Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“But in all circumstances of life.
In obscurity or temporary fame, cast in the irons of tyranny or for a time free to express himself.
The writer can win the heart of a living community that will justify him, on the one condition that he will accept the limits of his abilities.
The two crafts that will constitute the greatness of his craft; the service of truth and the service of liberty.”

Albert camus

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Chuuya Nakahara wouldn’t call himself a mad man, impulsive? Maybe. crazy? Not really.
Atleast that’s what he has been contemplating for the past few months….

He just wanted something new, a new opportunity? Yeah, sorta.
He just wanted more he didn’t know what he meant by that, but this wasn’t enough and if life wasn’t enough he will willingly die to get what he wants, freedom.
He just wanted to be out of here he felt trapped, again.
Chuuya and feeling caged don’t go well together
He knew he was a bit impulsive, but he wasn’t stupid by all means so he didn’t run away from home or anything crazy like that no, he worked and studied his ass off in France graduated with 18.5/20 which was exceptional and finally got his scholarship to Yokohama University.
And he was damn proud about it, he even took up part time jobs to be able to buy an apartment since the dorms were too expensive now, his brother insisted that he could pay for it all, but Chuuya didn’t take no for an answer and when asked why did he tire himself out that much when his brother was clearly well off (being one of the most famous painters in France came with it’s benefits) he couldn’t answer a direct answer.

Chuuya HATED feeling in debt, made him feel more confined, even more paranoid, always watched over he didn’t want any expectations or account, he liked going where he pleases. He thought he stopped feeling these feelings with his brother his family, only for him to realize their relationship once again fell and was now nothing but strangers living together, he hated it.
No no that’s not him, this isn’t happening…he’s not actually here and that’s not his brother.
He needs to remind himself that wasn’t actually HIM

He didn’t blame him he knew he was going through a lot with the divorce the thing is, it’s been two years ever since Arthur and him had their fight and Verlaine simply packed his bags and left. Nothing has been the same, he was blinded by ego and his stubborn personality which he later on regretted so.much he expected Arthur to run after him take him back, but maybe he got tired after eleven years.
Chuuya isn’t sure,
Arthur stopped talking to the both of them and Chuuya grieved, but no where as much as Paul.
Chuuya did lose one of the few most important figures in his life, it was hard for him to open himself up and when he did, they left.
His friends tried, a lot, but he ignored why? Because he wanted more.
He craved something that wasn’t real, he knew that.
Maybe Arthur and Paul had that but god it looked so painful…..
So when Arthur left he took a piece of Paul with him, his own soul.

Chuuya didn’t understand it, he clearly never loved as deeply as those two they were so disgustingly in love that the divorce was the last thing he expected but alas, he won’t judge Paul, he didn’t understand him or how heart broken he was. Chuuya wasn’t going to judge his new…..life style? but he was tired.

Paul had been drowning in alcohol and nicotine he was never this bad, he was always a well kept man who had perfect hair, ironed clothes and overall the cleanest person Chuuya met but now he rarely even gets up to take care of himself and when he does the ruckus that breaks due to it is unavoidable, shattered glass, raised voices and sometimes injuries.
Paul is drowning, no….Paul is burning out.
He’s destroying himself, and everything around him burns with him.

Grieving over people that aren’t dead will always be more heartbreaking and he knew Paul was still inside stubborn he knew he still waited because Arthur was still out there, Paul will never let go.

And Chuuya never gave up on him, hell it’s been three years and he was the one who held it all together even when he himself was falling apart and he’s just so tired.
He studied,
He tried being a good person to the people around him his friends his brother and he did a good job at that, but he never once felt genuine
He doesn’t like the way this is looking.
Every day he feels his morals getting tested, his patience thinning and his light fading.
Arthur always told him light doesn’t reflect, light will never be on you, but in you.
And he knew that light was gone, Chuuya noticed he was slowly becoming his brother, drowning in nicotine, feeling no remorse for his actions….cruel.
Paul always caught him smoking when he couldn’t sleep always looked from outside the balcony into the moonlight and chatted with Arthur, but he knew there won’t be answers to his questions.

So for once he’ll put himself first….okay he tried putting himself first

“I put some meals in the freezer for you to heat up whenever, though you’ll still need to eventually cook oh and I cleaned the entire house but still hire a maid sometime I don’t know if my visits can be frequent and all your art supplies are in your study”
Chuuya knew he stopped painting a while ago but just in case…..
Paul let out a long sigh he didn’t say it out loud but he was clearly relieved Chuuya was going, he knew he was harming him, he knew he hurt him. But he was too selfish to let go so he was relieved to see Chuuya go by himself…
That way he can’t be mad at himself for letting go, that way he can excuse Chuuya and say it was just his decision. And he’ll never be genuinely mad at Chuuya, so he was relieved that way he can just relax, destroy himself without the guilt. “Chuuya it’s fine I’m an adult and your older brother seriously you don’t need to be doing all of that”
Chuuya had a visible frown on his face and the crease between his eyebrows didn’t help in masking his concern
Paul sighed one last time and he pulled him in for a hug, the first one in years….
Chuuyas eyes widen and he felt his stomach churn…
“Go mon petit phénix, it’s fine really”
Chuuya could only nod and wave him bye with a small smile before finally entering the plane.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Light shone through the curtains covering half empty coffee mugs on the ground and paper scattered on the couch and even tho the curtain blinds were completely covering the window the fuckass light still somehow managed to burn his face off, but no amount of force will ever be able to make him move out of bed he felt tired….his head was heavy and his chest as always felt suffocated every muscle in his body was aching and his heart was beating so loudly he could hear it, he felt like shit and it wasn’t even a hangover it was normal for him to feel like this every morning. He was NOT gonna move any time soon.
And then suddenly…. the weight of the seven seas collapsed upon his chest he opened his eyes in pain and…..orange fur and blue flaming eyes met his.
“Meow”
“You’re cruel….”
Clearly that wasn’t the answer Hatrack wanted to hear because a second later she started scratching his chest and meowing uncontrollably
“Okay okay I’ll feed you”
And clearly the key words worked on that little fuck because it stopped meowing
“Greedy beast.”
Dazai scowled and got up from bed he was pretty sure he heard a bone crack….so much for enjoying his youthful body.
He looked at his phone and frowned upon seeing the time…eight am.
Seriously his shift at the bar starts at ten pm why the fuck was he up this early and before that question forms in his head the tiny beast meows again so he gets up and fills his bowl he warms up a bit when that little fuck starts eating like he’s been starving.
He had a smile that no one ever knew of, maybe a gift from god?

He will never realize how priceless that smile is though.

He then walked through his apartment it wasn’t big but wasn’t small either he liked it plus it was close to the bar and
It was comfortable well messy, but comfortable, sure it was boring as hell and no one visited in months, it wasn’t a big deal loneliness will always be his bestest friend, he gets it’s from his mom. he figured his insomniac self wasn’t gonna be able to sleep again so maybe he could read a book watch a movie do whatever in his free time maybe he can even clean around a bit! Delusion isn’t gonna help the house be more cleaner though.

Better yet why not annoy his coworkers he looked around and almost tripped over a pile of clothes he’ll wash them later and after a bit of rummage he found his phone and dialed Yosano and after three rings she picked up
He heard shuffling in the back and a sigh
“What the fuck do you want…..”
“Wake up yosano isn’t it such a lovely autumn day~”
He sang his words like some three year old discovering its voice
“I will gut you out if you don’t tell me why the hell you called me”
His voice turned serious if Yosano didn’t know better she’d think someone died
“Hatrack ate chocolates and I know it’s dangerous for dogs but that tiny beast is too vicious to be considered a cat so I was asking if it’s fine since he could be classified as a dog”
“What the fuck Dazai CATS SHOULDNT EAT CHOCOLATE HOW MUCH DID HE EAT IS HE OKAY?
He suddenly burst out into laughter
“That was today’s dream wasn’t it scary! I woke up from such a heinous nightmare!”
Dazai gasped
“I will strangle you the minute I see you tonight mark.my.words.
“BYE YOSANOOOOOOO~”

He put down his phone and decided he’ll read a book while enjoying his coffee that doesn’t seem so bad.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

After thirteen.fucking.hours Chuuya steps out of the plane and is met by the chilly breeze he immediately pulls out his phone eight am huh? Autumn in Yokohama wasn’t bad the sun still made its appearance but the breeze was still cold, it was a nice balance.
He called a taxi and…shit,the luggage wasn’t a one man job, after one of the most painful and excruciating five minutes of his life passed trying to get the luggage inside the trunk he plopped down on the seat and finally took a good look at the driver he was an old man with a toothless smile, cute.

He waved at him and for the rest of the ride he sat back and listened to the man brag about his family, he was adorable really.

“And little suki is such a sweat heart she got her mother’s eyes the most beautiful eyes she could ever have! I was so excited when I found out I’ll have a granddaughter and she’s really good in languages too she speaks English very well! What about you boy you look like a bright young man what brings you to Yokohama?”

“I want to study here the university is nice and I was born here actually it’s been a while since I came here, I travelled a lot though so just like little suki I know my way around languages”

Chuuya smiled at him.

“How wonderful! Well I’m sure you’ll do great and meet lots of wonderful people, I hope….”

The man looked a bit embarrassed.

what a lovely reputation this place must have for the man to be so skeptical about the people here….

Chuuyas thoughts were cut short because the man stopped and he looks out of the window and they arrived. The neighborhood had a bit of trash in the corners and the urban street view had ladders with metal railings dominating the foreground there are a few cars parked along the street, and on the other side the brick buildings surround the area it’s not a bad place, but isn’t the most luxurious either.

He still is a student after all there’s only much random part time jobs during the last three years can offer, still he was pretty proud of himself.
He worked hard for it all and was able to actually buy it not even rent it, so that’s a win what’s left is to unpack and look for a job so he can still live, something good for his schedule though the semester starts in a week and that’s good he still needs to walk around, get to know the city more. 

He unlocks the door and drops everything on the floor, shit was real heavy and even though he was pretty muscular since he did enjoy the burn that came from working out he was exhausted.
he took a good look inside and smiled when he saw a comfy looking couch that was a dark shade of brown, a small glass table right in front of it, orange curtains, a beige carpet and the living room was connected to the kitchen which consisted of a tiny stove, a fridge right next to it with beige tiles, wooden cabinets and in the center of it an island table.

He got his apartment done without needing to be there himself and he usually likes getting things done himself to be according to his tastes but the people he hired saw his vision pretty well…

Chuuya had a shit eating grin plastered in his face, his brother tells him he should control his expressions more, but that grin always seems to escape he started unpacking everything, decorated his bedroom by hanging some posters and lights and by the time he’s done he’s tired and hungry as fuck so he orders take out, inhales it in seconds and steps outside the tiny balcony.

He loved what he saw, the sun was setting since it did take him a while to unpack everything and clean, but it had a beautiful cast upon the buildings making them look gold, people were getting back from work so it seems, a few children were playing hide and seek he saw one that couldn’t control her giggling even tho she was hiding in the alleyway and immediately got caught.
He lit up a cigarette took a drag and smiled.
He really does hope it’s gonna be better here

He wants the smiles that escape his mouth to feel real.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dazai got dressed up, filled hatracks bowl, waved him goodbye and shut his apartment door he started walking it was a chilly night he had to take a jacket with him winter was approaching and honestly? He was relived he despised having to deal with sticky bandages, and he was forced to change them more frequently in summer and it was all just so tiring even lifting his hands took so much energy from him and he just wanted to float in Lukewarm water for the rest of eternity, he did like the ocean after all. He approached a familiar alleyway and entered a bar that had a sign of a man on the front holding a microphone with a monocule.

“Hey guysssssss~”

He took off his jacket and hung it at the entrance before making his way behind the bar and greeting everyone, suddenly he felt his body tense and the hair on his neck rise and once he heard familiar sounding heels approach him he knew he was done for…..

“You piece.of.fucking.shit.”

“Hi yosanoooooooo~”

He offered his most cheerful smile which seems to have only triggered her more next thing he sees is a shiny knife directed at him before someone pulls her from him, Yosano really values her sleep okay?

“Get off of me Atsushi I’m completely calm.”
Yosano said but her gaze was definitely a huge contrast…. A scary one….
“Please don’t skin him alive customers will come soon”
Atsushi looked as obviously distressed as always, poor guy hasn’t been here for more than four months and he’s probably already regretting his life choices.

“Oh come on yosanooooooo~ I just wanted to say good morning to my favorite assistant manager”
He pouted like a child
“Dazai kindly stop throwing fuel to the fire”
Atsushi shot back, he was starting to be more sassy towards him, how dare he!
“Atsuhiiiiiiiiii~”
Dazai hung over his shoulder
“How dare you betray me like that!”
“Dazai you seriously need to stop bothering people at the most ungodly ho-“

Before Atsushi could complete his sentence he was cut off by Dazai suddenly sounding a lot of serious than he usual is

“What’s that?”

He points to a flyer that said “vocalist and guitarist job available at bar lupin contact us to get more details”

“Oh boss thought it would be nice to have nightly performances gin knows how to play bass Tachihara is pretty good on drums and higuchi plays keys really well! Said she used to study piano professionally when she was young so it’s all pretty well we’re just looking for a guitarist and vocalist now!”

Dazai hummed and stared at the poster for a bit….weird.

Chapter Text

“We come to this world alone and we die alone.
Why, in life, should we be any less alone?”

-Diagnese

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Passing out is an understatement for the sleep Chuuya slept, he hasn’t slept like this in years.
He tried opening his eyes and once the light hit him he cringed a bit, he picked up his phone and…..it’s noon.
Great, most of the day was already gone now, but it wasn’t really a problem sure he had a lot of errands to run and shit to do, but he still has a week left before his classes start so he’s not gonna rush.

He walked to his kitchen made himself a cup of coffee layed down on his couch while scrolling through his phone he saw a text from Paul asking him how things are going he formed a quick reply and sent it, too tired to text more than that mentally and physically, he lit up a cigarette, took a drag and leaned his head back.

He entered the bathroom and….oh.
He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror….he looked so empty, lifeless he sure did feel like it. A walking corpse, and god he hated that everything made him burn out he despised it, because that wasn’t him he was never like that and he can’t escape his colorless eyes or burry his sour feelings, he took one last look to the person staring back at him and he doesn’t want to be him anymore he’s getting cold.
And losing all of his feelings started getting old.
And he knows if he just relies on someone to bring him back they’ll eventually snatch him back just like Paul and Arthur, he’s terrified.
He needs to start being him again, but god he’s so exhausted.
He sighed,quickly showered and got ready.
Chuuya took his keys, he just wore black jeans with a burgundy button up, his usual choker and right before going out he put on his hat and his coat, just in case.

As he walked to the garage he thought about everything and nothing. He knew this was an opportunity for the future, but really humanity wouldn’t be human if dwelling on the past wasn’t its favorite hobby.
He felt.so.alone.
He always did and always was.
He never had a home, a stable home. He never uttered the words “I want to get back home” after a tiring day out because he never genuinely had one, packing bags turned into a hobby for him by now and by the numbers of foster families he had partaken in he had atleast four families…
He had no family.
Attachment was his drug, his shameful mistress in the night.
He always got attached and the result always ended in him becoming completely detached, from the entire world,
god he was sick of it and Arthur leaving was his last and final straw, but he did say that the last couple of families were also his final straw, he knows he’ll eventually be himself again, he always comes back.
He knew that the more he drowns the more the light will seem brighter than ever and once he swims up to reach it he’ll only fall, again.
Sure it was exhausting, but he knew it wasn’t bad. This only makes every emotion more heightened more….deep? Rarely feeling makes the feelings more genuine, or atleast that’s what he thinks.
And he’s happy.
He doesn’t have a bad life and he isn’t even trying to be delusional by convincing himself he is happy, genuinely. He’s not the happiest, but he will NEVER allow himself to wallow in self pity and be the saddest.
Still Arthur and Paul were his last hope, his family
He’s stupid for ever thinking he’ll have that.
Was he made from a broken mold? Is that why not one family wanted to keep him? Or was love simply a promise meant to be broken?

Chuuya scoffed and snapped out of it, pathetic.
And he won’t allow himself to partake in this he still needs to start his life (what’s the point?)
Get a job (just to continue this cycle of misery?)
And just be a decent person (that’s not enough to make people stay.)

Those thoughts weren’t his own. He knows that.

He entered the garage and…..he was so dramatic, life is worth living, the sight in front of him can cure depression and fuel happiness
“MY BABY”
He jumped on his red motorcycle and maybe today wasn’t such a bad day, honestly he doesn’t have “bad” days the good is there he needs to admit that and he won’t allow himself to be blinded by misery so fuck all of this shit he’s gonna go on the best ride he had.

He heard the sweet sounds of the engine and once again Chuuyas shit eating grin makes an appearance, he drove off immediately.
He didn’t know the streets of Yokohama by heart but he didn’t really care he knew where the beach was that’s enough so he drove for what felt like hours, but still passed by in seconds.
The wind in his hair felt good the cold air that hit his face had a small tinge to it that made it better and he couldn’t see anyone or anything he was above it all, faster.
He loved it.
Today was more of a gloomy day the clouds were like a blanket to the sky and the breeze was colder, but he didn’t care he was out on the open road and he just needs to ride.
He can drive till he sees stars at night, he’s tired of feeling crazy and he’s gonna keep himself sane, by riding.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dazai didn’t sleep a single wink.
He finished his shift at three am walked back home, finished his book he even cleaned around a bit and suddenly it was ten am he plopped down on the couch and played with hatrack a bit
“Ow ow ow! No biting”
Clearly that little fuck didn’t take no for an answer he even started pulling at his bandages!
“I didn’t raise you like this! Stop being rude to your daddddddd”
Dazai whined and pouted suddenly a sound from his stomach interrupted their fight, oh… he hasnt eaten for a while now, he stood up and looked through his cabinets
“Ahhhhhh! Perfect”
He pulled out a can of crabs now was it the most nutritious? YES AND HE WILL DIE BY THAT LOGIC AND NO ONE WILL CHANGE HIS MIND.

He sat on the ground infront of the television got a fork and started eating he watched some cheesy romance film and once again felt incredibly bored, his body was yearning for sleep his mind though? was a BITCH he kept flipping through the channels and, oh.

“Regretfully for you, I’m not interested in virtue or saving anyone. I’m only interested in results.
And you are useless to m-“

He closed the television before he could hear more.
He hated seeing himself on screen he didn’t even consider that person him.
He had mixed feelings about acting, but now he just dreaded it.
He couldn’t look at himself not after everything, his last role destroyed him and his life and didn’t wanna take part in it anymore.
He doesn’t want to be him anymore,
He looks at every single tv screen and the screen knows what’s going to leave his lips and cross his mind.
I don’t wanna be you anymore.

He stood up abruptly and decided he needed to leave, fast.
He picked up his keys and immediately went out, he began running he needed to go, anywhere just not here.
After what felt like nothing and everything at the same time he found himself on the shore, he sat down on the cold sand.
He doesn’t know how long he stayed here, he couldn’t feel himself he was shivering, but he didn’t feel cold…..he couldn’t remember how he got here or what he did the previous day.
He didn’t feel anything.

He stood up and started walking towards the blue, it was beautiful. It didn’t look real, nothing did but the waves crashing was the only thing that he could hear.
He didn’t hear his thoughts, he couldn’t hear the voice behind him shouting.

Suddenly red contaminated his eyes, it was too bright too much he squeezed his eyes shut, but he wanted to see it again it was an addicting shade so he opened his eyes again and, oh.
There were more shades.
Land and ocean clashed together…brown and blue.
The waves that were forming in his eyes were the most intense he has ever seen, louder.
But obviously his vulgar voice was even louder because suddenly it all came crashing down he felt the hard grip that was on his shoulder and he comprehended what words that were coming out of his voice

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING?”

He finally calmed down and, oh~ he was a short one, a very loud one too

“Why did you interrupt meeeeeee”
He whined and that clearly wasn’t what the redhead expected because his eyes widened even more, god he could swallow him with those eyes, it was too much he just wanted that person to walk away shut his eyes too, maybe even cover his hair he was a walking red sign he was too much.
“What the fuck do you mean….?”
Dazai sighed internally, he didn’t want to talk today, but that person made it….easier?
“What beautiful vocab you have here~ so eloquent can’t you see chibi that I was clearly enjoying a beautiful suicide!”
The wind blew through his hair, fire crashed with the ocean behind him, it looked like velvet silk.
He never saw anyone like him and every micro expression on his face shone as more words came out of his mouth, he wanted to confuse him to earn more reactions than him, was he the type to get annoyed easily? Laugh easily? He wanted to test it all.

“Wha- oi what the fuck do you mean by that nickname!”
A crease between his eyebrows formed. Dazai wanted to smooth it out with his fingers which he now realize how cold they were, he’s probably even shivering and that stranger noticed, but still didn’t do anything about it.
“I believe it’s a pretty suitable name for your size Mmhm?”
The strangers grip on his shoulder was stronger now
“I should have let you drowned, so much for trying to be a good person”
The stranger let go and grumbled, but before he could go he threw his coat at him
“Go back to home you stupid mackerel and take good care of my coat.”
Dazai fought back a smile, mackerel? Really?
“And before you ask it’s because you look like one and you so clearly want to be in that water!”
The stranger shouted before walking off.

Mackerel….huh.
Dazai realized he’s been smiling the entire time when he began feeling his cheeks sting he put on the coat and, mhm…it had a nice smell to it.
Roasted almonds and oak wood with a hint of sweetness….vanilla? He thinks so.
It’s wasn’t a feminine scent but wasn’t masculine either, it was strong but not too much to the point he had to scrunch his nose from it.

Once he entered his apartment again he hung the coat and plopped on his bed, his thoughts were finally calm.
He closed his eyes and drifted off.

Chapter Text

To avoid criticism, say nothing. Do nothing. Be nothing.

                                             —Aristotle ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Days passed like minutes. Chuuya was done unpacking, and he settled in pretty well. He got groceries, bought a few house decors, blankets and pillows, some lights. He made it his home.

November in Yokohama was nice. It wasn’t too cold like France, and he enjoyed that. He almost forgot the incident with that stupid mackerel,

but when he did remember it, his blood boiled a bit. He seriously couldn’t stand people like him. It had been a while since he felt angry. But that wasn’t the point anymore. He woke up early today, and he felt good.

He had a shower, ate a big breakfast, and wore what he considered a neat outfit. The weather was cold and he wanted something nice but casual, so he went with a pair of fitted pants, an olive button-up shirt, and a leather jacket. It was warm, he liked it—and to top it all off, his favorite choker. Obviously, a day couldn’t pass by without his gloves, though.

He kinda regretted giving that stranger his coat since he liked it a lot, but the guy looked like he was about to die from hypothermia, so sacrifices must be made—

even though that pretentious prick didn’t deserve it. He took his keys and his backpack before shutting his door. He actually walked to campus. He did buy that apartment since it was close, and it was all going pretty well. He enjoyed looking at the orange and brown trees, and he laughed a bit when he saw a man clearly rushing to work trip and fall. He obviously helped—

Even while holding back a laugh.

He was met by a tall, huge building and all types of people. Some looked distressed, running around campus clearly confused, not knowing where their class starts. Some looked dead, probably not used to waking up early, and some looked excited. Chuuya didn’t know what category he fell into, but he did know where his class was, so he made his way. And while walking, he saw a group of people.

The one who most caught his attention was the blond one—he had sunglasses and… was piggyback riding on a man who had a scar on his eye and looked… calmly threatening? He ignored them and continued walking.

He reached the lecture room and sat down in the seat at the back. He didn’t want to deal with anyone today. His major is quantum physics, and his professor’s name was Kouyou Ozaki. He hoped she was good enough.

More people started coming in, and once he saw a familiar group enter through the doors, he knew this class was going to be a headache. One was wearing monochromatic clothes and pointed to the back. Oh shit. Chuuya knew where this was going when he saw them walk up to the back and sit down close to him. Suddenly, the blond one called

“Hey man, do you have a pen I can borrow?”

And before Chuuya could even form a reply, he suddenly plopped next to him, snatched his bag, and started rummaging through it. “YOOOO, TWO PENS EXACTLY—ONE FOR ME AND ONE FOR YOU, SICK!”

Suddenly, the pen was snatched from his grasp by a tall man who looked very unique. He was very ambiguous, wore a charming smile, and even Chuuya had to admit—he was really pretty. He then spoke up.

“I’m sorry for my idiot of a friend. His parents didn’t love him enough to teach him some manners.”

He held out the pen to Chuuya, and Chuuya couldn’t help it. He suddenly burst into laughter.

The entire group first looked confused before they started laughing too—except the one with the scar, though. He had a tiny smirk, and that was enough. “What’s your name?” The one in the monochrome clothes asked, and Chuuya happily replied “Chuuya Nakahara.”

“That’s a Japanese name. I didn’t expect it, you know—from all of... this.”

The man gestured with his hands to Chuuya. Chuuya didn’t know if that was a compliment or an insult, but he didn’t mind. He got a lot of comments about his looks—it wasn’t new.

“Nah, I was actually born here. I’m half French, though.”

Suddenly, the blond one jumped in front of the monochromatic one.

“SO YOU SPEAK TWO LANGUAGES?”

Chuuya chuckled. “Three actually. I’m fluent in French, English, and clearly Japanese.” And that only seemed to make Blondie more excited.

“AWESOME BRO, SO YOU’RE SMART AND HO—OW!”

One pulled him from his ear. He looked tired, had dark circles under his eyes, and was incredibly pale. It did suit him though—he still looked good. His haircut was what Chuuya assumed was a bowl cut, and he was wearing a white coat.

“Yeah, that’s enough for you, Albatross.”

And before Chuuya could drop his own comment, they were interrupted by their professor entering, so they immediately took their seats.

She was one of the most elegant people Chuuya had ever seen. She wore a floral kimono with wooden heels and wore her red hair up with a beautiful ornament. Her makeup wasn’t heavy, but it accentuated her features even more. She introduced herself, and her presence demanded respect—not a single person interrupted her or even moved. She explained her curriculum and her grading system. She even got into detail about her modules, and it was all very well organized. Simply put, she really knew how to explain well, and he respected that. She still had her ruthless grading reputation, though. People called her The Golden Demon, which was cool as hell. She decided that she wouldn’t give any important lessons today—just explain the basics so they could have a clean start.

After the lecture, the bell rang. He stood up and noticed the same group signaling for him to come, so he did just that. He found them amusing.

They were very chaotic, and Chuuya enjoyed being with people like that. Chaos is distracting—and that’s a very good thing to have in life. But before he could think more, his thoughts were cut short. Albatross excitedly asked: “You look like fun. Wanna hang out with us today in Piano Man’s garage?”

And for the first time, he saw the man with the scar talk. “How about an introduction first?”

The monochrome man spoke up this time. “My name is Piano Man.”

He gestured with his hand towards himself. He spoke with his hands a lot, Chuuya noticed, and he acknowledged that. Piano Man didn’t do it in a distracting or overwhelming way, but used it as a form of better understanding and communication. He liked his body language. It was clear. Piano Man then pointed to the blond one.

“The one that acts like he’s on crack is Albatross.” He then pointed to the ambiguous one.

“That’s Lippmann.” And before he could continue, the one with dark bags under his eyes interrupted him. “I’m Doc, and that’s Ice Man,”

he said calmly, with a smirk, while gesturing to the one who had a scar. The pretty one—Lippmann—started speaking.

“And what Albatross meant to say is, if you wanna hang out tonight, we’re gonna play card games ‘n shit and probably get high.”

Chuuya respected the honesty, and he was definitely down. So he smirked at them.

“I’ll get the drinks, then.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Not a single person wanted to join the bar’s band—and that’s honestly what he expected. They weren’t really the most well-known. But someone came, claimed they knew how to play guitar, and just tried stealing their drinks. It was sad, really. It’s only been a week, though, so he won’t judge immediately.

It was a slow day—barely anyone drinks at four PM, and if they do, then that’s a cry for help. So he just laid down on one of the booths, listened to some music, and decided to hum with it. Now, was he actually humming the music he was listening to? No. He was humming his suicide song to piss off anyone who came close to him—preferably Kunikida. But he seemed distracted. He was teaching Kenji how to properly use a beer dispenser. Kenji was a friend of Kyouka’s, and a while ago, she asked Fukuzawa if he could join because he needed the money the job offered. And Fukuzawa’s habit of taking strays once again outshone his logic—he immediately accepted him.

Dazai used to not really find appeal in listening to music. He didn’t exactly… care enough? But he still remembers Odasaku collecting vinyls and CDs, and he knows what bands and singers they were, so he listened. And by time, it just became a habit. A day couldn’t go by without him listening to music.

From the back, Tachihara, Gin, and Higuchi walked in front of him. Tachihara just waved at him, and they all sat down at the bar. They chatted together and looked like they were enjoying themselves. Now, would Dazai be Dazai if he didn’t interrupt? He stood up, made his way to them, and slyly pulled a chair and sat next to them.

The first thing he noticed was Tachihara’s new dyed hair. It looked good on him, kinda suited him—and it also reminded him of a certain someone. He still sometimes thinks it never happened, and that chibi (he never got his name) contaminated his dreams every. night. So honestly, he just got used to him being a figment of his imagination every night and stopped acknowledging he’s a real person.

He was doing fine without him… till he saw his face. And now he can’t even erase it.

He left a seed in Dazai’s mind and left it to grow without turning back. Dazai still has his coat—and he refuses to wash it. He likes how it smells. Too bad the chibi immediately ran away…

“Gotta say, Tachi, the color does suit you better. Adds… personality!”

And clearly, that was the first compliment toward his hair Tachihara heard, because he immediately lit up.

“Higuchi and Gin have been bullying me relentlessly over it! They called me Ed Sheeran. I told them they have no taste—clearly, Dazai, you understand.”

He said it as enthusiastically as always. Tachihara joined the bar a few months ago, and it was actually his idea for the band thing. He said he loved playing drums with his brother when he was young and wanted to keep remembering the joy it used to bring him—and spread that joy in his now favorite place.

And Fukuzawa obviously ate his speech up, and Gin was at the back cheering him on as always. Fukuzawa’s only condition was

if they worked in the band, then their income would never be stable, and the money part would lie only in the hands of the band itself. If they were of genuine use to the bar, then he could promise them a salary—but if they weren’t of help, he wouldn’t pay them.

Tachihara accepted it. Gin said she still wants to work as a bartender, and that’s how she took the morning shifts and at night did band work. Higuchi was just a regular at the bar. She was basically part of their staff at this point. She sometimes helped with handling heavy boxes of drinks, and sometimes cleaned with them. She was really strong.

Tachihara jokingly tells her to demand a paycheck, but she refused every time. She said she knows her way around handling shit because she basically raised her baby sister… Tachihara’s jaw may or may not have touched the ground once he found out she had a sister.

And that’s how Gin and Tachihara had their weekly visits to Higuchi’s house to play with her sister. They even hung up photos of the four of them in the back.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Chuuya felt like he was floating.

His soul had never felt free—until now at least. He thought he was done being in groups since the Sheep, but he was in love with this… the music, the games, the weed. He forgot how good feeling stoned felt. It broke down the pain. Home should feel like heaven… maybe this feeling was home. And he wasn’t home alone. Whenever he smoked, he felt like shit—he always did it by himself. Isn’t he always by himself? But now he just felt giddy as hell.

They were playing Uno, and he may or may not have run out of curse words in Japanese, so he just decided to curse them in French—which made Albatross pass out from laughter, then wake up immediately, suddenly fluent in French cursing.

How the fuck he was able to immediately pick it all up from Chuuya in that moment was one of the eighth world wonders. After screaming matches, Chuuya threatening to burn them all with his lighter, Ice Man suddenly throwing a chair at someone.          (Chuuya was too high to know who it was), and Lippmann’s hair still looking absolutely flawless after Albatross jumped on him— They all decided to just ditch Uno before someone ended up getting charged for homicide.

Chuuya leaned his head back against the couch. They were all talking about everything and nothing. Chuuya then spotted a guitar in the corner of the garage and immediately stood up, startling Piano Man and Lippmann since their limbs were all thrown over each other. If any sane person saw them, they’d either laugh from confusion or frown from confusion.

They looked like newborn kittens all huddled up around each other. Chuuya walked over to the guitar.

It was a Yamaha—sick. He had a Les Paul one back at home. He liked playing the guitar. He saved up when he was sixteen and bought it himself. He was even in a band as the lead vocalist but left immediately.
He took it as a distraction when Arthur left, but he hated the people in it.

“Is this guitar yours?” Chuuya asked Piano Man, who took three seconds to even comprehend what he was saying. They were too high.

“Uh yeah, yeah. I play lots of instruments. My favorite is obviously the piano—I have it in my bedroom. I rarely play the guitar so I just threw it in the garage.”

Chuuya sat down next to Ice Man and started playing. He remembered a few songs and just went with Hotel California—basic but still nice. After he finished, Albatross literally pounced on him.

“SMART, HOT AND TALENTED? HOW PERFECTER COULD YOU GET?”

‘Perfecter’ wasn’t a word, and weed wasn’t enough for him. He clearly took something else—probably coke. Ice Man manhandled him to the ground, which made him laugh even more. It was kinda scary.

“DIDN’T YOU MENTION YOU WANTED A JOB? I’M A REGULAR AT THIS COOL-ASS BAR AND THEY WANT A GUITARIST AND A VOCALIST. CAN YOU SING?”

Albatross said—no, shouted—from the ground. And Chuuya just nodded. He had a dumb smile on his face right now, but seriously, it was all so amusing. Spending time with them felt so natural. “GREAT, LET’S GO LATER.”

And they were all back to talking about unimportant shit. Chuuya talked about France for a while, even Ice Man was being more talkative, and Doc just whined about med school. Quantum physics wasn’t his major—same thing with Albatross. He took engineering. They just took up the class for entertainment. Weirdos.

No one partakes in quantum physics without wishing for death. They all just ate pizza, drank, and Lippmann even slept (his hair was still perfect even while sleeping—fuck).

After they all slept, Chuuya stood up and went outside for a smoke.

He had fun, he really did—just half an hour ago he was holding his stomach from laughter. He didn’t know why he was like this—why he couldn’t enjoy just one moment. He hated how pathetic he was.

He didn’t feel sad, but there wasn’t a moment that passed where he didn’t feel empty from it in the end.

He couldn’t sleep, so he obviously opted for smoking.

He leaned against the wall and lit up his cigarette, taking a drag. The night was cold. He didn’t mind the cold though. He heard the garage door open and looked next to him to see Piano Man smiling at him.

“Why aren’t you sleeping? It’s two a.m.” His voice was soft and he looked tired—not in a worn out, dead way. He just looked sleepy.

“I’m sorry. Did I wake you up?” Piano Man chuckled and stood beside him.

“Nah, I’m just a light sleeper. You’re good. Albatross wakes me up at least seven times with his sleepwalking, and Doc gets nightmares about his exams.”

“You guys aren’t real.”

Chuuya chuckled and took another drag from his cigarette.

“I really had fun.”

Chuuya stared at the cars passing by.

“You look like you’re about to drown right now though.”

“This feeling will pass… just like how that happiness passed.”

Chuuya smiled and flicked his cigarette. Honestly, he didn’t usually talk like this to anyone. The weed still had an obvious impact on him, and Piano Man was… a comfort to be around. He felt like it was fine to be a bit melancholic.

“Yeesh! Well, someone is self-aware. You know, if you keep thinking about everything like that, then you’ll never savor anything. Sometimes, choosing to be ignorant is the smartest choice a man can make.”

Piano Man took his cigarette and took a drag.

“And if you think being way too self-aware and criticizing yourself first will make you ready for people’s judgment, then you’re just wasting time—because you’re human, and nothing will ever prepare you for what this world brings you. And that includes people’s thoughts and actions towards you. But you can still be ignorant about it all.”

He was closer now—right next to him. But he never once looked him in the face. He was just staring at the cars in front of him.

“Be nothing, Chuuya. And by being nothing, you can be anything and everything. And I know you’re that type of person.”

Chuuya’s breath hitched a bit. He knew what Piano Man meant, and he was even slightly startled by how accurate he was. He knew and understood what he just said—but a reminder was good sometimes. He smiled at him. This time, it was genuine. And that was clearly enough for Piano Man.

“We better go sleep.”

Piano Man ruffled his hair and went inside. ⸻

Chuuya slept well— Is what he hoped he could say. Albatross got a speaker and decided blasting Pitbull on full volume was a lovely way to start the morning.

“Rise and shine, fuckers! We need to take Chuuya to Lupin!”

Albatross smirked at them all while standing on the small coffee table. Doc hitting Albatross in the head was well deserved. Lippmann spoke us

“How about we send the location to Chuuya, get back to our homes, shower and change, then go.”

His smile was too kind—but Chuuya could clearly see the threat behind his eyes. Chuuya stood up, and he was definitely on the same page as Lippmann. He needed a shower.

So he packed his things, wore his shoes, and waved them goodbye before everyone went back to their own apartments.

(Apparently Albatross and Ice Man were roommates… he had a feeling that two people like them would either end up killing each other or planning world domination.) 

Chuuya unlocked the door, and he felt… nice. He was gonna ride his motorcycle today and even play and sing music. He just needed to shower and wear new clothes.

He stepped out of the shower with a towel wrapped around his hips and walked to his closet. He ended up wearing a white button-up, rolled up the sleeves, and on top of it a dark denim vest that accentuated his waist. He had a good figure, and he was gonna show it off. He did work hard for it, after all. He wore high-waisted, wide-legged denim pants that matched the vest, just a black belt with a silver ring buckle, his leather gloves (he doesn’t like taking them off), and boots that had small heels to them—he needed the height.

He checked his phone for the location, and thankfully it wasn’t that far—a fifteen-minute drive on his motorcycle. Plus, he could just carry the guitar on his back. Nice. He rode to the place, and when he reached it, he saw a man with orange hair stare at him.

Chuuya felt awkward. Should he wave or something? Suddenly the man walked up to him.

“HOLY SHIT DUDE, THAT BIKE IS INSANE. IS THAT A HARLEY DAVIDSON?”

He put his hand on the bike and stared at it with pure fascination. Chuuya smirked. This man knew his shit. He liked that.

“Uh, yeah,” Chuuya noticed he had an eyebrow and mouth piercing.

“And I like your eyebrow piercing. I wanted one for a while now. Even thought about getting a tongue one.”

And that seemed to make the man’s eyes sparkle even more.

“Thanks! I got it when I was seventeen and hid it from my parents. Apparently, that was their last straw for kicking me out.”

He laughed, and Chuuya didn’t know if he should laugh too… He was very confused. But before the moment got weird, the man spoke again.

“Are you here to go to that bar?” The man pointed to the Lupin sign in the alleyway. Chuuya nodded.

“I’m actually auditioning for the band.”

And that answer was apparently the best one he could have given, because he immediately pulled him by the hand and they walked inside the alleyway, before he opened the door and they started walking underground.

“I’m Tachihara, by the way! I play the drums, and you—obviously—play the guitar.” He gestured with his free hand to Chuuya’s back. (A lot of people have been doing things against his will lately.) ⸻ Once they entered, he saw Lippmann and Doc already sitting and ordering their drinks. The empty bar wasn’t surprising—it was still noon.

So he waved at them, and Tachihara introduced himself to them (apparently he already knew them from Albatross—he talks about them a lot while drunk) before taking Chuuya and dragging him to the small stage. He then called out to two people, and a minute later two girls stepped out from the back and came in front of the tiny stage.

One was wearing a suit and had her blond hair in a bun, and the other was wearing a white button-up with a vest—probably a waiter? He wasn’t sure. She also had her hair up, but in a more unique style. Cool. The girl with the blond hair spoke up.

“Hi, I’m Higuchi, and that’s Gin. Tachihara probably already introduced himself. What’s your name?”

Chuuya felt excited. He was confident for this whole thing—he knew he had a good voice and he played the guitar really well too. He smiled and spoke.

“I’m Chuuya Nakahara, but you can just call me Chuuya.”

Higuchi smiled at him, then asked, “You’re obviously here for the guitar audition, right?”

“Actually, I used to be the lead singer in a band, and I can play the guitar really well. So yeah, I’m here for both.”

Tachihara’s smile widened.

“Are you an angel sent from heaven?”

Tachihara asked in all seriousness. He had a feeling they went through a lot of bullshit for them to be so grateful for him.

Gin put her hand on his shoulder—probably a sign for him to calm down—then spoke for the first time.

“How about you show us something, Chuuya?”

He knows this is gonna be good.

Chapter Text

“You have no idea what a charming memory you are to me.”

                                                 - Friedrich Nietzsche

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

*

Dazai woke up to another dream of him.

Honestly, he wasn’t even surprised anymore—the relentless, parasitic memory of him was gnawing away at his mind like rot.

He sat up in bed and exhaled a heavy sigh. He used to have nightmares—and he had enough nightmare material incidents for a lifetime—so for that little shrimp to erase it all with a single glance and one sharp-tongued insult? Honestly, terrifyingly impressive.

He rubbed his eyes and groaned as he grabbed his phone to check the time.

Three p.m.

His shift started at seven and dragged till one a.m., so he figured he could force himself to be semi-productive before work.

First, he needed shower. It had been two damn days.

He filled Hatrack’s bowl first, though—the little demon would eviscerate him if it wasn’t full on time.

Then he stepped into the bathroom, where his favorite ritual awaited: peeling off his bandages.

deliberately, one by one. Once they piled at his feet, he felt the shame of a man who just unraveled and discarded his sins, he scooped them up and tossed them out, then stepped into the shower. He spent a few long moments just staring at his skin.

He didn’t hate himself. Not exactly. He just couldn’t stomach the reminders of what he used to be. These scars just carried his old house, life and the bad memories with it.

He hated him—past tense. Not anymore. He’d changed. He was better.

(That’s what you’d like to believe, huh?)

He stopped performing the version of himself they needed a long time ago.

(You never actually stopped. You just got better at pretending.)

And now? He could say he was calm. Maybe even… content.

(Lying to yourself won’t resurrect the dead parts of you.)

He knew every so-called “negative” thought wasn’t meant to tear him down—it was just the truth. The unfiltered, ugly, authentic version of him.

Fuck.

He wanted to rip his skin off.

He showered quickly, got dressed, and rewrapped himself in clean bandages.

He picked up his phone.

Two missed calls from Ango Sakaguchi.

Wonderful. Could this day dig itself any deeper?

He wasn’t going to answer—not today.

His relationship with Ango had mutated into something unrecognizable.

At first, he couldn’t even look him in the eye.

Even after Ango  was able to scrub every trace of himself from the media and offering him  a second shot at peace, Dazai still couldn’t talk to him like they used to.

He shoved the thought away and went to play with Hatrack. He even got the gremlin a new toy—a plush mackerel. He saw it at a store and immediately thought of him.

Now that he really thought about it… the cat and the chibi kinda looked alike.

That realization made him snort.

His shift was at seven. It was only five.

He was bored out of his skull.

Why not show up early and ruin his coworkers’ day by being a customer?

He grabbed his keys, but right before heading out, he noticed the coat hanging by the door.

He hadn’t worn it once since his little interaction…

He put it on. And left.

⸻

“If you want a break, go for it. We already ran through enough songs for tonight,”

Tachihara said while wiping the sweat off his brow with the hem of his shirt.

(He was absolutely trying to show off his abs, but Gin didn’t even glance. Tragic. Truly.)

“Sure, but I wanna go again after,”

Gin nodded. Higuchi agreed.

They were performing that night, and everyone had told him he was beyond ready.

The ego boost? Oh, it was delicious, he ate it all up. Still he felt the extra practice was still needed.

Chuuya left his guitar on the stage and walked past the curtains. He’d met some of the bar staff earlier and liked them.

He started with the manager, Kunikida.

Chuuya noticed immediately how aggressively structured and disciplined the guy was.

Now, Chuuya wasn’t a mess he could handle his shit just fine—but damn, this man was a walking planner.

He literally had a notebook. For every minute of the day.

(Why the fuck would someone torture themselves like that?????)

Apparently kunikida was happier like that.

And he still enjoyed his company a lot.

Then came the assistant manager, Yosano. They vibed pretty nicely.

She was a pleasure to talk to and he felt at ease with her.

They were even planning to hit a wine convention together. She mentioned introducing him to her wife.

And he’d be a liar if he said he wasn’t ridiculously intrigued—Yosano’s wife sounded legendary from what she told him.

Then this sunbeam of a blond kid ran up to him with a grin so bright he probably got flashbanged.

“Hi! I’m Kenji! You must be the new band member—I’ve heard so much about you, mister!”

Wait. He joined literally a few hours ago.

How had this kid heard “so much” already?

And… mister?

“Thanks… I hope it was all good,”

Chuuya said, rubbing the back of his neck, feeling oddly sheepish. The kid was just… so genuine.

It made him feel a bit bashful.

“Yes, mister! You’re one of the coolest people I’ve ever met! I saw you practicing!”

Chuuya’s face flushed.

“Thanks. Want me to buy you a drink?”

“That’s okay?”

“Yeah, why not?”

“I’m fourteen, mister!”

Chuuya’s eyes widened like he’d just stepped on a landmine.

“And You’re working here? !”

Kenji casually took his hand and dragged him to a stool.

“I need the job for my family, and no one else would take me. Kyouka convinced Fukuzawa.”

Chuuya blinked.

That easy?

“How?”

Kenji’s smile somehow intensified.

“Because I believe in kindness! And Kyouka’s Fukuzawa’s daughter.”

Oh. Well. That tracks.

Still sounded suspiciously too convenient.

Kenji then leaned closer.

“I’m telling you this because I trust you, mister!”

“Call me Chuuya.”

“Okay, Mister Chuuya!”

Chuuya exhaled sharply.

Then Kenji whispered conspiratorially,

“Kyouka’s adopted. Fukuzawa’s been trying to connect with her. He already knew me—Kyouka and I are close. So when she said it was urgent, he wanted to help her. And he knew I was trustworthy!”

Chuuya smiled.

They really were like a big, chaotic family here.

He wanted to ask why a fourteen-year-old needed a job so urgently—but figured that conversation wasn’t for now.

It was getting late.

Customers were trickling in and the staff was kicking into gear.

Tachihara yelled for him to head backstage to practice some more.

Chuuya waved goodbye to Kenji.

“When you’re older, I’m buying you that drink, alright?”

Kenji grinned and nodded enthusiastically.

⸻

Dazai took longer getting to the bar.

(He got sidetracked by a growling dog, decided this was his redemption arc, pulled out a packet of dog treats… and then ate them all himself. Left only when the dog looked on the verge of tears.)

Now his stomach felt like it was being digested by acid.

Fair price? Probably.

When he arrived, he waved lazily at the staff and spotted Atsushi and Kyouka playing with a plushie rabbit in the far corner. They were out of sight to most—but not to him.

Kenji was perched on a stool. Dazai plopped down beside him.

“Hey Kenji~ What’re you up to?”

Kenji looked distracted, then perked up, signature sunbeam smile at full blast.

“Hey, Dazai! You’re early!”

He might’ve been sunshine incarnate, but Kenji wasn’t stupid. He felt things.

He could always sense when Dazai’s reasons ran deeper.

But he never once outright talked about it Dazai of course realized from the small comments kenji threw around interpreting his soul.

“Ah, you know. Missed you all too much to wait,”

Dazai replied with a lazy flick of the wrist.

He gestured toward Tanizaki and Naomi fiddling with the stage, they didn’t actually work here (they were yosanos relatives and only come around to help when their high school schedules could allow it)

“You guys look busy though?”

“Oh, didn’t you hear? We got a new band member—guitarist, vocalist, he’s really unique and cool too! I was talking to him earlier! Their debut’s tonight at ten!”

Dazai didn’t care much for the band, but since it’d happen on his shift, he prayed it would at least be a spectacle worth enduring.

“Well,” Dazai stood, “guess I’ll bless Kunikida’s day and clock in early.”

He drifted toward the back and spotted Yosano.

A wicked grin tugged at his lips.

Target acquired.

She was on the phone—distracted. Perfect.

“Heyyy Yosanooo~”

He tapped her shoulder.

In the next second, she had his arm twisted behind his back and only let go once she recognized him.

“You ever sneak up on an ex-military surgeon again and I will replace your bones with chopsticks.”

She went back to her call, completely ignoring him(he could see the small smile tugging at her lips when she realized it was him)

“I told you, sweetheart, I’ll be back by one.

Yes, I have a surprise. Yes, I want you to sleep.

Don’t argue, please you have work tomorrow and I wouldnt want you to be tired because of me. Mwah. Bye, darling.”

Dazai rarely saw Yosano with her wife.

But when he did?

She became someone else—someone unrecognizably gentle.

It was… unsettling.

He’d seen her once. Twice maybe.

Yosano had taste. Her wife looked like royalty.

Of course he snooped. Of course she noticed.

“What do you want?”

“Can’t a man be curious? What’d you get her?”

Yosano smiled gently and Dazai could only feel nice for her.

She pulled out a small box and revealed a delicate and beautiful gold hair ornament adorned with intricate designs and tiny sakura blossoms.

Dazai blinked.

“Wow. Someone’s outdone

“I hate gift-giving,” Yosano said, “but she’s too beautiful not to want to mark her as mine. Gifts let me stay with her—always.

Like our rings.”

she smugly showed off her ring then walked off before he could react.

Dazai wouldn’t understand love like that.

But he could admire it—from a safe, cynical distance.

He followed her, helped out with prep, and kept the banter going.

They talked for nearly an hour. He always liked talking to Yosano.

Even when she threatened his limbs.

Yosano cared for him in her own way he always noticed her tiny questions about his health, how he’s sleeping, wether he ate today and if he’s fine.

They stepped out into the bar again.

Dazai’s shift technically wouldn’t begin for another forty minutes, so he figured—why not indulge in a quick drink?

And just on cue, the door flung open with dramatic flair, and in sauntered Ranpo, wearing the unmistakable smirk of a man who had finally scored after months of relentless flirting.(he finally got laid after giving out hints clearer than the sky in summer)

Dazai arched a brow, amused. Of course he and yosano will immediately notice something like that, please the three of them at point lived together they knew when someone got laid.

Ranpo plopped down beside him and offered a lazy wave to Yosano, who was elbow-deep in fixing one of the stubborn machines behind the counter.

“Our favorite detective is glowing today,” Dazai teased, swirling the drink in his glass. “Come on—tell us about that mysterious writer friend of yours~”

Yosano was instantly engaged, practically leaning over the counter with gleaming eyes, entirely abandoning the machine.

Ranpo shrugged like it was no big deal. “Why tell you,” he said with a grin, “when you can meet him yourself?”

And like a perfectly-timed cue in a theatrical scene, the door opened again.

In stepped a tall, refined man with tousled hair, expensive taste, and a gentle clumsiness that felt utterly out of place on someone so visually well kept, of course Dazai knew him he was a world wide famous author after all.

“Sorry, Ranpo dear! It took me forever to find a parking spot!”

Yosano and Dazai exchanged a look.

Then they grinned—wide, knowing, mildly evil.

The man took the seat next to Ranpo, cheeks slightly pink from the rush, clearly unused to being around so many eyes.

“Oh! You must be Ranpo’s friends. I’ve heard so much about you—Yosano, right? And… Dazai?”

Ranpo had described his new partner as cocky, smug, and overconfident.

This? This wasn’t that.

This was a soft-spoken, love-struck fool who looked like he’d trip over air just to sit closer to the man beside him.

Still… for someone to get Ranpo’s approval? That meant something.(even though a second later Ranpo went on a rant that no one will ever truly be smarter than him)

And it didn’t escape Dazai—nor Yosano—that the brilliant detective had been smitten.

The proof was all there: the faint flush on Ranpo’s cheek, the way his fingers unconsciously reached for Poe’s, the little glint in his eyes that no longer held the hunger of a flirt—but the warmth of someone fulfilled.

Yosano beamed and, without saying a word, grabbed a bottle of champagne and four glasses from beneath the counter like she’d been waiting for this moment.

“To Ranpo and his new boyfriend~ and to finally securing a damn band!”

She popped the bottle with flair, poured the drinks, and handed them out like a proud older sister.

Poe’s cheeks turned the color of a crime scene. Tachihara’s new red hair had serious competition.

Dazai took a sip, smiling into his glass.

They teased Poe mercilessly, of course, even Ranpo joined in going on a rant about how obvious he was with the flirting and it took him that long.

Unfortunately tormenting innocent souls came to an end because Dazai now had a shift to attend to, so he stood up and got behind the bar.

He still watched them from afar and he would be lying if he said he didn’t chuckle when Ranpo grabbed poe’s collar and clashed their lips together to “prove” to yosano that they were done with the safe flirting.

It was chaos. The good kind.

But good days never stayed.

Because the universe had a cruel sense of humor.

And Dazai had yet to learn that today’s curse hadn’t even started.

His social battery drained at lightning speed.

Drunk assholes rolled in. One of them complained his drink was “too cold,” despite asking for extra ice.

Ranpo, still lounging nearby, found it all wildly amusing.

Yosano, allegedly on her “well-earned break,” joined in on the mockery with terrifying delight.

Traitors.

Both of them.

*

Two miserable hours passed like a slow funeral.

More customers poured in. Poe was busy and had to leave.

Dazai was about to fake an injury and take the rest of the night off when—

The lights dimmed.

The low hum of a bassline echoed across the room.

The curtains parted.

And time shattered.

It all happened again—just as overwhelming as the first time.

Red flooded his eyes, then blue, then brown. The light was caught between the singers eyes, and it wasn’t a kind sight.

It was too vibrant it was once again too much and he couldn’t help but fall victim for it  all over again.

Oh, fuck.

No.

No, no, no.

He couldn’t go through this again. Not this feeling.

The instrumental started.

A few seconds later, he heard his voice.

And in that moment, Dazai knew:

He was fucked.

It was him .

The same boy.

He stood on stage like an angel,

his charming smile could almost make him fall in love.

And his movements…

They weren’t just fluid—they were impossible.

He danced like water learned to sing.

Every shift of his hips, every ripple of his arms, was deliberate. Controlled. Addictive.

But that voice.

It wasn’t simply beautiful.

It was spellwork.

A siren’s song disguised as jazz.

Dazai felt like a predator discovering a scent it had long forgotten.

He couldn’t look away.

And just like that—Dazai knew:

He was absolutely, catastrophically screwed.

The same boy from every twisted dream and sleepless night.

The same boy that took a dip into his daydreams, was trapped into his mind and was slowly making way into his soul.

Standing center stage like he owned it.

No—like he belonged to it.

His mouth parted slightly.

Yosano noticed first.

She leaned toward Ranpo, eyes narrowed. They never saw Dazai act like that and she wanted answers.

Ranpo smirked without looking away.

The bastard knew. Of course he knew. Curse his brain and all its deductions.

Yosano raised a brow, ready for gossip of divine proportions.

This was gold— Dazai Osamu, visibly shaken up by a a man?

And though she was equally spellbound by the performance, she was dying to know what this meant.

She already liked Chuuya—he was pure talent. Fierce, fiery, professional.

But now?

She was grateful they snatched him up before a record label could.

The whole band played like they’d been together forever.

Tachihara on drums, Gin with that rich bassline, Higuchi tying it all together on that keyboard, seamless. Effortless.

Yosano felt proud.

So proud, she even forgot about Dazai.

(For now.)

Everyone else seemed to agree.

It wasn’t just a show.

It was an experience.

⸻

Chuuya felt electrified.

He’d forgotten how much he craved this.

The heat, the lights, the gaze of the crowd—it all surged through his veins like caffeine.

He wasn’t just performing.

He was alive.

Every member of the band had their part.

He couldn’t see past the lights—but for a split second, he swore he saw someone familiar in the crowd.

But he didn’t care, he had a task at hand and he was going to focus on it and only it.

The music leaned jazzy tonight—smooth, moody, sensual.

And Chuuya thrived in it.

He felt every note.

It didn’t just enter his ears—it invaded his body.

The bassline tugged at something beneath his ribs.

The guitar strings flicked at nerves long dormant.

The drumbeats carved themselves into his pulse.

The keyboard whispered directly to his spine.

He didn’t just perform the song.

He lived it.

And he made damn sure the crowd lived it with him.

He knew how to stand on stage.

“DUDE, YOU WERE INSANE OUT THERE!”

Tachihara nearly tackled him backstage.

Chuuya barked a laugh. “You weren’t bad either. You and those drums are like… spiritually linked.”

He turned to the others, grinning.

“And Gin? You carried the hell out of us with that bassline. Higuchi—your touch is the heartbeat of our sound. I loved it.”

They blushed. He laughed.

They exited the stage and Chuuya was instantly swarmed.

Questions. Compliments.

A few women shoved numbers into his jacket.

Seriously—how bold could they be?

Tachihara on the other hand loved it, but a single glance from gin made him scurry off.

Then immediately got angry when gin was also getting her fair share of attention from men.

Chuuya scanned the room and spotted Yosano waving him over like a beacon.

Thank god.

“Excuse me, ladies—manager’s orders.”

He gave a polite smile and slipped away toward her.

⸻

After the show, Yosano leaned toward Dazai and whispered,

“Enjoy the view? His name’s Chuuya, by the way~ From what I hear, he’s gonna be around a long time. ”

Fantastic.

Now the mystery had a name.

A name to match the face that haunted his dreams.

Dazai sighed, feigning indifference.

“I’m afraid I have no idea what you’re implying.”

Yosano rolled her eyes. “Sure, sure.”

Then she smirked.

And Dazai knew—he was in trouble.

“So you won’t mind if he sits with us, right? I mean, you’re totally unaffected, obviously.”

She waved at someone across the bar.

And just like that—

Chuuya was walking toward them.

He hadn’t seen Dazai yet.

Dazai immediately turned to “clean a glass.”

Chuuya greeted Yosano politely, nodded to Ranpo.

Ranpo grinned like the devil himself.

“Chuuya this is Ranpo, Ranpo this is Chuuya”

Yosano introduced them.

“Oh, I already know who he is.”

“Ah… from the show?” Chuuya asked, awkwardly.

Ranpo popped a lollipop in his mouth. “Yeah… sure. From the show.”

Chuuya looked away, then toward the bar.

He clearly had no clue how to order, the bartender was giving him his back and he didn’t know what to call him.

Yosano’s voice sang out like a death knell.

“Dazai~ Our new star needs a drink.”

Internally, Dazai sighed.

There was no escaping now.

He turned around.

Chuuya’s face flickered—shock, recognition, and then… nothing.

Neutral.

A mask of indifference.

“Uh… can I just get a glass of red wine?”

What. The. Fuck.

He recognized him. No question.

But he didn’t flinch.

Didn’t demand answers.

Didn’t ask why Dazai was wearing his coat.

Just asked for wine.

Dazai slid the glass over.

Chuuya didn’t look at him.

Not once.

But Dazai felt his eyes flicker toward him when he turned away.

He saw the same behavior in himself.

They were orbiting each other—pretending the gravity wasn’t there.

Why?

⸻

To anyone watching, it was nothing.

Just a musician unwinding after a show, and a bartender pouring wine.

But to Dazai, every second felt like trying not to drown.

And Chuuya ?

He looked cool, composed. Laughing with Yosano, nodding along to Ranpo’s snarky commentary like he’d done it a thousand times.

Like he hadn’t just set Dazai’s nervous system on fire, and not because his smooth voice when he’s not shouting at him or the echo that carry his dimpled laughter or even the quick glances, but because Dazai didn’t understand him. Why didn’t he say anything?

They talked easily. Effortlessly.

Chuuya cracked a few jokes that made Yosano snort into her wine.

Ranpo—smug little devil—kept glancing between them like he was mentally writing fanfiction.

Dazai stayed behind the bar, pretending to polish glasses, take orders, check inventory—anything to keep his hands busy.

Anything to keep his gaze from drifting back to him.

But no matter how much he avoided it, his eyes kept betraying him.

He tilted his head, and Dazai noticed the delicate curve of his neck.

He touched the rim of his glass, and Dazai’s mouth went dry.

Every little thing was a memory—resurrected and sharper than before.

Eventually, Ranpo left since he had work tomorrow, still grinning like he’d won something.

Yosano lingered a bit longer—she and Chuuya talked music, travel, philosophy.

Then she stood, gently patting Chuuya’s shoulder.

“Don’t stay too late,” she said, her voice warm.

Chuuya nodded “I actually have class tomorrow so I’ll get back home

Dazai didn’t say a word.

He didn’t have to.

Chuuya stood shrugged adjusted his sleeves and went off.

He didn’t even glance at Dazai.

The door chimed as he left.

Dazai exhaled for what felt like the first time in hours.

⸻

A few minutes later, Dazai stepped into the back room to grab his bag.

Dazai went out of the back door like any other employee, he felt the breeze of the cold night and sighed.

But the second the heavy door closed behind him—

WHAM.

His back hit the brick wall hard enough to knock the breath out of him.

A fist fisted in his shirt collar.

Breath hot against his face.

Chuuya.

Furious. Unfiltered. Blazing like wildfire.

His eyes—normally electric—were molten.

“Okay,” he growled, low and lethal, “I didn’t say anything inside because I don’t know if your little band of misfits knows about your….. suicidal habits. But what the actual fuck, man?”

Oh.

Well… considerate, at least.

Dazai blinked.

And then—because he was Dazai —

He smirked.

“Didn’t think the chibi could string that many coherent words together,”

he said lazily.

“With your tiny body, I assumed there wouldn’t be enough room for a brain.”

The punch came fast—and he didn’t dodge.

Didn’t even try.

The impact rocked his jaw, and something inside him sparked.

Pain bloomed sharp, hot, alive.

And disturbingly enough…

He wanted more of it.

(Healthy? Not in the slightest.

Satisfying? On a level that scared even him.

he wanted more of his touch, even if it came in the form of hatred)

Chuuya was seething.

“Don’t pull that shit with me, mackerel. Not now.”

Dazai sighed, finally letting the smirk fade.

He looked away, toward the distant glow of the streetlamp over the alley.

“Look… I appreciate what you did. I do. But I’d rather just pretend none of it happened.”

Chuuya stared at him.

“Seriously? That’s your take?”

Dazai didn’t answer.

“I show up. Saved your life, gave you my coat and not even a thanks? But instead play strangers?”

He let go of Dazai’s collar with a shove.

Stepped back like the very air around Dazai disgusted him.

“Unbelievable.”

Dazai stayed quiet.

Because anything he said would either be a lie—or worse, the truth.

Chuuya snorted,

“Fine. I don’t mind not knowing you i never cared enough, though I expected more gratitude but I’d be wasting my time hearing you blabber anyway.”

He turned, walking away with that same stormy fury in his step.

But right before hopping onto his bike, he glanced back over his shoulder.

“And keep the coat, jackass. Looks like you didn’t bring anything else.”

Then, with a roar of the engine, he vanished into the city.

⸻

Dazai stood there for a moment longer, the night pressing down on him like a second skin.

He reached up and touched the aching spot on his cheek.

The skin was already swelling. Red. Pulsing.

He smiled.

It stung.

But the pain grounded him.

Made him feel… real.

Maybe it wa s refreshing.

He grabbed his bag, and made his way to the elevator that led to his apartment upstairs.

The moment the doors slid open, and he stepped out into the quiet hallway—

He stopped.

His smile dropped.

Because he was leaning against his front door

Phone in hand. Coat slightly wrinkled. Glasses pushed up like he’d been waiting for hours.

Dazai sighed through his nose.

Of course.

“What are you doing here?”

Ango didn’t move.

“You haven’t been answering my calls.”

Dazai pushed passed him

“I was busy.”

Ango sighed.

“Dazai this is serious, you know I need to check up on you and you know I need to give you updates about your family.”

Dazai didn’t react in fact he was completely unprejudiced.

“Ango they’re far away now and unless she’s dead, don’t talk to me about her.

Matter of fact I’m confused why are you stilll even “checking up” on me.

Our business is done, and you don’t owe me a thing.”

Ango sighed.

“Listen since you will never get this through your thick skull, I don’t care if you despise me I don’t care if you don’t want me to be around Dazai.

You know your place in my life and you know I’m not giving up upon it that easily so stop acting like a child throwing a tantrum.”

This was the first time Ango genuinely retaliated with his snarks.

Dazai wasn’t going to engage in this.

He just wanted to get inside and sleep.

Silence stretched between them.

Then, finally, Ango nodded.

“I’ll come back later.”

“You don’t have to.”

“I know.”

He turned and walked away.

Dazai watched him disappear down the hall.

Then, finally, he stepped inside.

Closed the door.

And let the silence swallow him whole.

*

Ango wandered through the dimly lit streets and sank onto a bench, he was fine, he didn’t know why he was this pressed. It was all his fault after all.

Drawing in a shaky breath, he pulled off his glasses and pressed his fingers to his temples.

“Fuck… Oda, I don’t know how to do any of this without you.”

Tears brimmed in his eyes, blurring what little light remained.

“I miss you—so much.”

Three years prior.

November.

Ango was on soft sheets and fluffy pillows, he slowly opened his eyes to the smell of….curry?

He sat up in the bed and the sight infront of him made him blush.

“I don’t know how to cook anything else….”

Oda wasn’t the most expressive out there but ango could see the tiny blush on his cheeks

He chuckled and took the tray from his hands

“I’m sure it’s wonderful, now come on I’m not gonna eat this all by myself am I?”

He patted on the left side of the bed indicating for oda to come join him

“You woke up early for this, you really shouldn’t have”

Ango mumbled, picking up his spoon while staring down at the tray.

Suddenly a warm hand was on his cheek turning his head to face him

Then a kiss was pressed against his mouth, he could melt from all of this.

“I love you” oda said with a really stoic expression that ango had to make sure he heard it right,

He knew they were more that just friends, they occasionally slept together, made out when no one was looking, behind closed doors, but they never crossed that line.

Ango smiled, and it was probably the most genuine smile he could ever muster before kissing him on his cheek.

“The food will get cold..”

his voice was low almost a whisper, he knew this moment was too good too delicate and he was terrified of anything ruining it.

Present time.

“Oda I don’t think I can stand to be with Dazai without you.

Did you know that today was the day you said it? Every autumn I wait for it to be said again.

And here we are November came, but you’re no where in sight.”

He talked and chuckled painfully when no reply was received, only cold wind.

“I love you too.”

Chapter Text

“le soleil qui court surle monde j’en suis certaincomme de toi”

-Paul Eluard

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The sand was warm on his feet, and his hands were even warmer, tangled between the other’s fingers.

They sat on the sand, uncaring whether their clothes got dirty or not.

“You remind me of that sunset”

Paul brought Arthur’s hands closer to his lips, gently pressing them against his mouth.

“Even more beautiful. The sun sets— you , mon chéri, will always be”

Arthur’s golden eyes glowed with the warmth of the sun hitting them… yes, there was no better way to describe it.

Without Arthur, he was cold.

Arthur gently cupped his face, drawing it closer. Paul braced for a kiss but felt only a soft press of their foreheads.

“Even the brightest stars burn out, Paul…”

Paul simply chuckled.

“The muse of an artist never dies, mon cœur. His memory lives in beauty… in art. And you, chérie, will never always haunt every room in our house and every gallery in the museums”

Finally, they kissed.

After a minute or so, Arthur’s gaze returned to the sun melting into the ocean, its light dancing with the waves.

But Paul’s eyes never strayed from his own sun—he wasn’t interested in anything but Arthur: his soul, his muse, his star.

“You carry the beauty of millions of sunsets in your eyes.”

—A thought that remained unspoken.

⸻

The moment Paul woke up from that memory of a dream, dread surged through his body.

He couldn’t fall back asleep—he knew he wouldn’t be able to escape Arthur.

He rose from the couch, blinking blearily as he looked around.

Empty vodka bottles and other types of alcohol littered the place.

Pill bottles were spilled across the floor.

When did it all spiral like this?

The pounding headache didn’t allow him to keep inspecting the room. The pain slammed into his skull, and he shut his eyes tight with a groan.

He needed to get it over with—Chuuya always video called to make sure everything was okay.

And he wouldn’t like Paul’s state or mess.

He grabbed a plastic bag and started cleaning the trash.

He kept the pills.

He knew he’d need them later.

After throwing out the garbage, he didn’t have the strength to tidy further, so he figured that was good enough.

He sat down, and out of the corner of his eye, he saw the key—the one that opened the door to the room he had avoided for the past two years.

Well, he was already wrecked—why not ruin his day more?

He stood, grabbed the key, and walked down the hallway.

It was terrifying.

He had been avoiding that room like the plague—every memory sealed behind it, every moment, every painting.

Everything was locked away in that room.

And by everything , he meant the remains of Arthur.

He inhaled sharply when the key slipped into the lock, and even the simple act of turning it made him shiver.

He stepped inside. It was dark.

He didn’t turn on the ceiling light—his sensitive eyes wouldn’t take it—so he flicked on the tiny lamp in the corner instead.

And suddenly, it was all clear again.

His past life, illuminated before him.

Photo albums lined the shelf—seven thick volumes.

Paintings were scattered everywhere—some large, some small—but one always caught his eyes most.

And really, it would catch anyone’s.

It was a massive painting of Arthur.

Most of them were of Arthur, honestly, but this one was different.

They were on the same beach from his dream.

The same moment he had never wanted to end, so he immortalized it.

Only for it to bite it back in the ass and haunt him.

Arthur’s skin had a soft glow, and his golden eyes looked like pools of honey—easy to drown in and never surface.

His long black hair looked impossibly soft, the light reflecting off it.

his hands trembled.

God, Paul wanted to run his hands through it again.

Tears welled in his eyes.

That had been one of the warmest moments of his life.

And he had lost it.

He had lost it all.

He shut his eyes tightly.

He couldn’t bear it.

After a minute of trying to even out his breath, he opened his eyes and walked over to the photo albums.

The first book was from two years into their relationship, they were still seventeen.

Paul was still a struggling artist, and Arthur was working as a cashier at a bookstore.

A year into dating, they had moved into a cramped little apartment in Paris.

They had chosen the busiest city to promote Paul’s work.

He flipped through the book.

*

The first photo was a candid shot of Arthur from the side, making breakfast in front of their tiny stove in a silk robe that had slipped off his shoulders and down his upper back.

His black hair cascaded down his body like a river.

He hadn’t realized Paul was taking a photo,

So his posture was relaxed—his pearly skin out for display to Paul, shoulders slouched, lips pressed in a focused line as he cut the fruit.

Paul chuckled, remembering that day.

He had tried making omelets but burned them completely.

They were out of eggs, so Arthur just cut up fruit and made it work.

He missed that.

The next image was actually one of Paul’s favorites he actually turned it to a painting.

Arthur stood on the tiny balcony of their apartment, cigarette in mouth, lighter in hand.

The lighter wasn’t working, so he kept flicking it with furrowed brows.

When it finally sparked, Paul captured his reaction in an instant.

Slightly parted lips about to form into a smile. Wide eyes.

The orange glow from the flame cast a warmth over his face, making his eyes glisten again.

His hair was tied in a loose ponytail, and his shirt was wrinkled—the top two buttons undone, revealing lilac hickeys and a bite mark.

Paul wanted to explore that body again.

He used to map it out, inch by inch, and never stopped until Arthur was carrying him around on every part of it.

His skin always tasted sweet.

He missed it.

Paul sat on the floor and opened the second album.

It was from five years in they were still twenty two and Paul had started gaining mass recognition and Arthur opened three branches across Paris of his bookstore. they were in Yokohama.

The first picture was of Paul himself.

He was carrying their luggage, clearly struggling.

He remembered that Arthur had been laughing so hard while snapping the picture that it turned out a bit shaky.

Paul had a visible scowl, lips parted mid-complaint, probably demanding help.

He chuckled again.

Arthur didn’t help at all—in fact, he had run off before Paul could hand him anything.

He missed it.

The next picture showed them both.

He paid someone to take pictures of them.

It was from a night date at a fancy restaurant.

Paul had reserved the entire rooftop.

He was on one knee, holding Arthur’s hand in one of his and an open ring box in the other.

Arthur’s eyes were wide with shock and glistening with tears of joy.

His smile was blinding, and his silky hair fluttered softly in the breeze.

Paul remembered Arthur nodding furiously before dropping to his knees and crashing their lips together.

He missed it.

He flipped to the next photo. He remembered that day vividly.

The whole reason for their trip to Yokohama was to find his brother.

And that day, he had.

His only family—aside from Arthur.

Arthur, ever supportive, had suggested they take him shopping for new clothes.

The photo captured little Chuuya he was still ten perched on Arthur’s shoulders.

They were both wearing matching pajamas dotted with tiny puppies.

When they adopted Chuuya, he was a grumpy one and always stone-faced.

But in that photo, even he couldn’t fight the tiny smile creeping onto his face.

He missed it.

He moved on to the next album.

The first picture was of them dancing in their new house in Marseille—this house.

They had just moved in.

The place was still bare, save for two small mattresses upstairs—one for them, one for Chuuya which he was sleeping on—and a small table with a record player on it.

They had found the player while unpacking, and Arthur had immediately put music on.

The photo captured Paul mid-spin, lifting Arthur and twirling him in the middle of the empty room.

They looked so incredibly happy.

Paul wore a soft, content smile.

Arthur was full on laughing.

caught mid-air like a fairytale prince.

And he looked just as stunning.

He remembered that after dancing, they collapsed on the ground.

The wine glasses in the corner were untouched.

The only source of light was the same lamp now illuminating this very room, he looked at it and frowned.

He missed it.

Tears filled his eyes again—this time, he couldn’t stop them from spilling.

His entire body shook.

His lips trembled.

He wanted—no, needed —his Arthur.

And fuck the divorce.

Fuck the fight.

Fuck it all .

He wasn’t going to wait around anymore.

He’s never going to be over him, and if he ever said he is then he’s lying.

He just wants to lie down next to him like the old times.

He just wants him back.

He’s going to get him back.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Chuuya was worried—Paul wasn’t answering, and whenever he called, he answered immediately.

Chuuya sighed and decided it was fine; when Paul was free, he’d just call him himself.

Now he just needed to get ready for class.

He had quantum physics, poetry, and war history.

He got dressed, once again regretting not taking back his coat.

Seriously, what was that guy’s deal? There was something about his smug smirk that Chuuya wanted to punch so badly.

It wasn’t even funny.

He headed out early to grab a cup of coffee—and maybe breakfast.

He went to the university cafeteria, got a croissant and a coffee.

The croissant tasted like straight ash—it was atrocious. He didn’t know if it was the French in him being critical or if it actually was just dirt.

He washed it down with his coffee—no milk, just a single sugar cube.

He liked bitter things.

On the way, he opened his phone and realized he’d been added to a group chat named “The Flags.”

Sexyblondie: okay so I’m hungover as shit and will miss class today don’t miss me too much~

Prettybitch: want me to get you some medicine?

Akidsnightmare: no, let him perish

Sexyblondie: HEY THAT’S RUDE. DO SOMETHING @saltnpepper

Saltnpepper: yeah, no. it’s too early for this bullshit.

Ashortythatsabaddie: go check on your roommate bro. @scarface

Scarface: no.

Sexyblondie: YOU GUYS ARE ALL MEAN :(

Chuuya obviously recognized the nicknames. Albatross and Doc must’ve made them up together, giggling like children.

He chuckled before locking his phone and kept walking.

He arrived early and sat in the back again.

Doc came in first, followed by Piano Man, then Iceman.

Piano Man sat beside him.

“Where’s Lippmann?”

Chuuya asked—usually, he and Piano Man were practically inseparable.

“He’s with Albatross. He’s just checking in on him, then he’ll come.”

Is he an angel…?

A sharp sense of déjà vu washed over him when the whole class suddenly went silent as the doors opened—and their professor entered.

She looked stunning today, practically radiant despite her blank expression.

She wore a gorgeous hair ornament and a kimono that matched it perfectly.

She started explaining the lesson, and thirty minutes in, the door burst open—revealing a very disheveled (yet somehow still perfect hair, fuck him) Lippmann, who looked like he had literally sprinted to class.

“I apologize for being late—I had personal matters.”

He bowed quickly to Kouyo and scurried to the back.

“Are you okay?” Piano Man whispered as he sat beside him.

Lippmann sighed.

“Albatross ran away when I tried giving him medicine.”

Chuuya snorted.

Kouyo noticed and raised an eyebrow at them.

“If your conversation is more important than my lecture, please leave.”

She wasn’t even threatening—just stating it.

So, they shut up and paid attention immediately.

After two hours, the class ended, and Chuuya still had an hour before his next one.

He sat at a café near campus. The rest of The Flags were either in class or busy, so he decided to just read and enjoy a decent cup of coffee. Curse cafeteria food.

He sipped his coffee and flipped through the pages of his book. It was in French, and he’d be lying if he said he didn’t miss it—it made him a little homesick. Funny how even in France, he still felt homesick.

Was there a place where he could truly be comfortable—somewhere to call home? Probably not.

Suddenly, a guy with dark hair, frosted ends, severe eye bags, and alarmingly pale skin stood still as if trying to bring focus back to his eyes and judging from the now spilled hot cup of coffee on him—

He failed.miserably.

The guy’s eyes were still unfocused, and as Chuuya scrambled up to avoid burns, the guys  eyes widened in realization.

“I apologize. I didn’t mean to.”

His voice was slightly raised, eyes still wide.

Chuuya sighed. “It’s fine. I don’t have enough time to change before class, though…”

Chuuya wasn’t even angry—it was obvious the guy had issues if he got that dizzy. He just hated smelling like coffee.

Luckily, he wore mostly dark colors, so there wouldn’t be a visible stain.

Chuuya looked at the guy again—he seemed around his age.

“You’re a student, aren’t you?”

The boy nodded.

“Yokohama University. Yes.”

“What’s your major?”

“War history.”

Chuuya’s eyes widened.

“I take a class there! I’ve never seen you before?”

The boy nodded again.

“Well, my first class was two days ago. Unfortunately, I fainted walking there…”

Chuuya’s eyebrows furrowed.

“Why? You seem to get dizzy a lot.”

He shrugged.

“Lack of vitamins. Some bullshit like that.”

Chuuya chuckled. “You really should take that seriously—it’s clearly affecting your life.”

The boy waved him off.

“Eh. I’ll check it later.”

Chuuya nudged him. “you’ll buy supplements today.”

He literally ordered him.

Chuuya didn’t know why he cared, but something in him just wanted the guy to be okay.

And before the boy could comment on his order he cut him off.

“Let’s walk to class together.”

The boy nodded. Not the talkative type, huh?

“What’s your name?” Chuuya asked as they walked side by side.

“Akutagawa Ryunosuke. But just call me Akutagawa.”

“Mhm—Aku it is! I’m Chuuya, by the way.”

Akutagawa didn’t comment on the nickname—probably didn’t mind.

“Great meeting you.”

Chuuya chuckled.

“So formal.”

They arrived at class and sat together.

In came in a guy with a white mustach, white hair and a red suit. 
their professor looked scary….

his thoughts were then cut off when he suddenly pulled out a bag and puked 

“sorry guys…hang overs are tough you know, don’t tell anyone about this”

he flashed them a wide grin and suddenly Chuuya feels like it’s about to become too interesting…

After class, they sat on a random bench. Chuuya didn’t have anything left except poetry class and his shift at Lupin.

“Hey, are you free today?”

Chuuya didn’t know why, but he wanted to make sure Akutagawa had a good time today.

“Uh, yeah. Why?”

Chuuya smirked.

“I work in a band at this really nice bar. Wanna come watch us play?”

Akutagawa nodded. “You know, my sister also works in a band at a bar.”

“Aww, that’s nice. What’s she like?”

“Nice.”

Chuuya burst into laughter. “How loquacious you are!”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dazai woke up to texts flooding his phone from Lupin’s group chat.

thebettertanizakisibling: GUYS I GOT A PICTURE OF POE AND RANPO KISSING I CAN’T WAIT TO SEE FUKUZAWA’S REACTION

Thebestdetective: for your information my DAD obviously already knows. I just haven’t told him about the engagement yet tho.

Bandagesforbrains: what…

Thebestdetective: oh Poe just proposed to me guys ;)

He then sent a photo of a ring on his hand—an oval two-carat diamond.

Thebestdetective: Poe wanted to get me the four-carat one but I didn’t like it, it was too much~

Mamabear: congratulations Ranpo. I hope you have a long, fulfilling marriage.

Thebestdetective: thanks, Kunikida!

Maneater: Kunikida, you’re forgetting our little bet here~

Mamabear: is this the right time for this…?

Maneater: naw pay up. Or I’m going to send you ur list of an ideal woman.  I told you they’d marry one month in, and guess who’s right~

Mamabear: today’s shift. I’ll pay…

Maneater: great! now, special bonus—here’s a picture of Dazai’s jaw on the ground after Chuuya’s performance~

Dazai’s eyes widened, and when he clicked the photo, his stomach churned.

Curse Yosano’s blackmail—and curse Chuuya… just fuck Chuuya.

( Both ways. )

Bandagesforbrains: for your information, dear Yosano, the chibi isn’t even my type. I’m into WOMEN with LONG legs and DARK hair. That little leprechaun isn’t even on my radar, so you can drop the gossip xo

Thebestdetective: holy yap.

Maneater: HAHAHAHAHAHA

Furry: you’re way too defensive, Dazai-san. even I saw you staring at him like a starving Victorian child…

Bandagesforbrains: Atsushi, the only one starving here is you. go buy yourself something to eat, honey~

Furry: …… yeah okay I’m inserting myself out of this conversation.

Maneater: poor Atsushi, getting bullied by the likes of you @bandagesforbrains

Bandagesforbrains: I will not tolerate any more Dazai slander and will now go out with a very lovely woman who’s very my type. Bye guys~

Dazai grumbled. He was actually planning a hookup—she had just texted him.

He’d admit he wasn’t the most gentlemanly. He just didn’t care. He wanted to let off steam and leave. No attachments—and he didn’t really value these women’s lives either way. He just didn’t want drama. Not like that one time he got beat up for sleeping with a married woman…

He got up and figured he might as well make himself somewhat presentable. He ran his fingers through his hair, and threw on a plain hoodie.

He didn’t have the energy to look that good—this would do.

As he walked to her place, he thought about Chuuya—and he’d be lying if he said the guy hadn’t been occupying way too much of his mind lately.

He never enjoyed hearing anyone sing. Not because their voices were bad—he actually used to know world-class singers.

But no matter how skilled they were, when he heard a voice raw without instruments buffering it, it always irritated him in this primal, inexplicable way. It made his skin crawl.

But when he heard him —he felt like his soul was drowning in Chuuya’s lukewarm vocals and vast notes.

The moment Chuuya sang, laughed, or even spoke , something stirred inside him. Not an overwhelming desire, but still… a desire.

That alone was a lot for Dazai.

And he still couldn’t make sense of it.

But he’d be lying if he said he didn’t want to hear more.

His shift started at ten p.m. It was still five. He’d mess around with that woman a bit, leave no trace, and vanish.

——————————

He laid in bed beside her, listening to her snores and staring at the ceiling with a blank expression.

He didn’t enjoy a single moment.

She kept tugging on his bandages, her voice was gratingly loud, and she kept forcing her weird kinks on him.

Dazai got up and gathered his clothes. He checked the time—he still had three hours. Might as well go home, shower, watch a cheesy movie, eat, then head to work.

Ugh— eat .

He groaned at the thought of cooking, sitting down, chewing each bite.

He settled on a can of (hopefully not expired) crab.

He started walking home—his hookups were never far from his apartment. He didn’t enjoy driving, firstly it made him very dizzy secondly he didn’t enjoy the pain that came with the risk….

The moment he walked in, Hatrack started meowing loudly. Didn’t he just fill his bowl?

“You’re too greedy, you know?”

Hatrack hissed in response.

Dazai sighed.

“Pesky child. You’re going to make daddy go bankrupt.”

He walked past the cat and ignored the indignant meows. Now that he thought about it—he was sleepy…

Even though he’d only been awake for two hours…

He flopped onto the couch and turned on the TV. He just wanted time to pass so he could get through the day and enjoy his eight hours of semi-death—only to repeat the cycle again.

“You came back for me?”

“I will always come back for you, my love. Marry me. And let’s live happily ever after!”

“Yes! Yes, ye—“

Click.

Dazai shut the TV off with a blank expression.

Happily ever afters weren’t real. He wasn’t trying to be some brooding, pseudo-deep asshole.

He was just… logical.

Life was a cycle. He knew happiness existed—he wasn’t completely numb. Sure, happiness for him never lasted for a long period of time and  came in glimmers and faded fast, so fast that sometimes he wondered if he ever felt it at all.

But he knew it was there.

Still, like everything else, it cycled. Same with sadness, emptiness, even love.

Not that he should even talk about love. He’d never felt it. But if he did—it would be just like everything else.

It would come, fade, and return… only to fade again.

Exhausting.

Living in cycles and repetition—it drained him. He yearned for more, but knew it was impossible.

He had completely given up on life.

He had about forty minutes until his shift.

He got up and showered—his sweat still clung to his bandages from earlier… activities. He reeked.

He groaned like a kid. He wasn’t unhygienic—messy, sure—but he fought demons every day just to stay that way. Why was everything so exhausting?

He cleaned up. Threw on a black button-up, black pants, and a warm beige coat.

It was only early November, but nights were already freezing. He was ready for it this time though.

When he arrived, the bar was already slightly crowded.

He spotted Yosano bartending, and Atsushi slumped at a stool, clearly exhausted—his head on the counter, hand wrapped around a shot of vodka.

Atsushi rarely drank. When he did, it was aweful.

Dazai raised an eyebrow at Yosano and discreetly gestured to Atsushi. She chuckled.

“Just ask him yourself.”

Dazai slipped behind the counter, took off his coat, and patted Atsushi’s head.

Atsushi looked up with the saddest expression Dazai had ever seen.

Dazai raised an eyebrow—tell me.

And Atsushi did.

“Gin was busy and asked me to take over her shift—even though mine was right after hers. But I felt bad and agreed.

So, while covering her shift, some guy—clearly drunk at three in the afternoon—barged in and demanded a free drink.

I said no, even though he kept yelling that I owed him one for… something? I couldn’t even understand through the slurring. I kept saying no. He finally ordered one, and the second I gave it to him—he poured it on me.”

At this point, Atsushi’s eyes were near tears. He’d been working since three p.m., and it wasn’t even over.

“My clothes reeked of sake. I couldn’t find anything else to wear, so I was shivering like some fish.

And not just that! I took a five-minute break to find anything dry, and while looking—I tripped and hit my head.”

Dazai gave a glance to the bandage on his forehead.

“I kept working anyway—I didn’t want to cause trouble for Gin. But Yosano saw me and told me to take a break.”

Dazai just patted his head again.

“Enjoy your break, Atsushi. I’ll manage alone.”

“No, no—it’s fine. I’ve only been working seven hours…”

He tried standing but nearly collapsed.

Dazai grabbed his shoulder and made him sit back down.

“Atsushi, you think I can’t do this alone? You wound me~”

Atsushi’s eyes widened. “What?! No! That’s not what I mea—”

“Then enjoy your well-earned break!”

Dazai cut him off, and Atsushi laid his head back down on the counter.

Fifteen minutes later, a guy with black hair, frosted tips, a long black coat, and a resting scowl sat next to Atsushi.

There were no more available seats but the seat next to Atsushi—it was getting packed.

“A glass of water, please.”

Dazai smirked at the order.

“You’re obviously not here to drink. What brings you in tonight?~”

He slid the glass to him.

“My friend and sister apparently work here. I just found out they work together—but they don’t know it yet.”

Dazai grinned. He already had a strong guess about the sister. The friend, though?

Before he could ask—

“Really?! Who are they???”

Atsushi suddenly perked up, wide-eyed with curiosity.

Akutagawa gave him a look and ignored him. Rude.

Atsushi scoffed and went back to resting.

It was rare for him to show any sass, but it had been a rough day.

Dazai, however, was genuinely curious.

So, he asked again.

Akutagawa answered without hesitation. Atsushi visibly rolled his eyes.

“Chuuya Nakahara. He performs with my sister. He told me it’s only been a day, though—so I’m not sure if you know him.”

For a moment, Dazai’s grin faltered.

He’d finally managed to get that parasite out of his head—and yet here he was again…he inaudibly groaned.

Before Dazai could reply, Atsushi cut in.

“Isn’t that the guy you have a crush on?”

Dazai frowned.

“Why would you say something so offensive!”

He put his hand on his chest as if he just went through heartbreak

“I would never be interested in tiny, loud dogs!”

He whined, Atsushi once said he reminds him of a husky and proceeded to show him a video of one whining like a BITCH.

Akutagawa simply watched with a blank stare.

Suddenly the lights dimmed.

Dazai knew what was going to happened, he was ready this time.

Except… he wasn’t.

The curtains opened.

And that’s when Dazai decided:

He hates Chuuya Nakahara.

Chapter Text

I desire violently—

And I wait.

Anaïs Nin

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dazai was once again, completely allured by the being that is Chuuya Nakahara.

He was possessing the stage—his life was the literal party.

Everyone swayed their bodies to the music and it was exhilarating.

This time, it was less overwhelming, though.

He knew what to expect—which was an unexpected performance.

Chuuya’s outfit consisted of the tightest red leather pants that hugged his ass beautifully.

He only noticed when Chuuya gave a little spin as he sang. The shape was more flared, the ends of the pants wide, and on it, he wore a brown belt.

On top, he wore a black, stunning turtleneck that hugged his biceps in a way that almost made Dazai’s legs weak—even though they were covered, Dazai could still see the outline of his lean muscle.

He was good.

God, he’s really good.

Chuuya’s hair was in a high ponytail, with a few strands falling on his face, framing it like a piece of art.

What did he want to achieve from this?

He’s a star. The way he twisted his hips and the way he moved made him feel—

“UGH I HATE HIM!”

Dazai suddenly shouted, and people looked at him weirdly.

Dazai took a deep breath and tried to focus on work. Keyword: tried.

His eyes kept drifting back to him.

He hated him so fucking much.

He loathed things that made him feel out of control. It was occasionally refreshing, but he didn’t like the unfamiliar.

But it’s not like he genuinely liked him or anything.

Listen—he’s not stupid. Chuuya is one of the most breathtaking people he’s ever met, but it’s just lust. Nothing absurd.

He could control his desires just fine…

After the performance, Akutagawa and Atsushi were still sitting next to one another. They kept throwing each other dirty looks, and at some point, Atsushi scoffed and muttered something under his breath. It was awkwardly tense, Dazai lived off it.
Eventually, Chuuya walked out with the rest of the band. Once Gin saw her brother, she immediately walked up to him.

Behind her—Chuuya.

“Brother? What are you doing here?”

Chuuya’s eyes widened.

“ THAT’S YOUR SISTER?! ”

He popped up from behind her.

Gin tilted her head to the side.

“You guys know each other?”

They eventually all sat down together. Tachihara already knew Akutagawa from visiting sometimes, and Chuuya was happily telling them how he met Akutagawa. Akutagawa was slightly blushing.

Atsushi would be lying if he said it wasn’t entertaining seeing a stone-faced prick like him blush.

They all laughed together, and Dazai was left occasionally glancing over until he was noticed. Chuuya raised an eyebrow and spoke:

“Hey, asshole, are you just gonna stand there?”

He gestured with his hands for him to come closer.

Dazai didn’t know how to react, so he opted for what he knew best: annoying the living shit out of him.

“Ah, sorry, did I just hear something squeak?”

He looked around cartoonishly, and after a minute—with everyone staring at him like he was insane—his gaze finally landed on Chuuya.

“Oh! The tiny chibi speaks!”

“You fucking asshole, I’m still eighteen! I’m growing! ”

Dazai waved him off with his hand. “Yeah, yeah, whatever helps you sleep at night~”

Chuuya grumbled, “With those eyebags, you’re the one who needs help sleeping.”

Dazai dramatically gasped and placed a hand on his chest. “Did Chuuya just admit to wanting to help aid in activities in my bed ? How scandalous!”

“You asshole! I’d rather break my fucking nose than be in the same bed as you!”

The next second, Chuuya stood up and grabbed the collar of Dazai’s shirt. The only thing separating them was the bar… and everyone’s intrigued stares.

Chuuya looked around before letting go of him—rather aggressively—and plopped down on the stool. But he doesn’t back down easily.

“Bandaged, mackerel-like freak,” he muttered.

And was Dazai going to stay silent? No. He was going to fight for his well-earned rights.

“Inconsequential, puny, deafening dog!” he shot back.

“ OI! Who the fuck are you calling a dog?!”

Chuuya shouted, and that’s when Tachihara burst into laughter. Chuuya and Dazai looked at him like he was the weird one.

“You guys—HA! I can’t breathe—YOU GUYS ARE LIKE AN OLD MARRIED COUPLE!”

“No, we’re not!” they both shouted at the same time, faces slightly flushed from frustration.

They gave each other side-glances filled with disgust before turning to one another again.

“Can you stop copying me? It’s pathetic.”

Chuuya rolled his eyes.

Dazai was shocked. He was the one copying him ? FUCK HIM.

“Chuuya, if I really wanted to copy you, I’d just dress as an ugly short leprechaun.”

And from that, Akutagawa snorted. Chuuya’s face immediately turned to him. “Traitor!”

“Even your friends don’t like you, chibi~ but no worries. If you’re that pathetic, I can pretend to like you—with a monthly salary.”

And before Chuuya could respond, Atsushi stood up, glaring at them all.

Oh. He had that pounding headache earlier…

He walked behind the bar before pushing Dazai without saying a single word. The entire time, Dazai whined like a child until he was kicked out the back door.

He came back with a grumpy expression before looking at Chuuya, his face softening slightly.

“Please take this outside. I respect you too much to push you out too.”

Chuuya had a feeling if he didn’t comply, Atsushi would straight-up break down.

Atsushi then walked behind the bar again and began working with an expression that screamed: ‘If I hear any more bullshit, I’m burning this place down then myself.’

Chuuya simply complied and went out the door, leaving a thud behind him.

Everyone in the bar—even the strangers mildly invested in the drama—burst into laughter.

Even Akutagawa chuckled! And no, Atsushi wasn’t staring.

Gin, on the other hand, had witnessed the whole thing with a camera, sneakily taking photos and sending them to Yosano.

She was definitely going to sell those.

⸻

Outside, Chuuya was met with a cramped, dark, gloomy alleyway and a sulking Dazai.

Chuuya scoffed.

“God, would you stop being so childish?”

Dazai only sulked more.

Chuuya simply sighed and leaned against the wall opposite him.

Chuuya pulled out a cigarette. Dazai was immediately intrigued.

He wrapped it between his plump lips and lit it with his lighter.

He raised an eyebrow at Dazai.

“You smoke?”

“Sometimes. After fucking.”

Chuuya leaned closer and handed him the cigarette.

His thoughts were scattered—he could smell Chuuya’s familiar cologne from the proximity and it was driving him mad.

“You look fucked enough for me.”

Dazai could only roll his eyes at that comment and took the cigarette, placing it between his lips, waiting for Chuuya to hand him the lighter.

He tried to redirect his mind to the background chatter and music from the bar, until—

Chuuya leaned forward and Dazai didn’t dodge the sudden closeness. The tips of their cigarettes touched. Here, it happens.

The subtle crackling sound filled his ears and drowned out the bar noise.

The cigarette lit the other, their noses brushed, and Dazai’s heart could burst.

He would rather choke on his vomit than show it, though.

Chuuya leaned back against the wall and chuckled. “You know, I wonder if life also smokes after fucking me.”

And right as Dazai took a drag, he suddenly burst into laughter, immediately followed by a coughing fit for laughing and smoking at the same time.

“God— you’re gonna kill me! ”

Chuuya could only laugh with him in response.

After fifteen minutes of just smoking and actually talking —only occasionally throwing insults—they decided to go back inside.

Atsushi demanded good behavior, and they had no choice but to comply…

Chuuya sat on the stool next to Higuchi, with Dazai in front of them.

“I was thinking of adding more English songs to our shows,”

Higuchi suggested—she was kind of their manager.

She held everything together, and Chuuya respected her.

He didn’t have the energy to hold everything together again…

And that sentence immediately piqued Dazai’s interest.

“That would actually be great. I like them.”

Chuuya’s eyes immediately sparkled, and he leaned in. Dazai noticed he did that a lot—subconsciously—whenever he spoke.

“What do you listen to?”

Dazai thought for a moment and answered. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t a bit excited.

Chuuya just seemed genuinely interested.

“The Smiths, sometimes Jeff Buckley and Radiohead, Elton John, Pink Floyd, and sometimes Fleetwood Mac.”

Chuuya’s eyes sparkled. “I LOVE FLEETWOOD MAC!”

And for the next ten minutes, Chuuya showed Dazai his favorite live performances and proceeded to explain them bit by bit.

He pulled up the 1997 performance of Silver Springs and kept zooming in on their faces to show Dazai how hurt they looked, shouting about how the man’s wife was in the audience, just watching two exes go insane over each other.

And Dazai watched, amused, as Chuuya excitedly explained it all.

He wasn’t going to admit that though.

In fact, why not make him feel bad about it?

“Chuuya’s such a nerd! Getting all worked up.”

He chuckled. He actually loved it.

Chuuya flipped him off. “Kiss my ass, asshole. You’ll still hear everything I have to say about them whether you like it or not.”

Chuuya rolled his eyes and continued ranting, uncaring whether Dazai gave a shit or not.

So impolite.

Suddenly kunikida barged through the door.

“I saw you slacking on the camera, I’m tired of shouting if you don’t do your work now I’m cutting off your salary.”

he genuinely look so done with Dazai's bullshit Chuuya actually pitied him.

Dazai pouted and threw his arms around him

“But kunikidaaaaaa~ can’t you see the chibi is the one distracting me?”

Chuuya stood up “HEY! NO IM NOT!”

Kunikida rubbed his temples before pushing Dazai off him, and then very aggressively push him to the customer who was asking for a bartender.

Dazai smiled as he thought about Chuuya’s

expressions that day…

especially while talking about that band and what stuck with him the most,

Chuuya’s chuckle and his echo of laughter. Silky like velvet, addictive like sin.

He slept that night with another dream of Chuuya.

But this time it wasn’t haunting him making him feel like he was trapped in Chuuya’s being, it was comforting.

⸻

Dazai woke up early today and even though he hasn’t slept much he still feels more energized than ever, as usual he picked up his phone and once again texts flooded his screen.

Maneater: I would love to say good morning to yall and good morning to all the people who thought Atsushi will never get laid it appears that he found his target~

Yosano sent a picture of Atsushi looking over Akutagawa while he was laughing like some angel.

Furry: HWAT THE HELL YOSANO I DONT EVEN LIKE HIM LIKE THAT HES SO ANNOYXNG AND I DESPISE PEIPLE WHO ARE ALWAYS FRUMPY

Bandagesforbrains: you’re looking at him like how kenji looks at his beef bowls.

Thebestdetective: I give it six months.

Bandagesforbrains: mhm, they’re both too dumb I give it atleast a year.

Thebestdetective: naw they’re still not as dense as you Dazai stop self projecting~

Bandagesforbrains: you guys are all delusional sure he’s hot but I don’t even like him like that the second he opens his mouth his ugly words take away from the remains of beauty he has on his face or ass, I rest my case.

Maneater: holy shit you want Chuuya so bad we didn’t even mention him you just immediately thought of him I can smell your whoremones through the screen.

Thebestdetective: here we have ladies and gentlemen, Dazai. When you see the word manwhore in the dictionary right next to it you’ll see his name.

Beware before he spreads his whoremones on you too.

Furry: maybe we’re too mean guys…

Bandagesforbrains: SAVE ME ATSUSHI THEYRE TRYING TO RUIN ME.

Furry: yeah no I’m not forgiving you for that earlier comment.

Bandagesforbrains: #STOP WITH THE DAZAI SLANDER

Chapter Text

“Ah, who will save me from existing? It’s neither death nor life that I want. “

-Fernando Pessoa

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When he woke up, he was tied up in a room. He still looked young… probably thirteen. He was completely bare, with some woman standing in the corner, a cigarette in hand.

“Oh, the kid woke up…”

She walked up to him and leaned closer, her fingers circling around his chest and torso.

“The Boss liked you. A lot.”

Her skinny, dirty fingers traveled all across him. He could feel bruises all over his body, and when she reached his neck, a sharp sting made him wince. Her hands then gently combed through his hair. He didn’t feel any comfort from it.

“Such soft hair… you’re perfect.”

Dazai felt cold. He didn’t know where he was. The room was dark and disgusting.

He was pretty sure he saw a rat in the corner, and the stench of cigarettes and other strange smells flooded his senses.

The door was slightly creaked open.

He was terrified.

Suddenly, the woman leaned closer.

“So, so, so… perfect.”

Her other hand started touching his thighs—and that’s all Dazai could feel.

Hands. Hands. Hands. He didn’t like it—get it off of him—get it off— GET IT OFF.

Suddenly, the nauseating feeling made him shut his eyes and take a deep breath. When he opened them again, the room was dark… no one was there. No hands.

He let out a sigh of relief—until suddenly, the room turned static, like a TV screen gone fuzzy. Only he was inside it.

He turned around and saw bloodshot eyes piercing into his very soul. He slowly turned his head again. He didn’t feel fear—but he felt discomfort. Nausea.

When he turned around again, he only saw more.

“ FUCK! ”

He bolted from his bed and looked around. He  saw Hatrack staring dumbly at him, his head tilted to the side.

Dazai rubbed his temples with a groan.

He picked up his phone and checked the time.

It was still too early for this bullshit. Seven in the fucking morning—and sure, that’s normal for some people—but with his absurd bartender schedule, seven a.m. was a time he was either asleep or getting ready to be.

He dragged himself up and started his daily routine.

Exhaustion.

He was actually going to visit Ranpo’s precinct today to have lunch with him and Yosano… he hoped that at least that would make his day a little better.

It was still too early for that, though, so he was just going to get shit done, then go.

After cleaning a bit, watching another shitty movie, playing with Hatrack, and staring aimlessly at the wall with nothing to do, he realized it was time. He got up, wore just a navy blue sweater with dark jeans and his beige coat.

He tried to… contain? His hair a bit, but simply combed his fingers through it and decided that would do.

Unfortunately, today was literally pouring.

He had to use his car to get there.

When he arrived, he noticed the building had more of a classic European style—red brick walls, cream stone accents, and tall, narrow windows.

It had a nice historic charm.

Dazai parked and headed to the third floor. When the elevator opened, he’d be lying if he said he expected what he saw…

“TETCHO, PLEASE REFRAIN FROM POKING JOUNO’S ASS WHENEVER HE PISSES YOU OFF WITH YOUR GODDAMN POCKET KNIFE!”

A guy with brown eyes and red under-eye tattoos simply shrugged.

“He threw my lunch in the dumpster.”

His voice was far too calm for the chaos unfolding.

A fairly short girl with red hair was literally sleeping on a desk, while the guy who he assumed was “Tetcho” was behind the other guy—who he just heard was “Jouno”—with said pocket knife that used to be in Jouno’s ass, now in front of Tetcho’s throat…

That Jouno guy didn’t even turn around. His hand was just… weirdly twisted, holding the knife to his Tetcho’s neck—even while Tetcho was behind him.

And through all that, Dazai spotted a man—probably in his thirties—with straight dark brown hair, red glasses, and a beige trench coat not unlike his own, sitting at a desk with a phone, clearly recording the entire chaos with a slight grin on his face.

Suddenly, the man who was yelling at them, begging them to stop threatening people’s asses, noticed Dazai’s presence and turned to face him.

“Oh… you must be Ranpo’s friend, I presume? Uh, excuse my….coworkers.”

He left a blank there probably tasking Dazai to fill it himself with the scene that just unfolded in front of him.

His voice was deep and a bit rugged. He looked slightly embarrassed, rubbing the back of his neck. But honestly, Dazai didn’t mind. He’s seen worse. Hell, he works in worse.

“Pleasure to meet you, Mr….?”

The guy nodded.

“Minoura. I’m the sergeant supervising the detective precinct.”

Dazai smiled. “Yeah, I heard about you from Ranpo!”

Suddenly, a door burst open to reveal Ranpo with a mouth full of sour candies and a bottle of soda.

He tilted his head and looked at Dazai. “You’re here early.”

Dazai chuckled and walked up to him. “You’re not surprised, though.”

Ranpo walked past him and shrugged. “I already knew. Now come on, I knew this would happen, and it would distract them enough not to notice I was gone early!”

He whispered the last sentence before suddenly skipping out, ignoring the shouting behind him.

Dazai could only follow.

“Where do you think you guys are going?”

Suddenly, the man holding the camera stopped them on the staircase.

He had a pissed-off expression and one raised eyebrow.

“Ranpo, you knew I wanted to try that café with you. How dare you sneak out without me!”

Ranpo tilted his head. “Oh, hi Murase. Care to join us?”

“Don’t change the subject!”

They were sitting at a table for four, waiting for Yosano to arrive. Ranpo ordered a vanilla milkshake with chocolate sauce. Murase just ordered tea, saying that if he had one more cup of coffee, a heart attack would welcome him with warm arms. Dazai just went for coffee with extra cream and sugar.

“So,” Murase said, taking a sip of his tea, “you work as a bartender?”

Dazai nodded. “At Lupin Bar, yeah. I’m surprised Ranpo never took you, it’s his dads bar actually” 

Murase rolled his eyes, but before he could argue with Ranpo about it He suddenly stood up.

“Yosano!” he waved from afar. When she noticed them, she walked over.

“Hi boys. Hi Murase.” She pulled out a chair and sat down.

Murase waved back. “Hey Yosano, haven’t seen you in a while. Try visiting us at the precinct sometime, yeah?”

Yosano smiled and nodded. “So? What were you guys talking about?”

“I was telling Ranpo to bring Murase to the bar sometime,” Dazai said, waving another sugar packet before tearing it open and dumping it into his coffee.

“Oh yeah, you should totally come. We have this band too, and they’re amazing,” Ranpo smirked. “Dazai actually has a crush on the singer.”

Dazai suddenly stopped stirring. “Why are you all so convinced I’m head over heels for that slug? I’m true to myself, and if my type ever shifts to short, loud gingers, I’ll let you all know~”

Yosano rolled her eyes. “Sure, sure. Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

Dazai rolled his eyes. In fact, he didn’t even sleep today—but he wasn’t about to bring that up. He wasn’t ready for a lecture from Yosano.

They had a nice lunch, chatted about random things and work. Murase talked about a case he just cracked and had a prideful grin stretched across his face—until Yosano mentioned her lovely marriage. Then he went on a rant about how he chose to be single and didn’t want to feel responsible for anyone else. He already had this whole city to feel obligated to.

They all decided that Murase and Ranpo would visit the bar that evening.

Exhaustion was an understatement for what he felt.

When he got back home, he opened the door, closed it, and simply sank to the ground on the cold floor.

Whenever he’s out, every sentence sounds rehearsed. He feels like he can never actually talk—but if asked what he really needs to talk about? He wouldn’t be able to answer. He never will. It’s ironic—even if he’s not in the play he calls life, he’s still acting, making a fool of himself. Even if he’s finally truthful with a voice loud enough for everyone to hear, he still wouldn’t feel seen.

Dazai will never be a part of anything. He will always be ignored and cast aside—even if the people doing it don’t realize they’re doing it.

Dazai has no one, and no one has Dazai.

And when he dies, even the memory of him won’t live on as a noble one—but as a ghost that haunts people only to remind them of what a failure of a human he was.

Dazai knew it. He seriously knew it.

That’s simply who he is. He’s not sad. He’s not depressed. He’s just tired, and he wishes he could get this over with.

What “this” is—he doesn’t even know.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It’s safe to say that Chuuya’s college life was going down the drain.

There he stood, in front of the Golden Demon, with the Flags next to him—all heads hung low.

Lippmann had a look of shame on his face. Iceman looked stoic, but Chuuya noticed the slight line between his brows. Piano looked apologetic, but not that sad or guilty, while… Doc and Albatross were standing way too close to each other, both trying to hide the laughter threatening to escape.

Chuuya’s day had started well. He slept well, woke up early, did some stretches (as a former ballet dancer he wouldn’t allow himself to lose his flexibility), jogged to the sunrise while listening to music, came home, ate a nice breakfast, showered, then went to his classes.

Needless to say, they all went well. He sat with Akutagawa, got to know him better, had lunch with him—and then came his last class… physics.

That’s where everything turned to absolute shit.

Albatross brought his goddamn pet lizard to class.

He hid it in his backpack and looked too proud when he showed it off to them all in the back. Now, it was common knowledge that nothing escaped the sharp observation of the Golden Demon—Kouyou Ozaki.

That’s how they all ended up standing in front of her after class like pitiful, wet dogs with their heads hung.

She didn’t escalate things to any higher-ups. In fact, she said she wanted to “speak to them herself,” which somehow made it a hundred times more terrifying. Chuuya had to admit it.

Piano Man nodded through all her scolding before politely raising his hand to speak—like they were literal children in kindergarten.

“I apologize for my friends’ actions, and I can assure you we all knew nothing of it.”

At that, Doc snorted. Piano Man shot him a glare.

“We’ll never do anything like this again. We genuinely value and respect your class. So please, don’t let this affect our grades or relationship with you, Professor Kouyou.”

At the end, he bowed and forced the rest of them to bow with him.

Apparently, Piano Man’s speech calmed Kouyou down.

“Okay. I’ve kept you long enough. You may go now.”

She waved them off.

The minute they were off-campus, Iceman literally punched Albatross in the face.

“I told you not to disturb Princess’s peace like that.”

Princess was the lizard. Chuuya almost cried laughing the second he heard HIS  name.

Apparently, Albatross and Iceman got him so they wouldn’t kill each other living as roommates and to have something they could both care about.

They reminded Chuuya of a couple who only stayed together for their child.

It was hilarious. He thought he’d grow an eighth pack from the sheer amount of laughter he had with them.

The sun was setting as they all walked to the parking lot.

“Hey, why don’t you guys all come to the bar tonight?”

The last few times they were busy. He hoped they’d make it this time—especially since the songs they were going to perform were actually really good.

Albatross’s face lit up. “Hell yeah, we’ll come! when?”

Chuuya chuckled.

“Starts at ten p.m. and ends at eleven-thirty. But I always stay and have a drink after—it’s nice.”

Piano Man nodded. “We’ll all come.”

Chuuya gave him a nod of agreement before hopping on his beloved bike.

“See you later, guys!”

And he drove off.

Chuuya opened his apartment door and plopped down on the couch. He pulled out his phone and dialed Paul.

He actually looked better lately, and Chuuya wasn’t sure why. He was definitely happy about it, though. His face looked less pale, and Chuuya even noticed a paint stain on his shirt. He didn’t point it out, but he felt proud.

After three rings, Paul picked up. His hair was messy, and Chuuya could see he was in a room he hadn’t expected—

The storage room.

The one where Chuuya himself had tucked away all his past memories and paintings.

“Chuuya, hi.”

“Hey, Paul. How are you?”

Paul nodded reassuringly. “I’m fine. I’m going to visit my art gallery later today, you know… get back to work.”

Chuuya’s eyes widened. He hadn’t expected Paul to actually start working again after his “break.” He thought he’d just live off his savings forever.

“Really? That’s great! I want you to send me photos of everything.”

Paul chuckled. “Of course, of course.”

The rest of the conversation was actually good. Chuuya asked about his overall health, whether he was eating well or not. Paul asked about his friends, which led to Chuuya ranting. Then he asked how college was treating him—and Chuuya spared him the details of what had happened that day, for the sake of Paul’s sanity. He asked about work, and Chuuya told him honestly that he enjoyed it. That it was actually great.

And when Paul asked if there were any inconveniences at work… a certain brunette flashed through his head.

But he didn’t want to worry Paul. He could get quite… overprotective.

If he heard about some suicidal bastard pissing Chuuya off in every way imaginable, he wouldn’t be amused.

“No, Paul. Everything’s fine at work. They’re all very friendly and kind.”

The conversation ended with a content nod from Paul. Chuuya then went off to make something to eat, laze around a bit, and then head to out.

⸻

Being on stage is a feeling Chuuya will never get tired of.

Even though the bar is small and the performances aren’t exactly grand, he just loves it.

Chuuya isn’t arrogant—but god, he loves when people look at what he does.

He never cared much about being seen, but he liked sharing what he loves.

There’s beauty in music. Every language has a barrier—a line some people can’t cross.

Music, though? Music is for everyone.

And the fact that he is the one demonstrating that beauty—it fills him with joy.

Most of his life, his words weren’t heard.

When he begged the orphanage for food—he wasn’t heard.

When he asked his foster parents with tears in his eyes not to leave him—he wasn’t heard.

When he screamed for help while the orphanage literally burned down, carrying his friends on his frail back—no one listened.

No one ever listened to Chuuya.

But when it comes to music?

People come here just to listen to him.

From the stage, he noticed Yosano and Dazai behind the counter, talking to Ranpo and a guy he didn’t recognize.

He didn’t want to focus too much—he had a performance to deliver.

But he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t a little distracted.

In a booth, all the Flags were gathered, cheering him on loudly.

He even caught a snort escaping from Tachihara at how loud his friends were…

“ YOU WERE GREAT OUT THERE! ”

Albatross threw an arm around Chuuya the moment he sat next to them in the booth.

They all nodded in agreement to Albatross’s very loud statement, and Lippmann was even chuckling.

They all ordered drinks, and eventually, a tall man with gray hair and a green kimono stood next to Chuuya.

“Hello, Chuuya-kun.” His voice was deep.

Chuuya immediately stood up and bowed.

“There’s no need for formalities. I came here today to see you guys, and I’m definitely not disappointed. I just wanted to say—keep up the good work.”

He sounded so calm—Chuuya felt at ease just hearing him.

“Thank you, Boss.”

Fukuzawa simply patted his shoulder before walking away and sitting next to a man with a mustache who had a calico cat on his lap.

After a while Fukuzawa went to Ranpo he seemed to sit next to him and after a while they both stood up and left together.

Chuuya will definitely ask about that later.

Still, he felt giddy as hell. He didn’t know why, but he took Fukuzawa’s praise to heart. It genuinely made him feel good—

Which was embarrassing as hell.

Doc noticed it, of course, and made a point to tease him about it for the rest of the night.

“Guys, we need to go. I have work tomorrow—remember the hospital internship I told you about? And Iceman is the one driving me.”

Doc stood up, and Iceman followed. “I’m gonna go too.”

Lippmann joined them. “I have a model interview tomorrow, and I need my beauty sleep.”

He shrugged, and Chuuya couldn’t help but roll his eyes.

“You guys are lame. Me, Albatross, and Piano Man are gonna have fun without you.”

Doc smacked the back of his head.

Eventually, they left…. after a tiny argument between Doc and Chuuya.

Chuuya noticed at the bar, Dazai, Yosano and that other guy were still chatting and seemed to be enjoying themselves.

Apparently, his staring was obvious, because Yosano noticed and motioned for him, Albatross, and Piano Man to come over.

Naturally, he did—followed by the other two.

Chuuya noticed Dazai immediately stepping away the moment they arrived, returning to bartending other customers.

Chuuya didn’t know why—but it made him frown.

He noticed Dazai’s clothes looked messier than usual, and some of his bandages seemed loose.

His dark circles were faint—but Chuuya still caught them.

He didn’t even care about Dazai. He just… noticed.

“HEY YOSANO”

Albatross immediately sat infront of yosano. It wasn’t news to Chuuya that Albatross was a regular at Lupin, so he assumed the two were already friends.

He and Piano Man sat next to the stranger, and Yosano introduced them from behind the bar.

“Chuuya, this is Murase. Murase, this is Chuuya.”

Chuuya gave a polite smile toward the man, and Murase immediately beamed.

“Hey, Chuuya.” He then turned to Piano Man and waved.

“You can call me Piano Man.”

He didn’t introduce himself to Yosano—he already knew she knew who he was.

They quickly fell into a rhythm of chatter and jokes—and it was honestly fun.

Murase was very funny—Chuuya had to admit. He made him chuckle more than once.

While Albatross was very excitedly telling them the lizard story—with huge hand gestures and the most dramatic facial reactions—Murase turned to Chuuya.

“So, what do you study, Chuuya?”

Chuuya’s attention shifted to him. “Quantum physics. What’s your job?”

He tilted his head in curiosity.

Murase grinned. “Guess.”

Chuuya took a moment.

He noticed how alert Murase was—how he slightly twitched when someone got too close, how his eyes tracked every movement around the bar. Probably a job that required awareness.

And judging by the crease in the back of his pants— looked like a gun —Chuuya had seen it before he even sat.

He also seemed closer to Ranpo than Yosano, so likely a coworker.

That probably just made him a fellow detective.

Chuuya took a few seconds and came to the conclusion:

“A detective?”

Murase seemed genuinely surprised. “How did you know?”

Chuuya offered his reasoning, and Murase’s grin only grew.

“You need to become a detective. Quit working here and come work under me—I’ll train you!”

Yosano suddenly turned toward them.

“You’re not taking our star, Murase.”

She gave him a threatening look—and it seemed to work. Mostly.

“Hey, kid,” Murase whispered. “You’re seriously bright. I’m giving you an opportunity too good to pass up. It’s okay if you don’t want it though.”

Chuuya chuckled. People here were too amusing. “No, no. I don’t want any of that, don’t worry.”

Murase let out an exaggerated sigh. “Oh come on, old man. It’s not that deep.”

Chuuya nudged him with his elbow.

“Old man…?” Murase frowned. “Chuuya, you’re gonna put me in an early grave.”

Chuuya couldn’t help but grin and pat his back. “Sure, sure…”

Then he noticed Dazai wasn’t behind the bar anymore.

Maybe he went home.

Chuuya stood up. “I’ll go out for a quick smoke.”

Murase turned to the whole group.

“See this right here?” he pointed to Chuuya. “This is what you should not be doing, kids. Smoking kills!”

As he finished his sentence, he pulled out a cigarette and lit it.

Safe to say—Murase became one of Albatross’s favorite people that day.

⸻

Chuuya opened the door and shivered as cold air hit his skin.

He leaned against the cramped alleyway and lit up his cigarette.

His head turned when he noticed a presence nearby—and his shoulders relaxed slightly when he saw who it was.

“What? Here to recharge your assholeness so you can spread it around the bar once you’re fully charged?”

Dazai chuckled—but it sounded so… hollow.

Chuuya could tell when someone was walking around without actually being present.

Just like the day they met on the beach—Dazai wasn’t really here.

His eyes were far too empty.

⸻

Dazai felt like absolute shit.

Sure, their laughs and chatter were a distraction—but not enough.

It was like their voices echoed inside his body only to remind him how empty he was.

At some point, the lights, the words, the orders—all of it started blending together.

And it’s not like Dazai couldn’t function on autopilot.

Most of his life was like this anyway.

But today?

Today it was too much.

He felt completely disconnected, yet too tangled in it to pull himself out.

It was a strange state—where everything blurred and slowed to a crawl, yet none of it stuck.

He couldn’t even remember half of it.

He’d noticed Chuuya the second he stepped out.

But he was just too tired to say anything.

Even when Chuuya spoke to him first, all Dazai could offer was a chuckle.

Suddenly, Chuuya extended a cigarette toward him.

“You seem pretty fucked right now. Want a cig?”

Dazai chuckled again—but this time, it held a flicker of warmth.

Chuuya noticed the way his eyes twitched just before the laugh, like he actually found it amusing.

Without saying anything, Dazai accepted the cigarette.

“I’ll come here whenever I feel fucked, then,” he muttered, lighting it.

He leaned against the wall beside Chuuya.

They were barely inches apart, but neither of them acknowledged it.

“I’m going to see your annoying face a lot, then,” Chuuya mumbled.

Chapter Text

What if I told you I’m incapable of tolerating my own heart?

-Virginia Wolf

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A month passed in the blink of an eye, and it was already December. Chuuya’s studies were beginning to devour more and more of his time—but that wasn’t the only thing keeping him busy.

This month had been eventful for Chuuya. For one, Murase occasionally dropped by so they could cook together Chuuya mentioned always cooking for his brother back at France and Murase immediately jumped at that—because apparently, Murase couldn’t “cook” to save his life and desperately needed Chuuya’s help.

Chuuya would be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy the man’s company.

Murase kind of reminded him of an older brother, but Paul had never been like that, so “older brother” didn’t quite fit… Maybe more of a fatherly figure? Chuuya immediately shook the thought off, his cheeks heating at the idea.

That wasn’t the only notable thing this month. He and Yosano went to that wine convention together, and Yosano finally introduced him to her wife—who, to Chuuya’s shock, turned out to be his professor.

Needless to say, the start was awkward, but soon the conversation flowed smoother than silk.

Chuuya genuinely enjoyed being with them. They made him feel safe—like family. A very sassy family (Yosano)—but still, the kind he felt he could talk to about anything.

Koyou and Yosano gave him excellent advice and felt like sisters. Murase was warm and grounding to be around. Ranpo had started sharing sweets with him and Akutagawa and him were growing much closer, and Chuuya would be lying if he said he didn’t absolutely adore him. He treated Akutagawa like his own child, and he didn’t care how many frowns or scowls Aku gave him—he’d baby him whether he liked it or not.

He’d also started visiting their bar more often, which meant Chuuya got front-row seats to the constant flirting-and-fighting act between him and Atsushi. They bickered even more than he and Dazai did.

Dazai, on the other hand… Ever since that conversation in the alley, he’d only shown up to smoke twice. Honestly, it was probably good for him—it meant he wasn’t spiraling any further.

But that didn’t mean they didn’t interact. In fact, a week ago, they’d started a war at the bar:

A bet.

Safe to say, it was—and still is—a complete disaster. It became so popular that they hung the scoreboard on one of the bar walls, and even customers started placing bets on the winner.

It began when Dazai poured vinegar into Chuuya’s shot, and Chuuya retaliated by stuffing whipped cream into the pockets of one of Dazai’s unattended coats.

The fight escalated until Dazai smirked and said, “Chibi’s pranks are so outdated you wouldn’t dare take this further—because you know I’ll ruin you.”

Chuuya gritted his teeth and, with one word, ignited the war:

“Bet.”

Sure, Chuuya hated his guts—the mere sight of him set his nerves on fire—but he couldn’t deny how entertaining it was.

He slipped on his shoes, coat, and finally his hat. today he wore his favorite—and most expensive fedora.

Hopping on his motorcycle, he sped toward the bar.

The cold December air whipped against him, but he didn’t care. The night felt freeing—fifteen blissful minutes of lightness.

He will never get tired of this feeling.

The cold air stung like glass shards but still he loved every second of it.

He loved that no matter how many times he did this his heart will still beat uncontrollably.

When he arrived, he was about to push open the bar door when he noticed it: a bucket perched above it. Really? How cliché.

Instead of stepping inside, he leaned back—and instantly felt something yank at his leg before pink exploded in his vision.

He was drenched in pink foam.

Dazai stepped out from behind the door, snapping a picture with a camera and giggling like a twelve-year-old girl.

“First of all, thank god for that prank—now you can take off that monstrosity of a hat,” Dazai sneered.

Chuuya clenched his jaw, temper flaring.

“Secondly, I knew Chibi would notice the bucket, so I predicted your move—and just look at how pretty you are now~”

Chuuya was seconds away from punching him through the wall—but then a better idea struck. His smirk replaced his glare, and he brushed past Dazai, bumping his foam-covered shoulder into him.

Dazai didn’t like that reaction one bit.

When Chuuya walked into the bar, the entire place erupted into laughter and amusement. Everyone was there tonight—the Flags, Ranpo, Akutagawa… even Fukuzawa sat beside Ranpo.

“You guys don’t even know what I’m about to do to that bastard,” Chuuya said with a dangerous smile, earning cheers.

Behind him, Dazai sauntered in, proudly hanging the Polaroid of foam-covered Chuuya on the scoreboard.

Little did he know, the prank was about to backfire—spectacularly.

⸻

Dazai was having a peaceful night behind the bar—well, peaceful by his standards. Serving drinks, joking with customers, and, like Kunikida always begged him to, acting like a competent bartender.

He’d only spat in one customer’s drink tonight! which, in his opinion, was monumental progress and deserved applause.

People should really appreciate him more around here.

He was lazily wiping a glass when his grip slipped, the shatter cutting through the noise of the bar. No one could really blame him for dropping it—because standing at the door was Chuuya.

Not the foam-covered Chuuya from five minutes ago.

No.

The man was wearing the tightest brown leather pants Dazai had ever seen, clinging to his ass like Mufasa to that damn cliff. And as if that wasn’t bad enough, his top was a sleeveless turtleneck—also criminally tight—showing every curve of his torso. Dazai swore he caught sight of a small bump at his navel, and for the sake of his sanity, refused to let his mind wander toward the possibility of a belly button piercing.

What really shocked him though. Chuuya’s arms.

Not just bare—defined. Perfectly sculpted biceps, not overly bulky but beautifully proportioned, and wrapped around one was a sleek snake tattoo curling across his left arm.

Dazai swore under that tattoo there was contractures on his skin but Chuuya never mentioned them and Dazai knew when to not overstep his boundaries.

Still Dazai had noticed his muscles before, but never had such a clear view. Now, it was impossible to look away.

Chuuya then walks up to him , that is, swaying his hips in those ridiculously tight pants as if he owns the damn bar.

As if he owns Dazai’s heart .

God, He hates him.

Chuuya sat right in front of him , calm smile on his lips, but Dazai could see the battle to keep a smug grin from breaking through.

“It’s a miracle I had extra clothes back there, huh, Dazai?” he said, tilting his head innocently.

Dazai leaned forward, close enough to be dangerous, smirking. “If you wanted my attention that badly, Chibi, you could’ve just said so~”

Chuuya didn’t flinch. “These are just my normal clothes, Dazai. But if you think I’m wearing this to get your attention… doesn’t that mean I already have it?”

Their eyes locked—Chuuya’s unwavering, always burning straight into the soul, and Dazai’s soul was a stubborn one.

Before either could land another verbal hit, Albatross groaned from the side, “Oh my god, stop eye-fucking each other, it’s unbearable.”

They both turned, caught mid-stare.

Chuuya’s face didn’t even twitch. “I’d rather swallow ten laxative pills and glue my ass shut than do anything sexual with this walking bandage roll.”

The deadpan delivery sent half the bar into laughter.

Dazai raised a brow, smug. “Such a passionate remark for someone you supposedly hate~”

Chuuya rolled his eyes and ignored him—for now.

Tachihara tapped Chuuya’s shoulder. “Come on, man, we gotta go.”

Chuuya shot Dazai one last scowl before leaving, and Dazai happily waved him off.

⸻

Chuuya performed well (as always) then  drank with the flags afterward, and was actually enjoying himself—until the cold started creeping in. His outfit wasn’t exactly winter-friendly, and the December air bit hard. Still, he wanted his nightly smoke.

The second he stepped outside, he found himself face-to-face with one very slippery mackerel.

Chuuya groaned and rolled his eyes.

“What the fuck are you doing here?”

⸻

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Meanwhile, chaos was unfolding inside.

Atsushi was on the verge of panic. Dazai had suddenly ditched his shift, leaving him in charge, and now an old man was screaming—and spitting—in his face while Gin glared daggers from behind him.

It had started only moments ago: Gin carrying a tray of drinks when a drunk idiot turned abruptly, nearly knocking her over. She managed to save herself, but not the drinks, which spilled all over the man.

He grabbed her wrist, going ballistic.

Atsushi stepped in—not because Gin couldn’t handle herself, but because the guy was about to seriously regret it.

“Excuse me, sir, you’re making a scene. We’re sorry about the spill—let us offer you a free drink,” Atsushi said calmly.

The man only got angrier. “Why the fuck is a freak like you intervening” He grabbed Atsushi’s hand roughly, but Atsushi kept his composure.

“This is my coworker sir I’d have to help the situation and please let go of me” he said, voice flat.

If asked how Atsushi really felt at that moment though? Pure Dreadful panic.

The man shoved him, expecting him to stumble. He didn’t and stood firm, if Gin was involved he had to atleast stand his ground.

Instead, the drunk ignored him, grabbed Gin’s hand again, and barked, “Apologize.” His voice was loud enough to draw attention from the whole bar.

Kunikida and Yosano were already approaching—both ready to drag the man out and iceman stood up with a thud knocking things down.

Then came the grin. That disgusting, knowing grin. “Unless… you’ve got other ways to apologize.”

He’s getting it.

Atsushi yanked the man’s hand away from Gin’s face, spun him around, and punched him hard enough to make the entire bar gasp. A crack echoed in the silence.

Kunikida froze mid-step. Yosano’s eyes went sharp. Albatross had his camera ready. Doc, scalpel in hand ready to probably slit that man with it. They were now watching with eerie stillness.

Even Akutagawa who had just stepped out of the bathroom, his glare lethal enough to kill on the spot.

________

Atsushi sat on the bathroom stall floor, head buried between his knees.

He’d messed up. Bad.

Kunikida had dragged the man outside, practically manhandling him, while Yosano had stayed back to calm Gin—though anyone who knew her could see the violent calm bubbling beneath her skin. The Flags were gathered close, cussing the man and standing besides Gin.

the man was crying in pain, and when Kunikida came back in, Yosano shot him a sharp look.

“Fukuzawa says he’ll handle him,” Kunikida said grimly.

That was all she needed to hear.

*

Inside the stall, Atsushi’s thoughts were chewing him alive.

He’d acted on impulse. Stupid. Reckless. The guy would probably sue, that guy looked rich and there went his only hope of stability. He’d dragged everyone down with him.

His headmaster had been right—he was broken. No matter how many times he told himself to hate the world instead of himself, the truth was, he couldn’t. He despised himself more.
it was haunting 

The man’s voice echoed in his head, promising to shut the bar down.

And even though Atsushi didn’t regret hitting him—not after what he’d said to Gin—the panic was setting in fast.

The voices in his head never left him alone. Black and white thoughts. Contradicting, clawing.

He would never truly be alone—but the quiet was worse.

A knock came at the stall door.

“Atsushi, open up. I know you’re in there.”

He expected Kunikida. Maybe even Dazai. But the voice was different—low, clipped, Akutagawa.

“Are you seriously going to keep me standing here? Hurry up.”

The blunt tone weirdly grounded him. Made him aware of his own breathing—how shallow it had gotten.

Without getting up, Atsushi reached for the lock and flicked it open. He didn’t look up, expecting Akutagawa to drag him out or start lecturing him about how they were screwed now.

Instead, Akutagawa stepped in, closed the door behind him, and sat down on the floor opposite him, back against the wall.

Five minutes of silence passed. No movement, no words—just breathing. Atsushi’s lungs finally started working properly again, the heaviness in his chest loosening.

When he finally looked up, Akutagawa’s expression was unreadable.

“Aren’t you gonna say anything?” Atsushi asked.

Akutagawa shrugged. “It looked like you needed silence. But still… a presence. So that’s what I gave you.”

Atsushi blinked, taken off guard. “Uh… thank you.”

“I’m not doing this out of kindness,” Akutagawa replied flatly. “You helped my sister when I wasn’t there. So I’ll help you when clearly no one else is.”

Of course. That was how he’d frame it. Still, Atsushi felt the gratitude sink in.

Fifteen more minutes passed. Finally, Atsushi spoke again.

“How did you know?”

Akutagawa tilted his head.

“How did you know exactly what I needed? Is it that obvious I can’t even be left alone with myself? Is it that obvious that I’m incapable of tolerating myself?” Atsushi’s stomach twisted at his own words.

Akutagawa sighed. “The fact that you can’t be alone—not out of weakness, but out of hatred for yourself—is pathetic. But that doesn’t mean I don’t understand.”

Atsushi almost snapped back, but deep down, he knew the words were true.

“I’m a failure,” he muttered. “There’s nowhere I belong. Not even the streets.” He let out a bitter laugh.

Something flickered in Akutagawa’s face at the mention of the streets.

“You really are a loser,” he said.

Atsushi groaned. “Wow, thanks. Truly the most vulgar insult anyone’s ever thrown at me.”

He’s said sarcastically and rolled his eyes.

Still witty even when alarmed huh?

But then Akutagawas iexpression shifted slightly—just enough for Atsushi to catch it.

“The words from your past are fundamental and meaningless.They don’t dictate who you are now, or who you’ll be. You’re the one who chooses that.” His voice was calm, but edged with steel.

“There’s no such thing as ‘belonging’ somewhere. You decide where you want to be, and you plant your feet. Even if it’s on the streets. Especially if it’s on the streets. And when you finally have something better than that—something worth keeping—you hold onto it so tightly that if anyone tries to take it, you claw your way back. With teeth, if you have to.”

Akutagawa stood, looking down at him.

“Me and Gin lived on the streets too. And for as long as I can remember, I protected her. Today… I couldn’t. You did. So I’m grateful.”

His tone didn’t match the word, but Atsushi could see it—

unguarded eyes.

⸻

Atsushi eventually followed him out, and once he got out, he saw Kunikida looking down at him.

“Kunikida… I’m so, so sorry. I didn’t mean for it all to be like—I swear I just wanted t—”

Kunikida put his hand on Atsushi’s shoulder with a small smile.

“It’s okay, Atsushi. I’m actually proud of you.”

Atsushi looked at him with wide eyes.

“But that man, he’s going to file a lawsuit against the bar.”

Kunikida shook his head. “He won’t, not after Fukuzawa deals with him. Don’t worry.”

Atsushi didn’t know what he meant by that.

Suddenly, the bar’s doors opened, and in came Fukuzawa, and Atsushi is pretty sure he saw him slide a katana inside his fucking sleeve.

He’s not going to even ask. He felt too relieved and just went back to work.

And while working, his eyes always seemed to drift off to a certain raven head that now occupied his every thought. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Oh, come on, Chuuya, I just wanted to make sure you’re okay~ check up on you, make sure you aren’t maybe freezing to death with that ugly outfit~”

Chuuya grumbled. “First of all, I know you’re planning something, asshole. Don’t even think for a second I’ll believe that bit. Secondly—”

Chuuya walked up to him and suddenly began very aggressively taking his coat off.

“Ow, ow, ow—chibi, if you wanted me undressed, you could have just said so! I know I’m sexy as hell but you should consider my type isn’t small loud men.”

Chuuya hit his head,

“shut up bastard”

and after successfully taking Dazai’s coat off, he slipped it on.

Sure, he was basically swimming in it, but he didn’t care. He felt warm, and now he could enjoy his smoke.

Now that he thinks about it, it smells awfully so…Dazai it smelled like citrusy laundry detergent and even a bit salty and sea like and there’s just this scent that smells like Dazai and he can’t quite place it.

Chuuya ignored that thought,

Dazai sighed dramatically before walking off and opening the door to the bar but before he closed it behind him he flips Chuuya off.

And Chuuya simply does the same Dazai turns his head and offers him a sly smile before going inside.

Chuuya rolled his eyes but couldn’t fight the smile that tugged on his lips.

After ten minutes, he finished and entered the bar again, this time from the back. He needed to check on his clothes.

He was able to quickly wash them by hand and put them on some table to dry off.

Once he entered, he noticed his hat was missing.

He looked all around the room, and looking in the corner of his room, there it was—his hat.

He picked it up, and Chuuya noticed inside his hat, stitched on it, was the word “hatrack” with a miniature slug next to it.

This hat was one of Chuuya’s most expensive hats.

He was going to kill that bastard.

He stomped outside the room and slammed the door shut behind him.

He saw him behind the bar, wiping the table.

Chuuya calmly walked to Dazai, slow and steady… he didn’t want the bar separating them, so he actually went inside instead, right next to him.

He aggressively pushed him against the bar and pulled his collar, with a threatening look plastered on his face.

Now that he sees his eyes up close… they weren’t hazel, they were more amber-red, and when looking directly into his eyes, they burned like hot honey—addictively bittersweet.

He felt that if he looked away for a single second, he would miss the fire that ignites in them while looking at him.

Chuuya took note of his eye color (he’s not sure why) but made sure his threatening expression didn’t falter for a second.

Dazai had a shit-eating grin on his face. “Why, hello there, chibi. Quite the pleasant evening—why the scary look?~”

Chuuya felt his eye twitch. “Bastard! You know why. My fucking hat! You ruined it.”

Dazai giggled like a schoolgirl. “Yes, yes, Did you know I have a cat just as aggressive as Chuuya called Hatrack? now we have Hatrack the cat and Hatrack the slug! Isn’t it wonderful?”

Chuuya pushed him harder against the table, caging him in even more.

“I’m gonna fucking murder you.” Dazai chuckled.

“Please do~”

Chuuya suddenly seemed to calm down. He let out a scoff and shoved him harder before walking off again, but before he was out of sight, he flipped him off. “I’m going to get you for this, asshole! And I’m never returning the coat!”

Everyone looked at the interaction with mouths agape. Except for Ranpo, though—he was just enjoying it with a lollipop in his mouth.

Chuuya went out of the bar with a loud thud, and everyone seemed to sigh.

They were both too oblivious.

Chapter Text

You will never be able to experience everything.

So, please do poetical justice to your soul and simply experience yourself.

-Albert Camus

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dear Dazai,

I write this letter as I get ready to leave. I’m sorry I couldn’t stay, I’m sorry I couldn’t help you, and I’m sorry I couldn’t be a better friend.

I won’t be able to hear you rant anymore, and I won’t be here to help you anymore, but I can at least tell you this: no matter what happens to you, no matter what other difficulties you endure, you shouldn’t endure them in the acting industry.

Find yourself, Dazai. Don’t look for someone they want—look for someone you feel comfortable with, deep inside that heart of yours that I’m certain is still beating. Nothing in this world will ever fill the loneliness in it, though. Be someone who knows who they are. If neither side means much to you, then at least do what you’re most comfortable with. Be a good man, Dazai—don’t be one who deceives.

I write this with complete certainty, knowing you’ll one day become something you can at least be comfortable with. Love is too much for your stubborn soul, because I know my friends better than anyone. Find yourself, Dazai.

Odasuke

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A previous year ago

Dazai hated hospitals. The harsh white light always brought out people’s pores in the worst way, the sterile scent made him nauseous, and the memories that came with every hospital lingered in the back of his mind.

The first time was when he was thirteen—found in an old abandoned warehouse, naked, bruised and cold. Immediately rushed to the hospital.

The second was when he was sixteen, after he failed his first attempt. He had been found unconscious in a red bathtub, one hand limply hanging out, a razor on the ground.

And now, this.

He sat outside the room with dark, soulless eyes, worn-out clothes, and tangled hair.

“Dazai! Thank God you’re here.” Ango was huffing—he’d probably been running. His eyes were red, and his expression was of pure despair.

Dazai calmly stood and walked toward him.

Ango felt a sting in his cheek.

The sound echoed through the empty hall. Ango looked at him with shocked eyes.

“You knew.”

“Dazai, you don’t understan—”

Dazai cut him off, eyes still dark, face completely expressionless. “You knew. Or am I wrong?” It wasn’t a question.

Ango pulled a letter from his pocket. “You’re not going to hear me—at least read this.”

Suddenly, a nurse stepped out of the room.

Both Dazai and Ango turned toward her.

She shook her head sadly.

No… no no no no… no

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Is he sleeping… while working…?”

“I think…”

“We seriously need to do something about this. That’s crazy…”

She walked to him and put her hand on his shoulder.

“Ango!”

Ango suddenly jolted upright.

“Yachiyo! W-what happened?” He looked around, as if pulled from a dream he didn’t know he was having.

“Sir… go back home. Rest.”

Ango gave her the most offended look a man could possibly muster. She might have noticed, if she wasn’t so focused on the heavy shadows carved beneath his eyes.

“I can’t do that… I still have some things to finish.” His voice was calm, but stubborn, the kind of tone that left no room for argument—at least in his mind.

She only shook her head. Without another word, she grabbed his shoulders and began dragging him toward the door.

“Sorry, sir, but I won’t watch this any longer.”

Before he could even think to stop her, he found himself in the hall. She kicked the door shut in his face, leaving only the faint sound of papers shifting behind it.

Ango sighed, long and slow, before turning away. The weight of the day pressed against his shoulders as he made the walk home.

When he entered his apartment, the silence hit him first. It was the kind of silence that wrapped around him as if it had been waiting. He set down his keys, rolled his shoulders, and exhaled again. He still wanted to finish some paperwork—he could do it here, in the quiet of his study.

He stepped inside, but stopped at the doorway. His brows pulled together.

Photos were scattered across the floor and desk in disarray; he’d forgotten to put them away yesterday. The papers on his desk were buried under them, like the past had deliberately chosen to spill over into the present.

Bending down, he picked one up.

It was him and Oda—sitting together at a long table in the orphanage, eating curry. The kids around them were playing, laughing, some looking toward the camera while others were mid-motion, their joy forever caught in the frame.

Ango felt his lips curve into an involuntary smile. The image was warm—so unbelievably warm. Oda’s expression was soft, the kind of softness that made the rest of the world feel less sharp. Ango’s eyes lingered on it, tracing the faint lines of light in the photograph, as though he could step back into that moment just by looking long enough.

He remembered—clear as day—that it was little Sakura who had taken the picture. Her hands were almost too small to hold the camera steady, and she’d been so proud of the result. Ango made a mental note to bring the photo to her on his next visit to the orphanage. She’d probably criticize her old photographing skills but she’d appreciate the photo nonetheless.

He set the picture aside carefully, almost reverently, and lowered himself into his chair.

The study smelled faintly of dust and old paper, but it was familiar, grounding. He began working, pen moving across paper in practiced strokes, yet his mind kept slipping away—wandering back to that day, to that warmth, to Oda’s quiet presence beside him.

The work in front of him blurred, the words losing their shape. What remained, stubborn and unmoving, were fragments—lost memories, an echo of laughter, and a fading voice he still wasn’t ready to forget.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“You look horrible.”

Chuuya groaned and rolled his eyes.

“Just come in, old man.”

Murase stepped inside and took in the state of the apartment.

Papers were scattered everywhere, half-empty coffee cups littered the floor, and he was pretty sure he saw an empty wine bottle. Most importantly, there was Chuuya—absolutely ruined.

dark circles, messy hair, wrinkly clothes.

He took off his shoes and made his way inside. He’d thought to check up on him after work since Chuuya wasn’t answering his calls. Now, he knew exactly why.

Chuuya noticed his concerned expression while picking up a box of takeout. He sighed. “Exams.”

Ah, that explained a lot.

Chuuya cleared the trash off the couch and made space for Murase to sit.

He happily sat down and (forcefully) made Chuuya stop cleaning and join him.

“You know, Chuuya, you shouldn’t be this hard on yourself. You literally have the highest grades out of all your classmates.”

Chuuya grumbled. “Well, I don’t get the highest marks from slacking.”

Murase chuckled and ruffled his hair. “You should go out, have some fun with your friends… maybe even a lover.” He wiggled his eyebrows, and Chuuya threw a pillow at him.

“Talk for yourself, old man! You’re gonna decay before you get laid.”

Murase rolled his eyes. “Hey, hey—first of all, I’m not even that old. Second of all, I have everything I need. I don’t need a partner to fill my heart—it’s already full enough. I’m perfectly content keeping the city safe.”

Chuuya chuckled. “You’re calling me a workaholic, but you’re the one obsessed with your job.”

He leaned his head back, realizing just how bad his headache was.

(note to self to eventually indulge in the third pain killer that day.)

Murase sighed dramatically. “Oh, if only Chuuya could join me and make this load easier.”

Chuuya rolled his eyes. “I’m not interested, old man.”

Murase clutched his chest like he’d been shot. “Imagine us walking back from a case. We’d stroll through Yokohama, and people passing by would say we’re like father and son, and I’d go, ‘Whatttt? No way! Whatcha think, Chuuya?’ Just imagine the fun we’d have!”

He nudged him then looked at him with an excited gleam, and Chuuya couldn’t help the small smile tugging at his lips.

“I’ll consider it…”

Murase’s eyes practically sparkled. He ruffled Chuuya’s hair and flopped back onto the couch. “Let’s watch a movie! You look so pale. Have you even eaten today?”

Chuuya shrugged. “I run on nicotine and hatred.”

Murase flicked his forehead before standing tall. “Well that won’t do, you should run on vegetables and rice, I’m cooking! Surely your lessons will help.”

Chuuya smiled fondly as he watched Murase rummage through his kitchen with almost childlike enthusiasm.

_____

They both sat down on the floor in front of the small coffee table Chuuya owned.

“Eh… I swear it’s not that bad…” Chuuya said as he shoveled large spoonfuls into his mouth, clearly trying to finish the burnt rice faster.

“Don’t even try, Chuuya.” Murase deadpanned, wearing the most disgusted look imaginable as he stared down at his dish.

“Okay… this tastes like it came out of Satan’s ass… but I swear I appreciate the gesture, old man. It’s great, really.”

Chuuya gave him a reassuring smile, and Murase chuckled.

“Who knew you could be cute?” He ruffled Chuuya’s hair, making him flush pink.

“Oi! I’m not cute.”

Murase barked out a laugh. “Sure, sure—now eat before I attempt to cook something else.”

Chuuya immediately devoured every last bite, and Murase had to admit—he was impressed by Chuuya’s willpower.

After finishing their meals and cleaning up the dishes, they settled on the couch and put on a movie.

“Are you gonna go to work today?”

Chuuya immediately jumped. “Shit! I forgot.”

Murase chuckled. “I can always tell Fukuzawa there’s an emergency.”

Chuuya raised an eyebrow. “Since when do you know Fukuzawa?”

Murase wiggled his eyebrows like he always did when he was so damn proud of himself.

“Chuuya underestimates my connections—and Fukuzawa’s past too.”

Chuuya tilted his head. “What past?”

Murase waved his hand. “I fear that’s not my story to tell, Chuuya.”

Chuuya huffed and crossed his arms, making Murase burst into laughter.

After his laughing fit—and a harsh nudge from Chuuya—he chuckled lightly. “Nah, I’ll go to work today.”

Murase nodded. “Don’t you dare over-exhaust yourself, or else I’ll permanently invade your house to make sure you’re always fine.”

Chuuya’s eyes widened in pure horror. “You wouldn’t dare…”

Murase laughed. “Oh yes, I would.”

⸻

Chuuya’s life was finally falling into place. He had people he loved—people who reflected his very own soul.

Things were getting better. Chuuya was doing better. And for the first time in a long while, he felt like he was starting to become himself.

And he could only think of that fondly as he got ready for work.

Chapter Text

“Not one word, not one gesture of yours shall I, could I, ever forget.”

-Leo Tolstoy

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Atsushi rolled over with a groan. It was his weekend, for fuck’s sake—why was he waking up this early? And to such cruel sound.

He picked up his phone.

“Hello… Dazai-san?” He heard some rummaging in the background.

“Atsushi-kunnnnn~ what a lovely morning.”

Atsushi rubbed his eyes. “Uh, yeah, yeah. Was there something you wanted?”

He heard more shuffling.

“Yes! I’ll send you my grocery list. Would you be a doll and get me my groceries?”

Atsushi blinked. “Huh?”

“Yay! Thanks, Atsushi! I’ll send you the list and I’ll return the money today, byeeeee~”

“W-wai—”

Atsushi stared at his phone. Dazai had already hung up.

“Okay… rice, coffee, toilet paper…”

Atsushi skimmed through the list while pushing a cart. “TEN CANS OF CRAB?!”

Everyone turned to glare at him with irritated expressions, shouting so early in the morning wasn’t something people tolerated.

Flustered, Atsushi flushed scarlet and buried his face back into his phone, pretending to read the list.

It was bad enough that most of the people here were couples Christmas shopping, and he was the only lunatic yelling like a madman in the middle of the aisle.

Atsushi walked to the toilet paper section—and why the hell were there this many types of toilet paper? For god’s sake, just wipe your ass, people.

Atsushi groaned as he skimmed through all the brands.

He was about to grab a pack when a very familiar, sharp voice cut through the air.

“Jinko. What are you doing here?”

Atsushi cursed internally before turning to face Akutagawa

he also cursed the day yosano told him about his drunk ramblings on becoming a tiger, hence the nickname.

“Ah… hi.”

Akutagawa raised a brow. “Grocery shopping?”

Atsushi shook his head. “Well, yes—but not for me. For Dazai.”

The look Akutagawa gave him could only be described as the embodiment of disappointment.

“This brand,” he plucked the pack from Atsushi’s hands, “is garbage. Fine if you wish to torture yourself, but don’t subject others—least of all Dazai—to it.” He looked like a scolding mother.

After enduring a ten-minute lecture on toilet paper, Atsushi found himself surrendering to Akutagawa’s absurdly high standards.

Surely, the torment was over, right? Wrong.

Akutagawa critiqued EVERYTHING inside that cart.

“You’re an idiot. This can of crab is clearly displayed at the front because it’s the worst. Look at the date. And you’re not even taking advantage of the Christmas discounts.”

And sure enough, the can expired the next day. Atsushi watched Akutagawa dig through the shelves like a zealot until he found the “correct” ones.

As they walked to another aisle, Atsushi couldn’t help but stare at Akutagawa’s intense expression.

“Are you always this… passionate about grocery shopping?”

Akutagawa ignored him completely, walking ahead with cold indifference.

“Hey, come back here, I’m talking to you!”

“I’m not wasting my time on your lack of intelligence.”

Atsushi rolled his eyes. “Yeah, clearly your time is so precious that grocery shopping for Dazai is an absolute necessity, huh?”

Akutagawa shoved the cart toward him. “Fine. You shop, then.”

Atsushi could not do this alone.

“IM SORRY, COME BACK!”

⸻

The December air hit Atsushi the moment they stepped outside. He shivered, burrowing into his scarf.

He glanced beside him, catching Akutagawa staring.

“Something wrong?” Atsushi asked as they walked toward Dazai’s place it wasn’t that’s far away thankfully and Atsushi didn’t mind walking.

Akutagawa shrugged. “Nothing. Your nose just turns ridiculously red in the cold.”

If Atsushi’s entire face burned red at that, well—he’d blame the cold.

The silence gnawed at Atsushi until they were both just walking in complete silence and it made him shiver.

he finally cracked.

“So… I know you study with Chuuya, but what’s your major, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“Japanese literature.” Akutagawa didn’t even spare him a glance.

Atsushi nodded. “That suits you. You must read a lot.”

Akutagawa rolled his eyes. “Small talk is futile. Just keep walking.”

Atsushi muttered under his breath, “You’re impossible…”

Akutagawa side glanced at Atsushi to see him pouting. Seriously was he a child? He rolled his eyes.

“Yes, I love reading.”

Atsushi’s eyes lit up. “That’s great! What kind of things do you read?”

“I just finished a book called snow country”

Atsushi smiled.

“I remember reading that at the orphanage library once.”

Akutagawa raised his eyebrow. “You’re an orphan?” Atsushi internally screamed, why did he have to mention that? “Uh…yeah.” Akutagawa nodded and Atsushi wallowed in silence.

Five minutes passed and they were getting closer, Atsushi was looking around admiring the city in winter. “Me too…” Atsushi’s walking stopped “huh?” Akutagawa grumbled and looked to the side “I’m an orphan too.” Atsushi’s mind went blank, and apparently that was evident on his face because Akutagawa scoffed once he saw him “you don’t need to say anything I’m just stating a fact it’s fine.”

Atsushi nodded and stayed silent, his thoughts on the other hand had better plans.

⸻

“ATSUSHIIIII!”

Dazai tackled him the second the door opened.

“Uh, hi, Dazai. We got your stuff.”

Dazai’s grin widened as his gaze flicked to Akutagawa.

“Oh hooo~ I didn’t realize I was interrupting you two on a date!”

Atsushi froze, his face instantly crimson. “What? No!”

“I would never go out with that…” Akutagawa gave Atsushi a look of pure disgust. “That.”

Hand on his hip, Atsushi scowled. “Hey, what the hell’s that supposed to mean? Look at yourself first emo.”

Akutagawa rolled his eyes “I’m literally not what the hell even is tha-“

Fukuzawa suddenly appeared behind Dazai—who, of course, didn’t lift a finger to intervene, grinning ear to ear.

“Atsushi?” Fukuzawa’s deep voice cut through.

“Boss! What are you doing here?”

Fukuzawa, holding Hatrack in his arms, silently pulled a sardine from his sleeve and handed it to hatrack before leaving.

Ah. That explained everything, it was a well known fact that Fukuzawa harbored love for cats, Atsushi found it adorable.

Atsushi and Akutagawa set the groceries on the counter, and Atsushi couldn’t help but notice how clean Dazai’s apartment was… which was honestly shocking. This wasn’t the first time Atsushi had run errands for him, and Dazai’s place had never been this spotless. He must have cleaned it for Fukuzawa—or maybe even cleaned it with him .

“Atsushi~” Dazai suddenly popped up behind him.

“Want to stay for a cup of coffee?”

Atsushi shook his head. “Sorry, Dazai, I’ve got things to do.”

He didn’t, but he felt like he shouldn’t interrupt Dazai and Fukuzawa.

Dazai shrugged, unconcerned. “What about you, Akutagawa?”

Akutagawa cleared his throat before replying. “I need to get back home and study. Exams are approaching.”

Dazai raised his eyebrow “but aren’t you guys on Christmas break?” Akutagawa nodded “it’s only a week after it we’ll immediately have exams.”

Atsushi caught the way Akutagawa averted his gaze from Dazai, like he was concealing something.

“Okay-dokie! Bye guys!” Dazai chirped, before pushing them out and slamming the door in their faces.

“Well… that went well,” Atsushi sighed.

The elevator ride was dreadful.

The silence gnawed at Atsushi, suffocating. He tried to mind his own business, really—he did.

“Are you going to do anything besides study?” he blurted at last.

Akutagawa raised a brow, then ignored him completely.

Rude.

Atsushi scowled. “Can you not be an asshole for one second?”

“Mind your own business—and try not being idiotic for a second.”

Atsushi scoffed. “Fancy vocabulary doesn’t make you smarter than me idiot! You know what? I’m not even going to try having a conversation with you.”

Akutagawa didn’t bother acknowledging him, eyes fixed on the elevator doors.

The moment they opened, Atsushi bolted out, eager to escape.

“I was going to the park to write…”

Atsushi stopped dead, turning back. “Huh…?”

Akutagawa muttered under his breath, almost too quiet to hear. “God, why am I doing this…” Then louder, “I was going to the park to write. I’ve been planning a novel.”

Atsushi blinked, confused at first—but then his expression softened. “That’s actually really nice.” He took a step closer. “What’s it about, if you don’t mind me asking?”

Akutagawa’s face colored faintly; he must not talk about this often.

“It’s about the death of a samurai. A mystery. The conflicting narratives force the reader to question the nature of truth, the reliability of memory, and perspective—since they must rely on their perception of events, not on objective reality.”

Atsushi liked the premise. He couldn’t exactly love it without diving deeper, but he’d be lying if he said it didn’t intrigue him.

“And… have you started writing?”

Akutagawa shook his head. “I was planning to start today.”

The words slipped out of Atsushi’s mouth before his mind could stop them. “Can I come with you?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tachihara lay sprawled across the bed his head resting comfortably against Gin’s stomach as she absentmindedly played with his hair.

“Ryūnosuke is really late… it’s been almost six hours. He said he was only going to the park today,” Gin muttered.

Tachihara nuzzled closer. “If you’re that worried, call him.”

With a sigh, Gin pulled out her phone. After three rings, Akutagawa answered.

“Ryūnosuke? Are you okay?” She heard rustling in the background.

“Uh… yeah, I’m fine. Just writing. Why? Is something wrong?” He sounded distracted.

“No, no. I just noticed you’re late. And Tachi says hi.”

Tachihara grinned cheekily, waving, while Gin smiled and ruffled his hair.

“Sure, I’ll probably head home—huh!”

The line went clumsy as the phone dropped, the camera flipping on.

“RYUU—IS THAT ATSUSHI?!” Tachihara hollered, grabbing the phone.

Akutagawa immediately snatched it back, shutting the camera off. “No.”

But Tachihara’s eyes were sparkling. “NO, NO, I SAW HIM! DON’T LIE!”

Akutagawa groaned, and Atsushi’s soft chuckle could be heard in the background.

“We’re writing together…” Akutagawa muttered.

Well. That was new.

Gin sighed, reclaiming the phone. “It’s fine, it’s fine. I just wanted to check on you—ignore Tachihara.” She not-so-gently smacked Tachihara’s head, making him fall back into her lap with a pout.

“Bye. I’ll see you tonight at the bar, okay?”

Akutagawa hummed his assent, and Gin hung up—her attention drifting back to her dramatically heartbroken boyfriend.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“You sure you’re okay, Dazai?” Fukuzawa’s deep voice carried through the apartment.

Dazai smiled, nodding. “Yes, yes, don’t worry about little ol’ me. And thank you for the toy for Hatrack.”

he said with a cheeky grin.

Fukuzawa nodded “My pleasure. Goodbye, Dazai.”

The door shut, and silence settled in—a silence so crushing Dazai could hardly breathe.

No. He was not okay. In fact, he was genuinely considering the noose hidden away in his closet.

Yesterday, Tane Tsushima died.

Yesterday, his mother died.

Ango had broken the news—arriving with a sympathetic expression, a lawyer, and legal documents.

Dazai inherited everything.
He was her only son. And yet, the fact she left him everything was almost insulting. He didn’t want a single thing from that woman.

He’d collapsed on the floor, staring blankly at the ceiling. Somehow, Fukuzawa had noticed. Dazai wasn’t even sure how—but the man seemed to sense his employees’ states instinctively. Usually, he visited only for Hatrack, but this time he came with purpose. He’d even cleaned alongside Dazai.

Sadness? No. Dazai wasn’t sad. He never cared for his mother—nor she for him.

What he felt was… strange.

As though some suffocating weight on his chest had finally been lifted.

But somehow he still felt his chest burn.

He remembered the endless acting classes—just to earn her approval. The hours spent perfecting his appearance, to please her. The career sabotage, the rivals crushed, simply because she demanded he rise above them. The silence he endured when men touched him, because they offered her “good roles.” the cold glares she gave him when he even suggested giving up acting. 

he knew he wasn’t her son he was her project.

The minute Dazai came out of that womb was the moment he realized he might as well have been an orphan, he had no mom or dad.

He didn’t feel bitter. He didn’t feel sorrow. Not even anger.

He just felt… nauseated.

The world tilted darker. His head throbbed.

He lay there for hours, blank-eyed.

His bones felt heavy and his skin felt sore.

He can’t remember anything, or anyone.

He stared for what felt like forever and let the silence swallow him whole.

fuck, he had work today.

⸻

Everything blurred together. Dazai greeted everyone as usual, atleast he thought so.

He took orders, was pretty sure he served the right drinks. But none of it registered. He wasn’t even sure he was present—just a body slipping glasses to strangers, everything blurred, and at the same time he was too wary of his surroundings.

He noticed that crack in the wall which his gaze keeps drifting back too, the clink of glass is all what he can hear murmurs in the background but he isn’t sure what they’re saying.

The band must have finished their set already, he didn’t noticed them today.

suddenly Yosano was in front of him.

“Dazai, your shift’s over. You can go.”

He nodded—or at least, he thought he did—and drifted past her toward the back door. His attitude had been normal enough, apparently.

No one commented.

He opened the door, and the cold night air hit his face, sharp enough to pull him slightly back into reality.

He heard a familiar voice

“Oh. It’s just you.”

Leaning against the wall, cigarette glowing between his fingers, stood Chuuya.

Dazai leaned against the wall beside him.

“Want one?” Chuuya offered.

Dazai took it.

“Mhm. You’ve got something on your mind,” Chuuya muttered after a drag, not even glancing at him.

Dazai sighed.

He really didn’t have the energy to talk.

“Wow, such an observant dog! I trained you well.”

Chuuya elbowed him. “Don’t be a dick for five minutes, for fuck’s sake.”

“What about you?” Dazai asked, watching him he didn’t want the conversation to be about him. “It’s late. You usually head home earlier.”

Chuuya shrugged. “Felt lonely today.” His tone was flat, like he was reciting a fact from a book.

He flicked his lighter, holding the flame up to Dazai’s lips, igniting the cigarette dangling there.

The sizzle of burning tobacco and the distant hum of passing cars were the only sounds.

Dazai exhaled smoke, his chuckle hollow. “cigarette’s hardly enough to compensate for how fucked I feel right now~.” His voice carried its usual playful lilt, but his eyes were dull, drained.

“You smoke weed?” Chuuya asked suddenly tilting his head with a relaxed face.

Dazai smirked.

⸻

Hours later, they were sprawled across Chuuya’s kitchen floor like corpses, joints in hand, a haze of smoke suspended above them.

Chuuya said he only has at home so Dazai immediately followed.

and now laying on Chuuya’s cold kitchen floor Dazai waved his hand lazily through the cloud, eyes wide in bemusement. “What the fuck is this…”

Chuuya snorted. “Smoke?”

“No, no—it just looks weird.”

He twirled his fingers around the smoke watching it move by the movement caused by him.

He moved it. He did that. The slightest movement moved the smoke to look so fascinating.

“You’re weird. You’ve really never smoked weed before?”

Dazai shook his head. “Snorted a lot of shit, sure. But weed? Surprisingly, no.”

“You’re fucked up,” Chuuya muttered, rolling his eyes.

They lay there who-knew-how-long. The horizon brightened slowly, sunlight seeping through the smoke, turning it golden. For a moment, it looked more ethereal than fire itself.

“Chuuya’s weird.”

Chuuya didn’t look at him, still staring at the ceiling, joint between his lips. “The fuck’s that supposed to mean?” His voice was low and raspy.

Dazai rolled his eyes. “You’re too honest about everything.”

“At least I’m not like you. I stand my ground.”

Dazai tilted his head toward him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Chuuya let out a humorless chuckle his gaze still trained on the wall.

“You run the moment anyone gets close. Don’t think I haven’t noticed—you never share anything real, in every conversation I saw you in it’s never truly about you, and when the topic switches to you, you avoid it so quickly.

You just never drop that damn distance. You keep this wall around you, and it pisses me off.”

Dazai stared, quiet.

“And how well do you think you know me?”

Dazai emphasized on the word think.

Chuuya’s eyes were fogged, yet it didn’t seem like his gaze was any less sharp.

He leaned in so close.

Dazai could almost shiver from the intricate shapes and colors that formed in his irises 

For one dizzy second, Dazai thought he was going to kiss him—but instead, Chuuya stopped just shy, nose brushing against his, smirk widening.

“A lot more than you’d like me to.”

Chuuya leaned back toward the ceiling. The subject died there.

Dazai didn’t push it, he doesn’t want to test that theory out.

After half an hour of silence, occasional drags from the joint.

Chuuya finally stood. “Wanna watch the sunrise?”

Dazai shrugged, getting up with him.

⸻

They crowded onto Chuuya’s tiny balcony, joints abandoned.

The city glowed under a golden veil as the sun rose, transforming buildings into gilded silhouettes. Dust motes shimmered like glitter in the light. The air was sharp and cold, but Dazai barely noticed.

The city almost looked unreal..

He looked at Chuuya—and his heart stuttered.

His hair burned like fire itself, sunlight catching in untamed spirals, molten gold tangled into wild curls. It framed him like a living halo. Dazai wondered if it smelled as intoxicating as Chuuya always did.

The morning light revealed freckles scattered across his nose and cheekbones, ones Dazai hadn’t noticed before. Chuuya’s eyes were half-lidded, pools of blue and amber hidden, but his lashes glowed under the sun.

Then Chuuya turned. He stared at him for a while and smiled faintly.

he felt like he couldn’t control his heart from it.

“I never realized how light your eyes were. Always thought they looked like a dead fish’s.”

He chuckled, and Dazai ached to bottle that sound forever.

Instead of revealing that desire he stuffed it down and smirked returning to his usual demeanor.

“Why is Chuuya staring at my eyes~? Is he oh-so captivated by them~?” Dazai teased, leaning closer with a grin.

Chuuya rolled his eyes. “Even I can’t deny the way they glow when the sun hits them, Dazai.”

Dazai wanted him to say his name again.

Suddenly, giggles slipped from Dazai’s lips.

Chuuya frowned. “The fuck are you laughing about?”

But Dazai only laughed harder, his giggles erupting into full-bodied laughter that shook his shoulders.

Confusion furrowed Chuuya’s brows, but watching him laugh—really laugh—was contagious. A small chuckle escaped him, then another, until he was laughing too.

They both collapsed to the floor, clutching their stomachs, leaning against each other for support, tears stinging their eyes.

“God, we’re stoned!” Chuuya wheezed between laughs.

Dazai could only nod, smiling wide.

⸻

Dazai woke up feeling warm. Strange. He slowly opened his eyes and took in his surroundings—firstly, he was on Chuuya’s couch, and secondly, he had a soft blanket draped over him.

Chuuya is probably the one who draped it on him.

Mhm. 

He didn’t know what to feel towards that gesture so he doesn’t think about it.

He stood up and tossed the blanket carelessly onto the side of the couch.

On the coffee table, a note caught his attention.

‘I’m on my morning run. Don’t fuck around or sincerely, you will find out.’

Dazai snorted. “Chibi is just making it tempting.”

He began wandering around the apartment, snooping. Was it the right thing to do? No. Was he a good person? Definitely not.

He rifled through a cabinet and discovered gymnastics equipment. Perhaps a past hobby? Digging deeper, he found three golden medals.

Definitely more than just a hobby.

He sauntered into Chuuya’s bedroom and smirked—it was exactly what he expected. Cozy and messy.

The bed in the center was unmade, pillows and blankets scattered about. And… was that a sheep plush? Clothes were strewn across the floor, some even tossed carelessly on the bed.

Two tall windows with dark curtains let in the fading blue light of the morning sky.

One wall was plastered with band and musician posters, while a shelf held an assortment of photographs. Dazai trailed his fingers over one of the frames.

It was a small photo—Chuuya perched on a man’s shoulders, both wearing matching pajamas. The man had long black hair and wore an expression of pure joy.

Maybe his dad?

Another picture was hazy and low quality, but Dazai could make out a small boy—definitely Chuuya judging from the hair, alongside a white-haired child and a pink-haired little girl. All three were clutching the same sheep plush he’d just spotted, grins stretched wide across their dirt-streaked faces, their clothes ragged, especially Chuuya’s.

Dazai hummed softly and placed the frame back on the shelf.

The sound of the front door opening snapped him to attention, and he immediately slipped out of the room.

Peeking toward the main area, he saw Chuuya, still wearing headphones, his hair tied up in a high bun. He swayed his hips and shoulders lightly to the music as he unpacked groceries, placing them neatly where they belonged. His loose black sweatpants and oversized hoodie clung slightly to his sweat-slicked frame.

It was… kind of cut-

Mhm.

He has to also ignore that thought.

Chuuya finally noticed him, pulling off his headphones and letting them rest around his neck.

“You’re still here?”

Dazai shrugged, strolling after him into the kitchen. “I just woke up, actually.”

Chuuya snorted. “Not even surprised your lazy ass sleeps that much.”

Dazai grinned. “This is actually nice, you know. Once I slept for fourteen hours straight.”

Chuuya blinked. “I’m so jealous right now.”

Dazai beamed. “I’m telling you, it’s a talent.”

Chuuya rolled his eyes. “Must be so exhausting staying in bed all day, huh?”

Dazai giggled, perching himself on the counter to watch as Chuuya moved around tidying.

“You’re surprisingly neat for someone whose apartment looks like a war zone,” he teased, glancing around sheepishly.

Chuuya sighed, the topic looks like it exhausts him.

“No matter how much I tidy, everything around me just ends up messy, so I just gave up plus it’s not that bad.

Dazai snorted, which earned him another eye-roll. Chuuya’s patience was visibly thinning, his face betraying just how irritating Dazai’s presence was becoming.

He loved that.

“You’re staying here for breakfast or something?”

Chuuya asked sarcastically.

Dazai hummed. “Now that you mention it, that’s a brilliant idea.”

“GET OUT.”

Dazai clutches his chest dramatically. “So vulgar! Chibi should really learn how to treat his guests.”

If Chuuya rolled his eyes one more time, they might get stuck there forever. He leaned down into the fridge, organizing the groceries, and Dazai shamelessly enjoyed the view.

“At this point, you’re just inviting yourself. Get out, asshole, you’re not a guest.”

Chuuya didn’t even glance at him, continuing to stock the fridge.

Dazai whined. “But I want a nice breakfast, Chibi.”

He turned around sharply.

“STOP CALLING ME THAT, DAMN IT!”

Dazai silently mourned the loss of the view but didn’t dare comment. “Only if Chibi serves me breakfast in bed~”

Chuuya turned, giving him a flat stare, flipped him off, and began walking away.

“I’m going to take a shower. Get out of my house before I get out.”

⸻

Chuuya relaxed under the hot water, the warmth easing every sore muscle. He just bought his favorite shampoo, and he lingered longer than he meant to. By the time he stepped out, towel slung around his damp hair, he was already thinking about finishing his break assignments and studying.

He also checked the flags group they all wanted hang out today, so he needs to immediately study to be able to finish and meet them.

and Murase wanted to throw a Christmas party and was asking Chuuya if it’s fine to do it at the bar.

*

That’s when a loud sound from the living room made him pause.

“What the hell?” he muttered, tugging the towel tighter before stepping out.

There was Dazai—in the middle of the room, blasting one of his vinyl records and dancing with ridiculous enthusiasm.

‘You’re just too good to be true—’

“What the hell are you doing, mackerel?” Chuuya stomped over and grabbed his arm, spinning him around. He froze when he saw the widest, most unrestrained smile he’d ever seen on Dazai’s face.

‘Can’t take my eyes off you—’

“Your vinyl is nice,” Dazai said simply, still grinning.

‘You’d be like heaven to touch—’

Chuuya tightened his grip on Dazai’s arm.

“Dance with me?” Dazai tilted his head, smirk sharp, eyes glinting with mischief.

‘I wanna hold you so much—’

And before Chuuya could even smack him for suggesting that.

He pulled Chuuya closer and spun them both.

Chuuya’s eyes widened, a scowl tugging at his lips. “Hey! What the hell are you doing!” He stumbled but managed to regain his footing—even as Dazai refused to stop twirling him.

‘At long last, love has arrived—’

Dazai’s bright, almost childlike expression caught him off guard. His brows softened, his scowl melting into a reluctant chuckle.

‘And I thank God I’m alive—’

“You’re such an idiot!” Chuuya laughed, finally giving in, spinning with him.

Dazai laughed back, “Right back at you, slug!”

‘You’re just too good to be true—’

Chuuya suddenly broke away, smiling wide. “I need to grab something!” He dashed off, returning seconds later with an enormous grin plastered on his face.

In his hands was a tambourine.

Dazai’s eyes widened in disbelief, and he had to cover his mouth to keep from outright howling with laughter.

‘Can’t take my eyes off you—’

Chuuya spun around, striking the tambourine with flair, still grinning as he met Dazai’s eyes which were filled with what yosano would call awe as he watched Chuuya dance around with it, Chuuya tilted his head teasingly. Then, with one swift motion, he tossed the instrument toward him. Dazai caught it with ease and joined in, shaking it enthusiastically.

When the song finally ended, the two of them stood there, panting heavily, staring at one another—before bursting into laughter.

“Your hair looks ridiculous!” Chuuya barked between breaths.

Dazai arched a brow, making no effort to tame the chaotic mess that was his hair after all that spinning. “Chibi should shut up, because I’m planning on stealing his record player.”

Chuuya scowled, flipping him off again. “Over my dead body.”

Dazai shrugged. “Chibi’s so short, I would’ve assumed he was already six feet under.”

A pillow flew straight into his face.

“GET OUT!”

This time, Dazai complied, leaving with a mischievous giggle designed to grate on Chuuya’s nerves.

⸻

Out on the street, Dazai searched for a cab when something soft and cold landed on his nose. He tilted his head up, humming.

Snow.