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The term "lazy" fitted Dazai Osamu like a glove.
Ever since he and Chuuya Nakahara knew each other, he had never shown up on time for classes.
Every day, the teacher scrolled the students names for the roll call and when his finger hovered over "Osamu" you could discern a roll of eyes or perceive a sigh of vexation.
And then, Dazai's mocking smile usually appeared from the threeshold of the door, nibbling at the last corner of a burnt toast and chirping with older female students.
Well, that morning Dazai deserved the punishment that have afflicted him: he would sit for a week next to a mate to check his unnatural propensity for distraction.
Not only the delay, but also the audacity to get caught throwing a paper airplane towards his nemesis Chuuya, making it hit his scalp and land between rust strands.
A frown and the words "See you at the end of class" marked by the redhead’s lips in a harsh tone.
While Dazai’s mocking gaze fluttered toward the blackboard his face was replaced by dark, unkempt curls and layers of sterile bandages peeking out of the collar of his school uniform.
His nemesis was able to fascinate people: It was enough to plunder the infirmary and wear rolls of gauzes to be assaulted by curious, interested in the real reason for that bizarre whitish coating under the clothes.
By a month and has become "the bandages guy", or as he preferred to call it Chuuya "a waste of bandages", in addition to Mackarel ( oh, there was a bizarre story behind this nickname), enemy-of-all-women and vagabond.
And yet, Chuuya couldn't take his eyes off him; from the way he stroked a lock of hair behind his ear to the steady tapping of the tip of the pen on the still-white paper.
And while Dazai's fingers were ticking time, the redhead’s heart skipped a beat.
He swallowed a mouthful of bitterness, accepting that his interest was beyond mere bickering, and found himself scribbling his name on the notebook umpteen times.
Oh.
That meant Chuuya was doomed? Yes. Especially when he realized he was drawing little hearts that framed Dazai’s name.
"Nakahara!"
When Chuuya heard the professor's voice echoing within the walls of the classroom, choosing him as the designated mate to keep an eye on Dazai, he made a face.
Who was the punishment for?
His eyebrows twitched even more and his lips tightened while Dazai cheerfully pawed towards his position.
Sitting next to his school desk, the spine arched and the head angled to his side as he hummed to Chuuya: "Aren’t you glad we’re so close?" His voice was ludic and his gaze soft as his mouth dangerously swung into his personal space.
The redhead’s heart lost another beat.
Which was normal, because the only way he could hide his secret was to plaster his palm on the sheet that was starting to sweat in contact with the paper.
Chuuya took a deep breath. "I’d rather have you as far away from my sight as possible." With the help of his left hand he closed the notebook without letting the world know the truth behind his words.
"I’m sure I'd get along with Chuuya~." he replied amusely.
Has Dazai opened Pandora’s box with a vague allusion or were his gentle deeds the result of a plan already predicted?
Distracted and embarrassed, Chuuya snapped at the ringing of the bell that marked the end of classes. He lifted the backpack, throwing books and the pencil case inside, wore the leather jacket over his ribs and reminded Dazai of their encounter.
"I think this is yours," Dazai buzzed while he fluttered a notebook with a black hardcover between his fingers. " I like myself, but I'd never decorate my name with little hearts."
Chuuya freezed off.
As much as he was looking for a plausible excuse for having mentioned his mate's name at least a dozen times in the middle of math notes, well, his brain seemed not to cooperate and delay in a solution.
Chuuya turned his heels and avoided looking towards Dazai's direction. Definitely too embarrassing.
He stuttered for a couple of seconds, gesturing with both hands and hoping that someone in the whole school could get him out of that situation. Useless.
Dazai cut in his uncontrolled stream of thoughts. " You can take it. I left something that might interest you."
" I’m not interested—"
"Believe me. You are," The waste of bandages hinted a sneer, reaching a hand towards Chuuya. "When you’re done being paranoid, can I have mine back too?"
With the fingertips tingling and the face heated up, Chuuya slid the zipper of the bag to the estremity and sank an arm trying to recover the unlucky notebook of the same color and brand of Dazai's. "I don’t know what you figured out, but I don’t like you," His voice started to crack. "I hate you, remember?"
Dazai shrugged, arching an eyebrow. "Do you hate me so much that you think of me instead of taking notes?"
"Shut up and grab your notebook!"
"You’ll thank me later, Chuuya."
The redhead glanced up and saw Dazai approaching, maybe too much close: his scent mixing with the air and sliding leisurely down his lungs, while his smile was silk on his lips.
He clutched the notebook from Chuuya's hands, returning his in the mean time, grazing his lithe fingers against his and the redhead hoped that moment wouldn't end.
But that intimate break was nipped in the bud and Chuuya had to contend with the prying looks of classmates, so he tried to regain control of the situation. Well, as far as possible.
Keep calm, Chuuya, keep calm.
"I doubt it." The redhead barked, raising his eyebrows and snapping his eyes closed.
Oh, he'd have, actually.
When Dazai was finally gone and Chuuya began to browse the pages to find out what he meant, he found a note under one of his scribbles: a phone number and the writing Text Me embellished with a heart painted in bright red.
The day certainly turned out to be better than he believed.