Work Text:
-
“I’ll be off—”
“—Chuuya, wait.”
Like an idiot, Chuuya freezes by the doorway, halfway to chewing the breakfast sandwich that he’s stuffed into his mouth in his haste. He’s running late because he’s woken up late. Because he’s only managed to trudge back to the apartment he shares with his boyfriend at ass o’clock after nearly burning off his eyebrows cramming at the library.
Basically, he’s now a part-zombie.
He’s been really swamped recently: his thesis refuses to be written and he’s already tried punching his laptop to no avail; the group project is going nowhere because some of his teammates have fucked off to some vacation in the middle of the fucking semester; their department’s hosting the annual pre-winter-break festival and he’s just about ready to just bury himself in snow; part-timing at a coffee shop at a time when everyone’s into hot drinks means incredibly busy queues.
Dazai rarely wakes up this early—at first, he’d suspected the other’s actually a vampire-mummy hybrid. But then, after being with him for the most part of college and then now that he’s in medical school, Chuuya’s arrived at the conclusion that yeah, his boyfriend’s just too lazy to wake up alongside the sun.
It means that during these busy times, he rarely is able to even hear the other’s voice, which is why he freezes like an idiot. That’s only why, damn it.
Dazai pads towards him, his pajamas exposing his ankles because he’s unfairly tall, urgh. But any irritation that he has towards unfair height advantages is erased when he belatedly notices the fact that Dazai has a fluffy, cable-knit sweater in his hands. Okay, so he actually notices it when it’s being tugged over his face, Dazai rearranging his limbs so that he’s putting his arms into its sleeves.
Chuuya swallows the sandwich in one go, his heart pounding. His nose is filled with the scent of apples and cinnamon, Dazai’s signature scent, because he insists that he’s such a snack and therefore, must smell like one. The sweater belongs to Dazai, and therefore is big on him, but the fact that it’s layered over the clothes that he’s already wearing means that it at least doesn’t hang so pathetically over him. Dazai crowds him against the door, partially embracing him, while the excess length on the sleeves is fiddled with, folding them over his wrists where his gloves end.
Before he can even protest that he owns sweaters of his own (he’s just been too busy to unearth them from the laundry or wherever the hell they’ve gone off to, for some reason, some of his clothes have been missing recently), that this color is too pale for his overall palette (pale colors clash against his hair and eyes), that he disagrees vehemently with Dazai’s fashion sense (especially on virtue of it being too big on him)—Dazai reaches for the scarf hanging on the coat rack by the door, and wraps it around his neck.
And then, Dazai leans down to press a kiss over his neck, then his jawline, biting the skin there lightly. When Dazai pulls back, there’s a satisfied smile on his face as he assesses his masterpiece. “There, you’re all bundled up.”
“I’m going to be late,” Chuuya says, half-strangled. Damn it, it’s so cold and he’s still so tired, is it really necessary for him to go out today? It absolutely is, and Chuuya hates the fact that he’s too busy and therefore cannot afford a day-off to investigate just what the fuck did Dazai do, for him to act this sweet and clingy. Dazai’s only ever this sweet when he’s done something heinous, such as accidentally throw away one of his hats.
“Have a great day,” Dazai tells him with a gentle pat to his cheeks. “I miss you already, you know?”
Chuuya trips and nearly breaks his neck on the stairwell afterwards, because what the flying fuck???
-
He spends the first hour of his day in a daze, wondering if he’s already died from overwork and has somehow ended up in hell. During his morning shift at the coffee shop, he almost boils his hands—because his braincells are busy drawing up a mental list of possible sins that Dazai must have committed for him to act so saccharine. By the time afternoon rolls by, he’s already half-convinced that Dazai’s decided to marry the actual rat that’s been stealing off the cheese from their pantry, and he’s being very sweet as part of an advanced apology.
He decides against spending the rest of his day slaving away in the library, because clearly, his mind is too fucked for any higher brain functions.
He’s been too busy to remember charging his phone or his powerbank, so he doesn’t end up managing to text Dazai that he’s going home early today.
And so, Chuuya is presented with a very strange sight once he arrives home earlier than usual.
Dazai is on their bed, cuddling… Chuuya’s pillow. That’s been dressed in Chuuya’s missing clothes. Instead of a blanket, Chuuya’s missing coats and sweaters form a strange makeshift quilt over the sleeping mackerel.
…Just like that, the exhaustion from the past couple of days leave him with a sigh.
His lips twitch as he approaches the bed and replaces the pillow in Dazai’s arms.
He concedes with a, “…Fine, I missed you too, shitty Dazai,” and proceeds to join the other in his nap.
-
(Of course, once they wake up a few hours later, Chuuya discovers that Dazai ‘accidentally’ threw out yet another one of his hats, and so he screams bloody murder, just like always. Fortunately for them, their neighbors are already used to their antics.)