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“I need an hour with Baki,” Chuuya announces without preamble, slamming nine hundred yen down on the counter.
Despite being the one manning the cash register, Akutagawa doesn’t look up from his phone. He does, however, reach out with a free hand to slide the cash over to his side of the counter. “You don’t have to keep saying that. You know you don’t get to request her specifically.”
“I swear to whatever gods may be, Ryuu, if she’s not in that room, someone is losing an arm.”
The raven-haired boy barely reacts to the threat, tapping idly on his screen to skip the gacha animation. “You’re also supposed to book in advance.”
“Ryuu, don’t be rude to the customers!” comes an exasperated voice from the hall in the back.
“It’s not a customer, it’s Chuuya.”
“Wh–I am a customer, you damn brat! What does that even mean–”
There’s a soft thud–something heavy being set down in a hurry–before a head of choppy silver hair pops out from around the corner. Atsushi blinks in surprise when his gaze falls on the redhead. “Chuuya? I thought you said you wouldn’t be coming in today? Didn’t you have a–wait, why are you wet?”
“Because it’s raining,” Akutagawa says, finally looking up for the sole purpose of throwing his coworker a deadpan, are-you-an-idiot look.
Atsushi scoffs, offended. “I can see that, but people have umbrellas for a reason, you know.”
Chuuya groans, dropping his forehead onto the countertop, grimacing at the tacky feeling of his rainwater-wet skin on marble. “I left my umbrella at home. I drove here on my bike. Can I please get in the damn cat room?”
“You’re supposed to book–” Akutagawa begins, but Atsushi rolls his eyes, turning the register away from the other boy and towards himself so he can punch in Chuuya’s timeslot.
“We only have one other reservation today, calm down.”
Almost immediately, Akutagawa’s disaffected attitude disappears, hackles raising. Puffing up like one of the cats he’s begrudgingly in charge of. “Don’t you tell me to calm down.”
Atsushi ignores him. “I thought you had a date today, Chuuya?”
“Mmhm,” he answers, voice tight, praying that his tone is enough to tell the two younger boys to drop it. “And now I’m here.”
Yes. Yes, he did have a date today. On Valentine’s, no less–how charming.
He’d met Mark at the gym. He was energetic, handsome, and funny. They’d struck up a friendship of sorts, since Chuuya was the one Mark had tentatively approached on his first day because he was confused about how the lockers worked.
It was cute.
Chuuya liked him. After weeks of lead-up and preparation, he finally managed to ask him out. He’d waltzed into the café that afternoon, feathers on full display, preening and boasting about the date he’d secured.
Looking back, he’d sprung the question on Mark rather suddenly, asking only a day in advance if he had any plans for Valentine’s Day, so maybe that’s why…?
Ugh. Ugh. No.
He doesn’t want to think about it anymore. He’s been trying to shove it down for the better part of thirty minutes to deal with later, when he’s somewhere relaxing so he can be calm and collect his thoughts. Right now, he just wants to get his hands on some cats and some caffeine.
Luckily, he seems to get the message across. The sound of Atsushi typing away on the monitor suddenly halts, and Chuuya can feel both pairs of eyes on him.
After a long stretch of silence, Atsushi clears his throat. “Do you want anything to eat or drink?”
Chuuya deliberates for a moment. “...Chai. A muffin.”
He doesn’t specify what kind before he hears Akutagawa huff, standing up from his chair to start gathering his requested snacks. Atsushi hums, stepping to the side to give the other boy space, the two of them suddenly falling into an easy, synchronous workflow.
Chuuya turns his head to the side to watch them, not feeling up to standing up straight again just yet. Atsushi finishes plugging in Chuuya’s order, smiling thinly when the register gives a friendly chime. “You’re all set.”
Chuuya heaves a sigh, shoulder slumping as he pushes himself off of the counter, digging around in his pocket for more cash to pay for the food. He knows he’s tipping heavily, and he can see Atsushi wants to protest, but Chuuya’s bad mood seems to keep his mouth shut.
Good. He should be grumpier more often.
When all is said and done, Atsushi leads him down the hall to a door marked with a large paw print decal, and a series of cartoon cats under a word balloon with the word “Welcome!” scrawled out in a childish font. He pauses only momentarily to sanitize his hands at the station by the door without being told, and Atsushi retrieves the keys around his belt to unlock the door. He doesn’t open it yet, instead turning to look to Chuuya.
“Okay. Ryuu will bring your food here in a few minutes,” he says. Then, after a pause, “Are you sure you don’t want to talk?”
“I’m sure,” Chuuya says automatically.
Atsushi frowns slightly, but he nods in understanding, opening the door behind him so that Chuuya can step inside. “Okay, well… We close at six, so… Take your time.”
“I’ll be in and out in an hour, kid. Promise.”
The boy sighs, giving Chuuya one last skeptical once-over, before he relents, stepping back out of the room. “Okay, well… Enjoy your time,” he says, before stepping back into the hall and closing the door with a soft click.
Once Atsushi is out of sight, Chuuya deflates, releasing all of the tension that he was clinging to in order to keep himself standing. He doesn’t even look back before letting himself fall, collapsing into the familiar embrace of a ratty old green couch that is well-worn with Chuuya’s shape. His head falls back against the backrest, arms and legs sprawled at his side.
He’s emotionally exhausted.
He closes his eyes and takes in deep, full breaths, trying to clear the fog of emotions from his mind, but it doesn’t come easy. It isn’t until he hears a chorus of excited shuffling and meowing, something insistently brushing up against his calf, before a light weight jumps up onto his thigh that he lets himself smile.
Opening his eyes, he’s met with the sight of two wide, yellow eyes staring up at him. The lean, fluffy form of a white cat with gray stripes is perched on his lap, meowing sweetly. Chuuya coos in response, lifting his hand to stroke Tiger’s back.
He can spot Rashomon, the black tomcat sleeping away on one of the wall-mounted cat hammocks. He barely throws Chuuya a glance before settling back down to continue his nap. Not that Chuuya minds.
Goldie is contentedly playing with two of the younger cats on the floor: Snow, her favorite, while Rain is doing his best to join in.
He scans them all, happy to see them doing well–a little bittersweet to see them all still here, since it means none of them have been adopted.
Still, he is searching for one familiar face. Whether or not she’s out and about always depends on her mood and her energy level. She doesn’t always come to Chuuya, which is fine usually, but today, he really needs–
Mrow.
It’s a disgruntled, rumbling sound that reaches him, causing him to snap his head to the right.
A hunched, scraggly old tortoiseshell cat has snuck up next to him, eyes narrowed at Tiger. The younger cat shrinks back, jumping off of Chuuya’s lap as if chastised, and Chuuya tsks.
“Hey, you old crone, be nice.”
Nonetheless, he scoops the old cat up into his arms, even as she growls at him, and holds her against his chest. She wrestles with him for a moment to get comfortable, and then gives up and flops down against him.
She seems as tired as Chuuya feels, but that’s nothing new for her. Still, it eases something in his chest.
Arahabaki mrows at him again, pressing her head demandingly against one of his palms, and he obeys by rubbing her behind the ears. The purr she starts up is quiet and low, but this close, Chuuya can feel it in his bones.
All of the cats at the cat café are up for adoption, and Chuuya would take them all if he could. But Baki? Baki is his girl. As soon as he gets out of his shitty, no-pets-allowed apartment, she’s coming home.
The thought is almost enough to erase the shitty day he’s had.
“Boys suck, Baki,” he grumbles, pressing his face into her fur.
She makes a noise of complaint, but Chuuya takes it as an agreement.
He sits there for a good twenty minutes, letting himself melt into the cozy atmosphere of the cat room. Occasionally, the other cats will cautiously approach for absent-minded pets, but ultimately leave him to Baki’s embrace. It’s almost enough to distract him from the awful events of the day. Not completely, but it’s quiet, and that’s what matters.
That is, until he hears Akutagawa’s muffled voice coming from the other side of the door, and then the rattle of the doorknob.
Chuuya perks up, expecting his food to be here. And sure enough, the door swings open to reveal the dark-haired barista, carrying a tray of snacks and drinks, only–
“Dry your shoes out here before you step inside.”
–he isn’t alone.
Looming just behind Akutagawa is a tall, dark, wispy shadow of a man. He’s dressed in a dark brown overcoat, which provides the only bulk noticeable on the man from a distance. His hair is shaggy and dark, in that way that makes it hard to tell if its black or brown exactly, and the somber eyes peeking out from behind his fringe are just as nebulous.
He’s also drenched.
Not that Chuuya has any place to judge, but unlike Chuuya, this man does enter with an umbrella at his side, dripping water onto the ground.
Somehow, Chuuya doesn’t think that drying his shoes will save the furniture from the drowned mess that has walked into the cat room.
Akutagawa props the door open with his hip so that the man can shuffle inside, before quickly shutting the door behind him to prevent any cats from escaping. Once done, he makes his way over to the side table next to Chuuya’s couch and sets the tray down. They briefly make eye contact, and Akutagawa gives him a noncommittal shrug, before turning back towards the exit.
“Enjoy your stay,” he says, much more flatly than Atsushi’s attempts at customer service, and slips back out of the door again, like he was never there to begin with.
Chuuya feigns interest in the snack tray, quickly scooping up his latte and taking a slow, indulgent sip. He sighs, feeling the warmth of the drink spread through his chest and up into his head.
He dares a glance up at the newcomer, and–
He’s… yet to take a seat. He’s still just standing in the center of the room, and–
He’s staring.
At Chuuya.
Before Chuuya can look away again awkwardly, their eyes meet. And suddenly, Chuuya feels like he couldn’t look away if he wanted to.
The man’s eyes are brown. Chuuya can tell that much, now. They’re dark because of the shadows cast over his face by the hair falling in front of his face, but he gets the feeling that, if the light could catch them, they might really be a much warmer, brighter color. They draw Chuuya in, settling something thick and unknowable over his shoulders.
Chuuya clears his throat. “Did you, um… Need something?”
The man doesn’t answer.
“...You can take a seat. I don’t own the room.”
Finally, the man blinks, almost like he’s surprised. He looks around the room slowly, eyes falling on a lounge chair behind him, and he slowly shuffles over to sink down into it. He has to bunch his knees up a little comically to sit in it all the way, but he doesn’t complain or make any move to find a chair more suited to his height. He doesn’t even take his coat off, his umbrella still sitting draped over his lap.
…Alright.
Chuuya looks back down at Baki, who has stopped purring, even as he combs his fingers through her fur. She’s staring at the man on the other side of the room intently, tension rippling through her body with each stroke of Chuuya’s hand down her spine.
When Chuuya looks back up, Snow and Rain are both sniffing curiously at his feet. The man doesn’t move to pet them, or pick them up, or much of anything really, simply staring at the kittens with a neutral expression.
… Alright.
The snack tray still has the plate with his muffin on it–blueberry, just like Chuuya wanted–only there isn’t one muffin, but two on his plate.
Momentarily, Chuuya wonders if perhaps it was ordered by the newcomer, but… Well, it’s on his plate. Akutagawa would have separated them, and the other man has made no moves for it, which can only mean…
Akutagawa just… gave him an extra.
God, he must really look bad for Akutagawa to try cheering him up.
On one hand, it’s mortifying to know that he’s not covering up his heartbreak as well as he thought, but on the other hand… it’s a sweet gesture. It’s not one that Akutagawa would make for just anyone, and it’s not something he’s comfortable doing. He didn’t even say anything about it.
It’s just a muffin, but…
Something in Chuuya’s chest clenches as he holds the two measly little baked goods in his hands.
“Are you going to cry?”
The unfamiliar voice cuts through his happy little moment, startling him back to the present as he lifts his gaze to find the stranger still sitting across from him.
“What?” Chuuya asks dumbly.
In the time since the redhead last looked at him, the man has become… inundated with cats. Rain, Snow, Tiger, and even Goldie are all draped over him in some fashion, over his leg or over the arm of the chair or resting on his shoulder. He hasn’t changed his position at all, seemingly content to let the felines climb all over him like a personal playground.
“I’m–I’m not crying?” Chuuya says, blinking his eyes instinctively in case there are any traitorous tears trying to slip free due to his sudden influx of friendship feelings. His eyes feel a little warm, but no, he isn’t close to crying status yet.
“But you were earlier.”
Chuuya stares, dumbfounded, unsure of how to respond. It doesn’t sound like an accusation–the man’s voice sounds alarmingly disinterested in a conversation that he initiated. It’s a full voice, even it it feels fragile around the edges.
“I… No, I wasn’t.”
The man hums, disbelief tainting the sound. “Right.”
“I wasn’t.”
“Okay.”
“I wasn’t!”
“I already said okay.”
Silence settles again after that, but the man still doesn’t look away from Chuuya.
Chuuya suddenly feels exposed, uncomfortable with the way the man is observing him. Because how would he know?
Yes, on the drive to the café, Chuuya may have shed a few frustrated tears, but it was easy to blame it on the wind whipping around him. Even if he was wearing a helmet. It was something Chuuya refused to acknowledge, wiping his face clean and making sure he wasn’t red and puffy when he entered the building. Not even Atsushi and Akutagawa, his friends, noticed.
Just what is this guy looking at?
“Bad date?”
“Hah?”
“I asked if you had a bad date.”
“What–Why would–” Chuuya sputters. “Not that it’s any of your damn business, but what would make you think that?”
“It’s Valentine’s Day, and you’re dressed up, alone in a cat café at three-thirty in the afternoon.”
Dressed up?
Chuuya glanced down at his outfit, half hidden under Baki’s body.
…He supposes he is. He did break out one of his nicer shirts (his nicest) and a good pair of shoes (his favorite). He wasn’t dressing to impress, necessarily, (he was) but he wanted to look good.
He looks back up at the other man, taking in his appearance fully up close for the first time. His coat is spread out a little now, showing off a white dress shirt and a pair of slimming dark slacks. He has a pair of round-rimmed glasses hooked on the collar of a dark brown sweater vest, making Chuuya wonder if he actually needs them or if he’s one of those people that wears glasses purely for show.
“Well, so are you,” he shoots back.
“Mm. I also went on a bad date,” the man responds without an ounce of shame.
“I never said I did.”
“Didn’t you?” he says, something like smugness curling around his words.
Chuuya snorts, taken aback by the man’s sheer audacity. “Well, good for you. Now fuck off.”
The man’s lips twitch, and he finally lets go of his grip on the umbrella with one hand, reaching over to scratch Snow’s back. The kitten arches into his touch, getting up onto her little legs, before flopping onto her back and attacking his fingers with a vengeance only a kitten can muster. The man seems unbothered by the pinpricks of her tiny teeth and claws, watching her silently.
“Oof. I can see why the date went badly. Such a foul-mouthed shorty.”
“Excuse me? Who are you calling short?”
“You.”
“I’m not short, I’m still–”
“Did you get stood up?”
Chuuya’s mouth snaps shut. He’s been avoiding actually saying the words up until this point, not ready to admit it to himself just yet and deal with all that it entails. Hearing someone else point it out so blatantly, like it’s obvious, makes Chuuya’s body go rigid.
When he doesn’t respond, something in the man’s expression shifts, almost… sympathetic.
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
And maybe it’s the sudden shift in tone, like a switch was flipped somewhere inside of the stranger, turning his tone from detached and mocking to so deeply sincere, that smooths out the edges of Chuuya’s flaring temper.
He’s still upset, don’t get him wrong. But his next question comes out with much less bite than he initially intended.
“What, are you going to tell me that you got stood up, too?”
The man blinks. “Hm? Oh, no,” he says, shaking his head. “She slapped me and walked out on me in the middle of the restaurant.”
“...Oh.”
“Oh.”
Chuuya shifts awkwardly in his seat. “I’m… sorry to hear that?”
The man shrugs.
It’s then that something occurs to Chuuya, something that doesn’t align with the man’s story.
“Wait, don’t you have to reserve a timeslot here in advance?”
The man seems to consider Chuuya’s question for a moment, before nodding. “Yes. I booked this appointment a week in advance.”
“When you knew you had a date?”
He nods again. “I always have a backup plan in case that’s how it goes.”
“You get slapped that often?”
“Is that surprising?”
Chuuya stops to consider the man before him. “...Not really. Your social skills kind of suck ass.”
“I’m very charming!” the man exclaims in a sudden burst of childlike indignation, eyes wide. Chuuya doesn’t believe it for a second.
“What did you say to her, then? To make her slap you?” Chuuya asks, lifting his latte to his lips.
The man hums thoughtfully. “Hmm… I suppose it was when I asked her if she would be interested in killing herself with me.”
Chuuya chokes, inhaling hot tea down the wrong pipe, causing him to cough and hack.
“You– What?”
“What? It’s my usual opener.”
“Your opener? I thought you said this was a date!”
“It was! I never said it was my date.”
“Okay, Christ, you’re going to have to explain this to me.”
The man sighs dramatically, as if Chuuya is simply not listening. “I saw a lonely lady sitting at a table in the restaurant down the road. I went inside, sat across from her, and made my proposal. However, she was apparently not alone, and her date returned from the bathroom at just that precise moment to witness her slap me. He looked rather unhappy as well, so I chose that opportunity to escape.”
Chuuya can only gape at him, somewhere between horrified and… oddly amused?
“You’re a lunatic.”
The man, somehow, seems taken aback. “That’s quite a thing to say to someone who just told you that they’re looking to kill themselves.”
“Oh, it’s got nothing to do with that. You’re a whole different breed of crazy. No wonder you can’t keep a date–your social skills are absolutely insufferable.”
For some reason, that answer seems to please him. “You seem to be suffering me quite well.”
“Are you kidding?”
“You haven’t been thinking about your shitty date since we started talking, have you?”
And just like that, Chuuya’s mind grinds to a halt. Because… No. He hasn’t.
This is the lightest he’s felt since the moment he realized Mark wasn’t just late for their lunch date. Since the waitress filled his drink for the sixth time in row, throwing him sympathetic looks that he resolutely refused to meet while he tried to come up with some plan to leave the restaurant with his dignity intact.
The man watches Chuuya’s eyes widen in realization, and finally, his expression cracks. It’s a slow, creeping smile that slides its way onto his face, thin and wavering, flashing just the barest hint of teeth. He averts his eyes, rolling his head to the side, almost shyly.
Chuuya was reading him as strangely mature, older than himself, but… Like this, the man seems… boyish.
“...Sorry,” he mumbles, just loud enough for Chuuya to make out. “Bad social skills.”
And–
Oh.
Something in Chuuya flutters.
What the hell is that?
Whereas Chuuya couldn’t get the man’s eyes off of him before, now he’s avoiding looking at the redhead at all costs, now engrossed in his little game with Snow still on his thigh.
“I, um…” Chuuya begins, and even though the man doesn’t lift his head, he can tell he’s listening. “I got stood up. Yeah.”
The man’s smile turns into more of a grimace. “I didn’t mean you had to–”
“I got stood up,” Chuuya cuts him off, insistent, though the words taste sour on his tongue. “And it isn’t the first time for me, either. I get stood up a lot. Or ditched. People… They usually find something better. And I guess I’m just tired of always doing the pursuing instead of… being… pursued, I guess.”
He clears his throat awkwardly again.
“So… There. Now we’re even.”
“...I don’t think we are.”
Chuuya wrinkles his nose. “What do you mean by that?”
“I don’t know, I think I unveiled some pretty deep-seated psychological issues.”
“Hey, so did I!”
“Mmhm, but did you get hit in your story?”
“...”
“I didn’t think so~”
Chuuya scoffs, reaching over and snatching the other muffin from his tray. He reels back and chucks it at the man seated across from him, and the brunet jumps, arms scrabbling to catch the treat. The cats, perturbed by the sudden movement, all jump from the man’s chair down to the floor, leaving him a picture of surprise.
“There,” Chuuya grins. “Some sugar for your poor boo-boo. Now we’re even.” He takes a victorious bite of his own muffin, uncaring of the crumbs that fall down onto his chest and into Baki’s fur.
The man doesn’t move, staring at Chuuya with something like wonder. When he does finally lower his arms, gingerly unwrapping the sudden gift, he takes the smallest, most unsure bite that Chuuya has ever seen anyone take out of anything, but when he does, he smiles.
They chat a bit more after that, exchanging stories and throwing snark back and forth. Chuuya tries to seat Baki in the other man's lap, but she just growls at him and hisses when his hands get too close. He seems delighted by her, even when she scratches him.
Eventually, Chuuya’s timeslot ends. Atsushi might have offered to let him stay longer, but Akutagawa is only so generous, and Chuuya wouldn’t feel right about it anyway. When Akutagawa comes for him, Chuuya gathers his own dishes together, resolute in his desire to clean up after himself. Before he leaves, he crouches down to give Baki a big kiss on the head and a promise to see her tomorrow, before placing her on her favorite cushion by the window.
He waves to the man casually as he leaves, which he doesn’t return. Chuuya doesn’t seem too bothered by that.
Akutagawa watches Atsushi meet Chuuya at the end of the hall before they both round the corner, out of sight. Before he can close the door and follow them, the man in the room speaks up.
“Ryuu,” he says, halting the younger boy. “Who was that?”
Akutagawa looks back at him. “...Why, did you bother him?”
“Why is that your first conclusion?”
“Because I know you, Dazai. Unfortunately.”
“You live next to me. That’s not the same,” Dazai says.
“Believe me, I wish it wasn’t.”
“So crabby. How’s Gin?” he asks, rolling his head to look at the boy he’s lived next to since they were both children, a smile on his face.
Akutagawa’s eyes narrow into slits at the mention of his sister, his permanent frown cutting deeper into his face, weighing which answer he would rather divulge. “...Chuuya. His name is Nakahara Chuuya.”
Dazai hums pleasantly, gazing back up at the ceiling, something wistful in his expression that Akutagawa isn’t familiar with.
“Chuuya,” Dazai mumbles, rolling the syllables on his tongue. “I think I’m going to pursue him.”
There’s a few moments of quiet as Dazai’s words hang in the air, before Akutagawa sighs heavily.
“I don’t even want to know what that means,” he says, before closing the door, leaving Dazai to be Dazai for a while in peace.