Chapter Text
Chuuya should’ve known better than to think Dazai would ever do something without an ulterior motive. He swore he’d never ride in that damn mackerel’s car again—because Dazai had made sure everyone at school saw them getting out of the car together, and then, right in front of the other students, yelled, “You were amazing last night, Chibi!~”
How humiliating.
Now, sitting beside Dazai in class, he tried to ignore the unpleasant stares from the others but couldn’t. He wanted to throw himself out the window. Everyone clearly thought he and Dazai were dating, but what truly bothered him was whether they saw him as some kind of whore. The way the other boys looked at him had started to turn disturbingly condescending.
During math class, sleep-deprived from the night before, Chuuya let out a small yawn and slumped over his desk. Normally, he’d never doze off in class; he always paid attention, always took things seriously. After all, he’d promised his family that he’d get into a good university and earn his own living. But today, he couldn’t help it. While the teacher droned on about trigonometry, Chuuya was already deep into his third dream. Dazai, meanwhile, leaned his elbow on the desk, resting his chin in his hand as he watched him.
Neither of them was paying attention, but Dazai’s distraction allowed him to catch bits of the whispers coming from behind. Even though he had already made it clear that Chuuya was his, these idiots still dared to eye him from across the room. That should’ve been impossible. No one could touch Chuuya anymore—hell, no one should even walk past him.
One of the boys snickered as he whispered to his friend, unaware that his voice had grown loud enough to be heard. “—Yeah, I’m talking about the redhead. Clearly, he’s here to escort rich guys. If he went to Dazai-san’s house, he must’ve gotten paid well. I heard he’s dirt poor anyway. I’m thinking of inviting him to my place tonight—wanna come?”
The moment Fyodor, who was sitting a few rows back, heard that, he opened his mouth to speak—
But before the boy next to him could even respond, Dazai stood up. All he did was glance back at the two boys from the corner of his eye—but those dark, terrifying, devilish eyes were enough to make them feel as if they’d just stared death in the face and barely come back alive. Then Dazai calmly sat down again, his attention returning to Chuuya. Those bastards had interrupted his view, but that was fine. He’d just spend the rest of lunch watching how beautifully his redhead’s lashes—colored the same as his hair—rested against his cheeks.
Fyodor wanted to be the one to defend Chuuya—but as always, Dazai stole the spotlight. He was too narcissistic and possessive to ever let anyone else take charge. Fyodor had known him since kindergarten, and nothing about him had changed; this morning’s behavior only confirmed it. Dazai clearly wanted to claim Chuuya for himself. But Fyodor wasn’t going to let that happen. He’d protect Chuuya from anyone who might put him in danger—especially Osamu Dazai.
When the lunch bell rang and the teacher finally left the classroom, the students began streaming toward the cafeteria one by one. Only four people remained: Chuuya, still asleep; Dazai, quietly watching him; Fyodor, whose eyes were fixed on the two of them; and Sigma, waiting for his friend.
“Hey, Fyo-kun?” Sigma nudged Fyodor’s shoulder gently. “Nikolai and the others are probably waiting for us in the cafeteria. Let’s go?” he murmured, fixing his hair before slipping his books into his bag.
Fyodor turned his head as if he’d just realized Sigma was even there. “Oh! Right—sorry. Let’s go eat.” He tried to look away from Dazai, but as long as that irritating presence lingered, it was nearly impossible to shift his focus.
Just then, a furious voice echoed through the classroom—it was Doppo Kunikida, an upperclassman. He happened to be Dazai’s cousin and the one perpetually stuck keeping an eye on him, because Dazai was, in every sense of the word, a walking disaster, fully capable of embarrassing his entire family at any given moment. “DAZAAAAAI!” Kunikida slammed his green notebook down on Dazai’s head, successfully snapping his attention away from Chuuya. “What the hell are you still doing here!? And what was that scene in the courtyard today!?”
Startled by the shouting, Chuuya jerked awake and sat up at his desk. “Huh? HUH!?—” He looked around, disoriented, his mind still foggy from sleep. He rubbed his eyes, his long red hair a total mess and drool had escaped the corner of his mouth.
Dazai ignored Kunikida completely and turned back to Chuuya with a smile. He was far more interested in how ridiculously adorable the redhead looked half-asleep. He wiped the drool from Chuuya’s face with his thumb. “Finally awake, Chibi. You owe me for making me lose focus in class.”
Chuuya blinked, taking a few seconds to process what Dazai had just said. Then his face turned crimson, like a volcano about to erupt. “W–what did you just say!? I fell asleep in class? No way, how could I have fallen asleep in class—damn it!” he stammered, quickly shoving Dazai’s hand away. “And why—why the hell are you touching my face, you damn mackerel!?”
As Dazai burst into laughter, Kunikida let out a long, weary sigh. “Good god… Dazai! Fix your uniform and go to the cafeteria. I don’t want to hear you’ve started another fight today,” the blond said firmly, clearly done with Dazai’s nonsense.
“Ah, Kunikidaaa~” Dazai pressed a hand to his chest dramatically. “You have no idea how embarrassed I feel when you talk down to me like that. Especially in front of my lover.”
“UR WHAT!?” Chuuya’s shout was loud enough to rattle the windows. His cheeks turned a fiery red, and though his voice burned with anger, there was no hiding the embarrassment underneath. “YOU’VE LOST YOUR DAMN MIND!”
“Oh? You’re only realizing that now?” Dazai grinned shamelessly. He always got what he wanted—what it was or who it was didn’t matter. He pinched Chuuya’s cheek lightly. “You piss me off so much, but you’re lucky you’re cute.” He chuckled. “From now on, you’re under my command, puppy.”
A vein pulsed on Kunikida’s forehead as he snapped, “Whatever, I’m done! I’m leaving—and you’d better hurry up too, you walking bandage waste!” Yelling the nickname he always used for his cousin, he stormed out of the classroom.
Fyodor’s brow twitched slightly, and Sigma noticed it. After a brief pause, he blinked and made a split-second decision—he walked over to Chuuya’s desk. “Hey, you’re Chuuya-kun, right? Want to sit with us at lunch?” he asked in a friendly tone.
“No.” Dazai replied definitively. “Unfortunately Chuuya doesn’t have money for lunch, so I have to buy it for him, which means he’ll be sitting with me.”
Blood rushed to Chuuya’s cheeks and he blushed with embarrassment. He had brought food from home today; apparently Dazai had noticed. It bothered him even more that Dazai would announce it like that in front of everyone. He clasped his hands together and bowed his head slightly.
“Well, actually we don’t usually buy from the cafeteria because the food is gross and unhealthy. I brought sandwiches from home, we’ll sit in the courtyard and eat.” Sigma continued with the same innocent, gentle tone. He was right—the cafeteria food was terrible, but most students ate there to avoid the hassle of bringing something from home.
Chuuya’s eyes lit up for a moment; his blue eyes shone with genuine warmth and friendliness. It felt wonderful that others didn’t immediately label his situation as poverty. He had never expected to encounter that kind of perspective since he arrived here. Apparently there were people who didn’t judge everything through Dazai’s lens.
Just as Dazai was about to object, Chuuya stood up and walked over to Sigma. “I’d love that—actually I brought food from home too, my sister always prepares it in the morning.” He pulled a lunchbox out from under his desk. “I used to do this all the time in middle school.”
Sigma smiled. “That’s so sweet!! Do you make rabbit-shaped onigiri too?”
Dazai was clearly uncomfortable with Chuuya and Sigma’s interaction; a fake smile sat on his face but his eyes twitched. He stood up and grabbed Chuuya’s arm. “I gave you an order, didn’t I, puppy?” he repeated. “After all, I brought you to school today, and everyone saw what happened between us.” Then he leaned in close and whispered in his ear, “Or would you rather I humiliate you in front of everyone again?”
Chuuya’s body froze. A chill ran down his neck as Dazai took the lunchbox from his hands and tossed it into the trash. Chuuya didn’t protest.
“I suppose Chuuya won’t be joining us, then. We should go,” Fyodor said coolly, standing up and slinging his bag over his shoulder. He shot Dazai a sidelong glance. “But you know, Dazai-kun—when you hold fragile things too tightly, you crush them. So be careful not to cut yourself on the glass when it breaks.”
Dazai’s smile faltered for a brief moment. Chuuya didn’t notice, but Fyodor’s words had touched something dark inside him. Then, slowly, a wide grin spread across Dazai’s face. Tilting his head, he looked at Fyodor as if whispering a secret. “I like broken things, Fyodor,” he said, his voice laced with sadistic pleasure. “And if something isn’t broken yet, I’ll break it myself.”
For a second, Fyodor couldn’t contain his anger. Dazai’s smile always made his stomach twist. He grabbed Sigma by the arm and stormed out of the classroom. Only Chuuya’s stunned silence and Dazai’s lingering laughter remained behind.
“Come on, Chibiii~” Dazai said, gripping Chuuya’s arm with an unpleasant strength as he pulled him out of the classroom. “Don’t mind what those idiots said. Sigma’s just an orphaned brat, a scholarship kid like you. He works part-time at a supermarket, that’s why he always brings food. And Fyodor—you know him. He’s always been a cursed little rat. That red eye of his… it creeps me out.”
Chuuya only nodded. Fyodor had always seemed like some terrifying, mystical creature people whispered about—but now he was just a quiet, thoughtful student. And Sigma genuinely seemed kind. Dazai’s disgusting judgments about everyone were nothing more than tools to manipulate him.
—
The day had been awful. Dazai, trying to make up for yesterday’s dinner, had bought Chuuya all sorts of food. The redheaded boy nearly choked trying to eat everything, eventually packed up the leftovers, and secretly slipped them into his bag. Of course, Dazai noticed, but thankfully, he didn’t say a word. Chuuya wasn’t in the mood to listen to that smug bastard anyway. The cafeteria food might have been terrible, but at least it was made of meat and vegetables and Chuuya couldn’t even remember the last time he’d eaten something other than bulgur. Buying rice for home was already a challenge on its own. Still, with what he brought back today, he was sure everyone would have a proper dinner tonight.
In a way, it could almost be seen as a short-term deal: Chuuya would pretend to be Dazai’s boyfriend, tolerate some of his annoying antics, and in return, Dazai would keep feeding him. Give and take. Win-win. It sounded profitable enough, but Chuuya was certain that Paul would eventually start questioning how he kept bringing food home and, once he found out, would give him a long, brutal scolding.
Chuuya pulled up the slipping strap of his bag as a chilly breeze hit him on the walk home. Winter was coming. His school uniform was already worn and frayed, and the old red coat he’d inherited from his big sister would definitely make him a laughingstock if he wore it to school. He’d have to walk for a few days and save up his bus fare to buy a new one. It was the most reasonable plan.
He knocked lightly on the door, and it was his big brother who opened it. Chuuya greeted him politely and stepped inside. Paul stared at him with a puzzled look. Chuuya couldn’t figure out why. “Is something wrong, Aniki?”
Paul’s brows furrowed, his face tightening with concern and irritation. He swiftly turned Chuuya around, tore a piece of paper off his back, and shoved it in his face. “WHAT THE HELL IS THIS SUPPOSED TO MEAN!?”
On the paper were the words: I’m a whore.
Chuuya’s eyes widened in shock and shame; his lips parted and closed again, unable to form words. He didn’t know who had stuck it there, but he suspected it must have been one of the kids from class. Maybe he should have let Dazai walk him home, if he had, no one would’ve had the chance to pin such a filthy lie on his back.
Hearing the shouting from the living room, Kouyou made her way toward where Paul and Chuuya were. “Hey, what’s going on here!? What’s all this noise about? Paul, he just got home from school—why are you yelling at him?” she said, slipping effortlessly into her usual big sister tone when she was angry.
“Our dear little brother came home today with a piece of paper stuck to his back, Kouyou! Do you have any idea what it said?!” Paul barked, his voice sharp with fury. He shoved the crumpled sheet in her face. “They stuck this on him! Did he walk all the way home like that?” He crushed the paper in his palm, trembling with rage. “We never should’ve sent him to that damn school!”
Chuuya lowered his head, pretending to fuss with his shoes, though his fingers were shaking. He wanted the ground to swallow him whole. He felt humiliated—like he’d shamed his whole family. He just wanted to study, to work hard for their sake, but now everyone at school saw him as some kind of escort. “I—” he started, but his voice broke off. Something was caught in his throat. “I didn’t notice. I swear I didn’t notice, Aniki.”
Kouyou took a deep breath, her tone softening. “Paul, that’s enough. Stop yelling at him. Can’t you see he’s in shock?” Her hands moved instinctively to Chuuya’s shoulders, the same way she used to when he fell as a child—a quiet, wordless gesture that said it’s okay, it’ll pass.
But Paul wasn’t the type to calm down easily. “I don’t understand what they’re doing to him in that school,” he muttered, exhausted. “Every day it’s something new. One day his phone’s broken, the next he comes home soaked, and now this! Those spoiled rich bastards don’t even realize who they’re messing with—”
“Enough,” Kouyou snapped, her patience wearing thin. “If you humiliate him now, you’re no better than them.”
Chuuya still kept his head down, but his eyes were gleaming—anger, shame, and a spark of stubborn defiance all burning together. “It’s not a big deal,” he murmured. “Really. I’m sure someone from the neighborhood did it—if it were at school, I would’ve noticed. Everyone at school’s nice, I’m just… a bit clumsy and I tend to mess things up—uh…” He fumbled with his bag and pulled out a container. “They even gave me food to bring home.”
The silence in the kitchen cut through them like a knife. Paul looked like he wanted to say something, but the words caught in his throat; all he could do was stare helplessly at his little brother. Kouyou closed her eyes for a brief moment, letting out a tired, resigned breath. Chuuya realized too late that mentioning the food had been a mistake—he’d thought it might make them happy, but it only made everything feel heavier.
Kouyou was the first to break the silence. “That’s very thoughtful of you, sweetheart,” she said softly, glancing into his bag. “It smells good too. Let’s heat it up, at least everyone can eat it warm.”
Chuuya’s lips curled into a small, unintentional smile. “A friend got it for me,” he said after a short pause. Lying wasn’t easy—but the truth was even harder. “My seatmate. He bought a bunch of food for me, and I couldn’t even finish it all.”
Paul was still standing, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “I won’t ask who that friend is—for now,” he said firmly. “But if these meals are the reason you’re being targeted again… keep your distance from that kid, understood?”
“Understood,” Chuuya said quietly, lowering his head. But inside, another voice was whispering, stubborn and bitter. It’s not the food that makes me a target. It’s just the fact that I exist.
—
That night, after everyone had gone to sleep, Chuuya tossed and turned in bed. His sister and brother must have already been asleep; at least thanks to him dinner had gone well. Kouyou had even put the leftover bulgur back in the fridge. Chuuya was certain he’d die eating bulgur every day. But that was the least important problem for now. Staring at the ceiling, the scrap of paper came back to him.
I’m a whore.
Those words were etched behind his eyes. No matter how hard he tried to erase them, that white paper echoed at the back of his mind. It was all because of that damn mackerel, Dazai. He was the same kid he’d been in kindergarten. Chuuya should never have gotten involved with him in the first place; he shouldn’t have gone to the same school, shouldn’t have sat at the same desk, shouldn’t have looked into his eyes and dared him. Maybe he shouldn’t have lived at all.
He crawled under the covers and let out a ragged breath. “Ah, Dazai,” he murmured. “Working with you is like making a deal with the devil… but right now I think I’d even accept the devil’s offer.” He muttered. “You will definitely be my death.”