Chapter Text
The three girls were not quiet in their approach. They clustered together, pushing one another forward, whispering and giggling to each other, darting wary glances at their target. Their shiny polished black shoes clacked noisily along the library floor. Their knees were shiny and pink over the edges of their stark white socks, their thighs were smooth below their crimson red uniform skirts which were rolled up at the waist to shorten the hemlines. Their blouses were tight around their bosoms, probably a size too small for their figure – a conscious choice each girl made to accentuate her features, despite the school uniform’s best efforts to minimize all hints of femininity. They wore matching gold pins on the lapels of their blazers in the shape of a rose, the insignia for one of the school’s numerous clubs. Their lips were glossed bubblegum pink, their cheeks rubbed with blush, and the lids of their eyes swept with color, from the girl on the right to the girl on the left: blue, green, purple. They all wore their hair in matching twin buns on the sides of their heads.
Loud. Noisy. Obnoxious.
Even over the rock song blaring in Chuuya’s ears through his headphones he could hear them. Their shrill voices and laughter. He thought he’d hidden himself well in the back of the library, curled up into a tight ball on an old, mostly unused window bench with his backpack as a pillow, reading a book of poems and basking in the mid-noon sunlight streaming through the window. Were there anyone else in the vicinity, Chuuya could understand the presence of those three girls, but he was the only one there and he was hardly the type of boy they would normally seek out.
Between the black nail polish to match his smoky eyeshadow, bright red combat boots, black silk choker and several silver chains around his neck, black hat, layers of rings on his fingers, and just about any other accessory he could get away with and some he got in trouble on the daily for wearing, he’d established himself as the new first-year ‘freak’ of school from the get-go. His naturally bright red hair and striking blue eyes did little to mute the image, he figured he was born to look loud and may as well embrace it. If his appearance didn’t dissuade everyone from getting too close, his attitude usually did the trick. Foul-mouthed and mean were the typical descriptors used for him, aggressive and arrogant were often heard, as well. If a girl might be willing to overlook all of that and crush on him, well, his height was often the final nail in the coffin. He was the shortest person in the entire school. Not like he stayed in one school long enough for it to matter. This was his first month in Yokohama, but he gave it six before his father lifted roots and they moved again.
The girls stopped about a foot short of Chuuya’s reading spot, staring down at him and darting each other silent dares to speak up first. Chuuya sighed, peeled off the headphones and sat up. They gasped, squeezed closer to one another and shifted back a step. They began to argue, hissing at one another in low whispers.
“Ask him!”
“No, you ask him!”
“He’s so scary…I can’t even look at him!”
“This was your idea!”
“Right, I’m leaving,” Chuuya declared, grabbing his bag and attempting to stand, but at the movement, one of the girls seemed to find her confidence, jabbing a finger his direction and poking his forehead hard enough to bruise.
“Dazai,” she announced.
Chuuya flushed and his heart jumped into high gear. Of all the people to be mistaken for, that one seemed unlikely, “It’s Nakahara…”
“I know that,” the girl stammered, her finger still pressed against his face. He perked a brow at her and she pulled her hand away, fiddling with her uniform’s red tie, “Ah…that is…you’re friends with him. So you would know…”
“What? I’m not friends with that guy,” Chuuya shouted in surprise. The girls gave him bewildered looks.
One of them tentatively pointed out, “But…but you’re always hanging out together.”
Chuuya frowned and slumped. He couldn’t argue with that, but it wasn’t like it was his choice. He wasn’t in the library hiding from everyone at school in general, as it so happened, he was there hiding from one person specifically: Dazai Osamu.
On the first day of school, Chuuya had encountered an odd boy with shaggy brown hair and a smug grin, sitting on the front steps of school and blocking entry. Chuuya had told the boy to move, so he could get to class, and the boy had taunted: make me. So Chuuya got ready to do exactly that, when the boy halted him with the alternative option: Or you could tell me why you’re in such a rush? Chuuya had pointed out that classes would be starting soon and he didn’t want to be late for the first day, to which the boy replied: The teacher will be late today anyway. Chuuya laughed at that, the teacher being late on the first day was not likely. The boy gave him a look, eyes deathly dark and smile that didn’t reach past his lips, that sent a frustrated shiver racing Chuuya’s spine, it left him with a restless urge to do something to that boy: You want to bet? Whoever loses has to be the other person’s dog for the rest of the school year.
The teacher was a half hour late that morning. To Chuuya’s humiliation, that smug, dead-eyed bastard declared to the entire class that the new boy was his dog and they would have to ask his permission if they wanted to play with him. After a full week of being barked at by other students and reluctantly following the commands he was given – Chuuya never backed down from a bet – the boy let it slip that he had slashed their teacher’s car tires on the first day of school and that’s why the teacher was late. Chuuya decided that the boy cheated and their bet was null and void.
It was a week later when Chuuya realized there was no way the boy could have known they were in the same class, but by then, the incident was over and done, and the boy, Dazai, had caused countless new ones. It felt like every day that Chuuya arrived at school, Dazai had come up with multiple new ways to torment him. Ranging from childish pranks like tacks in his chair and lacing his lunch with wasabi, to more sinister schemes, like stealing his clothes during showers after gym period or dumping his backpack out in a trashcan and lighting it on fire. Chuuya couldn’t prove any of these things were Dazai, of course, but the boy made it more than clear he was the one responsible for them in those uncomfortably un-rare moments they were caught alone.
To make matters worse, Dazai was the most popular student in school. He was handsome, intelligent, had the highest marks in every class, he came from a wealthy family, and was in the care of a beloved pillar of the community, Dr. Mori, pediatrician to just about every student at school. In the public’s eye, Dazai could do no wrong, and he played them all like a masterclass thespian. He was all smiles and cheer; he was polite and kind and soft-spoken, using eloquent formal speech – just about every girl in school had heart-shaped photographs of him hanging in their lockers. It was enough to make Chuuya sick. He was the only one that was ever privy to Dazai’s true, cruel, sadistic side. The only sense Chuuya could make out of it was that Dazai hated him. Fair enough, Chuuya decided he hated Dazai too. The guy was a menace.
Yet, here these girls were calling them friends. Friends, Chuuya scoffed, like hell he’d be friends with that fake, smarmy bastard. Not that he had a line of people vying for his friendship otherwise.
“Um…” one of the girl’s squeaked, breaking Chuuya out of his angry musings, “We were just wondering if you knew…since you’re friends with Dazai and…”
“We’re not friends,” Chuuya spat, and the girl hopped behind her friends.
“Well…that is…” one of the other girl’s started.
“How dare you,” the girl that had jabbed Chuuya with her finger suddenly snarled, placing her hands on her hips and jutting out her chin to stare down her nose at Chuuya, “Dazai goes out of his way to be friends with an uncouth scoundrel like you and you would deny being friends with him? He’s such a good-hearted, amazing, wonderful person and you…”
“Are you kidding? I don’t have to listen to…” Chuuya grumbled, attempting to stand, but the girls, emboldened by their friends’ words or perhaps just inspired by their false image of Dazai, shoved Chuuya back down with surprising force.
“Shut up, you arrogant, fire-headed imp!” they bellowed and Chuuya gaped at them, stunned, “You are friends with Dazai! Out of the kindness of his heart, he finds a way to be friends with such an ugly, stupid, little maggot like you. So, you’re going to answer our question!”
“Ugh,” Chuuya ran a hand over his face and grumbled, “Fine. If it’ll get you to leave me alone. What do you want?”
“A lot of girls at school have already confessed to Dazai,” the girls said, and Chuuya rolled his eyes because, of course, a lot of girls had asked that bastard out in the short month since school began, they didn’t know him yet, “But he’s turned them all down.”
Chuuya perked a bit at that. It hadn’t escaped him the number of girls tripping over themselves in front of Dazai, sometimes it was hard to get through the hallway when he was around, but it always seemed like Dazai invited the attention. He unabashedly flirted with any girl that flitted his way, and the other boys scornfully referred to him as a “ladies’ man”. Chuuya had wondered why Dazai didn’t have a girlfriend, to hear now that Dazai actually turned numerous girls down made it all the more intriguing.
“The last girl that he turned down finally asked him why and he said it wouldn’t be fair for him to date her because…” the girls all clutched at one another, mewling, “…because he has a favorite.”
“Is there a question in this story?” Chuuya pressed, trying not to appear as absorbed in these new revelations about Dazai as he actually felt.
“We want to know who Dazai’s favorite is! You’re his friend so you must know,” the girls said.
Chuuya blinked at them, “I have no clue.”
They all started whining: “how can you not know?”, “you’re the worst friend!”, “he goes out of his way to be kind to a despicable person like you!” Before shrieking in unison at him, “Then find out or we’ll never leave you alone!”
“Okay, okay, I’ll ask him. Sheesh,” Chuuya relented, relieved when the bell rang overhead, signaling it was time to return to class.
The relief lasted until he walked through the classroom door and his eyes locked with Dazai’s own, darkened over, a half-smirk playing on his lip. Dazai turned his attention to the light-haired, stiff looking boy that sat in front of him, Kunikida, arguably the only person in the school that could claim to be picked on by Dazai more than Chuuya. Chuuya trudged to his desk, too consumed by the thought, Dazai has a favorite, to notice when Dazai stuck a leg out and hooked a foot around his ankle. He crashed face-first to the ground. The class erupted in laughter. He scrambled to his feet.
“You asshole, what the hell?” he roared, but Dazai only blinked up at him innocently.
“Oh, I didn’t do anything. Chuuya must have hit his head very hard. He seems confused. You really are so clumsy, tripping over your own feet. It’s a good thing you’re already so close to the ground, or you could really injure yourself,” Dazai said, with mock concern that the other students drank up like honey flavored poison.
“Dazai is so sweet,” a couple girls were whispering.
“That Nakahara really is such a loser,” a few of the boys were saying.
“Nakahara, take your seat, class is starting,” the teacher entered the room. Chuuya growled under his breath, and Dazai made some whispered comment about ‘being such a dog’ that Chuuya valiantly ignored as he slipped into his desk chair. He folded his arms on his desktop and buried his face, parts of it throbbing from colliding with the ground, as the teacher proceeded with lessons.
By the time dismissal bell rang, Chuuya had all but forgotten his encounter with the girls in the library and subsequent agreement to them. He tried to exit the classroom, but as per usual, there was a large gathering of girls there to talk with Dazai, begging for his attention, and asking if he was busy after school hours. Chuuya managed to push halfway through to freedom, when an arm slipped around his neck and yanked him backwards. He suddenly found himself pressed back against Dazai’s chest, held firmly in place by the other boy’s surprisingly iron grip.
“I’m sorry, ladies, I can’t today. I’ve already agreed to walk Chuuya home. Someone has to make sure he doesn’t fall down a hole or get lost along the way. He’s so small and airheaded, you see,” Dazai explained with a cheeky grin.
“What the hell are you saying?” Chuuya said, ignoring the heat flooding his cheeks or the unbidden thought that Dazai kind of smelled nice. He swallowed his words when he caught the dangerous mood of the crowd directed his way.
“…he’s hanging out with that imp again…” the girls were muttering, “…ever since that Nakahara shrimp showed up Dazai is always busy…it’s not fair, that shorty isn’t even all that cute…Nakahara is so repugnant…”
Dazai waved pleasantly over his shoulders at the girls, steering Chuuya through the crowd towards the door. Once they were off school grounds, Dazai relinquished his hold on Chuuya and Chuuya reeled on him.
“Who agreed to walk anywhere with you, bastard?”
“Huh? Oh, I lied, of course,” Dazai smirked at the other boy, “I just needed an excuse to get away from them. Sometimes it gets tiring to be the center of all their attention, so I always tell them I’m going to hang out with you when I want a break. That makes them leave in a hurry.”
“Is that why everyone thinks we’re friends, all of a sudden? You jerk, I’ve been getting death threats in my locker because people think I’m monopolizing all your time,” Chuuya complained, “Stop lying to people about hanging out with me.”
“It’s a problem?”
“Yes, it’s a problem. You shouldn’t lie to people, for one thing…”
Dazai gave Chuuya a scrutinizing look, then snapped his fingers and grinned, “I get it! Chuuya wants me to really walk him home. Okay, I’ll do it, but you know, you can just ask me nicely.”
“Who the hell said that?” Chuuya smacked a palm to his face, only to recall the information he agreed to procure for those girls. He sighed, rolled his eyes, and muttered through a grimace, “Yeah. Sure. Walk me home.”
“I knew it,” Dazai slunk an arm over Chuuya’s shoulder against Chuuya’s protests, “Chuuya just wants to spend time with me. Tell you what, I won’t lie about hanging out with you anymore. Every time I tell them I’m going to hang out with you, it’ll be the truth.”
“Wait…what? No…that’s not what I…ugh, I don’t want you to…” Chuuya couldn’t even figure out how to argue with the smug bastard, he couldn’t even untangle his own bedraggled thoughts as Dazai pushed and pulled him along the sidewalk.
Instead, Chuuya took a steadying breath and decided to hurry up and get what he wanted from the other boy, then he could figure out how to ditch him. He could work it in his favor, too. Maybe convince Dazai to ask the poor girl out, and if Dazai had a girlfriend to distract him, he’d have less time to make Chuuya’s life miserable. Somehow Chuuya’s tongue swelled on the thought, making it hard for him to form words, until Dazai’s thumb brushed Chuuya’s chin where the skin was scraped from tripping in class earlier. Chuuya startled away from the touch.
“What are you doing?” Chuuya demanded.
“You were zoned out and I wanted your attention,” Dazai answered. He wrinkled his brow in what Chuuya would have mistaken for concern if he didn’t know any better, “It hurts, doesn’t it? You should have asked to go to the nurse.”
“What do you care? You’re the one who did it,” Chuuya snapped, pushing away Dazai’s arm from his shoulders.
“What? I wasn’t trying to hurt you. I just wanted to see if you were paying attention,” Dazai told him guilelessly.
Chuuya’s eyes narrowed on the other boy, “You can drop the phony act, Dazai, no one else is around.”
“It’s not my fault Chuuya doesn’t watch what he’s doing,” Dazai said, sticking his nose in the air and sniffing with indignation. Chuuya could only gape open mouthed at him. The guy was still going to deny purposely tripping him in class. He tried to think of just how to go about ripping Dazai a new one without causing too great a scene when Dazai snatched Chuuya’s wrist, and dragged him towards a bench, “Sit here. I have a first aid kit.”
Before Chuuya could catch his bearing well enough to stop Dazai, Chuuya was seated on the bench, Dazai standing over Chuuya rummaging through his backpack. A first aid kit was produced and the backpack set aside. Dazai pulled out an alcohol wipe, a tube of antibacterial gel, and a band-aid. He tipped Chuuya’s head back, his fingers shaking as he cleaned the scrape with the wipe. Chuuya couldn’t get his lungs to work, his breath caught in his heart. Dazai placed a dot of the antibacterial gel in the white of the band-aid, and delicately smoothed it over Chuuya’s chin. He grinned, looking proudly over his work.
“Chuuya looks stupid with a bandage on his face,” Dazai determined.
“You’re an ass,” Chuuya shoved him away, fingering the band-aid and muttering a sheepish, “Thanks.”
Dazai regathered the first aid kit into his backpack and Chuuya stared at him for a moment, mesmerized. Admittedly, Chuuya could understand why all the girls in class liked Dazai so much. The other boy was undeniably attractive: tall, lean, long lashes, boyish good looks, features sharp and soft in all the right places. Chuuya could even understand why all the boys admired Dazai. Dazai was clever, and smart, he never took notes in class but always got the highest grade. Even when he seemed to be sleeping through the lesson, whenever the teacher called on him to be made an example of, he gave the correct answers without fail. When he wasn’t being an outright pain in the ass, or an arrogant bastard, he could be quite charming. In a world of plain, boring, people that fade into the background, Dazai strode through the school halls with a spotlight shining over his head. Chuuya wondered what kind of girl could catch the attention of an amazing person like Dazai.
“Ah…Dazai,” Chuuya carefully started. Dazai glanced over curiously. “The girls…there were some girls…I talked to at lunch…”
“Oh?” Dazai’s face wiped blank, his eyes darkened over, setting off a warning alarm in Chuuya’s head, “So that’s where Chuuya was at lunch. Talking to some girls.”
Chuuya swallowed hard and nodded slow, “Yeah. Uh…about you.”
The darkness receded into confusion, and Dazai blinked a few times, “Really? You were talking about me? What did you say?”
“Nothing much. They had a question…I didn’t know how to answer,” Chuuya ran a hand over the back of his neck, feeling utterly embarrassed and realizing his only recourse was to continue forward, “I guess…they said you have a ‘favorite’…at school. They just wanted to know who it was, so I told them I’d ask, since they think we’re friends or something…listen, if you don’t want to tell me, that’s fine. They just…now that I think about it, this is silly, and really…”
“But don’t you know?” Dazai said, staring at Chuuya like he was sprouting a second head.
“No? Why should I know?” Chuuya bristled, losing patience, “Like I said, if you don’t want to tell me, it’s fine...”
“I thought I was being obvious, though,” Dazai pouted.
“Obvious about what?” Chuuya cried.
“You.”
“Me what?”
“You,” Dazai stamped a foot, and placed his hands on his hips, staring down at Chuuya expectantly, “You, Chuuya.”
Chuuya’s heart skipped a few beats. Blood rushed straight to his head, “Be serious.”
“I am being serious,” Dazai beamed, breathless from his exasperation and seemingly exhilarated that he and Chuuya were, apparently, finally on the same page, “Chuuya is my favorite. I like Chuuya.”
…
A heavy drum solo erupted from the bedside stand and Chuuya slammed his hand over his phone, picking it up and swiping a finger across the screen to silence his alarm. He glared at his lock-screen picture, an old cabin in a faraway forest, the scent of pine and snow on his nose. It wasn’t a place he’d even been before, but whenever he looked at the picture, it felt like home. More like home than any of the countless spaces he’d lived in over the years. He rolled out of bed and pushed the loose red curls out of his face, went in search of clean clothes from the closet.
Chuuya had been twelve the last time he tried to have a friendship. He couldn’t even remember the boy’s name. He barely conjured an image of jet-black hair and freckles sprawled across a button nose. They’d ditched a few school days to play games at the arcade. The boy had asked to come over one night, and Chuuya didn’t think much of it, it was normal for friends to come over. He could still remember the comfortable feeling of sitting at the table doing homework, passing a paper back and forth, taking turns adding cells to a comic about their ‘lame’ classmates.
Then Chuuya’s father came home.
In the bathroom, Chuuya layered the usual powders and liquids on his face, slipped a silver dragon cuff over his ear, clipped his black choker into place, and added a few select chains to his neck, slipping silver rings on fingers. He stared at his reflection, the sour expression and carefully constructed mask. Dazai sprung fresh to mind, his earnest countenance, a cross between smug arrogance and outright triumph over the seeming confession. Chuuya shook away the image, dressed in his uniform and set his hat atop his head, brushing away thoughts of the other boy. Chuuya had made excuses to end their conversation and abandon Dazai on the street. He had practically sprinted the entire way home, crashing through the front door gasping for air, clutching the walls for support. It was one of Dazai’s games, nothing more. Chuuya flinched away from his own image and swept out of his bedroom, hurrying downstairs.
Chuuya’s father was in the kitchen, and Chuuya faltered at the doorframe, staring warily at the older man. Arthur kept his black hair long, cascading down his back in thick waves. He always wore sweaters and heavy jackets, even though he insisted on keeping the house heater on full blast year-round. He was preparing breakfast, which was unsettling, not least of all because Chuuya hadn’t seen him out of his room since they’d come to Yokohama for anything but that.
Arthur spared Chuuya half a glance, before plucking a pill case out of a cabinet and setting it on the counter nearest to Chuuya. He grabbed a glass, filled it with water, and set it next to the container. Chuuya scowled at it, stalking forward and snatching the pill case up. He popped open the compartment for that day, emptied its contents into his palm, and threw the various multicolored pills down his throat, swallowed them dry. He slammed the pill case back on the counter and spun on heel, heading for the door.
“There’s still plenty of time before school,” Arthur called and Chuuya halted at hallway exit, his heart jackhammering in his chest, screaming at him to pretend he hadn’t heard. Arthur was dividing up food onto two plates. “Sit down.”
It was too late now. Chuuya took slow steps to the kitchen table and sunk into one of the chairs. His fingers gripped the sides of his seat until they ached, his shoulders trembling with tension, spine straight and rigid. He shrank back as Arthur placed a plate in front of him: pancakes and sausage. His stomach twisted in knots. Arthur took a seat across from Chuuya with his own plate and a bottle of syrup, which he popped open and poured over his food. He placed it in the center of the table and pushed it towards Chuuya.
“Eat. You like pancakes,” Arthur said.
“Liked,” Chuuya corrected quietly.
“What was that?” Arthur cut a chunk of pancake from his plate, lifted it to his mouth, dribbling sugary brown liquid in its wake.
“I liked pancakes. I don’t anymore. They make me sick,” Chuuya said.
Arthur finally looked at Chuuya, his eyes sweeping over the boy across from him, studying Chuuya’s appearance as his features twisted into increasing degrees of disgust.
“What are you wearing?”
“My school uniform,” Chuuya muttered.
“Don’t act smart. You know exactly what I mean. Why are you dressed like that? I’ve told you before not to call attention to yourself. You look ridiculous. How do you expect to fit in here when you…?”
“It’s what everyone wears,” Chuuya lied, “This is the fashion, dad, it’s all the rage with the kids at school.”
Arthur drummed his fingers on the tabletop impatiently. Chuuya mustered the courage to meet his father’s hawkish glare, attempting a stubborn expression and managing to look like little more than a petulant child on the verge of tears.
“We both know why you’re up. Can we skip the charade of a family breakfast? Just take what you want so I can go to school,” Chuuya said, hating the way his voice teetered.
Arthur sighed dramatically, slamming his fork down with a clatter on his plate, Chuuya flinched at the sound. The older man rose to his feet and disappeared from the kitchen. He was gone less than a minute, reappearing with a satchel, all too familiar to Chuuya, that he set on the table. From it, he removed a plastic case, which he opened to reveal several vials and syringes in plastic wrappers, cotton balls, a bottle of peroxide, and bandages. He took a stance behind Chuuya, grabbing a fistful of red hair and shoving Chuuya’s face down.
Arthur unclipped the black choker and Chuuya caught it against his chest, fighting the angry tears in his eyes and convincing himself that the fingers clawing his scalp didn’t hurt. There was a coolness at the base of his neck as Arthur cleaned the area with a cotton ball. It was followed by a sharp pinch that became increasingly painful the farther into Chuuya’s neck that Arthur pushed the needle until Chuuya could feel it searing at the front of his eyes and a smallest of whimpers escaped his lips. It didn’t matter that this happened every month of his life for as long as he could remember, it hurt every time. After a handful of seconds, Arthur withdrew the needle, pressing a cotton ball to the area and taping it into place. He emptied the contents of the syringe into a vial.
“You’re going to regret not eating this,” Arthur said, snatching up Chuuya’s breakfast plate and tossing it into the sink with a crash of broken ceramic. “You act like I’m the villain here, Chuuya, when you know it’s for your own good. Everything I do is for you, everything I go through is for you. Only to be treated like this in my own home by a spoiled brat. Go to school. If I get a call that you were absent today…”
Chuuya was already out of the house, slamming the door shut on Arthur’s empty threats. By the time Chuuya got back from school, Arthur would be hidden away in his room again, not to be seen until he wanted another vial. Chuuya ripped the taped cotton ball away and tossed it in the street, clipping his choker back into place, and angrily ground out the tears that were spilling freely down his cheeks with the palm of his hand. The world blurred against the backdrop of his raging emotions, his feet guided him towards school, while his mind remained unaware of anything external to himself until he saw Dazai standing on the stairs leading into the school, surrounded by his usual entourage of admirers. Chuuya’s heart caught in his throat.
Dazai wore his usual placid expression when he dealt with everyone else at school. His phony smile and over-the-top cheer. There was something about the fake Dazai that ached throughout Chuuya like staring at that plate of syrup drenched pancakes. It made him want to vomit. Dazai spotted Chuuya over the crowd, and his features changed. He said something that, for once, didn’t impress the adoring fans, and a chill fell over Chuuya as the crowd darted cold glares his direction. Dazai made his way around everyone to join Chuuya at the bottom of the stairs.
“Your face looks more awful than usual,” Dazai greeted.
Chuuya flushed, “Go to hell. If you don’t like my face, don’t look at it.”
“But that’s exactly why I am looking at it,” Dazai said with a smarmy grin, “I’m going to walk you to class.”
“We have the same class. You’re not walking me anywhere, you’re just going to the same place as me,” Chuuya argued.
“Not going to the same place as you. Going to the same place with you,” Dazai returned, grin never faltering.
Chuuya rolled his eyes and hurried for the front door to the school, weaving through the crowd of girls watching him with threatening looks, “Who asked you to?”
“No one,” Dazai kept pace, slinging an arm over Chuuya’s shoulders and leaning in to open the door for them, “But you told me to stop lying to everyone. I told them I was walking you to class this morning. If I don’t, that would make me a liar. I don’t want to let you down.”
Chuuya stopped and squirmed out of Dazai’s grasp. Dazai turned to watch curiously as Chuuya’s eyes darted around the hall. People were staring at them. Decidedly, Chuuya grabbed Dazai by the wrist and the other boy eagerly followed as Chuuya led him into the first empty room they came across, a storage closet, slamming the door shut and locking it behind them for good measure. He spun to face Dazai. The other boy looked scandalized.
“Chuuya, this is so quick and sudden. I thought we’d go out at least a few times, perhaps you’d bring me chocolates for Valentine’s Day first, but if this is what Chuuya wants,” Dazai exclaimed, lunging at Chuuya with arms outspread. Chuuya yelped, he ducked under the other boy’s lanky grasp and dodged towards the back of the room.
“What are you doing, idiot? Stop it, alright, just stop!”
Dazai peered at him with a half-pout, “But you’re the one that brought me here.”
“To talk, jackass,” Chuuya chewed at his bottom lip. He lifted the hat off his head and ran a hand through his hair, “It’s not a good joke, okay. You had your fun with it, just knock it off now.”
“I don’t know what you mean,” Dazai placed his hands in his uniform pockets and tipped his head to one side, looking at Chuuya with a razor-sharp smile.
“That thing you said yesterday,” Chuuya hesitated, it stung, like reopening a wound to think about Dazai’s words again and with Dazai standing right in front of him, that same soft expression on his face, “About liking me. It isn’t funny. I’m not laughing, no one would laugh at it. It’s a shit joke. It’s shitty, period. It’s mean, and cruel, and…just stop.”
“It’s not a joke,” Dazai said plainly. He took a step towards Chuuya and Chuuya, self-consciously, took a step back. The other boy had his face lowered, shaggy hair obscuring his features, looking up through thick lashes. “I like you, Chuuya. Let’s date.”
“Are you an idiot?” Chuuya narrowed his eyes to dangerous threat, “We can’t date.”
“Why not?” Dazai pouted and the expression on that boy’s face brought a heat of color to Chuuya’s cheeks. It was infuriating, boys shouldn’t be that pretty.
“We’re both guys for starters,” Chuuya pointed out, folding his arms across his chest and turning away, “What makes you think I have any interest in dating some guy?”
Dazai blinked at him in stun, sweeping his eyes up and down Chuuya’s outfit, “You don’t?”
For a moment, Chuuya flashed on his father’s disapproving, disgusted gaze at the breakfast table, and it twisted sick nausea in Chuuya’s stomach. He felt like he could spit venom.
“I don’t wear make-up because I’m gay, asshole,” he bit out.
“Oh. No?” Dazai’s features crumpled, he put a finger to his chin, his eyes searching the floor in a strangely desperate mood. Chuuya felt the second-hand disappointment, and embarrassment. He swallowed back his own swirl of emotions and tried to tamper down on an appropriate way to smooth out the atmosphere.
“That’s not to say…there’s anything wrong with being gay, who am I to judge anyways,” Chuuya ran a hand over the back of his neck, “I mean, it’s fine that you are…”
“I’m not gay,” Dazai murmured distractedly.
“Huh?” Chuuya gaped at the boy, his head spinning, feeling as though the floor were pulled out from under him. He was suddenly back in the first day of school, hoping to sink into the background and finding himself barked at by every student because the joker standing across the room from him claimed him as a ‘dog’. “But you just asked me to date you?”
“Well, yeah, but Chuuya is so small and dainty, plus with the make-up and jewelry, he looks enough like a girl to be passable,” Dazai grinned cheekily, “I could easily pretend.”
“Who the hell are you calling small, lamp post? Just because some of us aren’t all freakishly long with gangly limbs…and dainty? Dainty? This from the guy who sits out every day in phys-ed?” Chuuya ranted.
“I have a doctor’s note,” Dazai calmly explained, “Pulled leg muscle.”
“Yeah? Last week you had a sore back, and the week before that it was dislocated hip. Your dad’s a doctor, you just get him to write you notes,” Chuuya argued.
“Mori is not my father,” Dazai yawned, peering at Chuuya bored, “We’re not all dogs, either, Chuuya, wanting to run endless laps around the field. Why do you wear the make-up anyways? If it’s not to look girly?”
“Ugh,” Chuuya shoved his way for the door, “That’s personal.”
“Wait, ah…” Dazai grabbed at Chuuya’s hand and barely dodged the fist that came swinging his way, “Careful! You almost hit me.”
“I was trying to hit you,” Chuuya shouted, feeling suddenly light and nauseas from spinning around so fast. He swooned, black splotches erupting across his eyes. He could hear his father ridiculing him, you’re going to regret not eating this, as his body went weightless. A split second later, his eyes fluttered open and he realized, with a growing heat throughout his entire body, he was slumped against Dazai’s chest, the other boy holding him steady by the shoulders.
“I’m getting mixed signals here, Chuuya, first you say you don’t want to date me, then you throw yourself into my arms,” Dazai teased.
“W-who would throw themselves into your arms, bastard?” Chuuya knew his entire face was beet red. He wanted out of that room and far away from the boy staring down at him with the broadest of grins. He attempted to push away, but his legs buckled beneath him and he felt himself tumbling towards the floor. Dazai barely caught him in time to break the fall, helping to guide him down softly.
“Swooning now, are we? You’ve become weak in the knees at my touch,” Dazai sighed dramatically, kneeling beside Chuuya. His teasing words were undercut by the hint of concern in his eyes, “What’s wrong with you anyways?”
“Nothing. I just…I skipped breakfast, is all,” Chuuya murmured. It was only a partial lie.
“I suppose there’s no helping it. I’ll have to bride carry you to the nurse but there better be a reward for my heroic actions.” Dazai wriggled his hands under Chuuya’s leg.
“What? No way! Where are you touching, jerk,” Chuuya swatted at Dazai making some awkward attempt to scoop him off the floor, “Your spaghetti arms couldn’t carry me, anyways, you’ll drop me.”
“Spaghetti arms or not, you’re so tiny, I could definitely carry you,” Dazai replied.
“Forget it! I don’t want to go to the nurse. They’ll call my house,” Chuuya shoved and struggled against the other boy, “I just need to sit for a second and eat something, jeez.”
“Oh, in that case,” Dazai fumbled for his tote bag, flipping it open and rummaging inside. He produced a granola bar. Chuuya reached for the snack and he snatched it away, holding it over head, “Greedy, aren’t we.”
“What gives, asshole? I thought you were helping me,” Chuuya demanded.
“I’m going to need something in return,” Dazai said.
“Figures. You can’t just help someone out of the kindness of your heart,” Chuuya muttered, “Forget it. I don’t need your help. I’ll go to the vending machines and get my own food.” He pushed up from the floor, his arms and legs trembled and he slumped down once more, a fresh wave of nausea overwhelming him.
“Hm…it seems you do need my help. It’s either pay the price for my snack bar, or I fetch the nurse,” Dazai wiggled the granola bar in front of Chuuya’s scowling face, “And they’ll definitely notify your family.”
“Ugh. What do you want for the snack bar?” Chuuya demanded, clutching his woozy head between his hands, shoulders trembling.
“You, of course,” Dazai grinned.
“I’m not selling myself for a fucking granola bar. How cheap do you think I am?” Chuuya glared at Dazai through his fingers.
“No? Fine. Just agree to date me, then,” Dazai said.
“That’s the same thing,” Chuuya shouted.
The bell rang overhead, and Dazai smirked, “Tick tock, tater tot, times running out on this one time offer.”
“One week,” Chuuya said, “I’ll date you for one week. That’s more than fair exchange for a stupid granola bar.”
“No way. The rest of the school year,” Dazai replied.
“The rest of the school year is the entire school year. I’m not dating you for nine months in exchange for a fucking granola bar. I don’t even want to date you for nine minutes,” Chuuya told him. Dazai pouted comically, tapping the granola against his chin.
“Chuuya drives a hard bargain. How about five months.”
“Five days.”
“Ugh, fine, three months.”
“Three…er…weeks.”
“One-month, final offer,” Dazai beamed proudly, just as the late bell rang.
Chuuya groaned and sighed, holding out his hand for the granola bar. Dazai passed it over and hopped to his feet. Chuuya unwrapped the granola bar, scarfing it down and hoping the sugar made its way to his blood fast so he could get out of there.
“Perfect. One month should be plenty of time,” Dazai murmured to himself. Chuuya raised a skeptical brow at him.
“Time for what?”
“Ah?” Dazai glanced over his shoulder at Chuuya, finishing off the granola bar, chocolate smeared on his bottom lip. Dazai smirked, squatting down and using his thumb to trace the chocolate off Chuuya’s face, licking it from his hand while his eyes remained locked on Chuuya’s wide blue ones, admiring the pretty pink of Chuuya’s features, “For you to fall in love with me, of course.”