College AU where Chuuya finds out that the boy he drunkenly made out with the night of orientation is his new roommate.

His arrogant, smug, very /straight/ roommate.

And the boys are each convinced the other is trying to ruin their life by making them go absolutely /insane./

Chuuya spent every day after graduation counting down the days to orientation on a sticky note pad in his room, watching the scribbled numbers go down into the single digits.

87 days until he gets to see his /new school./

49 days before he gets to hop on a plane to the other

side of the /country./

26 days, and then his life as a fully fledged little /adult/ gets to start.

His Dad, on the other hand?

Not quite as /thrilled./

"Tokyo..." Arthur Rimbaud frowns, his arms crossed over his chest as he glances around campus. "It's a /big/ place."

Chuuya shrugs, his duffle bag slung over his shoulder, "I mean--sure," he glances up at his father over his shoulder, pushing up his sunglasses, "but so was Paris."

"We lived there /together./" Rimbaud mutters, unable to shirk his growing sense that his son isn't taking this

quite as /seriously/ as he could be.

"And orientation is just /one night,/" Chuuya reminds his father, reaching over to squeeze his hand. "I don't actually start school for another /month./"

Small comforts.

"...And you'll be responsible?"

Chuuya nods, not verbalizing it.

Obviously, Rimbaud doesn't trust it. But what choice does he have?

Already on campus, there's a small, somewhat /banal/ argument. "I don't need a babysitter," Dazai /whines/, glaring over at his older brother.

Well. Half brother.

Odasaku shrugs, "Gotta earn my keep somehow."

Dazai shrugs, picking a piece of lint off of the edge of his cardigan, a picture of irritated boredom. "It's only forty five minutes away from home."

Odasaku snorts, slinging an arm around his baby brother's shoulders, "I know that, I rode with you." He nudges him along the

pathway towards the student union, where they're passing out assignments. "Look, I know you're pissed that Dad..." Odasaku trails off, trying to find a /delicate/ way to phrase it. ".../pushed/ for college--"

Pushed. Strong armed. Basically blackmailed.

"But you might /like/ it

here." Oda offers. "And if you don't, I dunno..." He ruffles Dazai's hair, snorting when his brother reaches up to swat his hands away and adjust it, his eyes flickering over to a pair of girls giggling from nearby. "You can always join me in the 'family disappointment' club?"

Dazai /loves/ the family disappointment club. There aren't any expectations there. You get a tiny apartment in the city, you get to work some crummy job--and you're /banished/ from most family gatherings.

Which, in Dazai's mind, is kind of /ideal./

"Can I drop out now?"

Oda snorts, rolling his eyes. "Yeah, sure. Go ahead." Dazai is sulking, perfectly aware that Oda isn't offering a genuine all clear. "Really, there /is/ an upside," Oda murmurs, looking up at the looming columns as they step inside. "You don't live with Dad anymore."

That's

/true./

“/And/,” Oda adds, nudging Dazai towards the sign in table, “you got to keep the credit cards.”

And /that/, if you ask Dazai, is exactly why Oda is such a good big brother.

He’s always helping him look on the bright side.

For Chuuya, orientation itself is a /breeze./

He’s always done well with social events. It doesn’t take him long to befriend two of the kids in his peer group—Shirase and Yuan—and they spend most of the practice lectures giggling on the back row, exchanging social media information, texting sarcastic commentary during the

Campus safety lecture.

And by the end of the day, Shirase is /bemoaning/ their fates. “I wish I’d known you before I signed up for random roommate assignment!” He groans. “It would have been /perfect./“

“I /know/,” Chuuya groans, rubbing his temples. “What if I got stuck with

some sort of creep?”

“Well,” Yuan sighs, fiddling with her hair as they walk towards one of the bars near campus, “I already /know/ my roommate and she /sucks./“

“I thought you said she was your cousin?”

“Yep. And she fucking /sucks./“ Yuan shakes her head. “I’d take a random

assignment /any day./“

“Right...” Chuuya trails off, not wanting to understand /that/ family dynamic. “And why are we here again?”

“Well,” Shirase blinks owlishly. “It’s probably my only chance to get wasted this summer. I’m helping my grandpa in his shop next month.”

Right. Wasted. Only chance for the summer.

Which is what /normal/ teenagers do. They get wasted when they get the chance.

Chuuya bites back the urge to slap his hands against his cheeks.

/Don't be such a little baby, it's totally normal./

"Okay--" his smile is /all/ bravado,

"First round is on me."

Dazai would say his Orientation experience was pretty successful. He didn't exactly make /friends/, but the instant the well off kids noticed the watch on his wrist, he was ingratiated into a little 'clique' of kids in Ralph Lauren and Saint Laurent.

And /within/ that group of kids, blessed be, was Sasaki Nobuko. Long, raven hair--mysterious green eyes, perfect skin...

/Almost/ the sort of girl Dazai might want to call back in the morning, even if he hasn't found someone /quite/ like that before.

The bar is kind of /dull/

though.

Sasaki holds her beer close to her chest, her cardigan hanging loosely off of her slim frame as she glances around at the crowded faces in the room. "I've never been to a place like this before," she admits, examining Dazai from the corner of her eye. "Have you?"

And Dazai looks /bored/, leaning against the bar in a far more relaxed pose, loosely holding his own bottle by the neck, twirling it around between his fingertips. "A few times," he admits. "Yokohama has plenty of them."

"I forgot, you /did/ say that you grew up nearby..."

She mutters, pushing her hair behind her ear.

There's something sly about her, Dazai decides. She's one of those girls who acts meek and shy, but she's really forming a plan in her head.

Maybe she thinks acting like this is going to make him like her /more./

It's manipulative.

Dazai doesn't necessarily care about that. It's not any different from how people in his life usually are.

Money makes a person strategic. You have a lot, you don't want to /lose/ a lot. You'd rather stay in this boring, eternal point of stasis.

It makes you observant. Coy.

And Dazai is fine with letting her think the soft, virginal act is making him open up. If it gets him a night with her, maybe two or three, he's happy to act like the sulking, emotionally distant boy that her father would disapprove of.

If he'd /known/ that was what she wanted,

he might've even put on a leather jacket and tried to play the part. Could've even put his piercings in, made her think about how her mother would've clutched her pearls.

He takes another swig of his beer. "Do you wanna dance?"

She does a marvelous job, looking surprised. "Oh,

well, I--"

"Sasaki-chan!" One of her friends, a blonde girl with pigtails, runs over to grab her arm. "We're going to the bathroom."

She blinks fervently, looking back and forth between her friend, and /Dazai,/ "But I--"

"/Now," her friend insists, tugging her off.

Dazai watches them go, swearing under his breath.

There goes his nightly distraction. Could he find someone else? Probably.

But it's going to take a /few/ more drinks before he gets there.

Chuuya is staring down the barrel of a shot of tequila.

He's never had a drink before.

Like, he's sipped at his Dad's wine, sure. Hey, when his sister took him to Disney world for his high school graduation, they shared some limoncello in Epcot.

But straight up /tequila/?

No.

You just knock it back though, right? Like in the movies?

"You good, man?" Shirase is

on his third shot already, clearly a little more experienced than he is--and Yuan already has mardigras beads, somehow--even though they're in /Japan/ and it's /July./

"Oh, uh...yeah," Chuuya blinks. "I've just never had it before."

"What," Shirase blinks, "tequila?"

"...Yes?"

"Oh," the ivory haired boy snorts, good natured, "here." He reaches over, grabbing one of the salt shakers off of the bar top, shaking some out on the back of his hand. "Lick it first."

Chuuya glances from Shirase's eyes, to his hand, his face heating up a little. "You want me

to /lick your hand?/"

"Well," Shirase blinks, blushing a little himself. "Probably should've used yours, but--I just washed mine, so it's not gross or anything--it helps with the burn." He offers it up. "You've probably only had beer before, right?"

"...Yeah." Chuuya agrees,

feeling /so/ lame, he doesn't want to /admit it./

He leans in, feeling /so fucking awkward/ as his tongue swipes out to lick at the salt there, wrinkling his nose at the taste.

But his heart /is/ beating kinda fast.

"You've gotta hurry, or it'll wear off--"

"Oh. /Right./"

Chuuya straightens up quickly, staring at the shot glass in his hand, quickly counting back from three in his head before knocking it back.

At first, it really isn't bad.

And then, his entire face is on /fire./

"/Jesus/--!"

Dazai kinda likes this song. It's that carefree,

acoustic kind of vibe you expect to see in a romantic comedy. He's pretty sure it actually /has/ bene in a few movies before. Elton John, right?

He's swaying to it, even as the room itself sways, barely paying attention to Ango, some dead eyed kid who is just counting down the

days until he gets to be an accountant.

The ladies love him, obviously.

And standing next to someone so utterly banal, that had been /strategic./ Dazai figured it would just drag any female attention from Ango, straight to him.

Turns out it was more of a repellant than

anything else.

So now he's /drunk/, Sasaki is /nowhere/ to be found, and tonight doesn't seem like it could get any--

Dazai's eyes widen just a little. "And then I told her she was being completely ridiculous, that I'd already filed a form TI96B with the bursar--Dazai, are you

listening?"

"Uh..."

Like his night could get any...

Dazai's eyes narrow slightly.

Across the room, there's this...this /person./

Wearing an old, oversized flannel, unbuttoned to reveal a dark tank top underneath, and ripped jeans. Red hair--/such nice hair/--pulled up into a

messy ponytail, pieces falling down and framing his face.

There's a spray of freckles across his nose, highlighted when he smiles, throwing his head back and /laughing/ like someone just said the funniest thing in the world.

Something about it makes Dazai feel like sulking.

Like. What's so funny? He brings his drink up to his lips again, his eyes narrowing slightly as he takes in the guy standing next to him, leaning back against a pool table.

Dazai is probably funnier.

/Everyone/ says so.

"Dazai?" Fingers snap in front of his face, but he

doesn't look away.

Suddenly, the stranger turns to look at him.

He has blue eyes.

Dazai's feel a little try under the harsh lighting, the music swelling slightly in the background.

It's good moment. Like the sort of moment where you just cross the room and kiss a stranger.

Well. Obviously he doesn't. Because he isn't a creep.

But he does set his drink down a little quickly, batting Ango's hand out of his face as he crosses the room.

Chuuya is being cool. He's totally cool. Not drunk. Not even tipsy. Just /cool./ He had a glass of water somewhere

between the shots. He thinks.

He definitely is /not/ concerned or even a little bit intimidated but he fact that the best looking guy in the bar is walking straight towards him.

Chuuya came out like...

Three months ago.

So.

Training wheels are still on, so to speak.

And there's this weird little dance you have to do in your head, when you aren't /used/ to trying to see if guys are looking at you that way. Chuuya tries looking away, only to let his eyes flicker back, to see if it was in his head, and--

He's standing /right there./

"Hi."

Chuuya’s mouth is suddenly dry, like someone stuffed it full of cotton balls.

Normally, he really isn’t /like/ this, it’s just...

Even in a slightly oversized hoodie and faded jeans, the boy in front of him...the way he’s smirking down at him curiously...

/God/, he’s /hot./

“Hi.” Chuuya finally answers lamely, tongue darting out to lick his lips, suddenly dry.

The boy asks something, but the music is so loud that, for a moment, it’s hard to hear.

“What?” Chuuya frowns, leaning his head back.

“I /said/—“ the brunette leans down, and their faces

are /close/, so close that Chuuya notices a tiny little scar under the right corner of his mouth, “What’s your name?”

Oh. Yeah. Names. He has one of those.

“Chuuya.” He responds, his voice a little smaller than he would like. “What about you?”

The other boy doesn’t lean back.

“It’s Dazai.” He glances over at the boy Chuuya was talking to before, who has quickly found himself in conversation with someone else. “It’s kinda loud in here. Wanna step outside for a minute?”

Chuuya doesn’t really /get/ what Dazai is going for, but he nods. He’s a little

overheated, and the room is kinda unsteady, the crowd pulsing behind his lids when he closes his eyes. “Yeah,” his voice crackles a little and he swallows hard, clearing his throat, “I mean—I guess I could...”

“...” Dazai smiles lopsidedly, taking him by the elbow, “Good.”

The air rushes at Chuuya’s face when they step out into the alley, cooling the sweat on the back of his neck, and he starts to feel a /little/ better.

Still woozy and /definitely/ not sober, but...

Not drunk.

He stumbles over his own boots, and Dazai catches him by the arm.

Dazai is actually, by all standards, even /more/ drunk than Chuuya is.

He’s just been sneaking into the liquor cabinet for years, so...

Learning how to walk while /hammered/ is actually a learned skill. “You from the city?”

“Huh? Uh—no. I—I’m moving here next month.” Chuuya

explains, pushing loose pieces of hair behind his ears, “I’m starting at Todai this semester. What about you?”

Dazai’s smile returns, but it doesn’t reach his eyes at all. “That so? Not just a pretty face, huh?”

Chuuya’s heart skips a beat.

He really isn’t /usually/ like this.

Really, normally he’s the rolling his eyes, scoffing, sneering ‘In your dreams’ type of guy.

But his head feels /fuzzy/ and Dazai’s eyes look kind of like liquid gold under the street lamps, and Chuuya’s cheeks are /warm./

“Wh—what about you?” He slurs. “You from here?”

Dazai shrugs, stepping closer to Chuuya as a couple of more kids stumble out of the bar, their laughter piercing the air as they hurry off towards the street, calling a taxi. “Nearby, sure.”

Dazai’s palm presses against the bricks next to Chuuya’s head.

He /is/ straight.

He kind of remembers it, faintly in the back of his head. Sasaki. The pretty girl from before. Who might be back in there, wondering where he went.

But the redhead staring back at him seems like a /better/ distraction, and Dazai doesn’t want to dedicate the emotional labor to

figuring out why.

“You have a boyfriend?”

The question startles Chuuya a little bit, and he arches and eyebrow, reaching up to rub at one of his cheeks irritably. “Would I have come out here with you if I did?”

Dazai shrugs, “You’d be surprised.”

“Well,” Chuuya blinks. “I

don’t. Why?”

Dazai makes this weird little face, somewhere between relief and resentment, though not necessarily directed at /him./ “Covering my bases.”

Before Chuuya can ask anything else, Dazai’s mouth is on his.

And then, Chuuya isn’t really thinking about anything at /all/

Chuuya isn’t a particularly easy going person. He’s high strung, never completely comfortable with himself. Always the new kid, never in one place for too long.

Not the sort of person to kiss a boy he met two minutes ago, drunk, in the alley behind a bar.

It sort of /is/ a

movie moment, with both of them holding onto eachother breathlessly. The first thing he tastes on Dazai’s mouth is whiskey, which doesn’t exactly blend well with the aftertaste of Chuuya’s own drink, but he doesn’t care.

His first thought, is that Dazai’s kisses are softer than

he would’ve expected.

Not that Chuuya is an /expert/ on kissing guys, but...the devil may care, effortless attitude kind of made it seem like he was the sort of guy to ram you up against the bricks, all teeth and tongue.

It isn’t like that.

Dazai’s mouth is slow, a little

uncoordinated from the alcohol, but he doesn’t /yank/ Chuuya into the kiss, he /eases/ him down, until his lips are parting, his eyes are rolling back into his head, and his hands are bunching in the back of Dazai’s sweatshirt.

He inhales sharply through his nose when their

tongues brush against each other, making a small noise of surprise in the back of his throat.

Dazai’s hand is on the side of his neck, thumb stroking over his throbbing pulse, while the other slips under his flannel, sliding against his tank top, pressing against his side.

One of Chuuya’s hands finds its way into Dazai’s hair, tangling there, pulling him closer.

It’s /good./

He lives nearby, right? That’s what he said? Chuuya’s thoughts are muddled as one of Dazai’s knees slips between his thighs.

/ I could ask...if he has a phone? /

Chuuya internally winces.

/ No, /dumbass/, you ask for his /phone number/, this is why you don’t have a— /

/Now/ there’s teeth, tugging at his bottom lip, and Chuuya /moans./

And then it’s all gone.

Chuuya opens his eyes sluggishly, breathing hard, half slumped against the

bricks.

Dazai isn’t looking at him. Actually, he’s suddenly standing two feet away, like they were just making /small talk/ or something, not kissing eachother breathlessly after barely saying /two words/ to one another.

“Dazai! We were looking for you.”

Chuuya’s stomach sinks

“Oh,” Dazai smiles a little too easily, turning away from him, “sorry, I was just asking for a light—“

/Oh./

He walks off to rejoin his friends, and Chuuya is caught somewhere between still feeling a little light and tingly, and also...

Like utter /shit./

What the /fuck?/

His hand covers his mouth, his throat tightening as the door slams shut.

/ You have a boyfriend? /

Why even /ask/ if he was some kind of /asshole/ like that?

“Chuuya?” He glances up at the sound of a familiar voice, blinking fast and wiping his face as he tries to get rid of

any sign of distress.

“Um—“ his voice is a little shaky before he clears his throat, “Yeah?”

Shirase walks over, dodging the puddles. “You okay? We were looking for you.”

“Yeah,” Chuuya smiles tightly. “I was...uh...smoke break.”

The other boy blinks, “You smoke?”

/Nope./

“...Come on,” Shirase reaches out, taking his hand. “We’re gonna close out—wanna go get something to eat? You look kinda...”

“I’m /fine/,” Chuuya frowns, wobbling on his feet as his friend pulls him along. “I—“ he hiccups, still fighting back a crushing sense of worthlessness,

“—could keep going—“

Shirase glances back at him with a lopsided smile, reaching over to ruffle his hair, “Yeah, but I’m starving. You want pancakes? I know a diner near by that stays open late.”

“...I like pancakes,” Chuuya admits, a little sulky.

“My treat?”

“Okay...”

Shirase regretted his offer a /little/ bit when he learned that Chuuya could put away three entire stacks of pancakes without batting an eye, but...

Worth it.

The redhead glances up between bites when he sees his friend giving him a strange look, wiping his mouth. “What?”

“...” Shirase shakes his head, laughing under his breath as he takes another bite of his eggs. “I’ll ask you when you’ve sobered up a little more, okay?”

“You could ask me now,” Chuuya takes a swig of his coffee, “and then ask me again later?”

“Why would I do that?”

“I’m

curious,” Chuuya shrugs, mostly better now, just tipsy and a /little/ hung over already. “And I don’t know if I’ll be up to it later.”

“Solid logic,” Shirase snorts. “But fine.”

Next, is possibly the biggest plot twist of Chuuya’s night.

“Wanna see a movie together sometime?”

The last month of summer break is slow, uneventful. Chuuya spends half of it stretched out on his bed, texting the boy he met, trying not to think about the /other one./

And the /other one/ spends it packing, but not for his /own/ move.

“What’s in Switzerland, exactly?”

His mother pauses, pushing her hat back on her head, considering it. “Well...a resort, Jean said it’s one of the best...” her hands pause, skating frenetically over the purses on her closet shelf. “Which Birkin should I take? The Evelyn is more practical, I suppose...”

Dazai isn’t sure that there’s any thirty thousand dollar handbag that you could call /practical./ “That one, I guess.”

He sits back on the bench at the foot of her bed, watching as she loads up yet /another/ trunk. “How long will you he gone?”

“Six months? But if he actually

proposes, I could be in London permenantly. He has two boys of his own, you know,” she glances up at him eagerly, “Doesn’t that sound nice, having brothers?”

“I already have two,” Dazai reminds her gently.

“...” her eyes dim for a moment before she looks back down. “Anyway, I’m

sorry I can't go with you next week, I know it's a big milestone."

Dazai shrugs, lukewarm on his upcoming move. "It's only forty five minutes away, it doesn't matter."

"Still..." She frowns, leaning back on her heels, scarves in hand. "You've always helped /me/ move."

Dazai

still remembers the day his mother moved out of his father's estate.

He really doesn't like to look back on it very often. The fact that he chooses /not/ to is the reason that they can still have afternoons like this.

"I'll be fine," he pulls one leg up against his chest. "It

won't last, anyway. I have every intention of dropping out after the first semester."

"And wasting all of that tuition money?" She glances over her shoulder, smiling at him impishly before she reaches over to pat his cheek. "/Good/ boy."

Dazai rolls his eyes. "That's petty."

She shrugs, turning around to force the trunk lid shut. "Better waste it on education than some slut he met in an airport lounge. What's the name of the one he has now?"

Dazai shifts, slightly uncomfortable with the shift in the conversation. "Stella."

"Italian?"

"Canadian."

"How old is she?" She asks flatly, hauling the drunk up on it's wheels, watching expectantly before he stands up, moving to help her roll it into the hallway.

"I don't think knowing that is going to make it--" her pointed glare is unrelenting, and he /sighs./ "...twenty three."

"...What a /pig/," she snarls, her face flushing for a moment as she shakes her head, her hands balling into fists. "That's almost /your age/--"

Odasaku's age, actually, but Dazai knows better than to say his name around her. "I thought your therapist told you fixating on him

was a bad idea," he murmurs, the muscles in his back straining as he carries the trunk down stairs.

"He did...he did..." his mother sighs, her anger draining at the reminder. "I forget myself sometimes, he just...lives under my skin."

"...Has the therapy been /helping?/" Dazai

asks softly setting the trunk down at the landing of the stairs, handing it off to the chauffeurs to carry out to the limousine waiting out front.

"Oh, I think so..." she muses, tapping one perfectly manicured finger against her lips. "With managing the anger, anyway. Why do you

ask?"

Dazai is a little startled that she would ask that, but...if there's anyone he /could/ ask-- "Well, I was just thinking..." he tugs at his sleeve, pulling it down over the bandages on his wrist. "If it worked for you, it might--"

"Oh, Osamu," she sighs tiredly, turning

around to face him. "I got court ordered therapy because I tried to run your father over with my car." She places both hands on his shoulders, "What exactly would /you/ go to therapy for?" She pokes his nose playfully. "You'd be better off going on a nice vacation. Oh!" She claps

her hands together, excited. "Why don't you come with us for a week? There's skiing, and hot springs--oh, you'll just /love/ it, it'll be /so/ much fun, we could bring Elise with us--"

"It /would/ be," Dazai smiles thinly, patting her arms. "But I've got packing to do myself."

"Right," his mother pouts, dropping her hands to prop them up on her hips. "That miserable old man, he should have just let you take that gap year, then we could have traveled /all over/," she spins around excitedly, bangles jingling on her arms as she gestures with her arms. "He

just likes to make it /hard/ for us to spend time together, because you've always loved me best--" she notices his pointed stare and sighs, shoulders slumping. "You're right, I hear it, /fixating/, fixating--" she grabs him by both sides of his head, hopping up to kiss his

forehead. "You've always been looking out for me," she sighs, thumbs stroking over his cheeks, "my /sweet/ little boy." She shakes her head, leaning back. "You'll call, won't you? I want to hear /all about/ your first day--/oh/, and I'll tell Jean you might join us for Christmas!

He'll be /so/ excited--"

Something tells Dazai he /wouldn't/ be, but he smiles, nodding. "Are you actually going to /answer/ when I do?"

"I /always/ answer!" She pouts, grabbing her purse as she hurries out the door. "I just forget to turn my ringer on, you know how it is!"

The door slams shut behind her, and Dazai is left to glance around the Tokyo townhouse, left empty in a flurry of activity.

He's pretty sure his father still /pays/ for the place, what with the alimony.

When his mother first moved out here from Yokohama, she made it seem like

it was going to be some grand adventure. Like they were going to take on the big city together, as soon as she got custody from his father.

She never did. She got /weekends./ Twice a month.

She also said he was going to have a /room/, that holidays wouldn't change.

That never exactly panned out either.

/ That just seems like a lot of trouble when your father's house is /right/ across the bay. Why don't you take the train, sleep there tonight, and come back in the morning?/

When he /does/ take the train back that evening, everyone else has

already gone to bed.

He doesn't mind.

He's used to an empty house, at this point.

Chuuya's last day before he leaves for school is spent...

Arguing.

With /love/, but definitely arguing.

"You're crazy! I'm /eighteen years old/!"

"It would just help with my peace of mind--"

"But a /tracking/ app?" Chuuya frowns, pointing angrily at the 'find my friends' label on his phone screen. "Dad, it's /creepy/!"

"It's not creepy! Tokyo is one of the largest cities in the world!" Rimbaud protests. "And the last time I left you alone there over night, you ended

up calling me at five in the morning, hung over in some strange den of pleasure--"

"Dad," Chuuya interrupts him flatly, crossing his arms over his chest. "It was a /diner./"

"Whatever. It doesn't excuse the underage drinking--"

"Did you make Ane-san get the app?"

"..." Rimbaud frowns, crossing his arms over his chest, "I don't see why that matters, your situations were different--"

"She's studying /abroad!/" Chuuya throws his arms up, exasperated, "In /New York City!/"

"Yes, but we have relatives there!" Rimbaud pleads, taking him by

the shoulders, "You're /barely/ eighteen--"

Chuuya scowls, "My birthday was in /April/--"

"--and, admittedly...I...sort of sheltered you," Rimbaud /finally/ admits it, and Chuuya throws his hands up in exclamation, "So I'm worried that you aren't /prepared/--"

"So your

solution to sheltering me too much when I was a kid is to shelter me /some more/?!" Chuuya frowns, throwing his hands up. "Dad, this is how people end up doing drugs."

"What?!"

"Yeah." Chuuya cocks his hip out, not dramatic /at all/, mind you, "They get sheltered too much by

their parents, and they go crazy the first chance they get. Is that what you want? I could end up smoking /heroin on the streets/, you know--"

Rimbaud face palms, exhausted. "The fact that you think people /smoke/ heroin is /exactly/ why I'm /concerned./"

"Wait." Chuuya pauses

his eyes widening sheepishly in mid rant. "...You don't smoke heroin?"

"...No," Rimbaud doesn't know whether or not he wants to laugh, or /cry./

"...Okay, maybe I was thinking of crack, or weed then, I don't know--" Chuuya continues, /very flustered/--

"There is a /big/

difference between those two things, Chuuya!" Rimbaud groans. "Honestly, I wouldn't care if you wanted to experiment a little with marijuana if you did it in a /safe environment/--"

Chuuya's eyes widen, "So I can?"

"/No!/" Rimbaud shakes his head quickly, "Absolutely not!"

Rimbaud rubs his temples, pacing back and forth in the middle of their kitchen as he struggles to gather his thoughts. "/Look/, I'm /sorry/, I--" he turns to face Chuuya, "I /know/ that I've projected my...fears, and anxieties on you, but..." He reaches over to stroke Chuuya's

hair. "I just /love you/, and if something were to happen to you, I..." Rimbaud shakes his head, pulling his son into a tight hug. "You're the entire world to me, /ma puce/..."

Chuuya sighs, hugging his father back. He's /overbearing/, but...when he glances to one of the picture

sitting on the mantle.

The family, sitting on the stoop of their old house in Paris. Kouyou, straddling the railing, beaming at the camera. His Dad, holding Chuuya in his lap as the four year old clutched his favorite stuffed lamb to his chest---

And his mom, sitting in the

middle of them all, laughing, smile lines around her eyes.

Chuyua still has the beaten up sneakers she's wearing in the photo--sitting in the back of his closet, carefully looked after. Even if no one has worn them in ten years.

He /gets/ why his Dad is like this.

"...I know," Chuuya mumbles, pressing his face into his Dad's shoulder, his feet dangling a little off the floor as the older man holds him close. "But nothing is going to /happen to me/, you know." He reminds him gently, reaching up to pat the top of his head. "It's just...

a new adventure."

Rimbaud smiles tiredly at the turn of phrase.

Something his wife used to tell the kids, every time they had to move again.

/ Don't cry, love--it's just a /new adventure/, that's all! /

"I suppose it is."

The next day, objectively, was /apocalyptic./

It started out nice. Like--/actually/ nice, Chuuya doesn't even mean that sarcastically. They flew into Narita airport, got a nice lunch, and there was even a fun little run through a home furnishing store to find some last minute things for Chuuya's dorm.

/Then/, they moved in.

And even /that/ wasn't so bad.

The place was already stocked with basic furniture--Chuuya just had to bring his /own stuff/, and between himself and his father, it wasn't a lot of work.

By the time afternoon was starting to roll around, Chuuya's side of the room was pretty much

/done/, with Rimbaud fiddling with the last few cables on his computer set up on his desk, while Chuuya stands on top of his bed, stretching up to hang band posters on the wall.

"You /did/ say you were going to have a roommate, didn't you?" Rimbaud frowns, eyeing the empty bed

on the other side of the room.

"Yeah," Chuuya turns his head, his t-shirt riding up on his hips a little as he strains, hopping at times to fasten the last pin. (His Dad offered to help with the higher up ones, but the redhead refused--on principle.) "But check in was hours ago,

and the RA said he never showed, so--"

But then, the door opens.

And Chuuya Nakahara's lifelong nightmare finally begins.

At first, Chuuya isn't upset by the person sees walking through the door.

Tall, kind of beefy, another redhead--and /yeah/, he looks kind of old to be

a first year in university but /hey/, Chuuya ins't /complaining/--

"Osamu," Odasaku grunts, muscles straining through his t-shirt as he carries /3 boxes/ at once, "I said I'd /help/, not do all the work."

Osamu?

"You aren't!" Dazai chirps from behind him, "I have a box too!"

Chuuya freezes, almost falling over when he jerks around, his feet sunken in the mattress, tangling in his bedspread, and then, just as he's /plummeting/ towards the floor, he sees /that/ face.

// "You wanna go outside? It's kinda loud in here." //

No. NonnonononononononoNO---

Luckily, somewhat /tragically/, his Dad springs into action, catching Chuuya in his arms princess style, which is even /more humiliating/ than falling on the floor and breaking his entire face. Honestly, Chuuya wishes he had cracked his skull open. Then they would be rushing him

to the hospital right now, and he would be sprawled in his Dad's arms like some /terrified baby deer/ looking at the boy who was a /complete/ ass to him in a bar one month ago, the one who stole his--

"Oh."

/That's/ all the stupid bastard has to say.

/Oh./

Dazai is standing in the doorway, one box clutched in his arms, trying to process the fact that, for what is quite possibly the first time in his life, one of the shitty, not-so-cool things he's done has actual /consequences./

Consequences with big blue eyes that are /glaring/

at him like he might as well be /Satan incarnate./

All it takes is for Odasaku to take /one look/ at Chuuya before he starts looking at /Dazai/ accusingly, silently asking him, 'What the /fuck/ did you do?'

And, well. That's a /great question./

"...Do you two know each other?"

Dazai /recognizes/ him. Just looking at him makes his stomach do tiny little backflips. "Uh--"

"Nope." Chuuya crosses his arms over his chest, kicking his feet a little to indicate he wants down. "Never seen him in my life." The minute his feet hit the floor, he brushes himself