Work Text:
(I)
If Fates were fair, they would have given Chuuya some sort of warning about today. That today was going to be a page pulled straight out of one of those shoujo mangas Kyouka loves to read. He has laughed his ass off at some of the absolute dumbshit happening in those romantic stories but Kyouka always very ominously insists that one day, the same would happen to him and that’s when he too would become a believer of true love. Well, that’s today—the day a non-believer like him can’t help but relate to the heroine of the manga who falls in love at first sight and spends the rest of 300-odd chapters pining after him with nothing to go by but his memory etched deep into her heart.
The day had begun as any other blue Monday; nothing to indicate the curveball that was to be thrown into his monotonous existence. Chuuya was seated on the cold bench, his favorite red and white scarf wrapped around his neck and over a dark blue turtleneck and his usual black jacket, sipping on his morning coffee, watching the trains pull up in front of the long line of impatiently waiting passengers, the crowd piling hurriedly into the coaches before the whistle blew off. So mundane, he mused. What’s the point of all this? A routine to be repeated daily without a break? Why won’t something interesting happen today?
It was pointless to hope for any adventure. Only five minutes were left before his own train pulled up at the station. Sighing, he had dragged himself to his feet to join the line when his mid-twenties existential crisis was broken by a soft voice at his back. “Excuse me?”
He turns and the world around him comes to an abrupt stop. Or, at least, what must have happened because for one long moment, he is frozen to his spot, his brain only able to make out some details like lips forming words, a hesitant smile waning out fast, the slight questioning tilt of head...
And then, he snaps out of his reverie. Oh. A man is standing by his side, his gaze flitting between Chuuya and the people passing by them, clearly wondering if he should leave this eccentric person lost in his daydreams alone and ask someone else about whatever his query was.
Chuuya coughs into his gloved fist. Talk about awkward. Did he just stare open-mouthed at a complete stranger? “Oh, sorry. Are you talking to me?”
Fucking stupid. Who else is he talking to? No one is next to them.
The man clears his throat. “Yeah—uh, do you know if the train to the Central Library arrives on this platform?”
Chuuya considers for a moment. His thoughts are all still muddled and incoherent. Why does he feel so light-headed? Is it because of the cologne the stranger is wearing or something? Smells good, though, his brain very unhelpfully provides him.
“Um, in five minutes, I think.” Wait. “I mean, yeah, this is P5... I mean, uh. Yes, the train arrives on P5.” Can’t he form a sentence without messing up his words?! He risks a look at the man’s face to gauge his expressions. He must think Chuuya is a complete airhead. Instead, he is wearing a kind, understanding look that immediately warms his surroundings (or his face.)
“Ah, I see. Thank you for your help.” And he pauses and adds, “Stressful Monday?”
“What... Monday?”
Before the man could explain himself, his own train slowly pulls up before them. “Well, I suppose this is your train.” Chuuya is about to ask how he knows but then he smiles, his pretty eyes crinkling at the corners and Chuuya almost actually misses his train.
“See you around then. Have a nice day!”
Only later, while pulling up the reports for the day, he has a sudden realization that the stranger assumed his being so out of it was because of start–of–week–stress and the idiot that he is, Chuuya had blanked out there too. Worse, he didn’t even get a chance to ask his name, his occupation or his phone number (well, the latter is impossible anyway. He’d have imagined Chuuya is a total weirdo if he did that. Only people like Dazai could pull something like that and get away with it.)
So much for love at first sight.
His coworkers are never gonna join him for lunch again after how much he railed about the day to them. Even newbie Akutagawa— the Akutagawa who used to hang on his every word saying yes, Chuuya–san–I will do it, Chuuya–san— scurried off, making some or the other excuse about picking up Gin from school or whatever. The disrespect is real these days. Chuuya has to keep an eye on the kid. He is becoming cheekier day by day.
Home is no better.
“How was school, Kyouka–chan?”
“Hmm. As usual. What about you? Did you catch a love bug?”
“Wh-what?! Bug—what?” His face involuntarily reddens till it matches the locks of his hair flopped over his forehead. “What the—what are you talking about?!”
She merely shrugs and takes another bite of her crepe.
Why are younger sisters so damn perceptive?
In a way, Kyouka might have been right. He doesn’t want to admit it but it’s been three days in a row now and he can’t even get a wink of sleep. All day he spends wondering who the attractive stranger might have been. At night, he dreams of soft hair tipped over pretty eyes, lips tilting upwards in a delicate smile, scent of his cologne filling his senses and wakes himself up before his dreams could take a wilder turn.
(II)
Just when he was making up his mind that it was a once-in-a-lifetime kind of encounter and will never happen again, the impossible happened.
Café Sky☆Casino, situated in his workplace neighborhood, is one Chuuya frequented often, not only because of the perfect beverages they make but also for the quiet interiors. After being holed up for the whole afternoon in conference rooms and phone calls, this café is always the one he visits for a cup of coffee or two to clear his head.
So, it is today. After placing his usual orders, he had taken the one table next to the long daylight window, his cheek propped on his palm, watching the life going on below them when he heard the familiar voice in the café.
The guy from five days ago is standing at the counter! A mere few feet away from him…!
His first thought—Chuuya has probably completely gone mad after all. Has he started hallucinating random citizens to resemble the handsome stranger just because he is on his mind 24/7? But then, the manager Sigma’s answering voice flows in and he realizes he isn’t dreaming. The man is really here...at his favorite café of all places!
“Um, is everything okay?”
“What?!” Oh. The server, a teenager named Atsushi, is standing next to his table, bearing his coffee on a platter, a concerned look on his face. “Ye-ea, yeah, everything is okay!” I just saw the guy I haven’t been able to get my mind off of for a week now but I have no idea how to up and talk to him the way Dazai charms every girl who comes his way so I am sitting here like a dummy staring at his pretty profile while he smiles and talks and hands over his card because I have nothing better to do but yeah otherwise everything is okay.
Satisfied by his answer, Atsushi smiles and proceeds to set his coffee before him while Chuuya, quite ruefully, watches the retreating back of his crush. He was so close! Why won’t he look around the café before leaving? Why would he simply pick up his order and leave? Why the hell would he not spare even a look at Chuuya?! I am sitting right here! I am here! Look at me! Damn it.
He can clearly hear Dazai’s mocking voice inside his head: LOL notice me senpai {{{(>_<)}}} exactly like the heroine of the shoujo manga pfft!
Chuuya doesn’t care. He desperately needs some answers if he is gonna get any sleep tonight. He is ready to resort to any means to get information even if it means having to bury what remains of his self-respect. At this point, does he even have any left? He doesn’t know.
“Atsushi–kun?”
“Yes, Chuuya–san?”
“Do you know the gentleman who just left?”
Atsushi frowns at the door in his attempt to recall the last exit—there aren’t many customers here... you must remember, right? Come on! — and then, brightens in his usual naïve manner which calms down Chuuya as well. Atsushi knows; and the good boy that he is, he won’t ever find his question suspicious or weird. “Ah, him? That was Dostoyevsky–san. He is a senior neurologist at the Yokohama General.”
“Oh, that so?” The GH? It’s where Dazai works! He might know—no, no! No way am I gonna ask that bastard... I will never hear the end of it!
Another good thing about this kid: he doesn’t need much incentive to carry on a conversation. As long as Chuuya lends him an ear and acts interested, he’d keep on talking till the manager scolds him for chit–chatting and slacking on duty. “Yeah!” he continues excitedly. “He is actually our benefactor, you know. It was he who found the money for Sigma–san to start this café. He visits us often— almost every day, in fact— and, know what’s even better? He tips heavily, ha-ha!”
“I see. But... how come I have never seen him before if he is a daily visitor? I come here almost every day too.”
“You have never seen him before?” Chuuya shakes his head. No doubt about it. He’d surely remember such a pretty face if he has seen it before. “Ah! Maybe, because you usually come in the evenings and he comes here in the mornings?”
“Meaning, today is the first time he is visiting in the evening?”
“Guess so?” And he hesitates. “Why...? Is anything...?”
“Ah, no–no. Nothing.” Shit! Even Atsushi has started to become suspicious now?! “Sigma–san called him by a foreign name so, I was merely curious.”
“Oh, yeah! He is from Russia—” Chuuya was oh so eagerly waiting to learn more interesting facts about the Russian doctor but his luck had to run out with Sigma calling for Atsushi to attend table 5 immediately.
“Gotta go, Chuuya–san. Enjoy your coffee!”
Well, Chuuya shouldn’t be too greedy anyway. This is more information than what he expected to obtain. He is content.
At least, for now.
(III)
A few days and a number of failed attempts in finding the man on any kind of social networking sites later, Chuuya has slowly started to realize that everyone and their dogs seem to know Dostoyevsky. Once he came to know his name, he just couldn't seem to un–hear it.
Chuuya had entered the boss’ room to submit his finished report and was waiting for him to make some remarks about the audit sheets (because finance is all that the boss is concerned about, anyway) when his cellphone rang.
“Dostoy, old boy~!”
The boss rises from his revolving chair and walks up and down the room, chatting with the caller punctuated by his usual loud guffaws. His behavior always grates on Chuuya’s nerves but he only lets it pass because of the good pay. Wonder if the caller’s ears will be okay after the call?
But the name had already stuck to him without his conscious volition. Dostoy? As in Dostoyevsky?
Next to him, the secretary Ms. Alcott offers him an apologetic smile. “Chuuya–kun, it might take him a while to finish,” she murmurs with a sidelong glance at their boss. “You can sit on the couch if you want?”
“Oh, I am good, thanks.” I wanna know... who the boss is talking to. Is he the same Dostoyevsky I have in mind?
He swallows his question. The boss is no doubt talking to his friend or a close acquaintance. It won’t be professional to pry into his personal matters. Moreover, knowing Alcott, she’d probably shrug and say she doesn’t know. She is the most workaholic creature he has ever met in his life. If Chuuya were Mr. Fitzgerald’s secretary, he might tear up the files every five second either because of the work overload or the boss’ boisterous manners. Ms. Alcott is really a saint born to look after Gerald Inc..
Fitzgerald seems frustrated by how his call went. He slumps into his chair and shakes the phone, the screen now gone dark.
“Alcott, look at this rat! He never ever gives me a chance to prove the power of my true friendship! At this rate, he is gonna forget my unforgettably fabulous face!”
“Did you invite him for skydiving?! Again!”
“He refused me again, Alcott! That’s the point here! Why are you taking his side?! My offer for true friendship has been rejected thrice now! I, the Great Fitzgerald—!”
“Um, sir?” Alcott gulps. “Maybe he doesn’t like skydiving? Maybe, try inviting him out for some other sport?”
“Oh, that’s a good idea.” He wags an approving finger at her. “Well, let’s see... how about skysurfing?” She gulps again as he ticks off his options on his fingers. “Rock climbing? Scuba diving? Skiing? Heli-skiing? How about bungee jumping? No?” Seeing her face pale more at each word, he sighs and gives up. “Why can’t normal people like some kind of normal sport?”
“These are all normal sports?!!”
“What else? Chuuya–kun, do you indulge in any adventure sport? Let’s see if you have any better suggestions for this hermit friend of mine.”
Chuuya glances between Alcott’s encouraging smile and their boss’ eager expression, trying to read the room, trying to figure out if the boss is joking. “I like motorbike racing but—”
“Whoa! Really? What club are you in? I will consider putting my money on you after seeing your performance. Schedule this in, Alcott. We are going to Chuuya’s next match.”
“But, sir! We were discussing Dr. Dostoyevsky here!”
“Oh, right.” He taps on his phone screen and presses the green icon to call his friend again. “I have plenty of suggestions now.”
“But, sir!—”
She huffs in resignation as the boss rises from his chair with his phone to his ear and turns to Chuuya with a pained smile. Perhaps, he is wrong about the limit to her patience after all.
“Dr. Dostoyevsky and Mr. Fitzgerald were housemates during their college days,” she informs him with a fondness in her voice nevertheless. “Ever since he arrived in Japan, Mr. Fitzgerald has been inviting him out on one adventure after the other and… well, that’s how it’s going.”
She nods at the taller man waving his hand, passionately insisting that there can be no better remedy for his heart than jumping off a cliff. Chuuya hears the Russian’s soft voice in his mind and tries to imagine him trying to get in a word over Fitzgerald’s before finally giving up.
“His friend hasn’t been in Japan for long?”
“Three years now. They go out for dinner at times but Mr. Fitzgerald insists that an adventure sport is the path to building a lifelong friendship—break bread, break bones. Apparently.”
“Ha–ha, th–that’s quite an interesting... philosophy?”
Alcott giggles too in a moment of a shared camaraderie because of their atrociously rich boss with zero social sense. “I will take your report, Chuuya–kun and let you know the proceedings afterward. This, uh, this might take a while and I don’t wanna keep you from your daily duties.”
Later, his mind makes a very useless deduction—if Dostoyevsky is Fitzgerald’s college mate and of the same age as him, he’d be well over thirty-five now. Chuuya knows the boss has a daughter of five, for he can’t shut up about her on any good day.
Meaning, Dostoyevsky too must be married and having kids!
Chuuya sighs and stares up at the ceiling of his bedroom. He is undergoing the shoujo–style pining for the impossible at its finest.
Damn! This is all his fault! WHY DID HE have to look so pretty on a Monday morning? WHY DID HIS lips have to be so attractive so I couldn’t stop staring at them and notlistentohiswords a t all? WHY DID HIS eyes have to be theveryshapeIlike—pretty, downturned, violet? WHY DID HIS fingers have to look so spindly and elegant? Why the hell washenotcoveringthemonacoldmorning?!
Thisisallhisfuckingfault! Thisisallhisfaultfuckhjhsjghahhhh!!!
“Chuuya! Shut up!” His mother in all name and purpose slams aside the door. “What are you yelling for?! Why did he—why did he—why did he do WHAT?! People gotta sleep here and wake up early tomorrow!”
He stares in open–mouthed horror at Kouyou, realizing he has been yelling and ranting about Dostoyevsky out loud . Fuckfuckfuck...
“I–I was talking, no, in my sleep—in my dreams, I mean,” he stammers. “Not a nightmare!” he quickly reassures her. I am going crazy pining over a pretty definitely–not–single foreigner. “I will sleep well now. Good night, anesan!”
(IV)
Again, when he went out with Dazai and their mutual friend, Odasaku, who works as a teacher at Kyouka’s school.
Out of nowhere, the mackerel started staring pointedly at Chuuya and saying there could be no nightmare greater than dating ‘that demon Dostoyevsky’.
“What the hell are you looking at me for?!” Quickly to change the subject, he takes a quick swig of his drink, desperately hoping he isn’t blushing. Dazai can be eerily perceptive at times but this is beyond belief. Chuuya hasn’t breathed a word about the Russian stranger he encountered at the subway station to Dazai. “Ango didn’t come out tonight?”
“Work, apparently.” Dazai brushes off the topic with a careless wave. “Stop trying to change the topic, chibi! Tell me what you find oh–so attractive about that creep. He seriously gives me the heebie–jeebies.”
“I don’t even know what you are talking about, shitty Dazai! Now shut up and let me have a drink in peace.”
But Dazai had done his damage. Chuuya starts to wonder what it is that Dazai finds so creepy about Dostoyevsky. Again, Dazai can’t be trusted too much. If he hates someone for whatever reason, he will make sure to bitch about them everywhere, even invent stories that never even happened just for the sake of it. Chuuya knows him well. Maybe, being allocated a ton of brain cells for deductions and observations and photographic memory and whatnot leaves him childish and immature in other ways.
Both Atsushi and Alcott spoke highly of the Russian. Surely, they will mention if something is off about the guy, right?
Wait.
I don’t have a crush on him! I don’t want to date him!
Why the hell am I wondering if he is a creep or not? Why does it even matter to me?! He must be thirty–five odd years and married for fuck’s sake!
But... the words slip out of his mouth before he’d slap a hand over his mouth.
“Is he even single, though?”
“Are you hearing this, Odasaku?! Are you hearing this! My chibi, my partner-in-crime,”
“What crime?! You were the one who—!”
“—MY stray dog! Possessed! Chibi, the demon inside you must be exorcised! NOW! Before it eats away at your entrails!”
Chuuya looks over at Odasaku for some explanation for this inexplicably stupid behavior but the older man simply shrugs and takes another nonchalant sip of his drink as if Dazai is not at all dancing around their table. Frankly, he is the one who looks possessed (not to mention, how embarrassing!)
“Oi! Is this the way a doctor should—?” behave?
“That monster can’t be vanquished by any medical practice known to the current humankind,” he cuts in without even a hint of absurdity. Chuuya tries to recall if this is not the plot of some recently released doujinshi. “We have to exorcise it using... rock salt!”
Chuuya covers his face with his hat before others in the bar recognize him and wonder how he is friends with an absolute maniac—a nuisance to society.
“7:30 p.m. every weekday and 8:30 am on alternate weekends.”
“What are you blabbering, shitty mackerel? Sit your ass down before the bartender throws us out.”
Surprisingly, Dazai obeys. He flops down onto his barstool as if all energy has all of a sudden been seeped out of him. “Those are the times your Dr. Fyodor Dostoyevsky is on general duty.”
“What?! I don’t know any—” His full name is Fyodor Dostoyevsky!
“No?” He tilts his head in that knowing manner Chuuya hates so much. “Then why did chibi look the guy up and... haha, you came up with no results ‘cause your spellings were all wrong—Dosufu–Dusuto–fusigi–fushugi—!'' He is full out laughing now, clutching his stomach and repeatedly slapping Odasaku’s back. “I should totally take a print of your search history and hand it over to him!”
“How do you—DID YOU HACK MY LAPTOP?! DAAZAAAAIII!!”
Five seconds later, they got tossed out of the bar.
All the three of them.
Along with the respectable Odasaku. He had only joined them for a quiet drink.
Chuuya has calmed down enough by this time. Dazai, on the other hand, seems least guilty, happily humming a tune under his breath as they slowly saunter up the pavement, heading for their respective homes.
“Chuuya–kun, Dazai is merely jealous of this guy—”
“I am not! Odasaku! Not you too teaming up with Ango and saying the same—”
“Or not, if you believe what he says. My point is you shouldn’t let his mindset influence your image of your crush—”
“I do not have a crush on anyone!”
“Or not a crush, if you say so. He feels insecure because the other guy skipped four to five grades to finish his med school... at what? Sixteen? While Dazai, you know, skipped two.”
Odasaku can be brutally honest at times. The result is: both of them are blushing. Dazai, because he’s been outed for his jealousy and Chuuya, because he has been outed for his crush.
Dazai is the first to recover and retaliate. “See? He can be only a monster if he has super intelligence of that sort! Who in their right brains can finish high school at twelve? If he isn’t a monster, then he is secretly an android. Oh, I might have hit the truth, eh?” He pulls at Odasaku’s arm like an excited puppy. “You met the guy once, didn’t you? Didn’t you say his face was too impassive? Cold? And his consulting room? Ugh! It’s too clean and sterile, Odasaku! It almost feels like entering a hospital!”
“But you are in a hospital?”
“That isn’t the point here!” he whines. “Think carefully. Does he or not resemble an android?”
“Androids don’t grow up, Dazai!” Chuuya sighs, mentally exhausted with his antics and his own attempts at calculating the guy’s present age.
Dazai flashes him a toothy smile. “O–oh, shrimpy going full–stalker mode now, huh? He is 29 now—don’t fry your brain too much. You need it tomorrow.”
“Oh.” Only four years older than me?!
“Yeah, only four years older!” he teases. “And, no. He isn’t married. He is very much single. One of those types cursed to remain single forever. Just like you, chibi! It’s a match made in heaven~!”
“Shut up!” By now, Chuuya knows his face has attained shades of red too hard to get rid of now. He can literally feel his blood pumping into his face. “Tell me how you looked at my search history.”
“Heh–hehe, not gonna say. But I have my sources everywhere!”
(V)
It wasn’t too hard to sniff out his sources. Little sisters make the most terrifying spies of the world.
Nothing, nothing at all, is safe from them.
He has changed the password to the entry screen now. But it’s only a matter of time before she figures this out too.
That is one problem solved.
But there is one more problem: namely, a pair of big doe eyes following him around—looking so apologetic and endearing that it takes everything on Chuuya’s part to not forgive the owner on the spot.
But Kyouka needs to learn her lesson. She must not snoop about on her older brother’s personal laptop when he isn’t present.
“Okay, okay! I get it so leave me alone!”
“Are you mad at me? You are still mad at me. Right?”
“Listen, we can talk about it in five minutes. For now, let a man take a piss in peace, jeez!”
“Okay.” She withdraws her nose peeking through the sliver of gap in the door and shuts it properly. He double–checks the bolt before proceeding to do his business.
Seriously.
Kyouka is standing right outside the bathroom and Chuuya almost trips on his foot trying to balance himself on the narrow landing.
“What now? I said you are forgiven. Just don’t do this again. Also, why, Dazai of all people, Kyouka? You know how I hate him, no?”
“But you go out drinking with him.”
He rolls his eyes. “That’s because he begs me to go out with him! Begs, okay?! Jeez.”
“Sorry. I made you angry again.”
He shakes his head like it doesn’t matter but no shaking off the girl who’s been following him around like a kicked puppy all day. Now, he’s sat down at his desk in his room but she is still at his elbow, her shiny wet eyes peering at him from behind what looks like the newest volume of her favorite manga.
“Dazai–san—”
“If it is about the mackerel, I don’t want to hear anything.”
“He saw me staring at this copy in the store window the other day. It was the last copy but I didn’t have enough money. I was about to ask the attendant to reserve it for me but D–man–san beat me to it. He bought it before I could do anything. Once outside, he made the deal. If I send him a pic of your search history, I can have the book for free.”
“So, he tricked you into his trap. You could have waited till next week, right? Surely they restock within four to five days?”
She shakes her head solemnly. “I must have the copy as soon as it is released. I have certain rituals scheduled on the day of the release and I get my prophecies answered without further ado.”
Chuuya doesn’t know if she is being sarcastic or completely serious about her ‘ritual’. He doesn’t dare to pry. For all he knows, she might be using the copies as an ouija board to channel spirits and know the future of the manga before the writer even plans for it. Instead, he picks the book from her hands and flips through the pages. Some mystery fiction from what he can see. “It is alright reading manga and shi—stuff, but you can’t be spending all your allowance and time on this, okay? You need to focus on your school too—”
“The doctor goes to the same church as Paul–nii!”
“What?!”
Kyouka uses his momentary surprise to snatch the book out of his hand and dash out of the room.
Wow. Everyone is using his one weakness against him.
Church, huh?
He hasn’t been to churches or any kind of religious institutions since eight years old.
But Kyouka’s suggestion is far better than Dazai’s. How is he supposed to consult a doctor if he never falls sick? Chuuya stayed out in the rain the other day just to catch a cold but his physique is so good that all feverishness was gone after one hot bath.
Fuck his amazing health.
Moreover, the guy is a neurologist or some shit.
But a church is far better. Especially, if he goes with Paul and his husband, they are gonna be on cloud nine afterward. They will hope he loses his filthy mouth at least after going to church every week. Don’t know about his mouth but his thoughts are definitely gonna turn a lot filthier after every visit.
(+1)
Chuuya had never wished for a Sunday to arrive faster than he did today.
Even Kouyou was surprised he wanted to go to church but he had changed her line of thought saying it’s been long since he met up with Paul and that he was planning to spend the day with them. Kyouka was asked to go with him but she had tactically refused, citing homework and upcoming exams.
Nevertheless, he had blushed, noticing the ghost of a knowing smile on her face.
But now, having taken a place in the back pew, Paul and Arthur on either side, rising and reading the Bible and listening to the Father’s advice, he can’t be more disappointed.
The reason he rushed to attend a Sunday mass for the first time in fifteen or so years is absent.
Thankfully, the choir has started which leaves him with more time to scan the crowds for a raven–haired individual.
“Chuuya?” Paul whispers, leaning closer inconspicuously. “Is anything the matter?”
“No? Why?”
“You seem restless. This is the first time you are coming here after a long time. If you don’t feel up to it, we can always leave.”
Chuuya is about to say something when the great oak doors behind them creak a little and then, it happens… the moment he had been waiting for all week!
Through the early morning sunlight filtered through the chink in the door walks in the man of his dreams. He looks as handsome as he remembered, in his black coat and white slacks, his black knee boots clicking softly across the stone tiles as he walks to the nearest seat to the door.
The next moment, he feels his dreams shatter in his heart. A handsome, brilliantly well-dressed man walks in after him and slips into the seat right next to him. He is murmuring something to his dream guy, making him smile which not only sends his heart into overdrive but also makes him jealous because— damn! It’s Chuuya who should be making him smile like that!
Is he his boyfriend? Didn’t Dazai say he is single? Was he simply lying to toy with Chuuya’s poor heart, just so he can make fun of his hopeless crush later?
The newcomer into his love story is a foreigner too by the looks of it. Chuuya lets out a disappointed sigh.
What was he even thinking? How in the world did he decide out of nowhere that someone like Fyodor Dostoyevsky— a prodigy, a looker and more importantly, a complete stranger— would even spare a look at him?
As if hearing his thoughts, his eyes flit to Chuuya’s seat for a fraction of a second. Seemingly about to travel on— but then, they flit back to him and linger on his face for a second longer before widening in recognition.
Chuuya quickly turns away, his eyes stuck unblinking in horror. Shitshitshit the guy remembers me?! He isn’t at all prepared for this scenario. All he had planned for today is to choose the farthest seat from the front and steal a couple of glances at him, none the wiser.
Avoiding Arthur’s puzzled glances, he pulls up the lapels of his coat and buries his burning cheeks into the wool. For one long minute, he avoids even looking in the Russian’s general direction—however, curiosity getting the better of him, he risks a glance from the corner of his eye. His crush is facing forward, his palms rigidly placed on his knees whereas his companion keeps looking at Chuuya and making giggly faces (for which he gets promptly berated by the other.)
What’s his deal? Is he making fun of Chuuya?! Yeah, yeah, keep your pretty boyfriend to yourself! I am not in the least jealous! Not at all!
“Mr. Verlaine!”
The three of them stop in their path to the parking lot and turn around, trying to spot the source of the voice. It is the white haired man, the one who had come with Dostoyevsky. He is walking toward them with quick bouncy steps, clearly trying to escape his friend since the said friend keeps pulling him back and away by his coattails.
The two catch up with them soon—the white–haired man, quite excited for whatever reason compared to his friend who is actively avoiding eye contact with anyone.
“Oh, Mr. Gogol! Mr. Dostoyevsky! How have you been?”
“Never better, never better~ Today is even better because—”
“Kolya! I swear—!”
(Oh fuck. Chuuya had missed this soft voice for days. He shakes himself back to the present before he’d embarrassingly slip into a reverie right in front of his brother.)
“Hahaha, Dos–kun as shy as ever~” (This ‘Gogol’ character severely reminds Chuuya of Dazai.) “Anyway, who is our young friend? Your son?” Son?!
Paul chuckles and places a hand on his shoulder. “Ha–ha, this is my little brother, Chuuya. He is not so very little, though. He is in his mid–twenties’ like the rest of us. He just looks young because of his—oww, what?!”
Chuuya lands a punch in his guts for obvious reasons—at the same time, his crush lands his friend a punch right into his shoulder blade for something unintelligible he said in his ears. Or, rather, tries to, because the man has deftly moved out of the way to throw an arm around Chuuya’s shoulder instead.
“Chuuya–kun~? You have a very nice name and you keep your phone so ready to be pick-pocketed, hahaha~”
“Whaaat?!”
“Kolya! NO!”
“Fedya! YES!” It becomes a scuffle between the two guys with Gogol trying to type in something into his phone and the other trying to snatch it away from him but failing because of the two inches or so height advantage Gogol has over him. “You are—you two—aren’t gonna—stop it, let me type—aarrghh!—”
Presently, his phone lands back safely into the hollow of his palms.
“There you go! Just so you know my friend here is a dumbass and would never confess he has fallen for you from the moment he saw you—”
“I did not!”
“He is fully committed to living his life in denial. So! I beg you, Chuuya–kun... please take him out for one date so that he stops biting my ears off every night about the cute—mmmph!”
Wait? W a i t?!
W A I T?!!
His crush has a crush... on... him?!! On Chuuya of all people?!?
No way!! What kind of a plot twist is this?!!
Chuuya bites his lower lip to stop himself from laughing out loud. From the elation of having a date without him having to do anything or the scene of his crush dragging away his embarrassing best friend by his long braid—he isn’t sure.
He can’t wait to get home and text the guy. Maybe, even tease him about it like he had never been pining for him at all.
Oh, but before that.
He has got a bigger problem on hand. Namely, his dear brother and his brother–in–law who have very rightly guessed his true reason for the unexpected church visit and won’t stop teasing him about it throughout their drive back home.
But, eh, whatever. Sitting in the backseat of their car, he grins at the new contact stored in his phone. Fedya—an easily frightened cutie rat, please handle with care <3