Chapter Text
The first time Dazai meets 3-D’s new homeroom teacher is also the first time in a long time he’s decided to attend school because apparently, Akutagawa is submitting his fucking homework.
Akutagawa. Submitting homework. Akutagawa. The rabid dog of Bungo Gakuen. Is submitting homework. Dazai is more intrigued at this than disappointed at his classmate-slash-underclassman, really, and so he decides to postpone another suicide attempt to go to school instead.
The looks on the teachers’s faces are priceless when they see him sauntering along the hallway. Some, he meets eyes with and he enjoys the way they cower back to their rooms. Dazai is hated, but Dazai is also feared more than anything else and he is going to teach this newbie teacher just that.
So the first time Dazai meets 3-D’s new homeroom teacher, he throws a switch knife at him.
And maybe he’s just a little, tiny, itty-bitty surprised.
What happens next isn’t something so amazing that would send the whole class rioting because of so much swaaag. Nakahara doesn’t catch the blade in between his fingers like people do in the movies. In fact, what happens is that Nakahara does nothing.
Their eyes meet the second Dazai enters the room, sliding the door open with a loud bang, and while it naturally startles everyone inside, it isn’t too big of a reaction. And then Dazai reveals the knife in his hand and throws it without warning. Nakahara’s eyes never leave his the entire time. He doesn’t flinch, doesn’t even move to dodge as the knife almost brushes against his skin. It’s like he knows that Dazai intentionally missed. If anything, his eye merely twitches in obvious annoyance at Dazai and nothing else.
Meanwhile, the people inside the room are holding their breaths, eyes wide and flitting from Dazai and their sensei.
It feels like forever until Nakahara Chuuya finally moves, and it is to pluck the knife from where it has embedded itself on the board. Dazai watches as his knife is briefly examined before it is tossed in the trash bin beside the teacher’s desk like a worthless piece of shit. That goes to say that he doesn’t miss Nakahara actually ridiculing it, muttering ‘what a shitty knife’ under his breath before finally disposing it like he doesn’t want to see it for a second longer.
Dazai sees the other take a deep breath in before crossing his arms and leaning back on the desk.
“What the fuck? Are you Dazai Osamu?” Nakahara asks and Dazai grins.
He quickly learns a lot of things about Nakahara Chuuya and one of those is the obvious, upfront fact that the man is pretty, albeit lacking in height, but it adds to the charm. He has red hair that flows in waves down his shoulder and Naomi openly voices her envy over it. His eyes are so fucking blue and Dazai will never admit it out loud but he finds himself having a hard time to break away from staring once caught in Nakahara’s gaze. His body is… great. Dazai doesn’t really like to ogle his teacher, because he is an enemy and it would only be frustrating for Dazai to want something he’s supposed to find despicable. But he cannot help but notice that Nakahara’s tacky fashion sense could actually hug his body in the right places, accentuating his curves and his ass. Especially, his ass. Now if he could just at least get rid of that ugly hat.
Dazai also learns the fact that Nakahara is a good fighter and it would seem that the school admin has finally decided to hire a delinquent as a desperate attempt to discipline other fellow delinquents. The next day he decides to show up for school in his conquest to find any faults in Nakahara, he is greeted by a very interesting sight.
“Are we really going to do this every time I give you an assignment?” Nakahara rubs at his temple as Akutagawa defiantly stands in the middle of the room. All the chairs and tables have been pushed at the sides.
“Yes. I wasn’t well-prepared last time.” Akutagawa says with a determined face. “But I am now, and you’re going down.”
Dazai’s eyes are twinkling from excitement. He learns from Tanizaki that the only reason why Akutagawa submitted homework the last time is because he lost after challenging their sensei in a fist fight (like the barbarian he is, Atsushi pipes in).
Nakahara doesn’t look impressed and it is obvious to Dazai how the redhead thinks this is a complete waste of time. Well, it is, but this is bound to be entertaining. He’s also kind of curious and wants to see how things will turn out. He wants to see if Nakahara is just as wild as the rest of them, if the school really did hire a random and retired street gangster.
“Whatever. Let’s get this over with.” Nakahara detaches himself from the board and takes a few steps forward, stopping at a respectable distance before waving for Akutagawa to come at him with a gloved hand.
Beside Dazai, Tachihara whispers “He’s so cool.”
Despite the invitation, Akutagawa doesn’t move and Nakahara raises a brow and then snorts when he understands what Akutagawa is trying to do. Kenji asks, “why isn’t Akutagawa moving?”
“He’s waiting for the midget to throw the first punch.” Dazai explains. “Last time, Akutagawa attacked first and lost instantly, so he’s trying a new tactic.”
“Do you think it will work?”
Dazai observes Nakahara, eyeing him from head to toe, then shakes his head. “I doubt it will but who knows?”
He knows it won’t
Nakahara grins like he knows Akutagawa will regret his decision. When the teacher takes another step, Akutagawa and the rest tenses, save for Dazai.
Predictably, the fight doesn’t last long.
When the redhead aims a punch, Akutagawa reacts and moves to block and catch Nakahara’s arm that never really comes. The next thing he knows, he’s face first on the floor after Nakahara crouches and a leg sweeps on his ankles. Any attempts at standing up are futile as he sits on his student’s back, effectively pinning him on the floor.
From the side, Tachihara says “He’s so hot.” and Dazai whistles.
“I expect your paper on my table first thing in the morning.” Nakahara says with a smirk before getting off Akutagawa who grits his teeth in response. “Deadline’s on Friday.”
(Dazai learns that the chibi’s smile is contagious when he catches himself doing the same after Nakahara’s easy win.)
Nakahara Chuuya is pretty and dangerous, and Dazai understands now how the midget is able to make the notorious evil class of Bungo High to submit fucking homeworks. Unfortunately, while Dazai knows how to appreciate beauty, he isn’t one who’s easily swayed by it. He wouldn’t be affected at all by Nakahara’s charm but he begins to reassess his presumptions about their teacher so far.
He’s not a fighter and although he knows enough moves to keep himself alive during a street fight, he knows he wouldn’t be able to win against Nakahara. Akutagawa is their section’s most violent with a lot of brawling experience up his sleeves. The fact that he lost to Nakahara twice is enough for the whole class to shut the fuck up and just comply to whatever the teacher says.
But there’s still Dazai.
And whatever Dazai says, whatever he decides on, class 3-D considers it law. His brains and his words are his weapon, and the respect given to him by his classmates is, by no means, earned simply because he’s smart. He’s saved their asses from unjust teachers countless of times just by running his mouth and the fear that strikes the faculty when they see him is a testament to that.
Fortunately for the chibi, he is yet to abuse his authority as a teacher, and so starts his rebellion with something as simple as name calling.
“Hey hatrack, I have a question!”
Nakahara takes a deep breath in, bites his inner cheek, before acknowledging Dazai.
“Does it have anything to do with the topic?”
“No!”
“Then fuck off.”
“Why are you so short?” Dazai asks anyway, unfazed. “And why are you wearing that ugly hat indoors? And why—”
“You don’t hear me asking you why your face looks stupid, do you?” Nakahara snaps. “Shut up if you have nothing better to say.”
Dazai puts down the hand he’s raised and makes a gesture of zipping his mouth shut. Nakahara’s glare at him lingers for a bit longeer, waiting for Dazai to break his silence yet again but Dazai only blinks back at him, feigning innocence.
When Nakahara turns back to his book, Dazai raises his hand again.
“Chibi-sensei! I have a—"
“Oh for the love of god!”
The pranks are tradition.
Dazai can feel the excitement and anticipation of his classmates for the chibi to finally arrive and slide the door of their room open. He is aware that there are others (mainly Tachihara) who are a bit reluctant to push through with the prank, but then again, this is tradition. If Nakahara Chuuya turns his back on their class just because of some pig’s blood, then it will only prove Dazai’s belief to be right—that teachers are nothing but pompous, condescending dicks who never really care about their students.
Maybe it’s a bit farfetched to assume Nakahara is just as bad as the rest them simply based on his reaction to the prank. After all, it is gallons of pig’s blood that’s waiting for him at the door. It stinks, it’s disgusting, it’s like recreating Stephen King’s Carrie. Dazai actually hopes for Nakahara to lose his shit and show his true colors right away, now, before the whole class could trust him a hundred percent. Before they grow attached to the redhead. Dazai can see the change of heart already (shoutout again to Tachihara), like in Atsushi and Kenji. Although to begin with, the two are only thrown in the evil section because they’re, according to teachers, “self-righteous activists.”
Apparently, pointing out what’s wrong with the system is… wrong. It’s also why they made Dazai repeat another year.
But, back to the matter at hand, it’s just a matter of time before Nakahara shows up. When they hear hurried footsteps approaching, the whole room falls to a hush.
The door slides open.
“Sorry I took so—”
There’s blood on the floor. The bucket falls and hits the ground with a deafening clatter.
Nakahara is barely able to dodge the falling bucket and steps aside just a second late, moving fast enough for only half of his body to get wet.
The class erupts into laughter, some keep their giggles muffled in their hands. There’s a smile on Akutagawa’s lips as if he has finally avenged himself from losing against the teacher twice. Others like Atsushi, Tanizaki, and Tachihara scared at the possible backlash more than sorry. They don’t make a move to help.
Nakahara curses under his breath, inaudible but Dazai can read lips. The teacher looks so distressed that he almost feels sorry for him and joins Atsushi’s goody-two-shoes club. But he’s waiting for the other’s reaction, anticipating Nakahara’s outburst. He waits for the teacher to snap and shout profanities at them, tell them they are worthless pieces of shit with no future, that their parents are probably sorry to have them as their children.
That they should do the world a favor and just disappear.
“I don’t know whose master plan this is,” Nakahara speaks, voice tearing through the laughter that immediately halts. “But I sure as hell won’t clean this up. Get rid of this mess.” He gestures to the blood pooling around his feet. “I don’t want to see this shit when I come back, understood?”
Blue eyes land from one guilty face to another, trying to catch their eyes. They lastly fall on Dazai, who stares right back at Nakahara, unbothered and fearless. He continues to wear the smirk on his lips, contrary to the blank mask the teacher wears on his face.
“I’ll be back shortly.” Nakahara says before breaking eye contact and leaving the room.
It’s not the reaction Dazai has been hoping for and his classmates know it. He hears Atsushi’s concerned “Dazai-san?” and he feels everyone’s eyes on him, expectant. Because he may have successfully pulled the prank and sure as hell is Nakahara pissed, but the lack of reaction is Dazai’s clear loss.
Schooling his face with an unbothered look is as easy as breathing to him. His mind is running miles, planning and plotting and thinking hard about just what needs to be done to get the redhead to snap.
“How boring~!” Dazai finally exclaims and it startles his classmates after a minute of stillness and silence. He stands up and bounds for the door, tiptoeing past the mess he’s masterminded. The tracks Nakahara’s leather shoes left litter the hallway.
“Dazai-san!” Atsushi calls for him. “Where are you going?”
“To kill myself, Atsushi-kun!”
“You just don’t want to help us clean!”
“Hahahahahaha!”
“Dazai-san!”
He blows a kiss before turning a corner and disappearing from Atsushi’s sight completely. In his mind, Nakahara Chuuya’s disappointed face plays on loop.
Dazai pointedly ignores the pang in chest that comes with the memory of it.
Eventually, he grows tired of living but that’s no longer news.
Sure, everything’s been pretty interesting the past three weeks after the new teacher came but Akutagawa’s weekly challenges aren’t that darn entertaining anymore because everyone already knows how the fight is going to end, and Dazai’s sure that it will take a few hundred years more before the kid could land a blow on Nakahara. The almost daily pranks are also fun at first but with each failed attempt at driving the teacher away only produces a frown on his face and unlike the other cute reactions he gets from Nakahara whenever he disrupts his class with insults, Dazai doesn’t like that frown one bit and it bothers him that he feels this strange itch to try and make the man look anything but disappointed and sad because of him.
This is all too much and Dazai has reached his quota of human emotions. He is going to end this now.
One last look at the sunset and he jumps off the bridge, plunging in the cold waters and disturbing its calm. The light slowly dims into darkness as he sinks in deeper, making no attempt to swim back to the surface because well, that’s the point. He wishes, as he closes his eyes, that this suicide attempt will be a successful one because as much as he is tired of pointless living, trying one suicide method after another is also stupidly exhausting in its own way.
He doesn’t know how long he’s been underwater, just that he feels a burning in his lungs and that he’s slowly losing consciousness—good.
Unfortunately for him, it doesn’t last permanently as he would have liked.
He faintly registers the feel of arms wrapping around his form and he doesn’t ever recall being dragged towards the surface. Just that the next thing he knows, a fist pounds with such force against his chest and then he’s on his side, heaving and coughing out water that doesn’t taste as good as he expected.
“Idiot!”
Dazai is shoved on his back and when his eyes come to focus, he sees the worried-stricken face of Nakahara as he looms over him on his knees, hands firmly planted on either side of Dazai’s head.
Nakahara. Of course, of all people, it would be him. If the universe is playing a trick on him, he doesn’t find it funny in the slightest.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing? Were you trying to kill yourself?” Dazai opens his mouth to say ‘yes, yes I was trying to kill myself or is that not obvious? Is your brain as small as you? Figures!’ but the redhead isn’t done talking yet and the words never leave Dazai’s lips. Nakahara continues to yell at him, a finger pointing and digging in his chest. “You shitty piece of shit if you don’t know how to swim then don’t fucking go swimming! Do you know what happens if you do that? You drown. You drown. You fucking drown and then you die you fucking—”
Dazai’s not sure what kind of expression he's worn but whatever it is, he is well aware that it causes the change in Nakahara’s whole demeanor. The way those scared blue eyes widen a fraction more as he suddenly stops talking gives Dazai the impression that he’s been figured out.
He has.
Nakahara straightens but doesn’t make a move to remove himself from Dazai’s legs, and when he himself sits up he sees the confusion swirling in those pools of blue staring at him.
“You were… you were trying to kill yourself.”
It isn’t a question so Dazai doesn’t give an answer. He lets a small smile slip on his lips, a simple acknowledgement of what Nakahara just said. A silent confirmation.
“You were—why?”
The answer is so simple that it is complicated. Dazai doesn’t need to say it though, because there’s just a lot more to ‘I’m tired’ and a ten-page essay wouldn’t even cover it. Heck, even a whole fucking dissertation won’t cut it.
Nakahara looks visibly shaken and distressed though, reminding him of the first time Atsushi fished him out from the same river. But Nakahara somehow looks worse, like he actually gives a fuck about Dazai when the truth is he’s just extremely bothered about witnessing someone else’s death, right? Nakahara looks like the kind of person who loves to play hero. He’s someone who thinks he can save everyone and he will, if only to appease his conscience so he can sleep soundly at night. While Dazai is a master prankster who’s replaced Nakahara’s white chalk with dead lizards inside its box, he can show some mercy at times. And he decides to be merciful now by reassuring Nakahara that his death is by no means the redhead’s fault in anyway.
“You don’t have to pretend you care, sensei.” Dazai pats the man’s head and Nakahara looks at him like he’s grown ten heads. Then he’s being shoved again and if the teacher isn’t sitting on his legs, Dazai maybe would’ve rolled over.
“You think I’m pretending?”
“Why would you care?” He shoots back. Anger suddenly rising. The pent up emotions he’s pushed deep down surges up and Dazai doesn’t even try to stop it. His attempt at his life has already been interrupted by Nakahara and Dazai thinks he deserves this much reprieve from all this bullshit. “Why would you, sensei? Because you’re my teacher?”
“Yes!”
“Oh so that’s it? You’ve know us only for a month and you suddenly care?” Dazai sneers. “Tell me, Nakahara. How much are they paying you? To say that our class is problematic is an understatement so tell me, how much is the school giving you?”
“Certainly not enough to tolerate your bullshit.”
“Then why do you care?!”
“Because you’re my students! Is that not enough reason?” Dazai means to say no, it’s not because there is no such thing, but not for the first time he finds himself at loss for words when a gentle hand moves to touch his cheek. And it is then, only then that Dazai takes the time to look at how Nakahara looks, notices the little details past the obvious distress on his face. Damp hair that seems to burn a brighter red under the sunset clings to his skin. The hat is gone and most likely lost in the river. He also doesn’t see the black coat that always hangs loosely on Nakahara’s srhoulders. He’s looking at Dazai with on odd look on his…
Dazai has always compared the other’s eyes to bodies of water: a deep blue ocean he figured he wouldn’t mind drowning in, a clear sparkling lake that reflects the skies when the chibi’s in a good mood, a still pool of water that looks dull and empty whenever Dazai’s done something to disappoint him again.
Now, Dazai sees those eyes glossed over by unshed tears and a tide of emotions—pain, confusion, anger, worry, fear— and it’s the first time someone’s looked at him like that he doesn’t know what to do.
“Is it so wrong for me to care for you?”
Nakahara’s voice has dropped in hush.
Dazai comes to accept that the redhead isn’t lying to him. That he’s not lied to any of them, ever.
That when he says they can eat during class as long as they listen, it’s not him just trying to be cool.
That he does care for them and he does care for Dazai and it shows in the funny look on his face, confused at the absurdity of Dazai thinking he doesn’t give a fuck and furious for the same reason.
“Dazai.”
“You stopped me now, but you won’t be there to stop me next time.” He says it like it is a fxact. “You can’t be everyone’s hero, Chuuya.”
The redhead scoffs.
“I’m not trying to be a hero, waste of bandages.” Dazai raises a brow at the new insult. “I saved you because I don’t want to lose you. And what’s with this Chuuya business?”
“Oh, would you rather I call you chibi-sensei?”
“Chuuya is fine!
“Chuuya it is, then!”
It’s a truce. A stalemate. Dazai stares blankly right back at Chuuya, meeting the teacher’s glare evenly. They do not speak for a while and the quiet that settles between them is graciously taken over by the soft sounds of flowing water, remaining undisturbed as it will be for the next couple of days until Dazai feels the urge to throw himself in again. There’s a faint laughter of teenagers going home at a distance, bell bikes ringing and two or three cars whoozing by. Dazai stubbornldy vows to defy Chuuya be refusing to break eye contact first, petty as he’s always been.
The wind blows and the grass rustles. He sees a hat rolls a few paces and Chuuya closes his eyes, wraps his arms around himself as he shivers.
At the very least, while living another day is a loss on his part, Dazai still wins the staring contest.
“You better hurry home, sensei. If you don’t dry yourself quickly, you might catch a cold.” He pulls his feet abruptly to stand and Chuuya tumbles to his side. The startled look on his teacher’s face makes Dazai laugh. “But then again, idiots don’t catch colds, do they?”
“T-that applies t-to y-you, then.” Chuuya stutters and closes his eyes as another gust of wind passes. Dazai himself shudders. “F-fuck. Where are you g-going?”
He’s turned around and started walking away, does not stop at Chuuya’s question but still answers.
“To dry at home, of course! Unlike you, I’m not an idiot and I can get sick.” Then he gasps dramatically and spins around, continues to walk away but backwards. “Oh but if I get sick, I won’t have to go to class tomorrow!”
“Y-you piece of—I better see your stupid face in class tomorrow, s-shitty bandaged—Oi!”
Dazai turns around again and waves a goodbye. He still hears the other cursing at him and he also hears reminders about his health, albeit in the form “don’t you fucking suffocate from clogged nose!”
He rests his hands behind his head and walks off. The sun begins to sink further down the horizon. Pity he couldn’t join it but oh well. For now.
“Whatever you say, Chuuya.”