Chuuya has never been particularly good at getting over things. He holds onto grievances, picks them apart in his head until he feels like he can move on.

But heartbreak isn't a grudge, and Chuuya doesn't know if he /wants/ to move on.

It's the worst Christmas /ever./
eyebrow, "You mean /indefinitely?/"

Fukuzawa shrugs, "I think it's necessary." There's a beat of disbelieving silence, and out of /nowhere/, he asks, "How would you describe your relationship with sex?"

Dazai almost recoils from that. "...What?"

"How often do you have sex?"
Dazai is bewildered by the question, "I don't know--not as much recently."

"And how much is that?"

"...Four times a week?" Dazai offers, "If I had to put an average on it."

"And before then?"

"I don't /know/," Dazai sighs heavily. "Probably closer to every day. But I'm an
eighteen year old guy, isn't that normal?"

"...It's above average." Fukuzawa shrugs, "Why the recent decrease?"

"I went from having multiple partners to just one," Dazai shrugs, "he stays busier in the early part of the week."

"So, you're in a relationship?"

"No," Dazai
shakes his head, quickly correcting him, "we're friends, we just...cross the line, sometimes."

"Four times a week," Fukuzawa picks up a /different/ notepad, /not/ for his grocery list. "For how long?"

"...A little over a month. Two, if you count the first time we messed around,
but we weren't exclusive then."

Fukuzawa nods, "So your partner--he's not sleeping with anyone else either?"

Dazai shrugs, rubbing his arm. "I told him he could, but he isn't right now, no."

"And why aren't you?"

"..." Dazai takes a deep breath, "My father told me that with
the extra attention the family is getting, I couldn't be as 'promiscuous' as I was before, so switching to just one partner made more sense."

"And why this particular partner?"

Dazai makes a face, his lower lip curling as he struggles to remain casual. "It was convenient."
Fukuzawa jots something down, "Convenient how?"

Dazai is actually starting to feel a little /flustered./ "He's a guy and he's clean, so I get to skip condoms--"

"Were condoms a huge hindrance for you before?"

"And we live together," Dazai adds, "So it's /easy./"

eyebrows shoot up. "...You mean the roommate who convinced you to come to therapy?"

"Yeah," Dazai admits, "we're close."

"Close friends who sleep together exclusively and look after one another's mental well being."

"Are you judging me right now?"

"I'm just /confused./"
"Close friends can't sleep together?" Dazai grumbles, "I don't get what's so confusing about it."

"Typically when two people who are emotionally intimate with one another have a sexually exclusive relationship, it's defined as dating."

Well, when he puts it in /clinical terms/,
it sounds like that, but Dazai knows what the /actual/ situation is. "Chuuya can date someone else any time he wants to."

"How would you feel if he did?"

Dazai's teeth gnash together instinctively as his stomach drops at the mere mention of it. "I never said I wouldn't care."
"Then why not make the relationship official?" Fukuzawa tilts his head to the side. "I'm assuming it would save quite a bit of distress."

"That's complicated." Dazai grumbles, and his therapist smiles faintly,

"It's a good thing you're paying me, then."

"..." He sighs. "One,"
he raises a finger, "I don't /want/ to be in a relationship. Two," he raises another finger, "my father has already expressed that I would be cut off from the family if I publicly dated a guy. And /three/," he holds up a third finger, "I don't want him involved in the complete
and utter mass of /fuck ups/ that comprise my family."

Fukuzawa jots something else down, and for a moment, he doesn't seem sure as to which part of that statement he wants to tackle /first./ "And how exactly would you describe your feelings about Chuuya?"

Dazai hesitates, and
the silver haired man spreads his hands, "Everything you say in here stays between the two of us--understand?"

"..." Dazai sighs heavily, feeling stupid admitting it now after downplaying it for the last five minutes. "I'm in love with him."

"And that's why you don't want to
get him involved with your family?"

Dazai shrugs, but the answer is right there.

"Has Chuuya met anyone from your family before?"

"Both of my brothers," Dazai admits, feeling somewhat tense. "He met my older brother twice, once when I was moving into my dorm, and once when I
was hospitalized for the flu last fall."

"And your other brother?"

Dazai shrugs, "He's seven, and I needed someone to watch him while I was taking an exam."

"Did they like him?"

Dazai thinks back on it, "Odasaku said he seemed like a decent guy--and Atsushi practically
worships him."

"So, you aren't concerned about bringing Chuuya into contact with that part of your family?"

Dazai shrugs, "Both of my brothers had different mothers--they weren't raised in the same house."

Fukuzawa nods, like that explanation doesn't bring up /more/ questions,
"And would you be comfortable with Chuuya meeting your grandfather?"

Dazai sighs heavily, his eyes twitching towards the clock, but now time seems to be passing so /slow./ "My grandfather wants to meet him, actually."

"So, you've told your grandfather about your relationship?"
"Sort of," Dazai shrugs, "we weren't on speaking terms at the time, so I said no."

"But if one of them expressed interest once again, would you?"

"..." Dazai heaves out an even heavier sigh. "I guess I would."

"So, when you say you don't want Chuuya involved with your family,"
Fukuzawa flips back through his notes, "you don't actually mean your /entire/ family?"

"...I guess not." Dazai admits, swallowing hard.

"Would you be comfortable with him meeting your parents?"

"/No/," Dazai's response is emphatic, almost violent--and the therapist pauses.
"...Because you're ashamed of his gender?"

Dazai shakes his head quickly, "I already tried to come out to my Dad, I'm not ashamed of it." Not /anymore/, at least--not since he knew that his grandfather didn't mind it.

"You wouldn't even introduce him as a friend?"

Fukuzawa drums his pen against his thigh. "Why?"

Dazai blinks, baffled by that, "What do you mean, /why?/"

"Do you keep all of your friends from your parents?"


Dazai sees it now.

"Not usually."

"But Chuuya is different?"

"..." Dazai leans his head back against the
back of his chair. "It doesn't take much to get to him." He closes his eyes, wiping his hands down his face. "That probably sounds paranoid."

"It sounds protective." Fukuzawa shrugs. "That's why, isn't it?" Dazai stares at him, and the older man adds, "You don't want them to
make him feel the same emotions that you associate with them."

That seems to cut straight to the heart of it, reframing something Dazai had always felt, buried under layers of denial and /payoffs./

He's the /lucky one./

What does he have to complain about?

He's /fine./
It isn't depression, it's teenage melodrama.

He doesn't actually want to /die/, he wants /attention./

He isn't /lonely/, he just wants an /easy fuck/, and if he gets to spite someone in the process?

All the better.

Peeling back that scab means acknowledging the ugly,
festering wound underneath, and Dazai doesn't even want to admit that it /exists./

How could he, when he knows who /put it there?/

"Would you feel comfortable with letting Chuuya meet your mother?"

It hits him in the stomach like a knife, and Dazai doesn't want to /talk/ about
it anymore--so he just shakes his head.

"When you think about her, how do you feel?"

Dazai squeezes his eyes so tight, he can see the blood vessels inside his lids. Normally, he's better at keeping it together than this, but--

He's rarely in situations where he's actually
forced to be /open./ He doesn't know how to handle the fall out of feeling so /raw/ and /exposed./ His only defense mechanism--wearing a cheerful mask and turning everything into a /joke/--it doesn't work in /therapy./

"...Why did you help her pack that day, Dazai?"

"I already
told you," Dazai starts, "it was a habit."

"Did you ask her not to leave?" That hangs in the air for a moment before Dazai shakes his head again, and Fukuzawa repeats his question, this time so quietly that Dazai almost feels wounded by it.

"Why did you help her pack, Dazai?"
Dazai's throat feels constricted and sore, and his eyes are /hot/, but--

He doesn't cry. Not yet.

"I didn't want her to stay."

Admitting it out loud is so /hard/, like he's saying something /shameful/, something that a person isn't /supposed/ to say.

"Did she speak to you
about your father often?"

Dazai is quiet for so long, that the therapist starts to offer, "You don't have to answer anything if you don't want to--"

"Not until after she found out." Dazai mutters tonelessly, hugging his arms around himself tightly.

"Do you remind her of him?"
"He's my father," Dazai shrugs, feeling unsteady. "There's a resemblance."

"Did she say that you looked alike?"

"..." Dazai shakes his head. "Personality."

"Similar senses of humor, or...?"

Dazai feels a little sick. "Similar vices."


"It sounds bad, when you hear
it, but she didn't mean it that way--" Dazai starts, and Fukuzawa nods calmly.

"I'm sure she didn't. What did she say?"

"..." Dazai pinches the bridge of his nose. "Just--to always be up front with girls about expectations."

"What sort of expectations?"

"...That...I wouldn't
be able to keep it in my pants." That's a PG version of it, anyway. Dazai doesn't want to repeat the actual wording.

"How old were you, the first time she said that to you?"

"...Eleven, I guess. Somewhere around there." Dazai pauses when he sees the look on Fukuzawa's face.
"She's always liked vodka," Dazai tacks on, like that somehow justifies it. "She isn't always like that."

"Did she drink a lot, in front of you?"

Dazai makes a face, and he doesn't answer at all, so Fukuzawa shifts to a different pace.

"How old were you, when you started being
sexually active?"

Dazai squints, struggling to remember. "I think I was fourteen, but it was close to my birthday, so I'm not sure."

"Turning fourteen, or turning fifteen?"

"Fourteen." Dazai shrugs, "Is that not normal?"

Fukuzawa shrugs, "How old was your partner?"

Dazai shrugs, "She had just finished high school."

Fukuzawa's pen stops. "So, she was eighteen?"

Dazai blinks owlishly, for once genuinely baffled as to why that would be strange. If anything, the other boys in his class acted like he was a /god/ when he told them. "Nineteen."
"And you were fourteen, possibly thirteen?"

"/Probably/ fourteen," Dazai cuts him off, shaking his head, "and don't make it sound like /that./"

"Like what?"

"I had a /very/ nice time," Dazai shrugs, "she was gorgeous and /very/ instructive, there's no 'trauma' there."

you have sex with a thirteen year old girl?"

Dazai recoils, insulted and disgusted by the very /concept./ "No, /fuck/, obviously not--"

"You're turning nineteen this year, aren't you?"

"I'm a /guy/," Dazai snaps, "she didn't hold me down and 'take my virtue,' if anything /I/
was the one who started hitting on her first, and /I/ initiated the encounter."

"How so?"

"I kissed her." Dazai shrugs, like that's all that needs to be said.

"Did you initiate the sexual contact?"

"Well, no--but I definitely /enthusiastically/ consented when she did."
Fukuzawa drums his fingers against his thigh. "13 might be the age of consent in Japan, but within psychiatric circles and the international community it's generally viewed as still being within the tender years."


"Would you have sex with a 13 year old boy?"

"But you just said it was different because /you/ were a guy." Fukuzawa shrugs. "Is it different?"

"Yes," Dazai shrugs, "it's /different./"


"Because I've always been the dominant sexual partner," Dazai's voice is terse. "Even then."

"So, you think you were in control?"
"I /was/," Dazai feels so /tired/ at this point, he doesn't understand how people do this /every fucking week./

"So, you dominated her?" Fukuzawa raises an eyebrow. "You took an active role in the sexual encounter?"

"...Well no, obviously I couldn't, it was my first time."
Dazai explains tightly. "But she gave me options, and I told her what I wanted." He shrugs, "It was /nice/, and I don't have nightmares about it, if that's what you're asking."

"But since then, you've been the dominant one in your sexual relationships?"

"Almost always, yes."

Dazai shrugs, "Chuuya kind of switched things around a little bit. Not /really/, but he was on top of me, and..." Dazai shrugs. "It felt like he was in control. And I didn't /freak out/, before you try to say that I have some sort of deep set /issues/ with sex--"
"I never said that," Fukuzawa shrugs. "But lets say--Chuuya is thirteen," Dazai feels nausea creep up the back of his throat and he's already shaking his head, "and he's with someone your age, doing the exact same thing. Would that be okay?"

"/No/," Dazai feels sick at the
/thought./ "/No/, but that's not the same thing--"

"Because he would be on the receiving end of the sexual penetration? I'm assuming that's what you mean, isn't it?"

"It's not--" Dazai starts, fumbling for a justification, but for the first time--

He can't find one.

"Did you
tell any of the adults in your life about the incident after it happened?"

"...Not really, but my Dad knew." Dazai mutters, "He saw me sneaking her out of my room towards the end of a work function he was having at our house."

"What did he have to say about that?"

"That I was
too young to be having sex." Dazai shrugs. "And he was worried about whether or not I had used protection."

"Had you?"

Dazai nods, "He gave me that talk the first time he found out I was watching porn. And she had condoms in her purse, so..." he shrugs. "I was pissed."

"He basically ruined the girl's life." Dazai scowls at the memory. "He pulled some strings, got her kicked out of her university program--and he got her fired from her job, so I couldn't even see her again--"

"What was her job, exactly?"

"She was tutoring me for my entrance
exams, and a few other kids in my parent's social circles." Dazai shrugged, "I get punishing me, but she wasn't even his /kid/--"

"You didn't think he was trying to protect you?"

Dazai snorts, "/No/, he was definitely punishing me."

"Did he ever say that?"

"Well, /no/, but he
was /pissed/ at me, and /he/ was the one running around fucking every med student in the city without a condom, why the /fuck/ was it any of his business when I did it?"

Fukuzawa tilts his head to the side, "Do you think that he might have thought her age was inappropriate?"
"I don't know," Dazai hisses, and for once, he can't /hide/ his anger, it's right there on the surface, snarling on top of his skin. "She was old enough to be /his/ type, maybe it made him /uncomfortable./"

"So uncomfortable that he kept her away from other children?"

wasn't /why/, it wasn't /like that/--"

"How would calling /her/ university be punishing you, Dazai?"

His fingernails are digging into his leg, and he feels /so/ tightly wound. "I...don't know."

"Did your mother find out?"

Dazai's teeth grind together. "He told her, yeah."
Fukuzawa taps his pen against his notebook. "What was her reaction?"

"...She said /I/ ruined the girl's life," Dazai mutters, rolling his eyes, "when /Dad/ was the one who made it into a thing--"

"She didn't think you were too young?"

Dazai shakes his head "She never said so."
"What did she say, exactly?"

Dazai throws his hands up, struggling to remember, "She didn't believe me when I said it was my first time."

"Why not?"

"I was always getting confessed to in middle school, apparently she assumed when she saw me getting a letter from a girl when I
was leaving school one day, and she assumed I was sleeping with her." Dazai shrugs. "I was definitely thirteen then, so if /that/ wasn't a problem, I don't see how she would have cared about the other thing."

"Did you continue being sexually active immediately after?"

"As much
as I could," Dazai shrugs, "I liked it."

"Where the girls older?"

"Usually, but mostly sixteen or seventeen, and when I was in high school, it was mostly girls my own age." Dazai shrugs, "So clearly, if I /was/ traumatized, I got over it pretty fast."

Fukuzawa stares at him
silently. "Do you think your mother's language might have created a bias?"

"...How do you figure?" Dazai asks slowly.

"Your first experience with sex was witnessing your father's infidelity. And then she tells a pre-pubescent boy he's doomed to recreate that scenario."

wasn't what she said..." Dazai groans, "She just..."

"She just what?"

"She spent twelve years of her life married to a certifiably /shitty/ husband, and when she left she didn't even get custody." Dazai shrugs. "She was /pissed/, it wasn't about me. I understood that."
"How would you feel if she said something like that to your younger brother?" Fukuzawa needles just a /little/ more, and Dazai's eyebrow twitches. "Would that be understandable?"


"Why not? You have the same father, don't you?"

"Atsushi wouldn't ever be /like that./"
"But you would?"

"I mean, look how I turned--" Dazai stops in mid snap, his expression fading from annoyance, to shock. "...out."

Fukuzawa's eyes drift to the clock. "It looks like we've reached the end of our hour. Same time, next week?"

"...Yeah," Dazai agrees reluctantly.
When he steps out into the waiting room, Chuuya is currently deep in an issue of Cosmopolitan, and when he looks up, his face immediately falls with concern. "You okay?"

Dazai pulls his jacket on, grabbing Chuuya's hand as he practically tugs him out of there. "He was good."
Chuuya stumbles after him, a little surprised that Dazai is grabbing his hand in public but not at all /upset/ by it either, squeezing the brunette's fingers gently. "You're gonna go back?"

Dazai nods, but he doesn't add much more than that--and Chuuya decides not to push it.
"You hungry?"

"...Yeah," Dazai lets out a shaky breath, "Food sounds good."

It's quiet, for most of dinner--it's some ridiculously fancy Izakaya with dishes that Chuuya has only ever seen on TV, but /hey/, Dazai is paying--and he slowly starts to seem more like his normal self.
And by the end of the night, when they're back in their room, he /seems/ like he's over it--until Chuuya is walking back in from the bathroom after brushing his teeth and washing his face before bed, his hair pulled up in a messy ponytail.


He pauses a little at /that/
tone. It sounds /weird/ on Dazai.

Hesitant. Unsure.

"...Yeah?" Chuuya raises an eyebrow, dropping his toothbrush into his bathroom bag before walking towards his bed.

"Are you going to bed?"

Chuuya's eyes slowly slide from Dazai to his bed, and he nods "...That was the plan?"
Dazai is staring at him, and Chuuya is having a hard time tracking his expression, because it's pretty /unreadable./ "...Come here."

"I /just/ finished washing my face--"

"Chuuya." There's something /serious/ about his voice, enough for the redhead to walk over, however baffled
he may be, until he’s standing between Dazai’s knees where the other student is sitting on the edge of his own bed.


Dazai reaches up, pressing his palm against Chuuya’s face, stroking his thumb over his cheek. He doesn’t actually /say/ anything, but the look on his face
is so /tender/, even /Chuuya/ notices, but he also sees just how /unsure/ Dazai looks, like one wrong move and Chuuya might pull away.

He doesn’t know what he’s thinking. Really, Chuuya thinks he can guess better than most—but Dazai is hard to read when he /isn’t/ acting weird.
“Why did you want me to be your first?”

Chuuya stiffens, a little thrown off by the question, “I thought I already—“

“Could you just—“ Dazai’s palm slides around to cup the back of Chuuya’s head, fingers tangling in his hair. “Explain it to me again?”

“...” Chuuya doesn’t know
why, after everything they’ve done at this point, Dazai looking at him like /this/ makes his face heat up, but it does. “I knew I wouldn’t regret it.”


Chuuya swallows thickly, his throat suddenly dry, trying to find a way of saying it that doesn’t sound.../obvious./
“I...” Chuuya takes a deep breath, “I felt safe with you. And I knew you would take care of me.”

Dazai’s eyes widen a fraction, and he can’t explain why hearing that makes him feel /emotional./ “...You trust me?”

“Yeah,” Chuuya admits, a little hoarse.


“Well...” the
redhead reaches up, cupping Dazai’s face with both hands, leaning close to him. “You earned it.”

Dazai shakes his head, unable to get the words he said to Chuuya out of his mind—

// “Let me teach you a little /life lesson/—“ //

“I really, /really/ didn’t.”

And now, looking
back on it, those words feel more applicable to /Dazai/ than they ever did to Chuuya.

“Osamu,” Chuuy interrupts his train of thought, leaning up on his toes so he can press their foreheads together, “You /did./“

The night after Shirase...the way Dazai sat with him, even when
they weren’t on speaking terms, when Chuuya called him names, blamed him, /begged/ him to go away—

Dazai /stayed./

For someone who seemed allergic to intimacy at the time—Chuuya knows that wasn’t /easy./

And even now, it means the /world/ to him.

“And you haven’t changed
your mind?”

Chuuya shakes his head, leaning closer in Dazai’s arms, until their noses bump together, “I wouldn’t have wanted it to be anyone else.”

Dazai’s face tilts forward, and this kiss—it’s so slow, warm, /overwhelmingly/ soft, that Chuuya feels the still spaces between
his breaths more than he notices the act of breathing itself.

Because kissing Dazai, holding him, it feels even more natural than that.

“Thank you.” Dazai mumbles the words against his mouth, arms sliding down to hug Chuuya’s back, so tightly that the redhead rips forward,
Sinking onto the bed with him.

“For what?”

Dazai breaks the kiss, only to bury his face in Chuuya’s neck, pressing lazy kisses against his shoulder, in the gap of the neckline of his shirt. “For trusting me.”

Chuuya smiles a little, tilting his head to give him better access.
“Thanks for being there for me.”

Dazai isn’t sure if he’s ever effectively been there for /anyone/, but—

The tighter he hugs Chuuya against his chest, the more he knows he picked one hell of a time to /start./

“Sleep here?”

Chuuya is a little surprised that Dazai would /ask/,
but he’s definitely not going to /complain./ “Yeah,” he mumbles, cuddling closer when Dazai pulls them both the rest of the way onto the bed, the comforter over them. “Okay.”

It’s /good/ in Dazai’s arms like this. Warm, encompassing, /easy/—and the only thing Chuuya can bring
himself to be worried about is the fact that eventually he’ll have to get /up/ in the morning, and he doesn’t /want to./

It doesn’t take long for the redhead to fall asleep in his arms, a comforting weight against Dazai’s chest, their legs tangled together, and Dazai—
He hugs him /tight/, pressing his face into Chuuya’s hair.

// “It sounds protective.” //

// “Imagine Chuuya’s thirteen—“ //

No. No, no, /no./

Dazai doesn’t know how to explain just how /grateful/ he is that Chuuya came to /him./

Especially /now./

And he can’t help but
wonder, after all of that...

Would he be feeling like /this/ right now, if Chuuya had been his first?

Dazai buries his face even deeper into his hair, curling up around the redhead, listening to the sound of his breaths hitting the front of Dazai’s shirt.

And it feels /safe./
Chuuya doesn't wake up first in the morning--he never wakes up first.

Dazai dozes, staying in bed far later than he normally would on a Saturday morning, his cheek resting against Chuuya's hair, and he begins to notice sometihng.

You don't think about small changes, not when
they build up over time.

But now, watching the clock slowly slip towards noon, Dazai finds himself remembering the beginning of the semester, when Chuuya's alarm would wake him up at six a.m. when the redhead would wake up for a run.

And now, the difference feels /stark./
It could be the stress from school, but when Dazai considers just how pale Chuuya has gotten lately, it seems...


And now, when Dazai remembers the pills he's occasionally seen, two in the morning, two at night, he starts to wonder.

He had /assumed/ they were for something
normal, or at the very least not /serious/, like maybe something like anxiety, anemia, or severe allergies. People can have daily prescriptions for /plenty/ of reasons. Hell, if Chuuya didn't sleep so much, Dazai might have thought it was something for ADHD--plenty of University
students get prescriptions they don't necessarily /need/ in order to keep up with the stress of their course load.

But that can't be it.

Of course, sleeping a lot and being /pale/ aren't signs of imminent doom, Chuuya could just be /depressed/, in fact, that seems more likely.
But if that was the case, then...

Why would the person advocating for /Dazai/ to go to therapy not be seeking treatment himself? Because whatever /is/ making Chuuya act like this, it's slowly getting more pronounced over time.

So, whatever it is, whatever the treatment--it
isn't working.

But if it /was/ serious, would Chuuya have told him?

Dazai can understand keeping things private--but given the fact that they're /physically/ intimate, it's something he should /know/, but...

Chuuya stirs, tilting his head up, his nose nuzzling against the side
of Dazai's neck, and he makes this small, sleepy grunt that sends all of the brunette's thoughts away from pill bottles and sleeping schedules, and instead, he's just hugging Chuuya closer.

"What time is it...?" The redhead mumbles groggily, half muffled by Dazai's shirt.
"Half past noon." Dazai sighs, one open palm sliding up and down Chuuya's back.

"Crap..." The redhead grumbles, shifting in Dazai's hold, his arms winding around his friend's neck, "I really--" he lets out a yawn, "--wanted pancakes..."

Dazai's lips quirk into a small smile.
"Oh yeah?" Dazai stretches one arm over his head, reaching for his phone. "You can still get some."

"I don't's lunchtime already."

"So, just have breakfast food for lunch."

Chuuya seems a little /scandalized/ by the idea, and Dazai snorts.

"Get dressed, we'll go."
Chuuya smiles back at him, leaning in to press a small, chaste kiss against Dazai's lips. "You feeling better?"

Dazai hums in response, and that seems to be enough for the redhead, sliding out of bed, heading off to the bathroom to brush his teeth and wash up for the day.

lays in bed for a moment, and when the bathroom door shuts, Dazai's eyes slowly drift to the side, resting over his roommate's bedside table.

It would be easy to look inside, to see the name of the prescriptions, and that would be that.

Dazai looks away.

It would also be
crossing a line. And given the fact that Dazai can count on one hand the number of people he /actually/ respects, and Chuuya is one of them...

He lets it go.

For the time being, anyway.

They end up in a 24 hour pancake house, and Chuuya is struggling with the fact that his
eyes were /definitely/ bigger than his stomach, and he's struggling to polish off an /absurdly/ big stack of blueberry pancakes.

"Hey..." Dazai murmurs, setting down his fork, only remnants of his omelette left behind.


"Are you feeling okay?"

Chuuya's fork pauses
halfway to his mouth, and his hackles rise instinctively, even if he /knows/ Dazai can't possibly mean that the way Chuuya is /used/ to hearing it. "Yeah," he responds slowly, "Why?"

It's not like it's the first time Dazai has asked about his well being. But typically, it's
after they have sex, or at least relatively close to it--and Chuuya has never perceived that as Dazai being anything but a considerate partner.

But they haven't had sex in forty eight hours, and this feels out of /place./

"You've been sleeping a lot," Dazai shrugs. "I was just
wondering if something was going on."

Chuuya evaluates that statement, and he knows he /has/--part of it is just a natural side effect of increasing his meds, but it's gotten worse, even when he should have already adjusted.

"I'm fine," he shrugs, taking another bite. "Just
stressed. Workload with a couple of my classes has been a little more intense."

He's lying.

Dazai can tell, from the way his eyes are darting to the side. "...Okay." He shrugs, taking a sip of his coffee. "Anything I can do?"

Chuuya thinks about it. "Yeah, actually--I could
use a hand."

What he actually meant was a /literal/ hand, adjusting Dazai's fingers into several different poses, taking snapshots when they're back in their room. "What's this for, anyway?"

"I'm working on making them look a little less stiff..." Chuuya explains thoughtfully,
helping Dazai curl his fingers into a fist so he can snap another photo. "And yours are bigger than mine, so they're easier to work off of."

And maybe Chuuya uses Dazai for 'reference' in class a little more than the redhead would like to admit, but...

Hey, it's /art./
While Dazai doesn't ask him /again/, Chuuya quickly works to adjust.

He fights to stay up until at least eleven most nights--and he sets an alarm to wake himself up at eight, settling his phone just under his ear and setting it at top volume when he falls asleep.

And sure,
is /pretending/ to be normal going to make anything better?


Does it give Chuuya some semblance of control?


Even if it means he's dozing off during class, or that he has to sneak off to nap in a warm spot under a tree on campus during the afternoons.

It's /fine./
He even tells himself he's being /proactive/, when he mentions it to his doctor without being asked during one of their appointments a week later. "The fatigue is getting worse." Chuuya admits, swinging his feet as he sits back on the examination table.

Dr. Sakamoto glances up
from his chart, considering that. "How bad?"

"I'm up to twelve hours, scattered." Chuuya mutters, biting the inside of his cheek. "Sometimes more."

"Any noticeable palpitations?"

"...Sometimes," Chuuya admits, "but I'm pretty sure it's because I'm feeling freaked out."
"...Then lets get you on the treadmill," Sakamoto sighs, pushing off from the table. "We'll go ahead and get you hooked up in the lab."

It was one of the first tests they started running. Not before the EKGs--those came first--but he was thirteen the first time he was covered
in sensors and an oxygen mask, set up to run until he felt too tired to keep going.

When he was thirteen, he was one of the best track athletes in his district.

Even six months ago, he could've put down a mile in eight minutes or less, no problem.

Now, he barely puts in half
of that in ten minutes before he has to stop, sweat dripping down his forehead as he steps off, breathing hard, wiping his hands down his face.

"W--What the /fuck/?" he mutters, hands shaking as he starts to fumble with the mask, and his cardiologist places a hand on his arm.
"Nakahara-san, it's only going to get worse if you don't stay calm--"

"The--" Chuuya wipes his hands down his face, "the surgery, the ICD--that's only supposed to help--stop the attacks from killing me, right?"

His doctor takes a deep breath. "It would sent an electric shock to
your heart if it detected you falling into a dangerous rhythm, not different from a defibrillator."

Chuuya takes gulping breaths, leaning against the treadmill. "And--and that--" he's fighting back tears of frusration, "--what kind of life is that if I'm /constantly/ getting

"Chuuya, I--"

"It's /all the time/," Chuuya mutters, his voice breaking. "/How/ is it actually going to help? I don't die, but I'm just gonna get /zapped/ 40 times a day? It hurts, right?"

" isn't comfortable, no."

"How the /fuck/ am I supposed to be normal?!"
Chuuya snaps.

"...For quality of life," his doctor takes a deep breath, knowing what he's about to say is /not/ going to go over well. "We're probably looking at a pacemaker as well."

"Great." Chuuya mutters, ready to pull his hair out. "/Great./

"I know it sounds frightening,

"Three years ago, it was just the beta blockers. Then it was the anti-coagulants. That was when they said I was /nowhere/ near needing surgery," Chuuya mutters, his shoulders shaking. "Then, two months ago, it was /one/ surgery, and now-" he shakes his head, "it's two?!"
Dr. Sakamoto winces, and this isn't exactly easy to /watch./ Chuuya Nakahara is, by far, his youngest patient. Old enough to not be in pediatrics, but just barely.

And the younger the patient is...

The more difficult it is for them to handle their limitations.

"Chuuya, look,
I /understand/ why you've had...difficulties trusting your doctors in the past, and I'm /so/ sorry for what your family has been through." Sakamoto explains slowly, "But I can say with a reasonable amount of certainty--you would be able to live a very full life after surgery."
A /full/ life.

Chuuya doesn't even know what that /means./

He can't swim. Literally /ever./ It's an anomaly that they haven't learned the reason behind, but it's almost always an /automatic/ trigger for an attack with people like him.

He's had to tell every single teacher he's
had since he was thirteen that he might drop /dead/ in class at any moment.

He used to wake up to his father or sister checking on him during the night for /years/, just to make sure he was breathing.

Apparently, he can't even run anymore.

And that doesn't /sound/ like a big
deal, but it /feels/ like one.

It feels like the universe just sending one giant 'fuck you' to him, saying that /every single time/ Chuuya thinks he's taking a step forward, his own body is going to take one /giant/ leap back.

And there is /nothing/ he can do about it.

want me to trust you?" Chuuya mutters, finally managing to get the last of the sensors off with an irritated yank. "You tell me why the meds stopped working. And why it's getting worse."

"..." His doctor sighs heavily. "It could be a lot of things--"

"Best guess."
He leans back against the cabinets at the corner of the room, holding his clipboard to his chest. "...In most of your tests, the structure of your heart seems relatively normal--and other than the electrical issue, the muscles seem relatively healthy."

"In /most/ of the tests?"
"...Your circulation is down." Sakamoto explains slowly. "Part of that could be due to the high dosage of your medication. But to this extent..."

Chuuya swallows thickly, /terrified/ of his reluctance to /say it./ "/What?/"

"You could be in the early stages of heart failure."
Chuuya's knees practically buckle, and the doctor rushes forward to help him, but Chuuya swats him away, curling up on the floor. "I--/how?/"

His doctor kneels on the floor in front of him. "Your heart...has been through a /lot/ of strain in the last five years. It can cause the
chambers to stiffen and not fill properly, and that can slowly but surely lead to..."

Chuuya knows.

"But you're young, and if that /is/ the case, you're in the earliest possible stages--it isn't a death sentence."

It sure fucking /feels/ like one.

And there's this little
carrot being dangled over him, "Oh, if you just get the surgery--that'll fix /everything./"

But Chuuya has been disappointed time and /time/ again, and he's half convinced that the second he /does/ get the surgery, they'll say he needs a fucking /transplant/ next.

that's just his /fucking luck./

And that wouldn't even make the arrhythmia go away.

/Nothing/ can do that.

And even if the chances go down, there's always a tiny, /tiny/ risk that he'll fall asleep one day--and never wake up.

"Is there /anything/ else that I can do?"
His doctor almost seems reluctant to suggest it. "It's painful--and while it might help, it isn't a permanent solution--"

"What is it?"

Sakamoto grimaces. "Cardioversion." It doesn't /sound/ that bad. "It's a form of electroshock therapy."

"..." Chuuya grimaces. "But it would
give me time, right?"

He doesn't know why he feels so /fixated/ on making it through to the end of the semester. Maybe because that break would be long enough for him to recover without Dazai really /knowing/ about it--or because by then Yosano would be in the city, and /maybe/
she could help him with rehab and /not/ tell his family--

Well. No. She would /definitely/ tell his family.

But maybe /Yuan/ could help. Actually, the more Chuuya thinks about it, the more confident he feels that she /would/ and that /maybe/ he can retain some semblance of
privacy, /normalcy/--

And if his family never knows, /independence./

"Is it in patient or out patient?"

"You could go home the same day," Sakamoto sighs, "But I don't see the benefit in further delaying the inevitable--"

"I wanna do it." Chuuya cuts him off firmly. "TOday, if
you can."

"..." The doctor seems /incredibly/ reluctant, but he nods. "Alright." He takes a deep breath. "We can get it done in about an hour."

And he wasn't wrong.

It fucking /hurts./

Worse than just about any procedure Chuuya's had so far--and this time, he doesn't have his
Dad there to hold his hand, which he figured he had grown out of needing at this point, but--

It's /hard./

Hard enough that he can't really get up from the medical table for another ten minutes after, curled up on his side, hugging himself as he waits for the /radiating/ pain
in his chest to fade.

But, it /does/ do the trick, at least for the time being.

Chuuya's symptoms, while they don't go /away/--they're suddenly quite a bit less /severe./

Maybe it isn't long term, but Chuuya doesn't /need/ that, he just needs a /few more months./
Of course, that doesn't mean that the rest of his life suddenly becomes /simple./

It's anything /but./

They're eating lunch--they almost always end up eating in the student union together, even if they bluster about making other plans--and Dazai seems a little bit more /quiet/
"..." Chuuya pokes the tip of his french fry against Dazai's cheek before popping it in his mouth, "What's up?"

Dazai glances up with a slight start, "Huh?"

Chuuya stares him down for a moment before shrugging, "You look like you're thinking pretty hard about something."
"Yeah..." Dazai takes a deep breath. He's been debating--whether or not he /actually/ wants to tell Chuuya about it, but... "It's probably something you should know."

Chuuya nods, trying not to feel like /too/ much of a hypocrite. "Then tell me."

"...My dad is making me meet

Chuuya blinks, raising an eyebrow. "Because of the stuff with your grandfather?"

Dazai nods, feeling exhausted with the prospect. "Sort of."

"What do you mean, /'sort of'/?"

"...A girl." Dazai admits quietly, and Chuuya is confused--until he /isn't./

They both know, Dazai doesn't /technically/ owe Chuuya an explanation, but they both feel the /need/ for one.

"I just have to show up," Dazai explains softly. "But honestly, she doesn't seem like my type."

Chuuya glances down at his drink, pretending to be casual "She doesn't?"
Dazai snorts, shaking his head. "Her father owns a hotel chain, and as far as I understand, her interests aren't much more expansive than designer purses and vacations to Fiji."

"I don't know," Chuuya mutters, picking at the lid of his cup. "I thought every girl was your type."
"Fair," Dazai snorts, "but this isn't about sleeping with her, and if I was going to have someone for more than just a one night stand, they'd have to be pretty special."

It's right there, waiting for him to pick up on, but Chuuya doesn't hear it. "Meaning?"

Dazai shrugs.
"She's a brat," Dazai explains, "but she's not my kind of brat."

Chuuya is quiet for a couple of moments before bringing his drink up to his lips. "Your dad wants you to get married, then?"

"...Engaged, at least." Dazai shrugs. "I don't think he'll push for a wedding for
a couple of more years."

The very idea makes Chuuya's stomach twist painfully, and he hates, /hates/ the idea of it, but...

Who the hell even knows if /Chuuya/ is still going to be around in a couple of years?

Maybe it's for the best.

But Chuuya still feels...mind bendingly
/jealous/, but as far as he knows, he does a good job of not showing it.

At /first./

And of course it's ridiculous, because he /shouldn't/ be jealous, there's no /reason/ to be. Dazai already said it pretty bluntly: he can't be Chuuya's boyfriend.

He /isn't/ Chuuya's boyfriend
Which is exactly why he pretends to be unbothered, focused on sketching out a piece on his tablet when Dazai slips out of their room a couple of days later, his piercings removed, looking /remarkably/ put together, but for /someone else./

Not like that /matters./

So, naturally,
he lets him go without a word.

Very maturely. Because that's what Chuuya's doing. He's being /mature/ about this.

He isn't fixating on what Dazai might be doing. On whether or not the girl is pretty. On what he'll do if they /hit it off./

That would be /ridiculous./

nearly as ridiculous as what Chuuya ends up doing while Dazai is /gone/ but--that's not something the brunete discovers until he gets /back./

It was a long, boring, and /irritating/ event--one where they essentially spent most of the night griping at each other while eating
overpriced steaks. It's almost so familiar that Dazai thinks he really /could/ imagine himself married to her--but not in a /good way./

And while he's /never/ calling her again, the fact that he /showed up/ is enough to appease his father's concerns.

For now, at least.
He makes his way back to the room at around ten--not too late, only a little over three hours since he left--which is proof that the "date" didn't last very long.

When he steps inside, Chuuya is still where he left him, working at his desk, and things seem normal.

At /first./
Dazai loosens his tie, letting out a low yawn as he tosses his phone and wallet onto the bed, reaching up to ruffle his hair from where it was slicked back. "Did you already eat?"

"Yeah," Chuuya nods, pulling one leg up against his chest as he starts saving his work for the day.
That's when Dazai notices something a little different.

Chuuya isn't wearing pants.

Which is weird, because the redhead usually runs cold and is ready to bury himself in multiple layers to protect himself from the dorm's AC--but he isn't.

He's just wearing, from what Dazai can
tell, an oversized t-shirt, his hair falling down over his shoulders, combed out instead of pulled up and away.

"How was your date?"

"...Fine," Dazai shrugs,"but I don't really think you could call it a date." He shrugs out of his jacket, tossing it over the back of his chair.
"What would you all it then?" Chuuya shrugs, glancing over at Dazai over his shoulder, and his roommate throws his hands up.

"A glorified business meeting?" Dazai shrugs, "She asked me if I had a stock portfolio already."

Chuuya blinks, "Like investments and stuff?"

"Sort of."
Dazai rolls his eyes. "And I could already see myself divorcing her after wasting fifteen years of my life, so I won't be seeing her again."

Chuuya glances back at his tablet, even though the screen is already dark, "That's too bad."

(But with the way Chuuya /says it/, it
doesn't /sound/ like Chuuya thinks it's a bad thing, not at all.)

"I've been thinking," Chuuya continues, setting down his stylus, determined to press onward before losing his nerve.

"Yeah?" Dazai leans back against his bedpost, raising an eyebrow.

"It's been a long time since
I went on a date..." Chuuya spins around in his chair, letting his legs slide down.

Dazai almost blurts out an offer to take him on a date /himself/, but if they went out together, that would just be...hanging out, like they always do.

Chuuya isn't talking about /that./
But, of course, he isn't exactly eager to suggest Chuuya going out with anyone /else/ either--but he tries.

"Is there someone you wanna go out with?"

Chuuya shrugs, his toes digging into the carpet slightly as he turns. "I don't know, but if I did..." Dazai's eyes are hooked on
Chuuya's thighs, and he's /trying/ to stay focused, but it's hard--

And then Chuuya's fingers tug at the hem of his t-shirt, pulling it /up./ "Do you think he'd like something like this?"

The silence that follows is deafening, and Dazai is completely still, locked in place.
Chuuya tilts his head to the side, trying to evaluate Dazai's expression before his insecurities crop back up and eat away at his newfound forwardness. He sure does /look/ like he likes what he's seeing, his pupils dilated, his jaw slack.

The redhead shifts in the chair, his
thighs rubbing together slightly highlighting the black lace hugging around his hips. "Are they too much?" Chuuya shrugs, "I heard some guys are into it, but I don't know--"

"They aren't too much." Dazai repeats automatically, the words falling out of his mouth without him
expressly /meaning/ for them to.

"Yeah?" Chuuya raises an eyebrow, standing up, "I wasn't sure, since I've never really tried them before..." He turns his hip, lifting his shirt up so Dazai can see /exactly/ how they hug his ass, "You think the fit is right?"

"I..." Dazai
sounds half strangled, and he has to clear his throat, because it's suddenly /dry./ "Yeah. I think so."

Chuuya nods, dipping his fingers under the waistline before snapping it back against his hip. "I thought it would be weird, but they actually feel pretty nice." He steps
closer to Dazai raising an eyebrow. "I might get some more."

Dazai's head is practically spinning at this point, and Chuuya is close enough, so his hands slip down to the redhead's hips, slipping around to cup his ass, squeezing as Chuuya's hands fly up to rest against his chest
so he doesn't stumble forward, and Dazai--

His brain is running too fast and too slow at the same time.

The biggest frustration is that he's going to have to keep Chuuya /quiet/, given that the hall is relatively busy on a Saturday night.

But they can't go anywhere /else/,
because Dazai is /already/ hard--noticeably so. And while their friends on the hall might have /some/ idea that something is going on, Dazai dragging Chuuya off to the elevators with a raging hard on would be the equivalent of screaming it from the rooftops.

"If you wanted my
attention," Dazai's voice is low, low enough that it makes Chuuya shiver before he even finishes /talking/, "you already had it."

Chuuya's arms slide up from his chest, wrapping around his neck. "Now it sounds like you /do/ think they're too much."

Dazai's eyes narrow slightly.
It took his brain a second to catch up after having /that/ dropped on him out of nowhere, but--

Chuuya is definitely doing this on purpose.

Successfully, because Dazai feels like he's on the fucking brink, but--

His hands slide up Chuuya's back, up to his arms, before catching
his wrists in an iron grip, and the next words out of his mouth hit Chuuya like a delightful, if unexpected consequence. "Do you still remember that safeword?"

Chuuya doesn't even /try/ to pull out a Beyonce joke /this/ time, and he's a little breathless when he responds. "Red?"
Dazai nods, taking a deep breath and counting to three in his head, trying to make sure he's still capable of /logical thought/, reaching behind him to lock the door. "Do you have to be anywhere tomorrow?"

Chuuya raises an eyebrow and shakes his head, and Dazai's hands come back
down to his hips, wrapping around, lifting the redhead /up/ as he backs him towards the bed.

And it's a /good thing/ he doesn't, because after this, well...

Dazai is pretty sure he won't be feeling up to it.

Chuuya's shoulders hit the mattress first, and Dazai is already over
him, his hands on either side of Chuuya's head, and--

Chuuya is starting to feel like he miscalculated a little bit.

He's always been aware of the fact that Dazai is good looking. It never slipped his notice. /But.../

Chuuya isn't used to seeing him like /this./

When he and
Dazai are together, it's typically a little /different./

He has his ear piercings in, his hair is in his face--and he can typically be found wearing torn jeans and an old t-shirt. And that's /hot/, obviously Chuuya is into it, but...

Right now he's wearing a white button up,
slacks, with his tie slightly loosened and his hair pushed back.

It's still Dazai, but there's something so /different/ about it, like this is the Dazai he doesn't get to /see/, because the /other/ side of his life--well, it's very /separate./

His breath catches when Dazai's
hand drifts down from next to his head, the heel of his palm grinding over Chuuya's hardening cock through the thin lace barrier of the underwear. "You could have given me a little /warning/, you know."

Chuuya can't blink up at him innocently and pretend this wasn't /planned/,
because it /definitely was/ and he /absolutely/ spent two of the hours that Dazai was gone skulking through the lingerie section in the mall like some sort of perv, but--

He really wasn't kidding before. Okay, yeah, he was being a /coy/ little shit, but...

They're /really/
comfortable, and the lace feels kinda /nice/ on his skin, not even in a /kinky/ way, but--

He's pretty sure he'd never be able to walk again if he wore them on a regular basis with Dazai around.

"W--why would you need a warning?" Chuuya pants, squirming as Dazai's fingers
stroke the outline of his erection, his thighs spreading wider as Dazai's other hand drifts down to his hip, his thumb stroking over the waist band, where skin gives way to black lace.

"I don't really /like/ making you be quiet..." Dazai sighs, almost forlorn. "I could've gotten
another hotel room." Chuuya smiles faintly, and before he can make some sort of joke about what Kunikida would do if Dazai broke the /bed/, but then Dazai adds, "Or I could have ordered something."

/That/ baffles Chuuya, his eyebrows shooting up, even as his hands fly up to grab
the front of Dazai's shirt, his hips rocking up into his hand. "B--buy /what?/"

"Oh..." Dazai muses, his thumb drifting down, rubbing Chuuya's entrance through the underwear, making the redhead shudder, "Something to keep you nice and /open/ for me."


Chuuya's lips are
suddenly dry, particularly when Dazai leans away from him, straightening up. "You mean toys?"

Dazai snorts, unbuttoning his sleeves, carefully rolling them up to the elbow as he stares down at him, "Something like that."

The brunette has always been deceptively
lean. His height and his narrow waist, compared to his broad shoulders, can often make him seem a little gangly--

But underneath bandages are planes of toned muscle, and Chuuya can actually /see/ the way Dazai's bicep flexes under his shirt when he reaches up to loosen his tie.
It comes off easily, and Dazai undoes his top two shirt buttons before he leans over Chuuya again, the tie still clenched in one hand as his fingers into the mattress. "You're already pretty worked up, aren't you?" He comments, his clothed erection pressing against Chuuya's,
the friction making the redhead bite his lip as they rub together, slow, /heavy./

"Did you play by your/self/ while I was gone, doll?" Dazai purrs, one particularly forceful roll of his hips leaving Chuuya open mouthed and panting.

"A--A /little./" Chuuya admits breathlessly.
Dazai nods, he could feel it, when he was probing earlier—and he’d be lying if he said it hadn’t /added/ to the excitement. “Waiting for me to get back?”

Chuuya nods, rocking his hips back up against Dazai’s, his legs hooking around the brunette’s hips.

Dazai buries his face in
Chuuya’s neck, searching out an old mark from a few days before, nipping and sucking until it’s already flushed and dark again, smiling softly with satisfaction when Chuuya arches into him. “How do you want it?”

The redhead is already half lidded. “H—huh?”

Dazai’s nose brushes
behind his ear, breathing him in, the smell of his shampoo. “It sure does seem like you had a /plan,/“ Chuuya can’t see Dazai’s smile, but he can /feel/ it, slow, just a little teasing, “I want to make sure it’s staying on the right track, /so/,” the next press of his hips has
Chuuya’s eyes rolling back into his head. “How do you want it?”

He bites his lip, crossing his ankles at the small of Dazai’s back, his hands clutching at the front of his shirt, and Chuuya—

He doesn’t see much of a point in playing /games./

So, even if his heart is pounding
and his face is heading up, he says it /anyway./ "H--/Hard./"

Dazai's smile widens as he leans back, "If that's what you want."

And oh god, it /is/ what Chuuya wants, and /sure/--his motivations to get them here might have been something closer to petty, childish jealousy, but
since they're both painfully hard and Dazai is practically tripping over himself to fuck him, Chuuya would say he's successfully ensured that the resident genius /won't pick up on that./

"Lift your head up for me."

/That/ is the first hint to Chuuya that he's in for /more/ than
what he planned for, but he does, leaning up on his elbows hesitantly.

Dazai lifts up his tie, still in his right hand, and he tilts his head to the side. "Do you trust me?"

Chuuya can't really fathom what he's getting at, not yet, but he nods.

What does that have to do with
Dazai's tie?

The brunette reaches forward, cupping the back of Chuuya's skull as he carefully wraps the tie around his head, gently knotting it at the back, careful not to catch any of Chuuya's hair or tie it too tight, but Chuuya can't see a /thing/, and he's effectively

Dazai eases him back down against the sheets, and with Chuuya's eyes obstructed, he's free to stare as much as he wants--and he /does./

"You know..." Dazai muses, still standing at the edge of the bed, not climbing in yet as his hands push up under the hem of
Chuuya's shirt, pushing it up over his ribs. "You can just /have/ some of my shirts, if you like wearing them that much."

He takes no /small/ amount of enjoyment in watching Chuuya's cheek darken under the silk tie, his teeth tugging at his bottom lip.

"They're /comfortable./"
Chuuya mumbles, his breath hitching when Dazai pushes the shirt up over his chest, his thumb brushing over one nipple--so /lightly/ but still enough to make him jump slightly.

"Comfortable?" Dazai smiles a little. "Pretty much everything you own is /comfortable./"

true. Given the fact that Chuuya's father had pretty much insisted that anything tighter than a pair of boot cut jeans was just 'a little too much, don't you think?' Generally, his clothes are on the softer, looser side.

Obviously he's developed more of a personal sense of style
since he came to school--mostly with tighter pants--but when you spend half of your life on the verge of falling asleep, well--

It's not abnormal to always dress like you're prepared to take a nap.

"Yours--" Chuuya's thighs squirm around Dazai's hips when his thumb presses down
on his nipple again, flattening it, rubbing slow circles as Dazai eases the shirt up, further up, until Chuuya is lifting his arms so Dazai can ease it the rest of the way off, "--are softer." Chuuya admits. "Do you--not want me to borrow them anymore?"

Dazai stares down at him,
taking in the sight of him, stretched out, arms over his head, eyes covered, black lace hugging his hips, and--

He shakes his head. "No," He murmurs, leaning down to press kisses and bites over his neck, his collarbones, taking turns with each nipple until Chuuya is clinging to
his hair, arching up into him. "I don't mind."

He /likes/ it.

For the first time in Dazai's life, he finds himself actually fantasizing about things that /definitely/ couldn't happen. Like Chuuya, a couple of years older, curled up with a cup of coffee at a kitchen table,
wearing one of Dazai's shirts.

But that--Dazai can't imagine that being /feasible./

Besides, he's fairly sure he's never seen Chuuya drink coffee, ever, and--that fantasy implies a /future./

They don't have one.

Chuuya doesn't know /why/ Dazai gets so quiet for a minute, but
it's /hard/ when he can't see his expression, or what he's /doing/--but when he finally /does/ open his mouth to ask what's going on, he's flipped over against the mattress, pressed down on his stomach.

Dazai stares at the lines of Chuuya's back appreciatively, unbuttoning his
shirt the rest of the way, and then when he reaches for his belt--

Something else occurs to him.

Chuuya shivers when he hears the sound of Dazai's belt unbuckling, starting to push himself up onto his hands and knees--until one hand comes to rest between his shoulder blades,
pushing Chuuya back down. "Keep your hands over your head for me." He murmurs, pulling the belt through the loops of his slacks, curling it up in his hand.

Chuuya obeys, still trusting, even if he has /no idea/ what Dazai is going for with this, and when Dazai feels the redhead
go completely limp under his hand, relaxed, waiting for what he'll do next, he raises his hand back up.

Chuuya doesn't know what to think when he feels Dazai leaning over his back, not grinding up against him, but reaching for his wrists--and then he feels something firm, like
leather, pressing around them, pulling tight--until he realizes he can't really do much more than wiggle his fingers. It isn't /too/ tight, he isn't about to lose circulation or anything--but it's /different./

Dazai leans back to examine his handiwork, the way the belt
essentially works as well as a pair of handcuffs, when used properly.

And god, the sight is almost /too/ much, and with the way Chuuya is already squirming a little against the sheets, his hands tugging just a little bit--

Dazai knows he doesn't have it in him to draw this out.
His hands wrap around Chuuya's hips, fingers long enough that his thumbs almost meet as he rocks his hips forward, grinding his erection against the redhead's ass, drawing out a soft moan--one that Dazai quietly shushes, one hand going up to rub over the small of Chuuya's back.
"You don't want someone to come check on us, do you?" Dazai purrs, and Chuuya whips his head back and forth vehemently, because of /course/ he doesn't, but--

Dazai's hands drift down to the lace hem of Chuuya's underwear, teasing it gently, but not pulling it down. "How many did
you use?"

Chuuya licks his lips, struggling to process what Dazai is asking him, turning his head so his cheek is resting against the mattress. "H-huh?"

Dazai's fingers trace down the middle of Chuuya's ass, brushing over his entrance through the lace. "How many fingers?"
Chuuya's eyelashes flutter agains the tie as he tries to remember, his hips rocking back into Dazai's hand. "Th--three."

Dazai nods, nod surprised by that, reaching over to his bedside table, pulling out a bottle of lube. "Did you cum?"

Chuuya shakes his head, and Dazai's
lips curl up into a wolfish grin. "Because you didn't have time, or...?"

Chuuya swallows thickly, spreading his legs a little bit wider under Dazai's gaze. "It's better when you do it."

Dazai pauses for a moment, his jaw slack, because he can tell, that was an honest, offhanded
comment. He isn't actually doing this on /purpose./

But Dazai still feels like he's about to go /insane./

"I'm /flattered/," the way he says it makes him sound /sly/, when he's actually /reeling./ "Now," He sinks down to ihs knees, spreading Chuuya's thighs wider, "do your best
to keep quiet for me, okay?" He murmurs, his fingers finally sinking /underneath/ the hem of the underwear, tugging them to the side, and when Chuuya feels Dazai's breath /there/, he's already starting to protest--

"If you do /that/, I'm gonna scream--"

Dazai shrugs it off,
spreading Chuuya open for him, "You can bite a pillow, can't you?"

Chuuya scrambles to grab one, but it isn't /easy/, with his hands tied, and he /barely/ has time to yank it up to his face before Dazai runs the flat of his tongue over him, and Chuuya's muffled wail is /music to
his ears/, even if it is /bordering/ on too loud. "I'll buy a gag for next time," Dazai offers before flicking his tongue over Chuuya's entrance again, earning a broken moan. "How does that sound?"

Chuuya's eyes widen under the blindfold.

A /gag?/

He literally /does/ have to
bite down on the pillow when Dazai starts sucking at his rim, and /since/ their first time doing this, Dazai has learned that the best way to drive Chuuya /insane/ is to slip the tip of his tongue inside and just /drag/ the ball of his piercing against Chuuya's rim.

/How/ they
haven't gotten any noise complaints yet is a /miracle/, and Dazai is pretty sure it's because the noises Chuuya makes when Dazai does /this/ are so indistinguishable from that of a girl, the other guys on their floor just assume Dazai has brought /another/ woman home with him.
Chuuya feels like his brain is slowly /melting/, and every time he tries to press his thighs together, Dazai just pushes them back open, making him shudder and /whine/, rocking blindly back into Dazai's tongue.

The first time they did this, Chuuya was two orgasms in and /way/
too far gone to even /think/ about being embarrassed--and he sort of assumed it was just part of Dazai pulling out all of the stops for Chuuya's first time.


It's not like Dazai does this /every time/ they have sex, but...

His love of eating girls out /definitely/
translated over with men--and if he isn't sucking Chuuya off--

(Which he does almost /every/ time during foreplay, and /god/,he's gotten /so/ good at it--)

--he's fucking Chuuya with his tongue until he /cries./

And as a result, while Chuuya isn't even /embarrassed/ about it
anymore, he's also learned a /very/ important thing about Dazai, as a lover--

He treats his own pleasure as a somewhat /secondary/ part of the experience--and the more stimulation and attention he can lavish on Chuuya?

The happier Dazai is.

Chuuya isn't sure how he's supposed
to adjust to being with anyone else /after/ this--because Dazai has set the bar /ridiculously/ high.

Hence why he's currently trembling and moaning nonsensically into a pillow, the belt digging into his wrists, not painfully, but enough to really and truly make Chuuya feel

Finally, when Dazai's had his fill he leans back, lavishing a few more open mouthed kisses against his ass before straightening up, and Chuuya wasn't /kidding/, when he said he'd used three fingers before--because Dazai's own slides in with little resistance.
The first time they slept together, Dazai was /overly/ cautious with prep--partially because Chuuya had an international flight the next day, and because Dazai knows he's above average in size, and he didn't know how much Chuuya could take.

However, that was two months ago, and
since then, they've done this enough times for Dazai to be able to gauge it /pretty well./

He's already pumping two fingers in and out, scissoring them near Chuuya's rim before plunging them back inside, curling them /in/ before dragging them out again and repeating the process.
Chuuya is ready for it, he can feel that much from how much give he's getting each time he presses his fingers back in against the redhead's inner walls--it might be a /bit/ of a stretch but--

It definitely won't /hurt/ him, and Dazai wants Chuuya to /really/ feel it this time.
His fingers slip out, and the biggest disadvantage of the blindfold is that Chuuya can't just turn his head back to /see/ what Dazai is doing--he just /hears/ the rustle of fabric, feel the emptiness his fingers leave behind.

And maybe Dazai is feeling just a little /spiteful/
after having Chuuya in lingerie sprung on him in a moment when he can't even /really/ take the time to enjoy it properly, so he decides to take a gamble.

A calculated risk, if you will.

And he drops a gauntlet of his own.

"You're prettier, you know."

Chuuya blinks underneath
the blindfold, lifting his chin up to ask what he /means/, but then Dazai slams in, and it's so /sudden/, because Chuuya didn't even see or feel him /lining himself up/, that the redhead lets out a half moan, half /scream/, loud enough that Dazai has to reach forward and push his
face down into the mattress to keep him quiet--and it only takes two thrusts before he's completely bottomed out, his hips flush with Chuuya's ass.

"You're prettier than her." Dazai explains raggedly, and Chuuya internally /curses/ because clearly, his jealousy didn't fly
under the radar, and...

The broken cry he lets out in response, the way he tightens up around Dazai when he /says/ that--

It doesn't go unnoticed either.

Dazai rubs his thumb over his rim appreciatively, watching the way Chuuya's body stretches to accommodate him, flushed and
pliant. "She wouldn't look this perfect spread out on my cock, either," Dazai can always say the /filthiest/ shit and make it sound casual, /classy/ even, in a way that makes Chuuya /shake./ "But I'm not sure if anyone could..." He pulls out halfway before slamming back in,
making Chuuya bury his face in the pillow with a /yelp./

"You alright?" It /sounds/ like he's being considerate, and sure, he /is/, but there's this smugness about it, because he /knows/ Chuuya is /fine/, he just gets this sick sense of satisfaction out of hearing Chuuya whimper


And from there, Dazai sets out a /punishing/ pace, hands digging bruises into Chuuya's hips as he slams in, /so/ deep, but not /too/ fast. It's a rhythm that has Chuuya /squirming/ around his cock each time he slides back in, and the /perfect/ angle for Dazai
to lean back and admire the sight of his cock sliding in and out, and even better yet, of the way the lace underwear bunches up from where it's pushed to the side, how the black contrasts against Chuuya's skin, the way his back /arches/ as he tries to fuck himself back against
Dazai’s cock.

“Dazai...” Chuuya pants, tugging at his wrists instinctively, wanting to reach back and pull him /in/, but he’s /stuck./ “F-/faster/—“

“I don’t know...” Dazai pants, his fingers tightening around Chuuya’s hips. “Think you can keep quiet?”

“Uh—Uh-huh—“ Chuuya
hiccups, /more/ than aware of the fact that he can’t, but he /doesn’t care/, not right now, and he’s never been known to think things through when he has Dazai inside of him.

Normally, Dazai /can/ think for both of them, and that’s a failsafe.

But when Chuuya decided to put on
lacy panties and wait for Dazai to get home so he could spring it on him, he took that failsafe and set it on /fire./

So, Dazai /does/ start slamming into him faster, with so much force that the bed starts banging against the wall, even though they aren’t even completely /in/ it
Chuuya is just bent over the /side/ of it, and his responding moans, even when Dazai presses his face into the mattress, are increasing in volume, his voice breaking every time the head of Dazai’s cock drags over his prostate as he slides out, only to /slam/ back in.
Chuuya can’t handle much more.

When he can’t see, all he can do is focus on how /good/ Dazai feels; stretching inside of him, hitting the /perfect/ angle because god, he knows how to wreck him, and all Chuuya has to do is /take/ it.

His cock is throbbing, straining against its
lacy confines, getting more and more friction as Dazai’s thrusts make Chuuya’s hips slide against the mattress, and he can /feel/ himself building up, and he doesn’t even /care/ if it’s too soon, he knows Dazai can fuck him through another one—

/Knock, knock!/

They both freeze.
Dazai doesn’t stop, not at first—but his thrusts slow down /considerably/ as he presses a hand down on Chuuya’s back to keep his face pressed into the pillows, turning his face towards the door. “What is it?”

How he manages to sound relatively normal, Chuuya will /never know./
“What the hell are you two doing in there?” Kunikida snaps from the other side, pounding out another knock “If I have to write you both up /again/ for fighting on university owned property—“

Dazai leans down, whispering next to Chuuya’s ear “Sit pretty for a second, sweetheart.”
Chuuya doesn’t know /exactly/ what he means by that, but he lets out a weak little gasp when Dazai pulls out, pulling the blankets over him before standing back and yanking his pants back up, walking towards the door, opening it just a crack.

“Is that what you think a fight
Sounds like, Kunikida-senpai?” Dazai smirks, leaning against the doorframe, “I didn’t know you were that kinky.”

The blonde’s face heats up as he looks his resident up and down, and Dazai...

Doesn’t look like he was in a /fight./

His pants are riding low, his dress shirt is
unbuttoned, his hair is tousled, his face is a little flushed, and...


Kunikida's glasses fog up as he leans away sharply, his jaw slack, "Well--I--is Chuuya--?"

Dazai rolls his eyes, tilting his head to the side with a cheshire grin. "Look, I know I'm known for being
a bit /insatiable/," he practically /purrs/ that word as he leans forward again, making the blonde stumble back, because he's /definitely/ cowed by that /not so subtle bulge/ in Dazai's slacks, "But do you really think I would do this while Chuuya was /home?/"

It's not a direct
denial, but it's definitely enough to make Kunikida rethink /all/ of his life choices. "I--well--"

"/Look/," Dazai shrugs, glancing back over his shoulder, and Kunikida sees a pair of wrists poking out from under the covers, tied with a /belt/, "I've always taken you for the
/gentlemanly/ type. Are you really gonna make me leave someone like that?" He shrugs, "Doesn't seem very chivalrous to me."

Kunikida feels like he's about to faint, because tying some poor girl up and fucking her so hard that the ENTIRE HALL hears it doesn't seem like /chivalry/
"Ah--" Kunikida clears his throat awkwardly, lifting his chin, "M--ma'am?" He sees the fingers twitch in response, and his face heats up even more, "Could you just...are you alright?"

He receives a shaky thumbs up, and he nods sharply.

Great. /Great./ He has another pervert in
the room with him. "Just...keep it down, alright?"

Dazai nods, leaning back from the door, "I'd give it an hour, unless you want to join in? I could ask if they're up for--"

The door slams in his face, and he smiles, turning around, locking it again. "/This/," Dazai sighs,
reaching over to the bluetooth speaker on his desk, scrolling through to find something loud enough to /help/ drown them out without killing the mood, "is why I would have wanted to go to a /hotel./"

Chuuya pokes his head out from under the comforter, looking around blindly.
"It's not like I knew you were gonna fuck my /brains out/, I--/ah!/" He cries out when Dazai's hand cracks across his ass, quickly muffled when a hand pushes his head back down again, tugging the blindfold a little tighter so he can't peek out again.

"/Didn't you/, though?"
Okay, maybe he kinda /did./

And so what? He definitely wasn't regretting his life choices /before/ Kunikida knocked.

"I'll..." Chuuya feels goosebumps raise all along his spine when Dazai pulls his hips back up, "I'll warn you n-next time."

Dazai's cock gives an involuntary
You can follow @cataclysmiceve1.
Tip: mention @twtextapp on a Twitter thread with the keyword “unroll” to get a link to it.

Latest Threads Unrolled: