au where college student chuuya works at a coffee shop and prodigy writer dazai happens to stop in for coffee...and promptly falls in love with the gorgeous barista.

resulting in him returning every day to jot down details about chuuya and work up the courage to talk to him.

As an established romcom writer, Dazai knows that love at first sight is a one in million chance.

Love at first sight is a fantasy, a mere romantic cliche that /only/ happens in fiction, and nowhere else. Love at first sight /simply/ does not happen in real life.

And yet—

The sudden heart palpitations at the sight of the most /beautiful/ man he's ever seen begs to differ.

Dazai Osamu does /not/ believe in love at first sight. He /doesn't./

And he repeats that same line as he walks up to the register, to the barista with the fiery red hair and

the prettiest face he's ever seen.

/Love at first sight does not exist./

"Hey, what can I get for you?" A smile like a sunbeam flashes in his direction and Dazai's heart clenches violently in his ribcage.

"Uhh..." He swallows, dragging his eyes from the countertop to his face

and /fuck./

He's got the bluest eyes Dazai's ever seen. Blue like oceans and sapphires and summery skies and bluebell flowers and Dazai wants to fucking /die./

There is /no/ way someone this beautiful exists. Zip. Zero. None.

He has to be /dreaming/ because this can't be real.

"I—uh..."

"Need more time?" The barista blinks, lashes fluttering against tiny freckles—god, even his /freckles/ are absurdly cute. "If so, can you step to the side and let someone—"

Dazai does the one thing he's good at. He shortcircuits and he /runs like hell./

"Gottagobye!"

"Wh—?!"

Dazai breaks into a sprint and runs out the door until he's a block away from the coffee shop and out of breath.

/Jesus/, people like that should /not/ exist. He's never going back. It's damn /awful/ for his heart.

----

Dazai quickly discovers that he is a /liar./

He sits at the cornermost table, notebook in hand and hood on as he stares at the pretty barista from afar, scribbling /everything/ he can see from his distant view.

If he's going to suffer, he might as well get something out of it.

/'Eyes like an endless summer sky...'/

He watches as the barista's hair, pulled into a low bun at the nape of his neck, slowly unravels and cascades down his back.

The color shines in the ambient lighting of the cafe, gleaming like a waterfall of fire, or perhaps a curtain of red silk—

"Hey, are you gonna order?"

Dazai /freezes/ as he comes face to face with /another/ barista, a silver haired boy, staring at him with open curiosity.

"You've been sitting here for a while," he comments. "We don't allow loiterers—"

Dazai opens his mouth to respond, before he realizes the redheaded barista

is /also/ staring at him, and well.

The flight or fight instinct kicks in, and Dazai once again, flees the scene.

"Sorryaboutthatbye!" he blurts and runs as fast as his legs can carry him.

Once he's /safely/ away at his apartment, he slumps onto his couch with a groan.

Another failed day at taking notes and working up the nerve to approach the barista.

He'll do it tomorrow.

----

He does not do it tomorrow. Nor the day after. Or the next week later.

Courage doesn't find its way into Dazai's heart, and /every damn time/, he finds himself

running as fast as he can, away from the cafe.

/Fuck/, he's such a loser.

"Just talk to a cute guy," Dazai grumbles, trudging to the cafe. "It's /not/ that hard."

He pushes the door open—

—and immediately comes face to face with the /bluest/ eyes, the vivid red hair and—fuck.

The hot barista is standing in front of him and—

A hand lurches out to grip him by the collar.

—and he's holding onto his shirt so tight that it might rip. Great.

"What is your /problem?!/" the barista—Dazai reads 'Chuuya' on the tag—hisses.

Fuck, even his /name/ is pretty.

"I-I don't know what you're talking—"

Chuuya shakes his shirt furiously, eyes boring holes into his head. "The hell you don't! Do you have a problem with me or something?!"

"No, I—"

"Because you keep staring at me and writing shit in your journal, then running /away/ whenever

I look at you! You're freaking out my coworkers and the customers!" Chuuya shakes him again and /oh/—

Their faces are /so/ close together and Dazai can't fucking /breathe./

"I-I—"

"You what?!"

"I think you're really pretty."

The grip on his shirt loosens. "What?"

"I think you're really pretty," Dazai repeats and he hates how his voice shakes. "And I can't stop thinking about you and writing about you and I keep trying to work up the courage to talk to you, but then you end up being /too/ pretty,

which freaks me out, so then I just start running, but I really think you're pretty and I'm kind of half in love with you—"

"Wait, wait, hold on." Chuuya stares at him, eyes blown wide. "You've been visiting every day because you think I'm /pretty/?"

"I—yeah. So I can write

things I really like about you—"

"Okay, I noticed—"

"And put them in my next book as the love interest because you sorta made me think love-at-first-sight exists—"

"Wait, /what?!"/

"And I'm /really/ sorry if you think it's creepy, so I'll just go—"

"WAIT—!"

Chuuya's grip on his shirt tightens and he drags him closer, eyes wide as saucers. "What's your name?"

Dazai blinks rapidly. "Huh?"

"I /said/, what's your name?" Amusement tinges his voice in spades. "If I'm gonna be your love interest, then I want to know your name."

/His love interest./

Dazai's heart almost bursts through his ribs.

/Love interest. His—/

Chuuya shakes him again, this time more playful. "Don't blank on me now. What's your name?"

"I-It's Dazai. Dazai Osamu," he manages shakily.

He's rewarded with a sunny smile and the

release of his shirt. "Name's Chuuya." He gestures to his nametag, a smirk playing on his lips (holy /crap/, were they always that plush and /pink/—), "Nakahara Chuuya. Nice to meet you."

Dazai bites his lip, mentally sounding out his name on his tongue.

/Chuuya...Chuuya Naka—/

/"Dazai./" Chuuya's grinning at him now, Cheshire Cat wide and brilliant like the afternoon sun. "Don't space out on me now."

"Right!" Dazai fiddles the hem of his shirt. "Nice to meet you too."

Really, really, /really/ nice to meet him—

"Come on, I'll make you a coffee."

Chuuya tilts his head in the direction of the counter. "And you can tell me about your book and this /love interest/ you're writing about, how's that?"

/Perfect, wonderful, amazing—/

"Fine," he chokes out and Chuuya laughs warmly (clear as a bell, melodic as his favorite song).

Chuuya's hand slides into his own before he can really /think/ about it, and tugs him into the cafe.

(And maybe, just /maybe/, as Chuuya giggles at one of Dazai's terrible jokes, love at first sight does exist after all.)

[ end ヽ(>∀<☆)ノ ]

prompt: "i noticed."

thankie @twotila kith u this was fun