Chapter Text
“University of Tokyo?” Dazai asked, slumped lazily across the floor, his head pillowed on Chuuya’s leg.
Chuuya nodded. “Yeah. It’s pretty difficult to get into, but you can make it if you try,” he said absentmindedly, chewing on his lower lip as he scrolled through the website. The soft glow of the laptop screen reflected in his eyes, brows furrowed in concentration.
Dazai looked up at his face.
Dammit.
He had no thoughts in his head at the moment—just… Chuuya. He stared. And stared. And stared, until Chuuya finally noticed and smacked his forehead.
“I said something, asshole. Can you fill your form, or is your ass too lazy for that as well?” Chuuya rolled his eyes. Dazai pouted. “I can do it… but what about you, then? Have you filled it?” he asked.
Chuuya frowned, eyes flicking back to the laptop as if debating whether he should say it out loud. Dazai waited, gaze unwavering. “I doubt I’ll get in,” Chuuya said finally, avoiding his eyes.
Dazai frowned. “Why?”
Chuuya scoffed. “Because it has an entrance exam, genius. It’s only a thirty percent acceptance rate, and the exam’s in two months. Not everyone has a photographic memory like you,” he grumbled bitterly. He’d always been jealous of Dazai’s unfair intelligence—the boy never studied and still got straight A’s.
Dazai stared at him for a moment, then hummed.
“Okay… look for something else for us, then,” he said.
Chuuya snapped his head down to glare at him. “Did you not hear me? I said you should apply to it.” Dazai nodded. “I heard you. But I’m not going to a university separate from yours,” he said casually, like he was stating a basic fact of life.
Chuuya’s annoyance spiked. “What the fuck? I’m not letting you ruin your future just because you want to follow me around and annoy me,” he said sharply. He’d be damned if he was the reason Dazai missed an opportunity like that.
Dazai shrugged. “It won’t ruin my future. I’m a genius, remember?” he grinned. Chuuya grit his teeth. Damn annoying bastard. “Shut up. This isn’t a joke, Dazai.”
Dazai yawned like the moron he was. “I’m not joking either. Look for something else for both of us,” he said, reaching up to tug a loose strand of Chuuya’s hair hanging over his face.
Chuuya smacked his hand away, making Dazai pout. “Don’t be like that. You know I’ll probably die of boredom without you,” he whined.
“You mean without annoying me,” Chuuya shot back.
Dazai grinned. “Yup. That too.”
Chuuya gave him a dry glare, then sighed, shoulders slumping slightly at the sight of that stupid grin.
To be completely honest, Chuuya didn’t want to be apart from Dazai either—but he’d rather eat a frog than admit that to him.
“You won’t let me live in peace, will you?” Chuuya asked dryly.
“Nope!” Dazai said cheerfully. “You’re stuck with me forever.”
forever?
“What, say—don’t I just look dashing?” Dazai asked, posing dramatically in front of the mirror, his crisp black suit fitting him a little too well. Sakura giggled from the couch while Kosuke made an exaggerated gagging sound.
Dazai glanced at him. “You’re just jealous you’re not half as handsome as I am,” he said smoothly.
Kosuke rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah. Don’t you have an event to go to?” he replied.
“I do, I do. Lucy-chan will be here to take care of all of you. I want you all to behave,” Dazai said. It had taken a lot of convincing from Atsushi before Lucy had agreed to babysit the kids.
“Can I come with you?” a tiny voice asked from the doorway.
Dazai turned, eyebrows lifting as he spotted Shinji hovering there. “You wanna come?” Shinji blushed slightly, embarrassed. “Um… yeah.”
Dazai grinned and ruffled the boy’s hair. “Why not! See, kids? Shinji wants to spend time with me! Be more like him,” he declared.
Kasumi rolled his eyes. “He just wants to meet Arthur Rimbaud. He’s read his books,” he said flatly.
Dazai raised an eyebrow. “His books? Since when do you like poetry?” Dazai asked. He didn’t care much for poetry himself—he’d only read a few in his life, and that too when he’d been forced by a certain ginger—dammit, stop popping up all the time.
“Well… they’re interesting,” Shinji replied.
Dazai looked at him, amused, then shrugged casually. “Well, as long as you’re not reading smut,” he said.
Shinji’s eyes widened as he blushed furiously. Katsumi choked on air. “OI! You’re so disgusting!” he shouted.
Dazai smirked, while Sakura looked between them, confused. “What’s smut?” she asked innocently.
Dazai’s eyes widened comically as he choked out a laugh. “Nothing of your concern, love! Why don’t you go tidy your room so Lucy-chan has more time to play with you?” he said cheerfully, swiftly changing the subject.
Sakura beamed and ran upstairs.
Kosuke snickered. “Close one.”
“Shut up,” Dazai muttered, then turned back to Shinji. “Well, why don’t you go get ready if you want to come? I expect Kunikida will start blowing up my phone in about twenty minutes.”
Shinji smiled brightly. “Okay!” He ran upstairs, already planning his outfit.
It wasn’t that Dazai’s phone wasn’t already blowing up with texts from Kunikida—but really, it would take at least twenty more minutes before it got serious, according to Dazai’s calculations.
And if Shinji wasn’t ready by then… well.
Meh. Kunikida wouldn’t yell at a kid. He was way too much of a softie for that.
After Shinji got ready, Dazai warned the kids about behaving again—a warning met with simultaneous eye rolls from Katsumi and Yuu, the usual troublemakers—and then left to catch the train to the event. Apparently, Kunikida had finally given up on him and wouldn’t be picking him up this time (cue Dazai’s dramatic heartache).
He looked down at Shinji walking beside him, clutching a copy of The Drunken Boat to his chest, hoping for an autograph. Honestly, the kid was so much like Odasaku. The thought softened Dazai’s expression before he could stop it.
When they reached the entrance of the venue, Dazai was immediately met with a punch to the gut.
“Oof—ow! Kunikida! This is domestic abuse!” he whined, clutching his stomach dramatically.
Kunikida grit his teeth. “I’ve been trying to reach you for ages, you stupid bandage-wasting machine!!”
“Yeah, yeah, I know, but I was on my way anyway, so—” Dazai replied breezily.
Kunikida lifted his hand, ready to strike again, when Shinji peeked out from behind Dazai.
“Hello, Kunikida-san,” he said, bowing politely.
Kunikida spluttered, horrified at having acted so indignantly in front of a child. He straightened instantly, adjusted his glasses, and nodded stiffly at Shinji in greeting, completely forgetting about Dazai.
Dazai grinned to himself. Heh. Worked again.
Kunikida shot him a warning glare. “Come on in. Everybody’s already here,” he said, turning and walking inside.
Dazai snickered and followed, Shinji close behind.
Inside, he was immediately surrounded by the agency members—Yosano teasing him for being fashionably late as always, Atsushi crouching down to talk to Shinji, Ranpo already eating like the world might end tomorrow.
“Where’s the main guest?” Dazai asked.
“He’s talking to the president and some other people over there,” Tanizaki replied, pointing.
Dazai followed his gaze. The president stood deep in conversation with a man who had long hair, a coat, and a scarf—again, in the middle of summer. Dazai raised an eyebrow, mildly amused.
“That’s Rimbaud?” he asked.
Tanizaki nodded. “Yeah. And that’s Paul Verlaine—his partner. He’s also a French model, part-time. Somewhat.”
Dazai’s eyes drifted to the tall blond man. Huh. Not bad, he thought appreciatively. The man’s over-the-top style reminded him strongly of someone, though Dazai didn’t have time to dwell on it.
Because his gaze suddenly snapped to who Verlaine was talking to.
Albatross.
His eyes widened.
Albatross?? What’s he doing here? He used to be Chuuya’s roommate in high school. If he was here, then—
“Oh—sorry, mister—”
Shinji’s voice cut through his thoughts.
Dazai turned sharply to look at the boy, who had accidentally stepped on someone’s shoe.
A very… short… individual.
Oh.
Oh no.
No way.
NO. FUCKING. WAY.
Chuuya patted the kid’s head, nodding in acknowledgement, before looking up—and wearing the exact same expression Dazai had.
Okay. What the fuck.
This had to be a dream.
Chuuya and Dazai stared at each other in complete bewilderment, before Chuuya’s face twisted into something sharp and furious.
“What the fuck,” Chuuya muttered under his breath.
Shinji grew nervous at the man’s angry expression and shuffled closer to Dazai, clutching the hem of his coat. Chuuya noticed—looked down at the kid, then back up at Dazai. Then down at the kid again. Then back at Dazai, frowning harder.
Okay. There was no way this one was Dazai’s too.
Chuuya stalked over, anger simmering just beneath the surface. “What. The. Fuck. Are you doing here,” he hissed under his breath, careful not to draw attention.
Dazai inhaled slowly. “I was invited,” he replied flatly.
Chuuya scoffed. “Invited by who, you fucking bastard,” he muttered, deliberately keeping his voice low so the kid—who was now gripping Dazai’s coat like a lifeline—wouldn’t hear.
“By my boss,” Dazai said calmly. “He’s a close friend of Arthur Rimbaud.”
“By… your boss. Fucking hell.” Chuuya grit his teeth and glanced down at the kid again. Catching Chuuya’s scowl, Shinji shrank further behind Dazai.
Chuuya’s expression softened instinctively. Then he looked back up at Dazai.
“Who is this?” he asked.
Before Dazai could answer, Kunikida stepped closer.
“Dazai?” He adjusted his glasses. “Is this an acquaintance of yours? Nice to meet you. I’m Kunikida Doppo,” he said, extending the courtesy.
Chuuya nodded stiffly, clearly uninterested in introductions when all he wanted to do was break Dazai’s face. “Chuuya Nakahara,” he grumbled, eyes never leaving Dazai.
Dazai forced his expression to stay neutral—though that was significantly harder than usual. Chuuya was here. Here. Standing among his new coworkers. The people he wanted to keep his past buried from.
And what made it worse—
The tiny hand clutching his overcoat from below.
Dazai glanced down at Shinji, offering a reassuring look.
Chuuya’s eyes narrowed slightly at the kid. He wasn’t angry at him—he just naturally had a bitch face (courtesy of spending years with Dazai), and that scowl was especially prominent with Dazai standing right in front of him.
Unfortunately, it only made Shinji hide behind Dazai even more.
Kunikida looked between the two of them, then cleared his throat. “Dazai, the president wants us to meet Mr. Rimbaud,” he said.
Dazai nodded automatically. His brain was still rebooting.
Shinji looked up at Kunikida, eyes bright with excitement. “Can I see him too?!”
Dazai patted his head. “Sure, Shinji. C’mon,” he said, carefully not looking at Chuuya—far too happy to find an escape from the fiery redhead burning holes into his face. He turned and walked away without a backward glance.
Chuuya stood there, mind reeling for God knows how long, until a hand landed on his shoulder.
“Chuuya?” Lipmann’s voice asked.
Chuuya turned slowly. “Can I burn this place down?” he asked flatly.
Lipmann raised an eyebrow. “Well, you can, but I highly doubt you want to get on Verlaine’s bad side,” he said, mildly amused.
Chuuya glared at him with an intensity that could’ve scorched the air.
Lipmann immediately raised his hands in surrender. “Alright, alright, I get it. What happened now?” he asked.
Chuuya growled, jabbing a finger toward Dazai’s retreating back. “He’s here. He’s fucking here. Dazai fucking Osamu,” he spat, the name tasting like poison on his tongue.
Lipmann’s eyes widened. “Whoa—no way. Albatross was right.”
“Fuck off!”
“Alright, alright, geez. How is he here?”
“
“How the fuck do I know?!” Chuuya snapped. “He said he’s here with his boss or whatever. Apparently he’s acquainted with Rimbaud,” he finished bitterly.
“With Rimbaud?” Lipmann asked, brows knitting together. “Doesn’t Rimbaud know who Dazai is? Well—through you, I mean.”
The reminder hit. The hours-long rants Chuuya had gone on, pacing back and forth, listing every single reason he hated that mackerel with every nerve in his body.
“That’s what I’m confused about!” Chuuya hissed. “Why didn’t Rimbaud tell me?!”
Lipmann hummed thoughtfully. “Who knows. Maybe this is his cruel way of punishing you for all the rants you made him listen to.”
Chuuya shot him a glare, then looked back at Dazai. “What I don’t understand even more is who the hell is that kid with him.”
Lipmann followed his gaze to where Dazai stood, the kid’s hand tucked into his. He raised an eyebrow. “Isn’t that, like… your student?”
Chuuya shook his head sharply. “No! Sakura and Yuu are my students—they’re seven! And that kid looks way older.”
“Huh.” Lipmann nodded. “Maybe he’s babysitting?”
Chuuya gave him a are you fucking stupid look.
Lipmann sighed. “Look, I don’t know. But I highly doubt this one’s Dazai’s too. His balls hadn’t even dropped when that kid would’ve been born.”
Chuuya flushed instantly, mortified at the mental image. He groaned, dragging his hands down his face. “Why is my life like this…”
Lipmann patted his back, simultaneously holding back a snicker. What? The situation was objectively hilarious.
Dazai, meanwhile, was in the middle of a quiet internal breakdown as he shook hands with Arthur Rimbaud after being introduced. For some very odd reason, Rimbaud looked at him with clear surprise.
Oh god.
Did Chuuya tell him about Dazai?
Dammit. Dammit. Dammit.
That stupid slug really couldn’t keep his mouth shut.
Still, Dazai smiled tightly and nodded like he didn’t know a thing—like the person who had spent very—ahem—intimate—ahem—moments with Chuuya was just his twin brother or something.
Thankfully, Shinji asked Arthur for his autograph, immediately pulling the man’s attention away. Dazai silently thanked every deity he’d ever mocked.
He was pretty sure he could feel Chuuya’s glare burning into the back of his neck—but that was a problem for later.
Right now, he just needed to make sure Chuuya didn’t cause a scene. Chuuya had always been the impulsive one.
Dazai glanced back and saw Chuuya talking to a tall man—handsome, effortlessly so.
Something twisted in Dazai’s stomach.
The feeling was familiar. Nostalgic. Because there was a time when that knot lived in him constantly—when he had the right to feel it.
Now?
He didn’t.
And for some absurd reason, that reminder only made the feeling worse.