Archive of Our Own ^beta

The sea is right in front of his bedroom window.

Whether Chuuya liked it or not was something he hadn’t decided on yet.

When he was just a little boy, he was picked up off the street, brought in by two men, and was told to settle there. Back then, Chuuya didn’t feel as if he had the right to complain about the view. Most people would’ve found it beautiful, but he thought otherwise.

It wasn’t for no reason, either. This part of town isn’t immune to heavy rainfall. The waves would make a ruckus at night, crashing together noisily as thunder struck brazenly, lighting up in the sky.

Chuuya couldn’t sleep because of it. He’d get up, stare out of that window, and curse Rimbaud for giving him this specific room. He’d wander for hours around the humble abode which he stayed, sighing when nobody came to check if he was okay once the thunder had stopped. 

Years later, he’s comfortable enough to call this his home. He never mentioned his complexities with the window to Rimbaud, nor to Verlaine, but apparently, he was allowed to.

“You know,” Rimbaud starts, busying himself with cleaning up Chuuya’s vanity, “I see the way you glare at that window. Paul could have it removed for you, if you’d like.”

Paul is the other man Chuuya was taken in by, who has told Chuuya to address him by Verlaine. 

(He thinks it sounds cooler, and has genuinely threatened to kick Chuuya out if he didn’t comply.) 

While they’ve never admitted it to him, Chuuya likes to think Verlaine and Rimbaud are just more than simple housemates, but that’s a story for another day.

Chuuya gives the window a solemn glance, noting the clear skies and empty beach outside. Not many people travel to this area around this time of year.

“I used to hate it,” He scoffs, head lulling back to stare at the ceiling, “I’m still deciding if I want it gone or not.”

“I think you should keep it there,” Rimbaud offers his opinion, despite knowing Chuuya has a little mind of his own now that he’s grown older, “We appreciate the view more as we age.”

“Speak for yourself, the view still looks the same even after four years of living here.”

“That’s just you, Chuuya.” He huffs a laugh, throwing a blouse into the hamper, “Paul becomes more fond of it each year. That’s why we haven’t moved yet.”

The topic of moving is a touchy one. 

Rimbaud knows Chuuya likes it here, because he found family here, yet the option of moving to the city is still open. 

And Chuuya would completely understand if they were struggling financially and needed to move to the city for job opportunities, but that’s not the case at all.

Rimbaud and Verlaine both have full-time jobs, they’re always out of the house doing something — whether it be working, drinking, or visiting downtown, where all the small businesses are (they always bring a pastry home for Chuuya.) 

The point is, they’re happy here . 

Chuuya’s happy here, too.

There’s no point in moving to the city, for what? To be shoved into the lowest depths of the hierarchy? To be unhappy, and only focus on money instead of family? 

As you can see, Chuuya doesn’t have the brightest opinion on city folk.

He doesn’t give Rimbaud an answer, tugging his legs up, arms hugging his knees. The man gives him a curious glance, but leaves it at that.

“You should go out to see your friend today. You’ve been cooped up here all week.”

“That’s because Verlaine’s always away with the car,” He mumbles, shifting on his side to stare at Rimbaud disinterestedly, “You’re talking about Atsushi, right?”

“Yes, the one with the uneven hair.”

Chuuya feels one end of his lips quirk up, “He’s away for a few months. He won’t be back until the end of summer. Said he and his uncle are traveling to Yokohama.”

Rimbaud hums, “Yokohama, hm?”

Chuuya can only narrow his eyes in suspicion, “Yeah.”

“Good for him! Paul and I should discuss a vacation,” He gives Chuuya a knowing look, “ Not to the city. Maybe to a resort, or something else.”

“Sounds good to me,” Chuuya shrugs, taking a final glance out the window, “Things get boring around the house when you two aren’t here, anyway.”

“Ah, Chuuya,” Verlaine (as usual) is all smiles as he walks through the door, blazer tattered and worn out, hair sticking up in all sorts of directions.

He outstretches his arms, looking for a hug, which Chuuya always rewards him with.

“Dear Lord,” Rimbaud frowns, striding up to them, only to smooth Verlaine’s blazer down, grimacing at the torn fabric, “Your clothes..”

“Aye, stop fussing,” He bats Rimbaud’s hands away, pulling his head closer to drop a light kiss on his temple, “I’ll get new ones.”

It’s little things like that which Chuuya has his suspicions of, because while he hasn’t exactly grown up around many affectionate people, he’s been exposed enough to understand that’s not something that’s common among ‘normal’ housemates.

He’s gotten used to it by now, though, since Verlaine’s touchy with everybody he knows as far as Chuuya’s concerned. 

“You look like you just rolled around in a pile of mud all day.” Chuuya cringes at how the dirt seems to be inside of the clothes, sticking to Verlaine’s skin.

“Eh, well,” He shrugs his blazer off, tossing it on the counter, “I met this kid today, he’s around your age. Said it was his first time down by the seaside,” He pauses when Rimbaud scolds him for getting the filthy clothes on the clean counter, “He made a bet with me.”

“A bet? That’s odd,” Rimbaud comments, only to scurry off to wipe the counter down with a wet cloth.

“I know,” He sighs, a ghost of a smile on his lips, “He said if he could beat me in his game of mathematics, he gets to go for a supervised spin with my car.”

“Wouldn’t that be unfair? What if he planned the questions beforehand?”

“That’s why we asked each other the questions. He was good, I’ve gotta give it to him. Smart kid, for sure. He beat me to it.” 

“That.. doesn’t explain why you’re covered in dirt.” Chuuya gives an expectant stare, only to earn a lazy shrug.

“Well, I gave him the car, right? Watched him take it for a spin, and then, he pushed me into the meadow and tried to run off with the damn thing,” Verlaine lets out a light chuckle, “He only got as far as the station, he didn’t make it to town before I could stop him.”

Chuuya swallows thickly, turning his head to narrow his eyes at the man exasperatedly, “Some dumbass tried to steal our car, and you’re laughing about it.”

Verlaine only twisted his lips, shoving Chuuya gently, “You sound like Rimbaud, cut it out. No damage was actually done, so we’re in the clear. Plus,” His expression shifts to something more somber, “He was only planning on going to the station to get something to eat. His caretakers are a bit looney.” 

Rimbaud makes a short noise, chewing on his food with a small pout on his lips.

The redhead only scowls slightly, “That’s not your problem. Let him find his own food.”

“You’re just bitter because he got to drive the car, and you haven’t.”

“I’m still learning!” He huffs, stabbing a piece of meat from the pot to transfer it to his bowl, “Maybe if you were home more often, I would’ve been a great driver by now.”

Chuuya knows he has no right to say that, especially when both of his guardians’ jobs put food on the table at the end of the day, but could you blame him for wanting to spend some time with them? 

Rimbaud shoots Verlaine a look, one filled with uncertainty. The blond meets his eye, sighing deeply.

“Look, kid,” Verlaine loosens his tie “I know it’s gotten a bit lonely around here.”

Lonely’s an understatement .

At least he has Atsushi — well, had Atsushi. The boy’s gone for however long now, truly leaving Chuuya alone.

Verlaine saunters up to ruffle his hair, earning a slight noise of protest, “Once summer’s here, I’ll take an extended leave off the job, alright?” He glances at Rimbaud, “Both of us will. We’ll all spend time together, okay?”

Chuuya nods, suddenly feeling a bit uneasy. The last thing he wants is to burden anybody. He hopes Verlaine and Rimbaud really want to spend time with him instead of feeling obligated to.

“Alright,” Verlaine settles for a hum, glancing down at his torso.

“Go take a shower, the odor stuck to you is pungent.”  Rimbaud suggests, narrowing his eyes, “Then come join us for dinner. Don’t take too long.”

Verlaine trudges off with a roll of his eyes.

“I can’t believe he walked around like that all day,” The man across from Chuuya mutters, shaking his head in a sort of fond disbelief.

Chuuya cracks a grin, shaking his head with him, slurping up a bit of soup.

It’s around the early hours of the morning when Chuuya finds himself wandering out of his room for a glass of water. 

He’s been told to always take a glass with him before bed, just in case there’s a power outage, but he’s never really cared to do so. If there’s a blackout, there’s nothing he can’t do about it. He’ll just suffer the consequences of not taking a glass to bed with him.

The light’s on in the living space, the lamp by the couch turned on, illuminating the walls.

He blinks, rubbing his bleary eyes, only to barely spot Verlaine lounging by the couch, tablet in his hands.

Chuuya drags a hand down his face before leaning on the wall, catching the man’s attention.

“What’re you doing up so late?”

“Partying, doing drugs,” He breaks out in a sleep-hazed smile, “teenage boy things.”

Verlaine sighs out, setting his tablet to the side, watching Chuuya intently.

“I’m glad you’re not like that,” He chuckles heartily, “it is would’ve been way harder on us if you were.”

Chuuya shrugs, glancing away. 

He never really had a chance to be that way. Living on his own before the two men took him in isn't something he likes to remember, but even then, Chuuya wasn’t ‘rebellious.’ 

It’s not that he wants to be, but it would’ve been nice to have the experience.

“Chuuya,” Verlaine calls, regaining his attention. He turns his head, eyebrow raised in question. The man looks almost thoughtful, eyes narrowed in something close to admiration. 

“Has Rimbaud ever told you that you look like me?”

He freezes, eyes expanding to an extent, though he’s sure it’s noticeable from the way a slight smile settles on Verlaine’s lips. His heart beats wildly in his chest, his pulse pounding in his ears.

Chuuya can’t seem to look away from the man that sits in front of him, because it’s true.

Despite having no biological relation, they look like family. 

That’s an understatement. Chuuya’s appalled at how he never noticed it before — the curve of his lips, the slope of his nose, the subtle curls of his hair, almost everything , it belonged to Verlaine too. 

He can’t describe the feeling that comes crashing down on him. He equally hates and loves it. It’s suffocating, Chuuya can barely breathe with how touched he is.

Verlaine chuckles, standing and strolling over to the boy, pulling him into his chest for a hug. 

Not the hugs he gives when he gets home from work, no, those are brief and are done on autopilot. This hug is the type that makes Chuuya feel warm and loved.  

He melts into it naturally, teeth clamping down on his upper lip to stop them from quivering. He thinks he’ll be fine, he’ll walk away without shedding any tears because he’s stronger than that, but then—

Verlaine’s pressing his lips to the crown of Chuuya’s head, placing a light kiss there, “I love you like I’d love my own, you know.”

He breaks, the floodgates bursting open as he falls forward, gripping onto Verlaine’s arms even tighter, letting a trembling breath leave his lips as a few tears slip down his cheeks.

He tries stifling his sobs, but in the end, Verlaine’s rubbing soothing circles into his upper back, whispering that it’s okay to let everything out.

Sobs turn into gasps for breath, and then settle back down into tiny sounds made unintentionally, emitting from the back of his throat.

They stay there for a few minutes, just to have Chuuya calm down. Verlaine pulls back, not entirely, when he hears a few stray sniffles muffled into his chest.

Chuuya’s eyes are still damp, skin blotchy and warm. Verlaine purses his lips, laughing jovially when Chuuya gives him a glare. His thumbs come up to wipe under Chuuya’s eyes, smoothing his hair down afterwards.

“I came out here for water, you know,” The redhead croaks out, letting himself be dragged back to his room by his caretaker.

“I’ll bring it to you. Go lay down.”

Chuuya obliges, eyeing Verlaine as he saunters back off to the kitchen. He slips under the covers, nearly shuddering at how nice it feels. A contented smile makes its way onto his lips.

His breaths have resorted back to being even, his pulse beating steadily, no longer ringing throughout his entire body. 

Verlaine comes back with his glass of water barely moments later, gesturing for him to sit up and take a few sips. Chuuya does just that, gulping it down before Verlaine pulls the glass away.

He rests it on Chuuya’s bedside table, careful not to knock it over while retracting his hand.

“Don’t wake up too early,” Verlaine says softly, staring at Chuuya fondly as the redhead nods at him.

“Alright then. Good night, Chuuya.”

Chuuya lets a sigh slip past his lips once he hears the door click shut, closing his eyes. He falls asleep to the sound of his fan whirring, and the sound of the ocean waves gently crashing together. 

The next morning goes as it usually does.

He gets up, opens the windows, makes himself breakfast, does everything he’s been doing for the past few years when his guardians aren’t home.

There’s a furrow in his brow when he sees their car parked on the gravel, visible from the window at the side yard. Verlaine doesn’t take the car everyday, so it isn’t unusual, but that’s not what’s got Chuuya double-taking.

A boy with bandages wrapped loosely around his limbs, wearing shorts way too long to be called ‘shorts’ anymore, coupled with a zipped-up sweater. And no, it isn’t summer, but it sure isn’t winter either. Chuuya lets out a small ‘tch’, squinting to get a better view of the kid.

He’s stroking his chin, ambling around the vehicle like there’s something interesting about it. To Chuuya, there’s never been anything mildly entertaining about cars.

He isn’t alarmed until the kid leans forward onto the hood, glancing back at the window like he knows Chuuya’s eyeing him.

Chuuya’s been told to refrain from talking to strangers since he was taken in — but he’s seventeen now. He’s sure he can handle a kid as lanky as that one lunging at him.

He doesn’t bother to put on shoes before slamming the door shut, nearly tripping over himself as he runs down the wooden steps. The sand feels familiar under his feet as he strides up to the kid, hopping on to the narrow strip of gravel where the car is parked. 

Chuuya crosses his arms, giving the boy an expectant stare. He ignores Chuuya, of course, eyes scanning the rear end of the auto. After a snap of his fingers, the kid looks up, giving Chuuya an disinterested look.

“Can I help you?” He asks, monotonous, hands (who knows where they’ve been before) sliding across the hood of the car. 

Chuuya’s jaw stiffens, “I don’t appreciate you getting touchy with my car.”

“ Your car?” The boy rhetorically asks, a faint smile growing on his lips, “Last time I saw this thing was with a polite businessman. I almost snagged it from him.”

An unpleasant realization dawns on him, “ You’re the kid from yesterday? The one who pushed Verlaine into the field?”

“Verlaine?” He tests how the name sounds on his tongue, “Sounds European. But yes, I’m that kid. Didn’t realize he told you about me.”

Chuuya purses his lips, irritation bubbling in his stomach. He doesn’t know what he should say to that, if anything at all. 

“Well, he did. I didn’t realize he gave you permission to come to our home and be all touchy with our belongings.”

“He didn’t,” The brunette chuckles, eyes shifting to stare at Chuuya mischievously, “I bet you can’t even tell me the model of this damn car. It’s barely yours if you don’t even know what it is.”

“Who the hell cares!” He blurts, cheeks flushing in embarrassment when the other’s eyes widen in a twisted delight, smirk growing wider, “It’s got my name on it in Verlaine’s will. And by next year, I’ll know how to drive it.”

“Next year, hm?” He shakes his head, “It’s an Aston Martin, 1963, by the way.”

“I didn’t ask,” Chuuya moves forward to shove the kid away, only to have his wrist caught in his grip.

“Don’t get too worked up now, I’m not destroying your property, so you can’t really do anything about it.”

“I’ll gut you, see how you’ll like it,” Chuuya grits, snatching his hand back from the brunette. The kid only smiles widely, clicking his tongue.

“I’d just report you to the station. You’d be the one facing assault charges.”

“As if,” Chuuya pulls back, only to eye him knowingly, “It’s only your first week here, isn’t it? Those officers know me well, they wouldn’t charge me with jack shit.”

“Good play, I’ll admit,” The boy concedes, “Your daddy wouldn’t be that happy if I told him though, right?”

Your daddy…

Chuuya falters, unsure how to feel about it.

“Imagine, going off to work,” The boy isn’t fazed by Chuuya’s slight change in expression, dawdling forward into the redhead’s personal space, “and coming back to see your kid was roughhousing around, socking an innocent boy in the gut.”

Chuuya thinks he’s done, but apparently he isn’t, telling from the way he takes another step forward.

“I don’t know your daddy that well, but if I was him,” He pauses, leaning down to stare Chuuya in the eye, “I’d be really disappointed.”

There’s a few moments where their eyes are locked, the other’s eyes are impish, Chuuya’s are cold. The redhead thrusts his palm into the kid’s face lightly, only pushing him backwards a fraction.

“Good thing you’re not my dad, then,” Chuuya says with finality. 

He’s about to walk away, he doesn’t know why the kid’s taunting struck a nerve, but the point is that it did. He doesn’t have the energy to continue a pointless conversation with an airhead like that one. 

The car won’t be stolen anyway, Verlaine always takes the key with him. And if it’s damaged, Chuuya’ll head on down to the station to make a report, it’s as simple as that.

Chuuya’s about to walk away, pulled back by a weak grip on his ponytail.

There’s a yell of harsh protest on his tongue, avoided by the boy when he says, “What’s your name, shortie?”

His tongue twitches, bitterness settling in his mouth at the nickname. 

“What’s your name, mummy?”

“I asked you first.”

Chuuya closes his eyes, gathering the last bit of patience as he has. He reminds himself that this is good, just in case he damages their vehicle, Chuuya’ll have a name to give the officers at the station. 

“It’s Chuuya.”

A satisfied hum exudes from the other, “That suits a little gnome like you.”

Chuuya spins on his heel, batting the hand off of his hair with less force than he’d like, “Yours?”

“Dazai.” He glances away, and though his voice is steady, he seems almost reluctant to share something as miniscule as his name with Chuuya. 

Chuuya takes it as a small victory, nodding jauntily.

“I’m done with the chit-chat. Stop touching our car, and we’ll have no problems.”

He gives Dazai one last glare before stamping off, making sure to lock the door when he gets inside. 

He latches all the windows, paranoidly checking them multiple times, before finally making himself some breakfast. 

When he’s finished, he checks the window in which he first saw Dazai snooping around, only to find that he’s gone along his way.

Chuuya purses his lips cockily, giving himself a pat on the back for scaring the kid away.

“Oh,” Verlaine abruptly says while chewing on a chunk of daikon, “wanna know who I saw today?”

They’re back at the dinner table, eating together as they normally would.

Rimbaud lifts a brow, “Who?”

“That boy from yesterday, actually. He said—”

“His name’s Dazai,” Chuuya interrupts, picking at his salad. He doesn’t realize that he technically isn’t supposed to know that, not until he looks up to see both Verlaine and Rimbaud’s eyes zeroing in on him.

Chuuya takes a glance at both of them before clearing his throat, training his gaze back down onto his food, “He swung around today, we talked.”

He feels Rimbaud’s gaze burning into his skin. It isn’t necessarily a bad feeling, but it’s something he doesn’t experience often, “What did you two talk about?”

Chuuya raises his head to meet Rimbaud’s eyes, “Are you mad?”

He asks cautiously, to avoid any sudden outbursts. He doesn’t have a right to feel so wary, since neither of his two guardians have ever lashed out at him without good reason, but he can’t help but feel as if he’s done something wrong .

Rimbaud lets out an easy chuckle, “Why would I be mad?”

Chuuya stares for a second too long before he shrugs, “Don’t know.” 

An unusual silence settles at the table, one that Chuuya was privileged to never have experienced before — until now, that is.

Verlaine clears his throat moments later, “Anyway , he told me he came around here. He wants lessons, apparently. I just..” He gives Chuuya a look, one that implies something , “didn’t know he told you his name.”

Chuuya scoffs, “Well, we weren’t exactly friendly. I just got his name in case he roughed our car up.” 

The blond rewards him with an impressed hum, “Smart boy, you are. Rimbaud would have never,” His gaze turns mirthful once he turns to look at said man, “He always sees the best in people.”

“You say it like it’s a bad thing, Paul,” He chides, a scowl forming on his face.

“It’s not bad , but being skeptical is also being logical, my love, you’ve gotta learn that.”

Rimbaud simply lets out a huff, “You’re too cynical sometimes. Let me be a good-natured person in peace, please.” Chuuya doesn’t miss the quirk of Rimbaud’s lips when he spots the small pout on Verlaine’s lips, standing to haul their dirty dishes to the sink.

Verlaine waits until Rimbaud out of earshot to turn to Chuuya, folding his hands. They lock eyes, nothing out of the ordinary, until Verlaine asks, “You gonna tell me why you thought we’d be mad at you?”

Chuuya tries to put on a facade, keeping his expression stone-cold as he shakes his head, “No reason.”

“Liar.”

“I am not— ”

“Chuuya.” The man gives him a frown, one that genuinely twists a knob in Chuuya’s chest. The facade he was going for crumbles right in between his fingers.

“I usually ask to go out and talk to people, you know, like Atsushi, and stuff,” He sheepishly meets Verlaine’s intent gaze, “I didn’t ask this time.”

“You’re older now,” He pulls his lips into a tight line, “You can do things without informing us, you’re responsible enough.”

And that may be true, yes, but today was a horrible example of how responsible he really is. 

Nearly fighting with a random kid because he almost lost his temper? That’s not ‘responsible’ at all, at least not to Chuuya.

He swallows thickly, too cowardly to keep eye contact. He settles for a small nod instead.

“You’re not a bad kid,” Verlaine adds, rising from his seat once Rimbaud calls him to help wash the dishes, “We trust you.”

Chuuya hums, low enough so nobody else would be able to hear it, and joins them to help with cleaning up.

“You told him to come around for lessons?” Chuuya huffs in disbelief, watching as Dazai jogs up to them.

Verlaine’s day off happens to be today, and he’s spending it teaching another kid how to drive.

“Well, yeah,” Verlaine frowns, “Why would I say no?”

There’s an uneasy feeling that settles in his stomach, a protest rising on his tongue. It dies down once he realizes he can’t exactly dictate what Verlaine does with his time, and if the man wants to spend it giving free driving lessons, so be it.

But it should at least be Chuuya who he’s teaching, not some mummified tree branch.

His feet shift in the sand once Dazai reaches them, hands on his knees in a quick bow.

The brunet gives both of them a charming smile, one that’s so obviously fake, “Hello sir,” He glances at the redhead, mouth twitching downwards, “And sir’s son.”

“No need for acting, Dazai,” Verlaine swings an arm around Chuuya’s neck, pulling him close, “Little Chuuya here told me you two have met.”

Dazai’s brows lift in a sort of amused surprise, “Oh, did he?”

“Mhm,” Verlaine hums, dragging Chuuya by the shirt up to their Aston Martin,1963 as Dazai would put in specifics.

“Alright, which one of you boys want to take this thing for spin first,” He muses, gaze shifting between the two teenagers. They stand side by side, tilting their bodies away from each other.

Chuuya inwardly gags at the thought of watching Dazai drive their car around. Especially when he’d probably drive it straight off a cliff just to spite Chuuya. 

He glances over, only to notice Dazai’s already staring at him. It’s a blank stare, like Chuuya’s a gadget and not a person. His gaze instantly falls to the sand beneath them, rocking back and forth on his feet.

“No answer, huh?” Verlaine tsks, “I didn’t set my day aside to waste time, boys.”

He saunters up to Chuuya, letting out a short breath before pushing a piece of his subtly coiled hair behind his ear, “Let’s go, you, in the car.”

Chuuya feels himself let out a light laugh through his nose, jogging up to the car door. He slams it shut once he hops in, sighing with a smile at the feeling of actually being inside again.

He hasn’t sat in the driver’s seat for about two months, either never finding the time or having the car away from home constantly, 

Verlaine leans over the rolled-down window, nodding at Dazai, who slipped into the passenger’s seat in the meanwhile. Chuuya grimaces, distracting himself by adjusting the position of the seat.

“Just one go-around, then bring it back here.”

Chuuya gives a ready nod, giving Verlaine his brightest grin. The man reciprocates, giving the redhead a tap under his chin, “Alright, be safe.”

Chuuya revs the engine, beaming at the rumbling sound it makes. He pulls off at a steady pace, earning a sarcastic clap from the boy in the passenger’s seat.

“Oh great, look at Chuuya go!” He cheers with a mocking lilt, “Your daddy’s definition of ‘driving lesson’ is odd.”

Chuuya glances over to give him a strange look, “Why’s that?”

“He’s technically not teaching us anything by letting us drive around by ourselves.”

“You're just a smart-ass,” He huffs, eyes gravitating to the narrow strip of gravel ahead of them, “Be grateful he’s letting an idiot like you use his car.”

“I thought this was your car, though?”

Chuuya inhales deeply, almost closing his eyes before he remembers he’s driving , “You’re not my friend. Stop talking to me like you are.”

“Ah, I must’ve been mistaken, then.”

Chuuya grunts in question, though he’s not exactly sure why he’s entertaining this boy’s bullshit. From their brief meeting yesterday, it’s clear Dazai doesn’t have anything of importance to say. 

“My apologies for thinking we started on good terms yesterday,” Chuuya nearly falters at the disappointment laced in his tone, “I thought it would’ve been okay to think we were starting to become friends.”

He’s mildly taken aback, for somebody who appeared so conniving, Dazai sure does look a bit wounded.  

“We barely know each other,” He scoffs, not sparing Dazai a glance, “You know Ver— my dad better than you know me.”

Dazai braces his hand on the door’s leather handle, gazing out of the window somberly, “Well, yeah, but I want to get to know you.”

Chuuya nearly swerves off the gravel at the sincerity in his voice, because it’s so unexpected. The field covers most of their peripheral vision, so Dazai’s just staring at the tall stocks of wheat, but he seems hurt while doing so.

This change in direction is something he wasn’t prepared for. Uncertainty crawls around in his chest, he’s unsure of what to say without sounding like a heartless fool. 

“Oh,” Chuuya breathes out, just a bit awkwardly, “Well, if you’re willing to.. stop being an asshole, then..” God, he can’t believe he’s saying this, “I’d have no problem with you getting to know me,”

Silence washes over them, and it’s only the sound of the wheels running over the streak of rocks, until there’s squeaks of some kind.

It comes from Dazai, and for a split second, Chuuya thinks he’s crying—

Then he throws his head back, his neck bumping against the seat, laughing unabashedly. It’s freaky, Chuuya admits, especially when he’s trying his hardest to stay on the ‘road.’

His gaze intensifies, pressing the brakes abruptly when the asshole’s laughter gets too much. It takes a few seconds for Dazai to realize they aren’t moving anymore. It’s only then when he stops his laughter on command, staring at Chuuya expectantly with a slightly slack jaw.

An explanation doesn’t follow, not until Chuuya’s scowl becomes visible to the other.

“I cannot believe you’re this stupid, Chuuya,” Dazai grins, pressing a hand over his mouth to hide it.

“The fuck is your problem?”

“You actually thought I wanted to be your friend? My goodness, you stopped the car and everything,” He continues, drawing his words out — just to push Chuuya to his limits. 

“You spewed the sweetest things about it, too, Oh Dazai, it’s okay! Don’t be sad, we can be best friends forever!” He mocks, pitching his voice up an octave.

Dazai’s words are coated with ill intentions, and despite Chuuya being the furthest thing from cynical, he’s absolutely sure the brunet’s provoking him for a selfish reason this time. 

That doesn’t make it any less mortifying. 

He’s never been so humiliated before, or at least, he can’t remember the last time he felt this way. He can’t even find it in himself to yell, or to curse Dazai out.

If he’s going to do something, it’s unbuckling his seatbelt and dragging this kid to a fucking field to watch him kick the bucket. 

Skepticism is logic, apparently. He should’ve kept being skeptical about Dazai.

He feels stupid. His grip on the wheel tightens until his knuckles turn white, heartbeat echoing throughout his entire chest. 

“You know what,” Chuuya takes his hand off of the wheel, jaw clenching, “Take the car. Go to Verlaine, and drive all you want.”

His words are calm, rough at the edges, maybe. Dazai doesn’t seem to care, since it’s all the same to him.

“That’s what I was planning on, anyway.” Dazai gives him that stupid, charming smile, the one Chuuya wishes would vanish and never settle on his lips again, “It’s a bummer you’re scurrying off so soon.”

There’s a sudden fight that wells up within him, he discovers he loathes the feeling of being putty in somebody’s hands — especially Dazai’s hands.

“Go fuck yourself, asshole,” Before he knows it, he’s getting out of the car on impulse, slamming the door shut in Dazai’s face.

He doesn’t loiter to see the look on Dazai’s face.

Marching back isn’t hard when he’s moving on autopilot, barely aware of where he’s going.

He only recognizes it when he sees the sea from far out, the waves drenching the sand harshly.

Verlaine’s seen lighting up, the smell of smoke wafting in the air. Chuuya can smell it, even from here. He outs the cigarette in the ashtray, one Chuuya hadn’t even known was there, only when he spots said redhead striding up to him. 

Chuuya intends to walk straight past him and pretend nothing’s wrong. He’ll lock himself in his room and try to take a nap, it’s as simple as that.

But as soon as reaches the stairs, Verlaine gets a grip on his arm.

The redhead halts, glancing back at him.

“Where’s Dazai? And the car?”

“I left them both on the route.”

Verlaine’s brows furrow, “Well, that’s not very nice of you.”

It doesn’t say it like he’s trying to scold Chuuya, he means to inform him — even if it’s already obvious.

“ Dazai’s not very nice, either.”

“Isn’t he, though?” The man seems genuinely dumbfounded, “He’s a bit cheeky, but it’s nothing a tough boy like you can’t handle.”

Chuuya doesn’t know how to feel about that.

He’s tough, sure, but Dazai’s more than just cheeky . He’s manipulative and takes advantage of people’s kindness, he’s the epitome of the type of person Chuuya doesn’t have the patience to put up with. 

Chuuya tugs his arm away, “If you think he’s so nice, you should go teach him how to drive.”

There’s an tad bit extra bitterness that exudes in his tone, it’s noticeable enough to make Verlaine wince slightly.

Just the other day, Verlaine had an image of him that was clean , a boy who never caused any trouble.

He doubts he’ll keep that image up after this.

Verlaine lets him go, and Chuuya can only thank the heavens that Rimbaud isn’t home.

He tries not to watch from his bedroom window as Dazai drives the car back around, and especially tries to ignore the way Verlaine greets him with a subtle, proud smile.

“Hello?”

Chuuya feels his pulse slow in relief, huffing out a chuckle as he shifts on his side. 

“Hi, Atsushi.”

“Oh, Chuuya!”

The redhead winces at Atsushi’s boisterous, staticky voice that resonates through the speaker, lowering his phone’s volume a few notches.

“How’s your trip going so far?”

Atsushi’s heard huffing over the line , “It’s alright. Yokohama’s different from our side..” His voice falters for a moment, “I miss you.”

Chuuya buries himself further under the duvet, “I miss you too.” 

The only noise for the next few seconds is their breathing, the silence filled with a lot more words they could say, but they don’t.

Chuuya’s always been sort of infatuated with people like Atsushi, especially Atsushi himself. They tried their luck at romance when they were younger, and their luck failed them — they never tried again.

Now, Chuuya’s sure he doesn’t hold feelings for him anymore, he knows from the way his heart doesn’t pound in his chest as loudly as it used to when he sees Atsushi, but those lingering feelings always pop up at the most random times.

“There’s really nice crepes over here,” The other starts, “I’ll have to bring you to the spot I went to sometime.”

Chuuya doubts he’ll be going to Yokohama any time soon, but he hums in interest to humor Atsushi, “Really? Since when are you into crepes?”

“I’m not, but the girl at the booth was cute, so I made it an excuse to talk to her — the crepes turned out to be really good, though.”

He opens his mouth to speak, but there’s a delay in his next words. He swallows down the bulk in his throat, “A girl, huh? What’s her name?”

“Lucy. She’s visiting from America, so I don’t think we’ll go out or anything, but she’s nice. I got her number.”

Chuuya inwardly scoffs, he remembers that Atsushi’s always been into more western girls since they first met. He thought that changed after they dated for a short while, but apparently not. 

“As long as you think she’s nice, then you’ll be fine. See where it goes, I guess.”

“Yeah, exactly!” Atsushi pauses to yawn— Chuuya can only imagine how much of a cat he resembles when he stretches his limbs out, “What's been going on over at your end?” 

He grimaces at the occurrences of the past week. After his outburst, he and Verlaine haven’t been on great terms — they seem to be avoiding each other. (More like, Chuuya’s avoiding him.) Rimbaud hasn’t caught on yet, which, in Chuuya’s opinion, is a good thing. 

As for Dazai, he always makes sure to wave at Chuuya from outside the window, giving him a knowing smile when Verlaine greets him. It always ends with Verlaine’s prideful voice echoing through the hallway, telling Rimbaud that Dazai’s been getting better at something, whether it be navigation, remembering directions without a GPS — it’s different each time.

“Some douche has been getting driving lessons from Verlaine,” He sighs, a migraine coming on from just thinking about Dazai, “He comes over here every two days. It’s driving me crazy.”

“Is he cute?”

He’s good looking, you’d have to be blind not to see that, but that doesn’t mean he suits Chuuya’s tastes.

“He’s okay-looking. That’s not the point, though. He’s an asshole.”

“That’s a bummer, wasted potential,” Atsushi hums in thought, “If he’s bothering you that much, just avoid him. Go to town, or something.”

“You want me to walk to town? That’s two miles from where I am.”

“It’s good exercise.”

“You’re out of your mind,” Chuuya shakes his head, letting out a faint chuckle, “If you were here, I’d go over to your place.”

“Yeah..” 

Chuuya can tell Atsushi’s thinking from how his tongue clicks, he can practically see the crease in his forehead right now.

“What’s your idea?”

“Huh?”

“You’re thinking too hard.”

“No, I just.. you know the gas station by my house?”

“Yeah.”

“The old man that owns the place needs some help. I was planning to apply, but I left for my trip before I could.” He sounds hopeful, almost, “ You could apply and hold the spot for me, and also avoid that kid you were talking about.”

Chuuya opens his mouth to say ‘no’ instinctively, stopping himself when he puts an ounce of thought into it.

He’ll get paid for putting gas into somebody’s car, and most of the day, he’ll sit around and talk with the old guy. It doesn’t sound bad, not one bit.

“You know what,” He mumbles, maneuvering his body upright, “that doesn’t sound too shabby, honestly.”

“You see, I’m smart sometimes!”

“All the time,” He concedes, “I’ll ask Rimbaud, see what he says.”

That’s how he ends up standing in front of said man while he chops up sticks of negi on the cutting board, cooking a last-minute meal for himself.

“You want a job?” Rimbaud cringes, “But you’re so young , and we’re doing alright financially—” He stops his stressed chopping, looking Chuuya in the eye.

“If this has to do with paying Paul and I back, then forget it.”

Chuuya hurries to shake his hands in protest, “No, no, nothing like that. Atsushi just needs me to hold the spot for him while he’s gone, and getting my own money would be.. nice.”

“You know you can just ask for something if you want it.”

“Yeah, but..” Chuuya twists his lips, scouring for an excuse. He comes up with nothing, “Please?”

Rimbaud thoughtfully sighs, opening and closing his mouth like he can’t make up his mind.

He finally swallows, giving Chuuya a gentle look, “If you’re so insistent, then who am I to hold you back?”

Chuuya feels the corner of his lips turn up slightly, “So, that’s a ‘yes’?”

“It’s a ‘yes’, Chuuya.” 

The tension fades from his shoulders, the anxious knot in his stomach unraveling, “Oh, thanks.”

“No need for it. I’m glad you’re trying to be independent.”

There’s a portion of guilt that pairs with his relief. Rimbaud thinks this is Chuuya ‘gaining his independence’, when in reality, he’s trying to escape a menacing asshole who visits their home constantly.

He disregards that but, excitedly clenching his fists. He’s about to run out to Atsushi’s area, further back from the coast, but Rimbaud calls out to him before he can.

“Oh, and Chuuya,” He gives the redhead a knowing stare, “Paul would be proud too. You should tell him.”

There’s the bucket of ice water he’s been waiting for, dumped on him candidly, he can even feel himself slightly shiver. 

Suppressing a roll of his eyes, he gives Rimbaud a simple nod instead, and heads out. 

The odor of smoke is one Chuuya should be used to by now, yet he isn’t. 

It’s the first thing he smells when he walks into the small installation near the gasoline pumps, holding all the honorary items a typical station’s supposed to require.

The man at the counter, who Chuuya assumes is the owner, doesn’t look that old, he’s at most in his mid-forties.

“Ah, hello, son,” He smiles, fingers toying with the cancer stick, “what can I get you? I don’t sell tobacco to kids under sixteen, you know.”

Chuuya glances at the name tag — Hirotsu is spelled out in bold, black letters.

“Oh, actually,” Chuuya tiptoes to glance at the items hung up behind the register idly, “I’m looking for a job.”

Hirotsu’s mouth twists into a small frown as he puts his joint, “Oh, I’m afraid I’m holding that spot for—”

“Atsushi Nakajima, yeah,” He wipes his sweaty palms on his jeans, “He’s my friend, told me to take the position while he’s on his trip.”

Hirotsu nods, but he doesn’t look entirely convinced, “I’m not sure, kid, uh,” He sighs, “What's your name and age?”

“Chuuya, I’m seventeen.” 

Hirotsu’s skeptical, and for good reason, too. He seems to take his time inspecting Chuuya’s image, eyes falling from the curls of his hair down to his toes, sandals filled with grains of sand.

Chuuya surely doesn’t look seventeen.

He clears his throat out of habit before speaking up, “I have an ID, if you need—”

“That won’t be necessary. I’ll give you a sheet, alright? It’s to fill out for your employment. I know Atsushi well, so I'll give him a ring, too — just to confirm.”

Chuuya nods, watching as Hirotsu nearly slices his flesh against the paper, missing it by a centimeter.

“Here you are,” He slides the form towards Chuuya, along with a blue-inked pen, “I'll be right back.” 

He heads toward the Employees Only room, pushing the door open swiftly, it shuts before Chuuya can get a glimpse inside.

The form requires basic information — name, age, date of birth, prior working experience and job occupations.

There’s a blank that asks him for an emergency contact, and despite the way his stomach slightly churns with reluctance, he lists Verlaine’s number.

He feels oddly accomplished when he pulls his face away from the form, seeing it all filled out. 

Hirotsu comes back wearing a polite smile, “Alright, the boy confirmed that you are his friend, that means I’m permitted to give you the job, son.”

Chuuya meets his eyes, then glances down at the form, “That’s good. This is all filled out, by the way.”

“Great, Atsushi may have told you this is my joint,” He chuckles, “I’m hereby deciding that you’ll start tomorrow. Your hours are the standard ones for kids your age — nine to three, alright? We’ll discuss your shifts more tomorrow.”

Chuuya walks away with a cocky smile, and a new job.

It’s times like this where he wishes he could get his own car, cringing at the graze of his feet against the sand stuck in his sandals. He’s already taken them out and dusted them off four times since he left the gas station.

His already-bitter mood worsens when he’s walking back, seeing Verlaine’s car parked on the gravel. 

There’s a slight contemplation if he should just turn around and talk a walk to town, but the ache in his legs screams for him to do otherwise.

Chuuya plans to walk past Verlaine when he sees him, but of course, the man’s already lurking outside — like he was waiting for Chuuya to come home.

Verlaine stares off into the distance, watching the seagulls fly from the top of their home to the unoccupied garage. Chuuya thinks he looks a bit scary like this, when the redhead doesn’t know what he’s thinking. 

“You got a job, Chuuya?”

He leans against the ledge of the wooden steps, tapping his bare feet in the sand. 

“What’s it to you?”

Chuuya stands there with his hands shoved into his pockets, eyes cold shining with a glimpse of annoyance. 

The man lifts a brow, “Watch your mouth. I’m just asking, no need to get feisty.”

The brief scolding strikes a nerve, setting off a slight panic within Chuuya. 

“Sorry,” He mumbles, lips downturning, “But yeah, at the gas station.”

“That’s sudden.”

“I’m bored being at home all day.”

Chuuya doesn’t bother to bring up anything about the car anymore, nor how Verlaine isn’t spending time with him. He’s starting to realize that it takes too much effort to wish for something he didn’t deserve in the first place.

He doesn’t miss the way Verlaine’s eyes cast downward, though. A fraction of hope rises up within him.

There’s a brief silence between them before Chuuya’s legs start to holler at him once again.

“May I go now?”

Verlaine seems to break, hand coming up to cover his eyes as he lets out a bitter chuckle. Chuuya swallows thickly as he watches him, inwardly calming himself down before he gets too worked up.

“I don’t want us to be like this, Chuuya,” His voice comes out hoarse, “I know I made a promise to you, and I’m sorry I haven’t been able to uphold it.”

Chuuya shrugs, putting on his best poker-face, “It’s okay. I’m not mad.”

“Don’t lie,” Verlaine’s teeth clamps down on his bottom lip, hard enough to draw blood, “You wouldn’t avoid me if you weren’t.”

“I didn’t know what else to do.”

“ Talk to me , Chuuya, isn’t that what we taught you?”

Chuuya flinches at his raw tone, unable to look him in the eye now. 

He’s never truly been in this much trouble before, and he’ll admit, for a ‘tough boy’, he’s sure not tough enough to refrain from nearly crying when getting yelled at.

“Sorry.”

His throat is starting to close up on him, he scrambles to wipe the tear that slides down his cheek. He tries to find an explanation for when his eyes became teary, but that doesn’t matter now.

“I don’t want an—“

Verlaine pauses to let out a stuttered breath, hands jolting back a sliver. 

“Are you crying?” He’s not mad, or Chuuya thinks he’s not, nor from the way his voice trembles when his words leave his mouth. 

“No.”

It’s obviously a lie, his lip quivering makes it apparent, along with his strained voice. 

Verlaine doesn’t say anything, and it’s funny how the same feeling of utter humiliation comes back to haunt him for the second time. 

“May I please go inside?” 

Chuuya’s shaking now, he doesn’t know if it’s from the chilly breeze caused by the sea, or the anxiousness that springs up within him. It’s the first time he can say he hurts from the inside-out. 

He doesn’t remember when Verlaine pulled him into his chest, nor when he started to re-tie Chuuya’s ponytail.

“Don’t cry,” Verlaine’s own voice sounds a bit shaky, “I’m not trying to yell, I’m sorry it came out that way.”

Chuuya presses his cheek to Verlaine’s chest, wincing as the rubber-band snaps against his nape when Verlaine lets go. He takes a breath to steady himself as he wipes a stray tear away with the back of his wrist. 

“It’s okay,” I deserve it, “I’m sorry for causing so much trouble.”

“You haven’t caused trouble, though.”

“With.. Dazai,” He pulls away to glance at the sea, hesitant to touch on the subject, “I understand he’s a student to you now. I’ll try to be nice.”

“That’s what you're on about?” Verlaine breathes out a huff of somewhat relief, shoulders slacking, “He isn’t my kid, Chuuya, you are.”

“But, still—”

“There’s no ‘buts’,” He places his hands on Chuuya’s shoulders, pulling him toward once more, “He asked for you today, y’know.”

Chuuya’s forehead creases in confusion, “He did?”

“He wants to apologize for what he did last time, asked where you were when he didn’t see you through the window.” Verlaine’s lips quirk at one end, “Seemed pretty disappointed for the rest of our lesson.”

There’s still doubt within him that refuses to acknowledge Dazai truly wants to apologize, but Chuuya’s trying to be good-natured, he wants to start to see the best in people. He’ll try to accept the idea of Dazai being genuinely apologetic.

“What am I supposed to do about it?”

“I invited him over for dinner tomorrow,” He quiets Chuuya’s protests by jokingly clapping a hand over his mouth, “It’s only because he’s improved and deserves a tiny reward, okay? And who knows, you two might get along.”

“I doubt that. He has it out for me,” Chuuya clenches his jaw with a strained sigh, “but I’ll try, for you.”

Verlaine hums, satisfied with his answer, “We’re okay, now, right? You’ll stop avoiding me?”

Chuuya snivels, “Sure.”

Work goes better than expected, the next day. Chuuya actually manages to show up on time, and he’s only filled up one tank full to a friendly customer. Nobody comes sauntering into the installation to buy anything, which is a surprise.

Hirotsu comes back in from filling somebody’s gas, Chuuya wouldn’t know — he wasn’t paying attention.

“The boy out there says he knows you,” Hirotsu gestures to the door, “he wants to take you home.”

Chuuya’s brows furrow, he looks behind Hirotsu—

The cursed Aston Martin, 1963 sits outside by the pumps, the lazy driver slouched over in his seat, playing with the air conditioning settings.

(The dumbass has the windows rolled down.) 

Chuuya inhales deeply, shooting Hirotsu his best smile, “That’s alright, tell him I’m still working.”

“That won’t be necessary, son,” Hirotsu strolls back behind the counter, where Chuuya is, “You’re almost done anyway, and we aren’t that busy.”

An unintentional noise exudes from his throat, because he doesn’t want to be rude while denying, but he also doesn’t want to have Dazai drive him home.

They might not even get home, Dazai might just take out in the field and put him on a leash, humiliating Chuuya as he drags him around like a dog.

He puffs his cheeks out, swishing the air from side to side. A final notion from Hirotsu comes, as well as a rough pat on the back, and Chuuya can’t will himself to deny such an adamant old man. 

He takes his bag and slings it around his shoulder, stomach filling with nothing but dread as he pads over to the vehicle reluctantly. 

Dazai pokes his head out the driver’s window with a lazy grin.

“Get in, ginger-locks.”

Chuuya cringes, getting into the car as quickly as he can, not wanting to drag this out for too long. 

“I thought you were coming over for dinner, not lunch.”

“Yeah, I am,” He clocks the gearshift back, “I’m just dropping you off. I’ll spin back around later.”

Chuuya hums, shifting his body away from the driver’s seat. It’ll be easier if he just stares out the window the entire time, not listening to any of the provoking nonsense Dazai spews.

He can’t help but notice Dazai’s attire, though. He’s not rocking the ‘homeless’ look anymore, he seems to have fancied himself up — well, as fancy as Dazai could be (which isn’t that fancy, Chuuya suspects.) 

“Hey, shortie,” He nudges Chuuya’s arm with his elbow, licking at one of his teeth on the top row as he glances over at the redhead. 

“You can’t be that upset about last time, come on,” He thinks aloud, tilting his head, but Chuuya stays quiet. 

Obviously, Dazai isn’t satisfied.

“You’re really that mad, huh?” He clicks his tongue, “Your dad said you were, I didn’t believe him, though.”

“You’re fucking stupid, then,” Chuuya lets out a scoff in disbelief, “Wasn’t it clear that I was upset? I was trying to be nice to you, and you took advantage of that.”

Dazai doesn’t falter, but Chuuya doesn’t miss his hand sliding back to rub at his nape. To Chuuya, it seems like Dazai’s at a loss for words, and he thinks that’s great. He’s finally learned to shut that big mouth of his.

But then, “That’s just my humor,” He confesses, like it’s the biggest secret in the world, “I didn’t mean to offend you that badly.”

“Well, you did.”

All he wants is a ‘sorry’, but Dazai can’t even give him that. 

“I’ll try to make it up to you, okay?”

“Too late for that, now.” Chuuya shakes his head, folding his arms over his chest.

Chuuya wouldn’t want anything to do with him, honestly, if not for his promise to try to be more outgoing with this fool. 

Dazai continues to keep his eyes on the road, driving down the coast with the occasional glance at Chuuya in the passenger’s seat. Besides from his wandering eyes, Dazai doesn’t do much else, not until they reach the gravel strip of Chuuya’s home. 

The redhead’s about to unbuckle his seatbelt and slam the door in Dazai’s face, not idling around to see if he leaves or not, but a light grip over his hand prevents him from doing so.

He turns to meet the brunette's intense stare, “What?”

“At least try to get along with me,” He makes an attempt at reasoning, which just pisses Chuuya off further, “I’ll play nice. The whole package comes with some light teasing, but no harsh tricks anymore, yeah?”

Chuuya catches the ease in Dazai’s shoulders when he doesn’t lash out immediately, “You’re funny if you actually think you have any room to bargain with me.”

“Then, you make the deal,” He counteracts easily, “As long as we get along,” A pause, “for your dad, right?”

Chuuya bats Dazai’s hand away from him, thrown off from the sudden change in atmosphere. He takes a moment to gather himself, adjusting his bag comfortably as he sits upright in his seat. 

Leaning forward, he gives Dazai the most meaningful look he could muster up. 

“No taking advantage of my kindness, and no pushing over my boundaries,” He watches the look in Dazai’s eye intently. He seems attentive enough. “That’s all. Like I said before, stop being an asshole, and I’ll try to get along with you.” 

Dazai nods languidly, yet his lips are pressed into a tight line.  

“Great,” He says quietly, glancing at the window in his bedroom. It’s visible from where they are in the car. “I’ll see you later, then. Change your clothes, by the way.”

Dazai doesn’t yell a ‘goodbye’, and Chuuya should be happy about it, but considering the terms they ended on, he’s more confused than anything.

The best thing is, Dazai ends up changing his clothes. Chuuya wonders why, but he doesn’t ask. He simply lets Dazai in when he shows up at their doorstep once the sun’s gone down. 

There’s an odd tension that Chuuya feels as soon as he steps into the room, it only thickens once Rimbaud notices Dazai’s presence.

“Ah, hello,” He dusts his hands off, offering one to Dazai in polite greeting, “I’ve seen you around, you can call me Rimbaud.”

“A pleasure to meet you, sir,” Dazai puts on his best smile, shaking Rimbaud’s hand in earnest.

Chuuya glances away, not wanting to keep his eyes trained on them for too long. 

He helps himself to a seat, Dazai taking the one across from him shortly afterwards. The brunette leans in to whisper, “Feels like I’m meeting your parents.”

He’s jittery, tapping his foot and folding his hands, glancing around with an anxious grin. It’s a sight Chuuya’s conflicted on.

“You technically are.”

“It’s only fair that you come meet my folks, then, right?”

Chuuya raises a brow, finding it difficult to swallow as he hesitates to give a proper answer. He opens his mouth, only to close it. The uncertain stare he shoots to Dazai is enough of an answer.

“I’m just kidding,” He amends, tonguing at the inside of his right cheek, “It’s a pleasure to be here, though.”

“You don’t have to put on an act with me,” Chuuya huffs a short laugh. He leans forward with his elbows on the table, “I already know the type of person you are.”

Dazai’s lips downturn slightly. It shouldn’t make Chuuya the least bit sympathetic, but it does, for some reason. 

“What happened to our new beginnings? Didn’t I say I’d make an effort to play nice?”

Dazai’s right, they both know that. 

He doesn’t know what to say, so he doesn’t say much — only takes a short breath.

Dazai rubs his hands together, sitting back in his chair when he doesn’t receive an answer. They’re silent until Verlaine places their food on the table, greeting Dazai with a ruffle of his already-messy hair.

Chuuya chews on his food quietly as Rimbaud tries to make conversation. He does a good job, since Chuuya’s finding out things he would’ve never imagined to hear come out of Dazai’s mouth.

“I moved here from Saitama, actually,” Chuuya hears Dazai claim somewhere in between the frenzy of questions he’s been asked, “My older brother passed away, so we came here to start fresh.”

Chuuya feels a harsh exhale leave his nose, the food he attempts to swallow gets stuck in his throat. 

The silence at the table is interrupted by a light chuckle, “No need for pity or anything of the sort. He and I weren’t that close anyway.” Dazai shrugs, stabbing a piece of meat on his plate.

Verlaine nudges Chuuya’s arm, tilting his head in Dazai’s direction. He twists his lips in a confused frown.

“How come Chuuya doesn’t have any siblings?”

Rimbaud shakes his head, “He’s one of a kind, never wanted siblings anyway.”

Chuuya’s stomach flips, suddenly feeling uneasy. 

“That’s interesting,” Dazai comments, setting his utensils down gently, “You’ve got any friends, Chuuya?”

“Not much,” He manages to say, “Just one. He’s in Yokohama right now.”

“Yokohama,” Dazai nods, teeth peeking out when he snags part of his bottom lip between them, “nice city, I must say.”

“You’ve been?” Verlaine asks, interest piqued.

“Just once, for my dad’s job,” He shrugs, “It was nice. I wished I could’ve stayed longer.” 

“We actually were looking to move there.” Verlaine hums, “We just might, from how nice you say it is.”

Chuuya pushes his plate away, appetite dwindling by the second. Rimbaud nudges the man’s foot from under the table in a brief scolding. 

“When are you guys moving?” Dazai asks, almost too innocently.

“We, uh,” Rimbaud slides his chair away from the table, “actually don’t know yet. Maybe next year.”

“That..” Dazai’s eyes lock with Chuuya’s for a split second, “That’s a bummer.”

Chuuya nods, not sparing Rimbaud a glance as he takes Chuuya’s half-empty bowl, “Sure is.”

Verlaine exhales, exasperated.

“You didn’t bother to pick up school when you moved here? You’ve got a lot of time on your hands, it seems.”

“I’m homeschooled,” Dazai shifts in his seat, looking almost uncomfortable, “I have been for most of my years.”

“That’s great! Chuuya was homeschooled when we took him in too,” Verlaine glances over to him, “he’s learned all he needs to know, so we don’t bother anymore.”

Rimbaud wordlessly pats Chuuya’s back when he stands to their bowls away, eyes slightly apologetic.

“We’re all done here. You could stay a bit more, if you’d like?” Verlaine offers to the brunette, who easily nods.

“Sure, if it’s okay with Chuuya.”

Two pairs of eyes zero in on him, and even if he isn’t feeling up to it, he has no choice but to nod.

“Show me that window in your bedroom.”

Chuuya doesn’t mean to slam the door once they reach his room, but that’s what happens. They both flinch at the noise, Dazai letting out a short breath of amusement once they’re alone.

“You don’t want to move, do you?”

It’s the first thing he says when Chuuya locks the door. The redhead tilts his head back against it, rolling his eyes to the ceiling. He isn’t as annoyed as he thought he would’ve been, but he tries to convince himself that he is.

“What happened to not crossing my boundaries?”

It’s a jab at his earlier question, the one Chuuya hadn’t cared to answer. 

Dazai shrugs, “I’m just curious.”

The brunette makes himself at home, feet too long to swing off of the ground when he sits at the foot of Chuuya’s bed. 

Quiet washes over them, just the sound of Chuuya’s sweaty back sliding down his door. He doesn’t make an effort to say anything in response after that, searching for anything to say that’ll break the silence.

What he comes up with might be unethical, but he says it nonetheless.

“I didn’t know your brother passed,” He says in a mumble, “I’m sorry.”

Chuuya watches the downward twitch in the brunette’s expression, jaw clenching when Dazai falls back into that easygoing facade not even a mere second later.

He makes a noise of protest, “Nothing to be sorry about,” It comes out in a whisper, “it happened a while ago.”

“Doesn’t make it any less painful.” 

Chuuya’s stomach flutters with unease when Dazai decides to stay quiet.

It’s his fault for bringing it up, yet he doesn’t feel entirely sorry. 

“I don’t want to move, by the way,” He says it to be equal, to expose himself to the same amount of vulnerability he forced Dazai into just a moment ago, “I like it here.”

“I could tell,” The brunette slips back into his steady tone, “You’ve got a girlfriend here, or something?”

Chuuya nearly scoffs, he should’ve expected Dazai to be stuck in the country’s heteronormative ways, “Nope.”

Dazai shifts around, crossing his legs. He leans forward on his elbows, clasping his hands together.

“Boyfriend?”

Inwardly retracting his last statement, Chuuya pauses. He goes on to shake his head, “Nope.”

Even though Dazai’s facing him, the boy finds a way to look at everything else in the room except Chuuya. 

“What prompted you to get a job? Too flustered to see my face so often?” He asks suddenly. 

He’s not cocky, surprisingly, he says it like he means it. Chuuya sneers, “You wish. The opposite, actually, your face makes me seethe with rage. I had to get away before I really kicked your ass one of these days.”

Chuuya’s rewarded with a low noise, one that sounds like a laugh stuck in Dazai’s throat, “Look at you, joking around and all. Seems like you’re starting to like me.”

“Who said I was joking?”

“You are, well, at least I would hope so.” 

“I’ll admit,” Chuuya starts slowly, “you’re more bearable now than you were earlier.”

“You bring out certain bad qualities in me, Chuuya,” Dazai opts to lay on his side, “be grateful I’m resisting to strike and attack right now.”

 “You’re full of bullshit,” is all Chuuya says, though it doesn’t have any bite to it. 

“I’m not full of anything ,” He puts a finger up and purses his lips, “except for the delicious food I just ate.”

Chuuya deadpans, “You barely ate.”

“I’ve got a small stomach, that’s all.”

He gingerly moves to steady himself on his bed, climbing up to sit on the mattress, all while Dazai observes. His eyes lock with Chuuya’s once the redhead’s fully seated on the bed. 

He notices the waver in Dazai’s posture once he inches closer. 

“I’ll be bored at the station,” Chuuya forces out, “you should come meet the old guy there. He’ll like a pretentious idiot like you.”

“Is this your way of saying I should visit you?” Dazai’s lips quirk at one end, and all the patience Chuuya built up for him threatens to vanish, “See, I am growing on you!”

“It’s only because Atsushi’s gone,” He grumbles, “If you keep being so cocky about it, then the offer’s closed.”

“Fine, fine,” Dazai huffs, lips curling into a small pout, “Chuuya’s no fun.”

“ You’re no fun. Being haughty isn’t fun, at least not in my book.”

“Not for you, it isn’t,” Dazai presses his lips together, “and who’s Atsushi?”

“None of your business.”

“It wouldn’t be my business, but you mentioned him.”

And he has a point — that’s another thing Chuuya finds his blood running hot at.

The fact that Dazai always seems to have a valid point.

Chuuya breaks their eye contact, “He’s a friend of mine.”

“Seems like he’s more, from the way the color of your cheeks match your hair right about now.”

His eyes widen, pulse simmering hot under his skin. The back of his hands come up to feel the skin there, it’s cool. He glances up, only to realize he’s been fooled, again.

“Didn’t I tell you not to do that?” The weight of his voice rings throughout the room, but Dazai doesn’t falter.

“Calm down,” A faint smile ghosts over his lips, “I was only partly joking.”

“Partly?”

Dazai seems thoughtful before his next words leave his mouth. 

“Do you like him?”

Chuuya bites at the inside of his cheek, leaning back onto his pillows. Dazai’s gaze isn’t demanding, nor is it ridiculing, it’s something Chuuya can’t put his finger on.

It’s enough to make him tell the truth, though.

“Not anymore.”

He doesn’t miss the way Dazai squeezes his lips together to suppress a smile, “How come?”

“We didn’t work out. He’s moved on, too.”

“Who’s better than you?”

It’s a joke, Chuuya has to remind himself. He shrugs, finding himself to be the least bit bitter when he says, “Some girl from America, apparently.”

“Ah, so he’s that type of guy,” Dazai shrugs one shoulder, “Don’t blame him.”

Chuuya inhales deeply, nodding idly.

They both glance out the window, only to see the moon shining above the sea brightly. The waves are calm tonight (for once.) 

The brunette rolls off the bed suddenly, dusting himself off. He smiles when Chuuya turns his head to watch.

“Leaving so soon?”

“I’ve got to get back home.”

Chuuya clicks his tongue, nodding. 

“I’ll visit you, though, since you already miss me so badly.” He heads for the door, “Bye, Chuuya.” 

Chuuya lets him leave, watching as Dazai waves to him from outside the window. He doesn’t intend to wave back, but the kid stands there with hands in his pockets, waiting for a ‘goodbye.’

Cracking an unintentional smile, Chuuya flips him off, which apparently, is good enough.

Oh, Dazai does visit.

“What if they’re underage, though,” He says, eyeing the pack of cigarettes Chuuya placed on the counter wearily, “How’re you able to sell—”

“These,” Chuuya slides the red pack forward, “are herbal. I can sell them to those sixteen and up. These,” Now, the blue pack, “are straight tobacco, which I would need to see ID for.”

He snorts at the perplexed expression Dazai’s wearing, forehead creased and his hands toying with his lips.

“That doesn’t make sense to me.”

“Doesn’t need to, idiot,” Chuuya slides the packs off the counters, turning to place them on the racks, “This is my job, not yours.”

“It might as well be my job, from how much you make me visit.”

And it’s true, the first time Dazai showed up, Chuuya’s attitude wasn’t the worst , so he took it as a sign to come back. 

He kept coming back, until Hirotsu brought it up. Chuuya panicked, thinking that would be the way he’d lose his job, but instead, Hirotsu just wanted a formal introduction.

Two weeks later, the sun shines hotly in the sky, the beginning of summer onsets, and Dazai’s new favorite place to idle around is the gas station — where he does a great job at bothering Chuuya all day. 

“Don’t you have actual work to do?” 

“Like what, drive? As far as I’m concerned, I don’t need those lessons anymore,” He pauses to glance at Chuuya cheekily, “but you do.”

“Don’t make me hurt you while I’m on the job,” He mutters under his breath, “I’ve been too busy working to worry about driving.”

“Good thing I’m here to drive you around, then.”

“Whatever.” Chuuya’s gaze flickers behind the brunette, only to see a figure approaching the doors, “Either get behind the counter or go away. Somebody’s coming.”

“You don’t have to make it sound so threatening,” Dazai huffs, squeezing himself next to Chuuya behind the counter, leaning forward onto his elbows.

“Shut your mouth once they walk in here.”

“You’re the one still talking.”

Chuuya bats his hand away from the items under the counter, giving the customer a tight smile once they walk in. They don’t ask for anything at the counter, just sauntering the racks at the back to grab a bag of chips, it seems.

He peers over to watch intently, making sure the customer doesn’t snatch any extra items to hide in their pockets.

“This is what you do all day?”

“Shut up.”

The customer flings the bag on the counter, to which Chuuya nearly scoffs, before he remembers he needs to be professional. He ends up ringing them up, they don’t bother to accept the leftover change from their payment.

Chuuya’s eyes burn into the back of their head as they walk out the door, rolling his eyes once he’s sure they’re gone. 

He turns to Dazai to catch the other already staring at him, eyes dull with an unimpressed glint.

“You’re so good at your job, Chuuya.”

“I’d like to see you try, bastard,” He means to shove Dazai outside of the counter, only for him to hit the ledge, pursing his lips jauntily as he shoves Chuuya back with twice the force.

There’s a moment where they both pause, narrowing their eyes at each other. Chuuya can’t help but break out in a grin when he moves to shove Dazai again, but the brunette ends up scooting around to the other side of the counter, pushing him forward from behind.

Gripping the counter, he sneers when he hears the faintest snicker coming from behind him. 

It’s enough to make him hurl himself back, earning a sharp whine from the other. Spinning around, his hands reach out to jab Dazai’s shoulder, but soon enough, he’s crumbling towards the ground — and he’s taking Chuuya with him.

The bastard grabs onto Chuuya’s shirt as he slips, a yelp echoing in the room as Chuuya forces his hand behind Dazai’s head to lessen the impact. Then, they’re both shutting their eyes, bracing themselves for the fall.

Keeping their eyelids shut doesn’t mean the drop hurts any less, Chuuya hears Dazai’s pained holler before he feels his body hit the ground. It doesn’t hurt too bad, besides from the sudden ache in his elbows that spread through his arms, the discomfort of his position is worse.

His eyelids peel back to see Dazai staring at the ceiling hopelessly, lips curled into a small frown. And Chuuya really can't help it when laughter starts to bubble up in his chest.

For somebody so big, Dazai can’t take the pain of the smallest fall.

Chuuya doesn’t notice the way Dazai’s eyes shift back to him as he buries his face into his sleeve, both of them laying on the cold floor. His shoulders shake with noiseless laughter, until a few small, muffled squeaks peek out.

“I can't believe you’re laughing at me, Chuuya,” His tone is stern, but his eyes hold mirth, “I could’ve died .”

Chuuya shakes his head, inhaling through his nose deeply before he has the courage to look back up. He’s sure his face is red from cracking up, “You wouldn’t have,” He pulls his hand away from Dazai’s nape, flexing his fingers, “my hand prevented your soon-to-come concussion.”

Dazai’s slight smile falls from his face, glancing at Chuuya’s hand before his eyes drift up to stare at the redhead like he’s grown a second head. Chuuya doesn’t say anything, just meets his wandering eyes. 

After a few seconds, Chuuya pulls himself off the other, dusting himself off. “That look on your face is freaky,” He comments, bracing his weight on the counter’s top to pull himself up. 

Dazai remains quiet, taking Chuuya’s hand when he’s offered it, standing up alongside him.

“No broken bones, right?”

Dazai suppresses a smile as he shakes his head.

“Damn,” Chuuya mutters, “I was hoping you’d at least break a few.”

Dazai deadpans, nudging Chuuya’s arm with his elbow — he only earns a pained complaint in return.

“How’s work been?” Verlaine asks him one night, when Chuuya’s bundled up in blankets, drifting in and out of sleep on the couch. The television’s on, but nobody’s watching — it’s just adequate white noise.

“It’s okay,” He mumbles, leaning in further to Verlaine’s side, “Hirotsu’s nice. He lets me off early sometimes.” 

“That’s good,” The blond whispers, tucking his arm over Chuuya’s shoulder, pulling him in closer.

“Dazai comes to see me a lot, too,” He swallows once his voice comes out slightly hoarse, “he’s okay.”

He chuckles, for whatever reason, leaning forward to peek at Chuuya. His head’s barely visible from the swarm of fabric covering it, eyes drooping with exhaustion.

“Just ‘okay?’ ” He asks, adjusting his own blanket over his feet.

Chuuya nods, nibbling at his bottom lip idly, “He’s better than I thought he’d be.”

“I told you, if you gave him a chance, he wouldn’t be that bad. He isn’t distracting you from work, though, right?” 

Chuuya almost snorts outwardly, remembering their incident from a few days ago, “Nope.”

“I’m glad you two are getting along, then.” He lets out, “Have you heard from Atsushi lately?”

Chuuya shakes his head, shivering when the cold air from the fan hits his face, “He’s too busy going places to call. He’ll be back soon, I hope.”

“He will,” Verlaine agrees, “don’t worry.”

“Not worried, just,” Chuuya does miss him, but he sort of forgot about Atsushi while he’s been spending more time with Dazai, “I miss him, I guess.”

“That’s okay, too.” He hears the automated fan shut off as Verlaine unwraps the blanket around him.

Chuuya sighs, body suddenly heating up, “I think I should go to bed,” He frowns, “I’ve got an air conditioner in my room.”

Verlaine glances up at the ceiling fan, “I guess you should, yeah,” He huffs a chuckle, “It’s either too hot or too cold in here.”

He’s pulled in for a final ‘good night’ kiss against his temple before he’d shooed off to his room.

Chuuya wipes away a bead of sweat slowly inching down his forehead, panting lightly as he leans against a gas pump. 

“Looks like you’ve never filled a tank before, Chuuya.” 

Dazai, even in the scorching weather, has his signature bandages twirled around his limbs, fitted snugly on him as he trots over to the redhead. 

“I have,” He swallows, “work is just harder when it’s this hot out.”

The brunette shrugs, “Not for me,” The way he wipes his sweaty palms on his shirt tells otherwise, “I’m used to it.”

Chuuya nods, unconvinced, “I bet.”

Dazai walks by, making sure to flick his forehead as he pulls up two buckets sitting at the side of the entry doors. He flips them over, taking a seat on one, patting the other, “Come sit.”

“I’m on a job.”

He peeks through the doors to see Hirotsu scrolling through his phone at the counter, “I doubt the old man cares.”

Chuuya gives in, he knows Hirotsu doesn’t care as long as he does his job properly. He can barely make it over without feeling lightheaded, leaning on the pump to prevent himself from toppling over.

Dazai purses his lips to hide his smile, “You shouldn’t come to work if you can’t handle the heat.”

“You can’t handle it either,” Chuuya narrows his eyes, “I’ve been watching you. Your stick legs trip over themselves countless times in an hour.”

“That’s different.”

Chuuya opts to just nod mockingly, sitting on the bucket with some hassle. His eyes land on Verlaine’s car, parked over the curb ever so slightly.

“You parked on the sidewalk,” The redhead scoffs, “I’m pretty sure you still need those driving lessons.”

“Eh, it’ll fix itself in due time,” Dazai glances over at him, “your dad says to keep using his car, even if I won’t show up to his lessons anymore.”

There’s a thought that springs up within him, a risky one. Looking over to Dazai, he feels secure enough to say it aloud.

Chuuya pulls his top lip between his teeth, “You do know he isn’t really my dad, right?”

His shoulders tense in something near regret as soon as his words leave his mouth, eyes wandering over to the brunette to witness his reaction. 

“I figured — since, you know, he and Rimbaud are both men. Being adopted is fine. It doesn’t make you any less of their kid.”

And he’s right, Chuuya agrees with him wholeheartedly, but he isn’t adopted.

It’s nice to hear the easy sincerity in Dazai’s tone though. Chuuya merely nods, thinking they’ll leave it at that, but Dazai’s gaze lingers on him — he can feel it.

 He’s about to stand and go back to leaning on the pumps, because he knows Dazai well enough by now to predict he’ll open his mouth to say something sooner or later.

It comes before he gets a chance to move,  “I feel like I’m missing something though.” 

Chuuya keeps his eyes trained on the concrete below them, “You’re not.”

Regret churns within him, he shouldn’t have brought this up in the first place. He knows Dazai won’t let it go, the kid’s nosy. He’ll press Chuuya until there’s no more questions left unanswered. 

Dazai kicks at the bottom of the bucket he sits on, “I am.”

It’s a silent plea, but it’s also an informant to let Chuuya know he’s been found out. Even if Dazai doesn’t know the whole story, he’s smart enough to put it together piece by piece. 

If Chuuya isn’t adopted, then there’s only a limited amount of possibilities as to how he ended up with a home and two guardians.

Inhaling deeply, he lets himself speak without thinking too hard about it, “I was found on the side of the road in Nagasaki,” He starts quietly, “Verlaine was on a job at the time. He took me to the police station, but there were no records of who I was, not in Japan, at least. I couldn’t even remember my own name.”

He doesn’t bother to look at Dazai’s expression, “They were going to drop me off at the orphanage, without a birthdate, a name, age, nothing. You know Verlaine, though. He’s a generous person.”

There’s a nod that comes from the brunette, one that Chuuya only catches with his peripherals, “Generous enough to take in a kid who suffered from severe amnesia. When I moved here, I was exposed to a lot of things that helped me remember. And while I don’t remember what happened to me,” He pauses, “at least I remembered my name.”

When utter silence washes over them, Chuuya finds his cheeks running hot with shame. Most people don’t know what to say in these instances, including Atsushi when Chuuya had  told him. He hadn’t known why he expected Dazai to say something out of the ordinary.

Something comforting, maybe.

Pity wasn’t what he wanted, because it isn’t that tragic, at least not in Chuuya’s opinion, but an acknowledgement would be nice. 

When all hope that Dazai’ll say anything dwindles within him, that’s when the brunette decides to speak up.

“It’s nice to see the type of person you turned out to be, despite all of that.”

It’s all he says, but it’s different . 

Chuuya usually gets an unnecessary apology, or overdramatized sympathy, and he’s nearly overjoyed at how he finally gets something different .

Apparently his satisfaction shows on his face, unintentionally bursting out into a wordless smile. It’s more of a giddy feeling that bursts within him, speeding his pulse up, overwhelming him with nothing but contentment. He drops his head, trying to hide his grin, but Dazai seems to have already caught it, from the snort Chuuya hears.

He schools his expression into something more nonchalant, huffing out a harsh breath when looking up.

Glancing over, he finds Dazai’s eyes roaming over him, only for the brunette to freeze mid-stare, shaking his head and peeling his eyes away a moment later. 

Chuuya doesn’t know if it’s the hot weather or the sudden honesty laced within Dazai’s words, but he swears his heart trips over itself in his chest. It makes Chuuya pause, startling himself. 

He decided to milk Dazai’s integrity for all it’s worth, “What person did I turn out to be, then?”

It’s said on a whim, part of him expects Dazai to roll his eyes and complain, but the other part of him hangs onto the confidence that the brunette would actually spew compliments from his lips.

“An angry gnome,” Dazai drawls with a lazy grin, bracing himself for a hit that doesn’t come. 

He pulls his hands away from his face, disappointed to find a barely noticeable scowl twisted on Chuuya’s lips. He blinks a few times before he can look away.

“Okay, maybe,” A light sigh escapes him, “you’re hardworking, and tougher than I am, but that’s all. In every other way, I’m quite superior to you.” 

Chuuya eyes him in suspicion, only to relax his shoulders, “I’ll let you get away with it this time, since I feel like being nice.”

“I knew Chuuya liked me. You’ve been attacking me less lately.”

Dazai expects a laugh, telling from his expectant stare, but Chuuya only falters, words dying on his tongue. He knows Dazai doesn’t mean in any other context but platonic, but the literal skip in his heartbeat earlier has him thinking too hard.

“You’re supposed to laugh.” He whines, poking at Chuuya’s bicep.

Chuuya pushes the thought to the back of his head, focusing his full attention on the boy in front of him, “I don’t know what you want me to say, haha?”

He groans, “Nevermind.” 

A silver car pulls up to one of the pumps, Chuuya nearly groans aloud at the sight.

“Sulk on your own. I’ve got a job to do,” He stands to walk away, leaving a pouty Dazai in his wake.

“Your friend isn’t here yet.” 

It’s the first thing he hears on Monday morning, the start of a new week. It’s not odd for Dazai to disappear over the weekends. Chuuya always figured that he was just spending time with his family.

“He’ll show up later, I bet.” Chuuya’s gaze flickers to the clock hung up above the counter, “For now, I’ll hang with you, old geezer.”

Hirotsu gives him a small smile, “I’m glad. Since he started to visit, we’ve barely spoken. Let’s catch up.”

And they do. For somebody his age, Hirotsu’s a bit too interested in Chuuya’s life. It’s not creepy, just odd. 

“It’s a miracle I haven’t heard about her yet,” He says, in regard to Lucy — Atsushi’s American lady friend, “Atsushi usually can’t keep his mouth shut about his crushes.”

“He’s had more than one?”

“Yes, at least as far as I know,” Hirotsu narrows his eyes, “I don’t believe he’s ever talked about you, though.”

If that was said to him two weeks ago, it’s guaranteed that Chuuya would’ve been disappointed. Now, not so much.

“Eh, well, he and I are old news,” But his curiosity is piqued, “who’re the other people he’s mentioned?”

“Ah, it slips my mind what the name is, but Atsushi described him to have a dark demeanor ,” Hirotsu shrugs, “apparently they never got along, but he wouldn’t stop talking about him.”

Chuuya nearly laughs aloud at Atsushi’s unique tastes, he can’t say he’s surprised.

“It’s weird how he never told me,” Chuuya mumbles. 

Hirotsu’s lips quirk at one end, “He most likely didn’t want you to feel bad about yourself.”

“Seems like something he’d do, yeah.”

He finds his eyes wandering back to the clock. His throat aches from how much he’s spoken in the past two hours. 

There’s still no sign of Dazai, though.

“Perhaps he’s busy, Chuuya.” Hirotsu says once he catches the redhead’s evident disappointment, “He’ll stop by later. He always does.”

Chuuya schools his expression into easy nonchalance, “Yeah, probably. Who knows what he does in his free time.”

“He spends it with you, doesn’t he?”

He freezes, turning to meet Hirotsu’s amused stare, “Huh?”

“You said, who knows what he does in his free time, and I answered,” He smiles, “the answer is that he spends his free time with you.”

“Well,” Chuuya pulls his eyes away from Hirotsu, “I mean when he’s not with me.”

“Then, isn’t he with your father?”

And yes, he supposes Hirotsu’s right. Now that he thinks of it, Dazai’s barely home, and he’s never mentioned having other friends on the coast — he spends all his time with Chuuya.

It shouldn’t make Chuuya feel as warm as it does. 

He doesn’t know what to say, so he keeps quiet. Hirotsu huffs a short laugh through his nose, patting Chuuya on the back. 

“I’m gonna light up outside, I’ll be back.”

He slides out from behind the counter, taking his lighter with him, leaving Chuuya to ponder to himself inside.

The day passes by without any hassle. Chuuya sticks to staying behind the counter without having to do any hard labor outside. Hirotsu keeps him company all day, except for when a kid named Tachihara calls, apparently he’s Hirotsu’s grandson.

The air conditioner keeps them cool, too cool, Chuuya has to huddle in on himself at one point. 

By the end of the day, it shuts off on its own. Chuuya usually takes that as his cue to leave, since it shuts off at the same time everyday, but he finds himself staying longer today.

Hirotsu doesn’t mention it, not until an hour later.

“You should pack up and go, it’s late.”

“It’s not late, it’s only four.”

“You’re working past your hours, I could get in trouble for keeping you past your shift.”

Chuuya snags his lip between his teeth in thought. Yes, Hirotsu could get in trouble — but by who? The city? It’s not like anybody knows who Chuuya is.

He glances over, only to earn an insistent look.

“Staying longer isn’t going to make Dazai appear out of thin air.”

All of his protests die on his tongue, eyes shifting away. 

“It has nothing to do with him.”

“It has everything to do with him. Maybe he’s at your house, why don’t you go and check?”

He gives Hirotsu a non-threatening glare, only to earn a persuasive look in return.

“You’re too convincing for an old man.”

“It happens to be my specialty.”

Chuuya lets out a sigh, reluctantly grabbing his bag from the rack below the counter. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow.” He leaves without waiting around to hear Hirotsu wish him a good afternoon.

“You didn’t happen to see Dazai today, right?”

It’s the first thing he says once he walks through the door, not bothering with a mere ‘hello.’ 

His questions catches Rimbaud off guard, nearly dropping the book he holds in his hands at the abrupt entrance. 

He shakes his head in a sort of amused-exasperation, “Hello to you, too, Chuuya.” He stands, “And no, I haven’t seen him.”

“Hi,” He pads over to Rimbaud, an exhausted sigh escaping him when the man pulls him in for a quick side-hug.

“He didn’t come to see you today?”

“Nope.” Chuuya says, popping the ‘p.’

“He’s probably busy,” Rimbaud concedes, “or with his family.”

“Yeah.” 

Chuuya’s sure his shitty mood shows in his expression. His brows are downturned and they don’t seem to lift, and his mouth is twisted in a semi-permanent frown.

“Don’t stress over it,” Rimbaud prompts, tucking Chuuya’s stray strands of hair behind his ears.

“I’m not stressed.” He grumbles, but he isn’t so sure about that himself.

The man gives him a relatively unconvinced glance.

Chuuya leaves him to hang his bag on the doorknob, “You’re right, he’s probably busy. Hirotsu told me the same thing.”

“Exactly.” He rests the book on the countertop to swing the fridge door open, pulling out a tub of water, “You’re flushed, come drink some water and cool down.”

With a final hopeful glance out the window, his eyes wander the rest of the coast. Verlaine’s car is parked on the gravel, and the pebbled steps leading to the main road are clear.

“Come on,” Rimbaud urges, already having poured him a glass.

Chuuya nods wordlessly, tearing his eyes away from the window.

Dazai doesn’t show his face for the next three days. 

Chuuya is more disappointed than worried the second day, that disappointment shifts into a brief anger — which settles into something calmer when Hirotsu explains that Dazai isn’t obligated to come visit him everyday.

The thing that gets Chuuya is how reliant he’s become on Dazai to entertain him. The day seems to stretch on longer than ever before, and he’s slowly starting to despise his job. 

Hirotsu’s good company, but Dazai’s better company — even if he hates to admit it.

He didn’t realize he wasn’t the only one who noticed Dazai’s disappearance until about halfway into the week, when even Verlaine starts to worry.

“Haven’t you got his number, Chuuya?” 

They’re standing outside, the cacophony of the sea settling the tension between the two of them. 

“We never exchanged them,” He deflates when Verlaine shoots him a criticizing glance, “we never needed to, he was always just.. around.”

He shakes his head with a frustrated huff, “We’ve got to find him somehow. It’s abnormal for somebody to just disappear.”

“Are you saying we should report him as a missing person?”

Verlaine shrugs, “What else are we supposed to do?”

Chuuya scoffs, his tone disbelieving, “Dazai isn’t missing, we just need to find him.”

“How’re you gonna do that, kid?”

He’s suddenly feeling adventurous, or at least, eager to go looking for Dazai, “I don’t know, maybe go to town and look? Or travel further back on the coast to find him?”

“I’m not letting you do that on your own.” The man mutters, combing a hand through his hair.

Chuuya can’t remember the last time he’s seen Verlaine this distressed. When his eyes glaze over the crease in the blond’s forehead, he can’t help but feel as if Dazai’s vanishing is partly his fault.

The last time they saw each other, Chuuya may have gone overboard with telling Dazai about his ‘tragic’ past. It may have made him uncomfortable, and knowing Dazai, the only way he thought to deal with his uneasiness — was to disappear. He should’ve kept his mouth shut.

Chuuya goes quiet, too discouraged to put up a fight. 

“Let’s wait until Saturday,” Verlaine says quietly, the sound of the waves nearly too overbearing to hear him, “if he’s still gone, then we’ll report him as missing.”

His voice rings with finality, there’s no way Chuuya’ll get him to change his mind. So while it makes him uneasy, he has no choice but to nod his head in agreement. 

That Friday, Chuuya finds himself having trouble sleeping. The lightning that strikes in the sky reminds him of his younger days, when he’d lay awake at night, unable to sleep because of the ruckus outside.

Knowing he won’t be able to sleep now, he pushes the duvet away, sitting upright. His hands grip the window sill tightly, eyes wandering. The sea wouldn’t be visible, if not for the moonlight, but the sky is stricken with the deepest shade of blue Chuuya could imagine.

His pulse throbs throughout his body, mostly in his head, flinching back when the sky alights with a bolt of white. His eyes shut for a moment, blinded with nothing but light — the ache in his head only worsens.

Sighing, he buries himself back in the covers, fingers working at his temples. 

As he’s about to shut his eyes to try to sleep, his body jolts at a loud knock on his window. He freezes, not knowing if it’s the wind or if it’s really somebody . His gut tells him to stay in bed and not look up, because if it’s a murderer, he’ll have a better chance of surviving—

The person calls his name.

It could be Atsushi, already back from his trip. Though it’s more than odd that he’d visit Chuuya when the weather’s this bad — not to mention, it’s the early hours of the morning.

His heart pounds loudly in his chest when he forces himself to sit back up. Swallowing thickly, he braces himself to see an unknown face peering through his window — but that’s not what he sees at all.

Chuuya isn’t necessarily shocked when he’s met with Dazai’s small frown through the glass, hand gesturing towards the front door. 

Out of spite, the redhead might just not open it.

He knew Dazai wasn’t dead, but at the rate the brunette was going, Chuuya was sure as hell about to start believing he was. 

Chuuya shakes his head, just to get a reaction out of him, and to punish him a bit.

Dazai deflates, staring down at his hands as his hair starts to drip droplets of water. He rolls his eyes, and resorts to the last thing in mind.

He starts banging on Chuuya’s window.

It’s loud enough to echo throughout the small space, but he isn’t sure if it’s audible to Verlaine and Rimbaud’s room. He doesn’t want to take the chance of waking them.

Chuuya’s eyes widen slightly, banging back once to shut Dazai up. He throws the duvet over to one side, legs aching when he stands. 

He makes sure his bedroom door doesn’t close too noisily before he pads over to the front of the house, waiting until Dazai meets him there to let him in.

The brunette’s drenched from head to toe, he hasn’t even got proper shoes on — just sandals. Chuuya doesn’t say a word, just pulls him in by his zip-up sweater. 

Dazai lets out a yelp of surprise, eyes curiously roaming once Chuuya heads to the bathroom. He pulls out a towel from the cabinet under the sink, throwing it at the boy.

He barely catches it, nearly slipping over himself in the process. The towel sops up most of the wetness from his hair, it dries him off nicely.

Relief runs through the redhead when Dazai’s hand brushes his once Dazai returns the towel. It reassures him that, yes, he did show up to Chuuya’s home at four in the morning, and no, Chuuya isn’t lucid dreaming. 

There’s a moment where Chuuya just bunches the elongated cloth in his hands, his and Dazai’s eyes locking for a second too long. It ends up being a twisted staring contest, until Chuuya doesn’t have the energy to keep looking anymore.

He shoves the towel back into the cabinet, unfolded.

There’s a silent agreement they made as they both glance at Chuuya’s bedroom door. They aren’t loud as they shuffle over, Chuuya walks ahead knowing Dazai would follow.

He lets Dazai in, before carefully latching the bedroom door. The lock clicks shut quietly. 

Dazai sits against the dresser, merely staring when Chuuya sits down, scooting closer to him. They’re faced across from each other, proximity too close for the tension that surrounds them.

Chuuya doesn’t know if he wants to ease the stiffness of their movements with a joke, or if he wants to slap Dazai clean across the face, making up for all the words he can't exactly yell. 

He doesn’t do either, just sits and waits.

Dazai, on the other hand, doesn’t look the least bit apologetic. He looks dull, like he hasn’t eaten. The glow that Chuuya had become familiar with simmered down over the past week.

Lightning strikes for the third time before Dazai opens his mouth to finally say something.

Chuuya’s hopeful that’ll be good — an apology, an explanation, a proper excuse.

“Chuuya,” His name glides off of Dazai’s tongue easily, “I know how to drive.”

Chuuya doesn’t know why he expects more, when this is Dazai. He never gives more, always leaving Chuuya to wonder to himself after leaving things on the edge.

But surprisingly, he isn’t angry. He laughs, his shoulders shake with nothing but raw chuckles. They aren’t bitter, they’re genuine. He isn’t happy, per se, but hearing something ridiculous that only Dazai would say after disappearing suddenly, it lifts his spirits. 

Dazai’s eyes soften when he witnesses it, but he isn’t laughing along.

Chuuya notices, and forces himself to stop altogether. He clears his throat, stomach barely aching, “Obviously, you do. Verlaine taught you.”

Dazai shakes his head, pulling his eyes away from Chuuya’s, “Before that.”

“No, you sucked ass at driving before—”

“I saw your picture in your daddy’s wallet,” He wets his suddenly-dry lips, “I thought you were pretty.”

Chuuya ignores the ache in his chest, “What does that have to do with anything?”

He’s more confused than flustered. Dazai usually speaks in fragments, yes, but it’s exceptionally horrible tonight. 

“God,” Dazai tilts his head back so it knocks against the dresser, “you’re still so stupid.”

“If not understanding your nonsense makes me stupid, then so be it, Dazai,” He doesn’t mean for his voice to raise, “spell it out for me. I won’t get it until you do.”

“The day when I pushed Verlaine into the field, and then I showed up here — you think it was all a coincidence?”

“No, I knew it wasn’t, but I thought you only came to steal our car, or something.”

“I came here on a whim because I thought a businessman’s son was pretty.” Dazai refuses to look at him, “Put the pieces together, come on.”

“Don’t do that,” Chuuya grits, “at least not now. You disappear for a week and show up this late to make me figure everything out on my own?”

Dazai tugs his lip between his teeth, but he doesn’t say much else.

Chuuya stares at him in disbelief, “You’re fucking kidding. You’re actually going to make me—”

He has to stop and take a shaky breath. His chest feels heavy all of sudden, heart bleeding a different shade of red for every contrasting emotion.

“You’re such an asshole, sometimes. You never make anything easy. I wasn’t the only one — Verlaine was worried about you, too, you know.”

“You were worried about me?”

Dazai’s voice holds no genuine surprise. He says it as a filler, he’s stalling.

“I’m seriously going to kick you out,” Chuuya doesn’t know how else to express his anger besides physically. He tugs on Dazai’s sweater, yanking him closer, only to lower his voice, “tell me why you fucking vanished into thin air. Or else..”

Dazai lifts a challenging brow.

“Or else I’ll kick you out, and we’ll start from square one. You don’t have any reason to come back here anyway, your lessons are finished. We won’t be friends anymore.”

The glint in Dazai’s eye shifts, letting out an exasperated huff through his nose, “Fine.”

Chuuya gives him an expectant glare, not letting up with his harsh grip. 

“Verlaine was clueless that I knew how to drive before he taught me, he thought I wanted to learn. So, I took it as an opportunity. I asked him if the kid he had a picture of in his wallet was his son,” Dazai chuckles, almost bitterly, “and he said yes.”

Chuuya keeps quiet, but his clutch on the sweater eases slightly.

“He told me to come further out by the coast, where the sea was, to see the car, so I did. Then, I met your bratty ass.”

He earns a smack on the shoulder for that one.

“I wasn’t amazed, you weren’t the nicest. But, you were worth hanging around for.”

Chuuya's feelings are scrambled, but he wills himself not to get too hopeful, because this is Dazai. He doesn’t always mean what he says. 

“What does that mean?” He finds himself asking before Dazai could continue.

Dazai scoffs, “I don’t even know. It’s the first time I was interested enough in somebody to want to be their friend. You could only imagine how I felt when I fucked up the first chance I got, right?”

“I still don’t sympathize with you, bastard,” Chuuya only means it as half a joke, “your attitude was shitty.”

“So was yours.”

“Just get to the point.”

Dazai relents.

“I mean, I did a good job at being your friend. But after you told me about how Verlaine found you,” For the first time tonight, Dazai falters in his words, “I felt bad for taking up so much of your time with him.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I faked not knowing how to drive, and he spent all that time ‘teaching’ me, when he could’ve been spending time with you.”

Suddenly, Chuuya gets it. Guilt isn’t a feeling that’s foreign to him, and he doubts it’s foreign to anybody — except Dazai.

“Why did you fake not knowing how to drive, then?”

“Didn't I already say it?” Dazai whispers, “I had no other excuse to come here so often, I looked forward to seeing you.”

Chuuya shoves him away on impulse, “Then you could’ve been nice to me.”

“Humor is how I get around,” He jokes, “I didn’t think I’d have to put in that much effort to be your friend.”

The redhead sits back on his heels, “So, the moral of the story is that you disappeared because you felt guilty?”

“Bullseye.”

“Is that it?” Chuuya scoffs, “That’s a pretty bullshit reason, I’ll tell you that much.”

“That isn’t all.”

“Then hurry up, I’m tired and would love to have you out of my house so I can sleep.”

“I thought it was clear that I’m interested in you, Chuuya.”

He doesn’t look anxious when he says it, just nonchalant, as usual. Chuuya swallows with some difficulty, “Interested in me, how?”

“Figure it out.”

“You’re so fucking complicated,” Chuuya’s heart threatens to get stuck in his throat and stay there, “do you like me or not, asshole?”

“Depends. Does Chuuya like me or not?”

“No,” On a whim, he yanks Dazai forward, stomach brewing with anxiety (or butterflies, but Chuuya refuses to call it that) when he inches closer to Dazai’s face, “I hate your guts, actually.”

The small kiss he plants on Dazai’s lips says otherwise.

It’s chaste and innocent, a simple press of two lips together.

He pulls back, bracing himself for a critique. Instead, he receives a way-too-sentimental stare for somebody of Dazai’s nature. 

“So?”

“So.”

Chuuya’s head lulls back, rolling his eyes at the ceiling. He drops his head to lock eyes with the brunette, “Can you give me a straight answer?”

The kiss that follows is initiated by Dazai, bandaged hands coming up to pull Chuuya’s forward, practically on top of him. Their heads bump into the dresser, but it’s not like they care.

It’s hurried, and uncertain, and childish because Chuuya’s one-hundred percent sure neither of them know how to fall in sync with each other. Dazai mouths at his bottom lip, hands resting at the juncture of Chuuya’s neck and shoulder — but Chuuya’s doing something completely different.

He’s trying to bite Dazai, it’s a messy excuse of a kiss when there’s so much teeth involved. 

The redhead only stops when he feels Dazai smile, lips stretching so wide that Chuuya can’t even kiss him anymore. He pulls away, eyes searching for some type of reassurance.

Not reassurance that he’s a good kisser, but reassurance that Dazai really likes him. 

“We need to talk.” He finds himself saying, only because it sounds cool, and he hasn’t dated anybody besides Atsushi, but it was different with him—

“Talking’s for overgrown gnomes like you,” Dazai doesn’t remove his hands from the other’s skin, Chuuya can feel his touch starting to tingle, “not for people like me.”

“So what do we do?”

Dazai’s eyes glaze over his expression, “I don’t know.”

Chuuya looks to his left, where the rain hits his window unforgivingly. He forgot about the storm.

Dazai pulls his face back towards him, “You should sleep.”

“Are you out of your mind?” He lets out a ‘tch’, planning to stop straddling the boy, only to be jerked back.

“Sleep.”

“On the floor?”

“Yeah.”

Chuuya’s too weak to pull away, heart beating erratically in his chest. 

“You aren’t a comfy mattress.”

“You’re quite rude.” He slurs his words, rolling over so all of his weight is on Chuuya.

The redhead muffles a groan into his chest, “Get off of me, please.”

Dazai doesn’t respond, and for a moment Chuuya thinks he’s asleep, but he eventually gets up

wordlessly.

“Give me a blanket.”

“Huh?”

“You’re more insane than I initially thought if you think I’m walking back home in this storm.”

Chuuya gives a single thought, but he can’t blame him. He gently pushes Dazai off of him, walking over to a drawer to pull out a spare duvet. Throwing the blanket at him, he flops down onto his bed and knocks a pillow over — down to Dazai.

“You could sleep up here.”

“I’m not sleeping in the same bed as you while your parents are in the other room, my god, have decency Chuuya—”

“Okay,” The redhead cuts in, hitching his voice a notch louder. He’s too overwhelmed and tired from the sudden events of tonight to put up with Dazai’s foolish blabbing, “go to bed now.”

All he sees is the unclear sight of Dazai shutting his eyes before he rolls over, facing the window. He doesn’t wait to hear Dazai’s breath even out to shut his eyes.

Being woken up by the sound of obnoxious banging isn’t what Chuuya had in mind for this morning.

He hears the faint voice of somebody calling his name, but in his sleepy haze, he only ignores it and rubs his cheek into the pillow. A particularly harsh knock makes him jolt awake, eyes widening.

Wiping drool from the corner of his mouth, he gently unwraps the duvet from himself and untangles his legs, staring for a second too long at the empty space on the floor — the space that had been occupied by Dazai a few hours prior.

He doesn’t think about it too hard, at least not right now. Unlocking the door, he swings it open only to be met with a relieved face. 

“Why’d you lock the door?” Rimbaud sighs, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand. Chuuya hadn’t even realized, Dazai must’ve locked it on his way out. 

“I didn’t mean to,” He says, groggy from drowsiness, “probably locked it by mistake.”

“Good,” The man sighs out, “I’m only asking since Paul found the front door open this morning. We thought something may have happened to you.”

“Oh, no, nothing did,” It’s partly a lie, but he doesn’t find himself feeling guilty, “I’m fine.”

Rimbaud nods, taking a moment to glaze over Chuuya's appearance, “I figure I woke you?”

Chuuya shifts on his feet, sliding over slightly to block Rimbaud’s view of the extra duvet on the floor, “Yeah, but it’s okay. It’s probably late by now, anyway.”

“It is, you’re lucky you don’t have work on the weekends.”

Chuuya hums, forcing his eyes to stay open. Rimbaud notices, hand reaching out to smooth his messy hair down, “Go wash up, I’ll heat up some leftovers for breakfast.”

He nods, waiting until Rimbaud walks away to shut his door. 

The sun’s out, a complete one-eighty from last night. 

Picking up the duvet off the ground is easy physically, but even with his head clouded with exhaustion, questions spring up instantaneously.

The main one being, why did Dazai leave anyway?

It’s not abnormal for friends to sleep over, and he doubts Verlaine and Rimbaud would ask questions — besides from ones pertaining to Dazai’s whereabouts for the past few days.

He should’ve gotten his number last night. He would have if not for the urgency of wanting an explanation.

Chuuya convinces himself that it isn’t something to dwell on. Dazai technically never promised to come back. And even if Chuuya thought he would’ve stayed because of obvious reasons — he wasn’t obligated to.

“Where’s Verlaine?”

He asks when he’s sitting at the kitchen island, picking at the leftovers placed in front of him. 

“He went down to the station,” Rimbaud eyes the redhead warily, “to file that missing person’s report.”

“Oh,” Chuuya pauses, chest burning from the inside, “right. It’s Saturday.”

“Yeah. You haven’t.. seen him, have you?”

“No.” He curses himself for answering too quickly, “I haven’t.”

Rimbaud slides into the seat next to him wordlessly, watching intently as Chuuya shuffles the food around in his bowl. 

After a few moments of Chuuya pretending to be hungry, the man beside him speaks up.

“We’ll find him.”

Chuuya glances over, gaze lagging when he wills himself to look away, “I know.”

He says it confidently, even though he knows Dazai’ll probably leave them for good this time. 

“You can’t keep moping around all day, Chuuya.”

It’s the first words that he hears from Verlaine later that day. He leans against the doorframe to Chuuya’s bedroom, arms folded over his chest. 

While it’s true, Chuuya’s been in his room for quite some time, he’s not moping . He’s just thinking.

He’ll admit, staring out the window longingly makes for some good entertainment.

“What do you want me to do, then?” He asks, his voice nearing the edge of irritation.

Verlaine hums, shrugging, “Come hang with Rimbaud and I outside,” He smiles, “I did promise that we’d be taking time off to spend with you, right?”

If he was just a bit more stubborn, he’d say ‘no.’

But that smile on Verlaine’s face has him on his feet, trudging outside.

It’s a sight, seeing Rimbaud step into the water, waves washing up against his feet, only to jump back when it barely touches him. 

Chuuya leans on the railing, glancing up at Verlaine. The man meets his eye with a knowing look, “He’s always been like that. Scared of water, the heat, bugs, everything.”

He’s amused at the utter fondness seeping through the blond’s voice, “You love him regardless, don’t you?”

It’s the first time he’s felt bold enough to ever imply anything about the two’s relationship. Verlaine lifts a brow at him, narrowing his eyes, “I guess.”

Chuuya nods, cracking a smile, “The two of you are..” He shakes his head, “something else.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“I mean ,” He doesn’t want to come right out and say it, but he put himself in a position where he has no choice, “skirting around him isn’t gonna get you anywhere.”

Verlaine gapes, “Okay, hold on—”

“I’ve lived here for four years.” Chuuya cuts in, “I’m pretty sure anybody would’ve picked up on what’s going on by now.”

Verlaine stares at him in mild disbelief before training his expression into something more contained, “Why didn’t you say anything until now?”

“I figured you’d at least tell him how you feel at this point, so I didn’t say anything,” He scoffs, but there’s no bitterness behind it, “but apparently you’re cowardly.”

“I am not—”

Verlaine’s voice halts altogether, trailing off slowly. Chuuya figures he’s seen another one of Rimbaud’s antics that caused him to lose his train of thought, so he doesn’t bother looking up.

He plays with the sand, kicking it around idly as he waits for the man to continue.

“Well, would you look who it is,” Chuuya’s brows furrow, only looking up when Verlaine pushes himself off of the railing.

“I filed a goddamned missing person’s report this morning,” He chuckles, clapping a hand on Dazai’s back, “nice of you to finally show up.”

The brunette smiles, but it’s small. He and Verlaine share a few whispers before Dazai notices Chuuya’s presence. He doesn’t latch off to hug him, or to even greet him, Dazai’s gaze just lingers — eyes holding nothing but uncertainty.

Chuuya tears his own eyes away, watching as Rimbaud sits crossed-legged, slouched over as he attempts to make something of the wet sand. 

“Hey,” Chuuya calls out, on a whim. Verlaine looks up,  brows lifted. “Go check on him.”

He gestures to where Rimbaud sits alone, lost in his own world. 

Verlaine squints as he glances over, giving Dazai a final smile and shooting Chuuya a comical glare before he jogs off.

Dazai staggers over to him, sandals uncomfortably getting stuck in the sand. He turns his head slightly to catch a glimpse of the expression on Chuuya’s face. The scowl he sees doesn’t prevent him from opening his mouth. 

“They haven’t gotten their shit together yet, have they?” Dazai gives him a chuckle, one he doesn’t return. 

“No, they haven’t.” 

The brunette hums, voice a bit hoarse. 

Chuuya, for one, doesn’t know what to say. 

Everything seemed clear after last night’s events, but he really does feel like they’re back at square one. He opens his mouth multiple times, only to shut it immediately afterwards — there’s no ‘right’ thing to say.

“Why’d you leave this morning?”

He asks it accidentally, but he guesses it’s a good thing. It’s better to say something instead of pondering to themselves quietly.

“Did you want me to stay?” He says it so nonchalantly, it’s almost frustrating. 

“I guess,” Chuuya mutters, “I don’t know.”

“I thought it would be better if we thought things out and talked later.”

“Weren’t you the one who said that talking isn’t practical?” His voice holds more bitterness than he intends.

Dazai chuckles, of all things, “Yeah, I guess I did say that.”

Chuuya knows a fight will come on if he even lets himself get heated for even a second, and he doesn’t feel like going through all of that to work out something they should’ve already resolved.

“Dazai,” He revels in the sudden stillness of the brunette’s body beside him, “you can’t kiss me and then disappear right after.”

As languid as his words are, his small movements are twitchy. Dazai stays silent, suddenly moving to sit in the sand. Chuuya watches him, the way he doesn’t bother to hide his slight anxiousness, and sits down beside him. 

“Why not?” It’s partly coy, but Chuuya can feel the genuine curiosity that comes with it.

“Because,” He turns to really look at Dazai, even though his eyes are trained on his shoes. There’s too many words that fill his mouth at once, things he could say but it’s too early to be this sentimental, “it confuses me.” He ends lamely. 

“Well, then, don’t be confused.”

“That’s easy for you to say,” Chuuya grits, “you just know everything, don’t you?”

“I know that a kiss isn’t something platonic,” Dazai puts it simply, “that should tell you enough of what you need to know.”

“A kiss is a straightforward, yes,” His change of his heartbeat is volatile, “but you’re not.”

“Then you say it, Chuuya. Tell me what you want to say.”

“Why should I have to be the one to say it?”

A beat passes as Dazai picks his head up in response. Chuuya doesn’t miss the small quirk of his lips. There’s too many cluttered emotions running through his veins, waiting for Dazai to say something of relevance — something that doesn’t throw Chuuya off further.

He doesn’t even realize he’s being kissed until those chapped lips are moving against his, colder than they should be. It startles him, enough to make him jump, but Dazai’s abrupt grip on the back of his neck keeps him in place.

This press of their lips together is less messy, so much more control exudes from both sides, this one is clear of both of their intentions. 

It can’t be passed off as a mistake, Dazai won’t have room to argue about the clarity of it — because it’s crystal clear. 

It’s a confession without words.

Chuuya doesn’t find Dazai having a taste to him, like he’s read in books, or seen described in movies. He concedes that it’s just Dazai who’s like that, neutral even in this aspect. 

He and Atsushi never really got to the ‘kissing’ part, so he wouldn’t know from experience. 

Instead of trying to bite him, Chuuya refrains from using his teeth, trying to have his fairytale moment.

Since Dazai isn’t exactly much of a prince, even less of a princess, he doesn’t get what he wants. Chuuya settles for it, nonetheless. 

Dazai pulls away, watching as a sweet blend of embarrassment and slight surprise floods Chuuya’s expression. 

Their breaths are synced, though Chuuya’s light pants are heavier — fanning over the curve of Dazai’s lips.

“See, now your cheeks match your hair.”

The brunette’s calloused hands reach up to tug on a stranded curl of Chuuya’s hair gently, pressing it into his skin. 

His heart is stuck in his throat, the feeling so overbearing that he can’t force out any more words. They stare at each other in silence for a brief moment, Dazai’s hand on his skin tensing.

It’s a brief realization from him, that he finally got what he wanted — Chuuya.

If he wasn’t in the same state as him, Chuuya would’ve laughed.

“You’re an ass,” The redhead finally mutters, batting his hand away.

“Still so mean, even after all of that.”

“Answer this, and give me a proper answer, please,” Chuuya voices gruffly, wiping the imprint of Dazai’s hand off of his cheek. 

He hums in question. 

“You’re not going to disappear after this, right?”

Dazai deadpans, an exasperated sigh threatening to escape his lips. 

“No, don’t look at me like that,” Chuuya argues, “I’ve got every right to ask. Now, answer.”

The brunette clamps his lips together, the tension draining from his shoulders — almost like he’s giving up the sickeningly  detached facade he’s put up. 

He nods, firm and short, “I’ll stick around.”

It’s not a guarantee, but for once, Chuuya finds himself believing it. 

August, Two Months Later

“I don’t think we have the right ingredients.” 

Dazai sits uselessly on the counter, watching as Chuuya tires himself out from mixing the batter relentlessly. The redhead waves him off, “Of course you don’t think so, you wouldn’t know since you keep sitting there and doing nothing.” 

The brunette frowns, “You’re just being mean. I’m the showboy, here to present the final product. Showboys don’t have to bake, y’know. They're there to model. 

Chuuya only lets off a scoff, one that merges into a heady huff, dropping the whisk into the bowl, “You’re too ugly to be a showboy.”

An exaggerated gasp echoes throughout the kitchen, “Chuuya’s so harsh nowadays. I miss it when you had limited insults towards me.”

He doesn’t bother to respond, eyes roaming to where Dazai’s perched up on the counter. He sits crossed-legged, keening as he stretches his arms up. Glancing back at the bowl, Chuuya gets an idea.

Taking the bowl filled with batter into his hands, a coquettish grin spreads on his lips as he nudges Dazai’s legs apart. Brows furrowed, the brunette stares down at him cluelessly.

Chuuya makes room for himself between Dazai’s parted legs, placing the bowl in his lap.

“What’s Chuuya doing—”

“You know,” He cuts in, leaning forward, “you’d be really pretty if you helped me mix this.”

A small twitch is seen on Dazai’s lips, “Your seduction techniques need some work.”

“I’m not trying to seduce you—”

“Yes,” He taps a single finger over Chuuya’s lips, “you are.”

Chuuya pulls back, not fully — since Dazai’s legs wrapped around his waist keeps him there. Fondness settles in his chest at the downwards curl of Dazai’s lips, forming a pout. 

He gets on his tiptoes, a familiar ache reverberating in his chest when his lips touch the brunette’s in a quick peck. There’s a soft protest that comes out in a whine when Chuuya pulls away altogether.

“Please,” He shoves the bowl back into Dazai’s lap, rougher this time, “mix this for me.”

A stunned, short breath leaves Dazai’s lips, eyes narrowing at Chuuya’s betrayal.

“Fine,” He mutters, twisting his lips into a frown, “gimme.”

Chuuya puts his hands up in surrender, backing away. He turns to fetch the chocolate chips to pour into the batter, only to be met with the sight of Rimbaud leaning back against the wall, arms crossed with a knowing smile spread on his lips. 

He goes to explain himself, inexplicably panicked, but Rimbaud raises a hand to quiet him down. 

“I just wanted to know if you boys needed any help.”

Chuuya deflates with somewhat relief, shaking his head. Even after all this time, he hasn’t gotten used to being affectionate so openly. 

Rimbaud gives him a nod, that smile never leaving, He pushes himself off of the wall to stroll back into the living room, leaving the two of them back to their antics. 

He stills, losing his train of thought, until Dazai groans from behind him.

“Get the chocolate chips, my hand hurts.”

Chuuya huffs a laugh, moving to snatch the pack off the counter. Disregarding the few that spill out, he turns around to face the brunette. He nearly stumbles when he jumps up to sit next to Dazai.

“Aren’t you supposed to pour them in?”

“I can pour them in from right here, see,” He pours a fraction of the sweets into the batter to make a show of it, chuckling at how intently Dazai observes.

“Now fold them in, come on.”

Dazai frowns, eyes pleading when he turns to face the redhead.

“Dazai—”

“Can you do it for me?”

“No,” He says, breaking out in a grin, “do it yourself.”

With a final sigh, Dazai puckers his lips exaggeratedly. Chuuya puts a hand over his mouth, leaning up quickly to place a wet smack (that some people would call a ‘kiss’) onto his cheek.

It’s enough, apparently, from the way his hand immediately starts to turn the whisk in the bowl, mixing the batter and chocolate chips together.

Chuuya smiles, one that Dazai doesn’t notice. 

“I’m not helping you put them in the oven, by the way.”

The smile immediately drops, replaced by a scowl.

“You’re so lazy.”

Dazai drops the whisk in the bowl, getting the handle coated with batter. Chuuya opens his mouth to scold him, only to have his jaw pulled forward.

A kiss is planted in the center of his lips, uncoordinated but still so intimate. It lasts a few seconds before Dazai pulls away, bumping their forehead together.

Chuuya winces, quieting down when Dazai grins, “Sorry.”

His heartbeat stutters, complaints getting caught in his throat.

Just this once, he lets it slide. 

fin.