reason/--"

Chuuya looks like he almost wishes Mori had walked in on Dazai sucking him off instead, and Dazai--
--in a cruel act of nature, has to hold back /so much laughter./

".../Sorry./" Chuuya mumbles through clenched teeth, ignoring Dazai's outstretched hands and getting up /on his own./ "I just got impatient--/you know me./"

Dazai /knows/ he's going to get it later, but /Jesus/--
Dinner with Kouyou and Oda is actually /nice,/ somehow, after that near /fiasco./

And sure, maybe Chuuya is /barely/ speaking to him, but Dazai can make it up to him later. "Classes are going well?" Oda raises an eyebrow, his arm casually thrown around Kouyou's shoulders.
The older girl is leaning against him happily, her head propped up against his shoulder, and they /do/ make a happier picture than Dazai and Chuuya, where /Osamu's/ redhead is sitting on the edge of the booth with his arms crossed over his chest.

"Yep!" Dazai smiles cheerfully.
“Just about as easy as highschool.” Oda rolls his eyes, because of /course/ Dazai would say that. “What about you?”

“Pretty good—I even picked out a major.”

“Which one?”


Dazai raises an eyebrow, surprised. “You’re gonna be a writer?”

Oda looks sheepish, but—
—Kouyou squeezes him around the middle with an encouraging smile. “He’s /very good./ I kept on telling him when he was writing me letters last year—“

Dazai’s jaw goes slack. “You wrote her /letters/?”

Oda’s cheeks are darkening. “That’s really not the point—“
“They made me fall in love with you every single day.” Kouyou hums, kissing his cheek. Now that her boyfriends seems /thoroughly/ embarrassed, she turns her eyes to Chuuya. “Help me get our drinks from the bar?”

Chuuya looks up from his sulking long enough to not dutifully.
They get up and walk towards the front of the restaurant, and Oda turns his gaze back to his friend.

“/Letters/,” Dazai is still stunned. “How do I get the chibi to write me—“

“Maybe pick a more realistic goal,” Oda yawns. “I meant to ask—how are things going for him at Keio?”
Dazai sighs, leaning against his hand. “Fine—/really/ good, as far as I can tell, but—“

“—but /what?/“

Dazai sighs heavily. “Apparently Ace has taken to harassing him.”

Oda makes a face. “What? That little twerp?”

Dazai snorts. “The very one. I told Chuuya not to worry—“
“I wouldn’t have done that.” Oda frowns.

Dazai raises an eyebrow. “...And why do you say that?”

“Dunno,” Oda shrugs, frowning down at his plate. “From what I remember, he was a pretty nasty little shit.”

Dazai thinks back on it, and Oda isn’t /wrong./ “Chuuya can handle him.”
Oda shrugs, not looking entirely convinced. “Alright—if you say so.”

Dazai thinks about it, tossing those words around in his head throughout dinner, and—

“You know,” Dazai says in bed later that night, “I could handle him.”

Chuuya doesn’t look up—Dazai is currently in the—
—middle of placating him over earlier, trailing kisses all over Chuuya’s back and neck.

“Handle who?”

“Ace,” Dazai presses his lips to the back of Chuuya’s head. “I could make him stop bothering you.”

Chuuya snorts, “What are you gonna do? Threaten to break his kneecaps?”
“Not a /terrible idea./“ Dazai hums against his hair. “It’s not like he doesn’t deserve it.”

Chuuya rolls his eyes, “You sound like a damn mob boss.”

“Maybe, in another life—“

“And I /don’t/ need my boyfriend to protect me from a highschool bully. I can handle it.”
“I know you don’t NEED your boyfriend to,” Dazai hugs him from behind, pulling Chuuya close against him, “but maybe your boyfriend might like to feel a little /useful./“

/That/ makes the redhead soften a little, cuddling back up against him. “I’m sure you’ll have other chances.”
Dazai frowns, resting his chin on top of Chuuya’s head. “Fine—but if I see him on the street—“


“—his kneecaps are gonna be in grave danger.”

Chuuya snorts. “You’re fucking ridiculous.”

Dazai thinks back on the way Chuuya always stiffens when he kisses his neck—
—and it definitely doesn’t /feel/ ridiculous.

He’s already let Chuuya handle it on his own one time too many.

And, as soon as he arrived, Chuuya is with him on the train platform again, holding his hand tightly as the bullet train starts to appear in the distance.
This time, it won’t be so soon before Dazai visits again.

There isn’t another holiday between now and the end of the year—

Over three months.

“You /are/ eating enough up there, right?”

Dazai smiles indulgently, “Yes, dear.”

Chuuya lunches his arm. “And you’re sleeping?”
Dazai turns around, leaning down to kiss Chuuya’s forehead. “As much as I can—the Rat likes to watch his Russian Soap Operas live.”

“When do they come on?”

Dazai smiles thinly. “Three a.m.”

Chuuya winces. “With headphones, or—?”

The smile becomes thinner, “What do you think?”
Chuuya frowns, “Well—you could always fight fire with Fire, I guess.”

Dazai raises an eyebrow. “How so?”

Chuuya shrugs. “You could always call me—“

“—and how is that—?”

“—and speak more Russian.”

Dazai smile is caught between being slide and being affectionate.
“You’d let me wake you up at 3 a.m. for that?”

Chuuya shrugs, rocking up on the tips of his toes to press his lips against Dazai’s, smiling into it. “I guess I /kind of/ like you.”

Dazai grins against him and pulls the redhead close, his hands at the base of his spine. “Yeah?”
Chuuya leans in, letting Dazai bear most of his weight as their noses brush together. “Yeah.”

Dazai’s lips still haven’t left his. “Well I kind of /l—“/

The train whistle is too loud to make out what he’s saying, but Chuuya sort of /feels/ it against his lips, and—
—Dazai couldn’t have said /that./

...Could he?

Dazai doesn’t let go of him at first, and Chuuya has to poke his side. “They don’t stop for THAT long, Dazai, you need to get moving—“

Dazai squeezes him harder, then leans back to look at him intently.

Chuuya blinks. “...What?”
“Just taking a second.”

It hits Chuuya then, what Dazai said on the phone weeks earlier—

// “Sometimes I miss just /looking at you.” //

Chuuya bites his lip.

“Okay,” Dazai lets him go, kissing his cheek one more time before he jogs off to the train. “See you for Christmas!”

Chuuya closes his eyes as soon as the train doors shut.

October isn’t /so/ bad. He spends most of it getting ready for regional preliminaries for Judo, and studying for his /real/ entrance exams. Most days are pretty good.

And then others...

Are pretty bad.
It’s raining.

It’s raining /hard/, it has been all day, and Chuuya didn’t bring an umbrella—which is what has him diving into a convenience store, trying to find one to buy before school.

He’s shivering and dripping from head to toe as he walks down the isles—

His phone rings.
Chuuya picks up without looking, pushing his wet bangs out of his eyes, “Look, Mori—I /promise/, you left it in the laundry room—“


He goes still, his wallet almost falling out of his hand with surprise.


He hasn’t heard her voice since...before.
“You /answered/,” She sounds so relieved. “Sweetheart, I’ve been trying to get a hold of you for—god, I don’t know how long—but they won’t tell me where you are, and you moved schools—“

Chuuya struggles to keep his voice even, “Why would you want to know where I am?”
“Chuuya—“ she sounds so /sad/, like Chuuya may as well have slapped her, “Because I’m your /mother./ Your sister won’t even take my calls—“

“I didn’t tell her to do that,” Chuuya hedges defensively.

“No, of course you didn’t—but I’ve just been—sitting alone in this house—“
Chuuya’s stomach twists with guilt. “—for /months/, and I hate that I’ve lost the two of you too, and I just—I just want to /fix/ this—“

Listening to her cry—and /not/ caving into it, it’s one of the hardest things Chuuya has ever done. “Mom, you didn’t /lose/ Dad—“
“—he almost /killed/ me.”

Chuuya has never actually said /that/ part out loud before.

“I don’t—“ his mother sounds exhausted and /confused/, “Chuuya, he /couldn’t/ have meant to do that—he just—I don’t know how to explain it, he just /lost/ himself, I—“

“But he /didn’t./“
Chuuya doesn’t think about that night often. Sometimes, the therapist Mori drags him to on Tuesdays tries to walk him through it.

Chuuya hasn’t made it through a session without begging to stop.

“He knew exactly what he was doing, alright?” Chuuya mutters, “You weren’t there.”
“...You’re right,” his mother’s voice breaks into a sob. “And I’m sorry, Chuuya—I am so, /so/ sorry—“

“Are you leaving him?” Chuuya’s voice is calm, unbothered, but the length of time it takes for her to answer hurts so much, he can’t /breathe./

“It’s complicated—“
“Except it’s really /not./“ Chuuya snaps. “You left Ane-san’s dad because he /wanted to move to France./ This seems like a /much bigger thing/—“

“It /is/, and I’m going to leave, I just—I can’t right now—“

“Why not?!”

“His lawyers—they say it’s going to make him look worse—“
“—they say it could impact his trial. And—we’ve been married for almost twenty years, Chuuya, I owe it to him—“

“What?!” Chuuya doesn’t know exactly /when/ the tears of anger started, but they aren’t stopping. “I’ve been your son my /entire/ life—what do you owe /me/?!”
“Chuuya, /please/!” She’s crying too, just as hard, and Chuuya feels like a /monster/, but he’s so fucking /angry/ at her. “I—I hate what he did to you, I—I never meant for it to happen, but—he could go to jail for the /rest of his life/—“

“/Good/!” Chuuya’s hands are shaking.
“Do you have /any fucking clue/ what it’s been like for /me/?!” Chuuya can barely hang onto the phone, and the tears are blurring his vision. “I have dreams about it every night—I barely even like /judo/ anymore, because they have to /grab me/—“

“Chuuya, baby, I—“

Chuuya rubs at his eyes irritably, but he can’t make it /stop/. “Sometimes, I cant even—when my /boyfriend/ is touching me, I’ll forget where I am, and I—I get /scared/! That’s /so/ fucked—“

“I—“ her voice is thick with tears. “Do we /have/ to talk about that right now?”
Chuuya falls silent, instantly regretting mentioning Dazai at all, because of /course/ that was going to go over well—

And then he freezes.

What the /hell/ is he doing?

“You’re right,” he mutters, “we don’t have to talk about it.”


His head is /pounding./
“Actually, we don’t have to talk about anything at all.” Chuuya doesn’t even sound angry anymore—he just sounds /tired./

“Chuuya, /don’t do this/—“

“Don’t contact me again.” He manages to hang up after that, staring at his reflection in the dark phone screen.

He looks /bad./
He /does/ find an umbrella, but he’s barely able to look the shopkeeper in the eye when he checks out.

He steps out under the overhang, and it’s still /pouring/ outside.

Chuuya probably isn’t going to make it to school today, not if he keeps crying like this.

It isn’t stopping
He kneels down for a second, pressing his tiredness to his knees, just letting it all /out/ while the roar of the water falling down blocks out any of the noises he makes—

And then he sees something, out of the corner of his eye.

He turns his head slowly.
“...” He smiles half heartedly.

“Another stray, huh?”

Dazai answers his phone on his way to his macroeconomics class. “Chibi? Shouldn’t you be in history right now?”

“No, I—“ Dazai tenses up at the sound of his voice. “I didn’t go to school today.”

“Are you sick?”

“Then what happened?”

“I—“ Chuuya sounds so /shaken/, Dazai has stopped walking entirely, letting people shoulder around him on the street. “I talked to my mom, this morning.”

Dazai’s heart sinks. “I thought you said you didn’t want to speak to her—“

“It was an accident.”
“I picked up without looking at the caller ID, and I—“ Chuuya sighs heavily. “It was her.”

“...It was bad, wasn’t it?” Dazai asks softly.

The silence lasts long enough that he starts to panic, thinking of how much it would be to get a train ticket /today/—

“I found a cat.”
Dazai blinks slowly, trying to keep up with all of that information. “You found a /what/?”

“A cat—in front of the konbini down the street.”

Dazai doesn’t know what to make of this. “Well—there are /lots/ of cats near convenience stores—“

“It was flooding today.”
“Did you make it home safely?”

“I did.” There’s something in Chuuya’s /tone./

“...With the cat?”

“He could have drowned! He’s still kind of a baby—“

“How can you tell?!”

“He’s small!”

“So are you, and /you/ ARENT a baby—“

“Mori said I could keep him.”

“He /what?!/“
Dazai is /more/ than a little bitter, since all of his petitions for a pet where /sternly/ denied—even if Mori’s argument that Dazai didn’t even consistently look after himself was /pretty fair./

“Do you not like cats or something?”

“No, I—“ Dazai blinks, “I’ve never had one.”
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