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Sweat beads at the nape of Chuuya’s neck as he sprints through the small city apartment he calls home.
He nearly slips as the tatami floor beneath his feet changes to the kitchen tiles. His back curves, core engaged as he extends a hand that’s poised to shoot out a web before he freezes, the image of an enraged aunt Kouyou flashing in his mind, and he reaches for the edge of the counter instead. Chuuya huffs out a breath of relief as he steadies himself. There’s no way he could’ve risked ripping off one of the cupboard doors with his webs and come out of it alive.
Not again, anyways. Kouyou had made sure Chuuya was aware of that after the first time it happened.
Heading for the fridge, Chuuya basks in the blast of chilled air that hits his face as he pulls the door open. He leans his weight against the frame for a few seconds, letting the light sheen of sweat on his face cool off.
It’s a hot summer day, right at the beginning of August, and it seems the entirety of Yokohama is caught in a perpetual state of sweltering heat.
Of course, it doesn’t help that Chuuya’s spent most of the day at basketball practice with his friends, running and jumping around under the sun. He can already feel his tan growing darker, the smattering of freckles on the bridge of his nose and the tops of his shoulders more prominent.
His mother used to say that despite the fact that Chuuya was born in the spring, he’s always been a summer child. That he flourished with the heat and the sun. Chuuya’s never quite thought of it like that, but he supposes that he does enjoy the summer months more than most, even with the unbearable temperatures.
Dropping down into a squat, Chuuya sets out to find the bentos he’d prepared early that morning. He’s meant to meet Dazai in around thirty minutes, and Chuuya’s planning on surprising the younger with an impromptu picnic on one of the many rooftops of the city’s skyline.
He knows that Dazai’s been sulky the past few weeks over Chuuya supposedly “ditching” him for his other friends. Which is a complete lie, by the way. Dazai just loves being dramatic.
It is true that Chuuya’s been hanging out with his friends more than usual. But it’s his last summer before he enters university, the last summer he can enjoy completely free of adult responsibilities. Chuuya intends to make the most of it. Besides, unlike Dazai who's moving to the heart of Tokyo right along with him, it’s possible this is the last time he’ll see his other friends for a long time to come.
Still, Dazai is his boyfriend, as the brat so loves to remind him whenever Chuuya leaves for another basketball game after their two hour hangout. Which is why, according to the brunette, he should have priority over Chuuya’s time.
Chuuya’s most used counter is to tell Dazai that it’s not his fault the younger decides to limit his friend group to 1.5 people (apparently Kunikida doesn’t count as a full friend. . . whatever the fuck that means). Or that Dazai refuses to even leave the house if there’s any risk of him actually breaking out in a sweat.
They usually dissolve into an argument from there, though the topic quickly changes into mindless bickering, which leads to multiple mortal kombat rounds to settle stupid bets and then that somehow leads to them lazily making out on Dazai’s bed.
Regardless, even though Dazai likes to play things up for the theatrics, Chuuya can tell that he genuinely seems a little upset that they’ve been spending (relatively) less time together. And well, annoying as his boyfriend can be, Chuuya can’t have that.
Grabbing the bento boxes shoved into the corner of one of the shelves, Chuuya springs back up to get the tattered old yellow jansport backpack that hangs off the door to his room. He stuffs the pre-packaged meals inside and tugs the zipper shut, swearing under his breath as the slider gets stuck more than once along the way.
He then tosses the bag onto the bed, not bothering to see whether it lands upright as he clambers over to his closet. Reaching past the mess of coat hangers that hold his collection of zip-up hoodies and jackets, Chuuya feels around for a loose wooden panel in the back. With a swift tug, Chuuya slides the panel to the side to reveal the small hiding spot designated for his suit.
Puffing up his cheeks, Chuuya blows away the thin sheet of dust that’s collected on the black and red surface, unavoidable from being stored in the back of the closet, even if it’s only been a day since he last hid it away.
Chuuya works quickly to discard himself of his basketball shorts and tank-top, slipping into the suit with minimal fuss. It’s muscle memory at this point, born out of the many times he’d felt his spidey sense alert to danger nearby and had to scramble into his costume.
He throws a corduroy jacket on top despite the warm weather, already knowing Dazai will complain about the biting wind as soon as they’re above the skyline.
Slinging the backpack over his shoulders, Chuuya pushes the window open and perches himself on the ledge, mask in hand.
“Chuuya?” comes a familiar voice from the genkan, muffled through the door to his room he’d thankfully remembered to close. He hears aunt Kouyou gentle kick of her shoes, padded feet drawing deeper into the apartment.
Chuuya clicks his teeth, a gust of wind rushing up to blow his fringe out of his face. He glances between his door and the city five stories below, then pulls his mask over his head, covering the small smile that ticks up the corner of his mouth.
“Sorry, Kouyou-san,” he mutters into the summer air, “I’ll be home late today.”
And then, he plunges.
✴°🕷°✴
Chuuya doesn’t stop swinging through the streets until his eyes catch onto a figure, leaning out of Dazai’s dorm room in the distance. He slows down by letting his web stretch out, shooting a new string at the edge of a large billboard that sits on one of the buildings adjacent to Dazai’s academy.
Landing with a quiet thud, Chuuya moves to where his body is hidden by one of the billboard’s supports, leaning his shoulder against the slightly heated metal. Narrowing the eyes on his suit's mask, Chuuya uses his enhanced vision to get a closer look at the brunette.
Dazai’s hair glows under the remnants of a fading sun, the curves of his face dipped in a coral hue. He rests his chin on his palm, lazily tilted to the side as he looks out at the street below. Distantly, Chuuya thinks the image reminiscent of a princess gazing out at the world from the highest window of her ivory tower.
It’s a ridiculous thought of course. Apart from his family’s wealth Dazai is the furthest thing from royalty, but still it makes Chuuya smile foolishly. Fond.
Rare that it is for Chuuya to get to admire Dazai without the younger opening his mouth to inevitably spout something utterly stupid and ruin the moment, Chuuya allows himself to take in the sight for a few minutes longer. He watches as Dazai subtly turns his head left and right, and knows that he’s trying to catch sight of Chuuya swinging down the street.
Only when he sees Dazai huff and retreat back into his room does Chuuya finally set out to move once more. The wind picks up just as he jumps from the ledge of the building. Chuuya uses the upwards push to stretch his webs higher, latching onto one of the windowsills of a dorm room a couple floors higher than Dazai’s own.
Chuuya lets his web stay attached, practically repelling himself down until he’s hanging head-first outside of Dazai’s window.
“Hey!” Chuuya greets, making sure his voice is loud enough to carry through the room. “Miss me?”
Despite having his back turned, Dazai doesn’t startle at the loud voice like Chuuya had hoped. Instead, he swivels in place slowly, giving Chuuya an unimpressed once-over. “Definitely not,” he dead-pans. “Also, you’re late.”
“Am not.”
“Are too.”
Heaving a sigh, Chuuya pulls his mask up enough so that his face is uncovered. “Well, whatever,” he concedes, not wanting to pick a fight in the first five seconds already. “I’m here now.”
Dazai steps closer, arms crossed over his chest. He looks a little funny, inverted in Chuuya’s eyes. His frown seems more like a wonky smile from Chuuya’s skewed perspective, and for some reason it makes Chuuya want to laugh.
“C’mere,” Chuuya beckons. Dazai narrows his eyes suspiciously, though he does, surprisingly, obey. With one hand still holding the web steady, Chuuya reaches out the other to tangle gloved fingers in the short waves at Dazai’s nape. He pulls him in for an upside-down kiss.
Dazai grumbles quietly against his mouth at first, nipping at Chuuya’s bottom lip when the redhead chuckles. Chuuya doesn’t know if it’s the blood rushing to his head, or if it’s the sugary taste of mango ice cream that lingers on Dazai’s tongue, but somehow the kiss tastes sweeter than most.
When they break apart, there’s a gentle dusting of pink on Dazai’s cheeks that is more than just the evening sky bathing his room in reddish hues. The brunette raises an eyebrow expectantly. “Well, are you planning on just hanging there all day or are you coming inside?”
With a light chuckle, Chuuya lets go of his string of webs to flip over, landing feet first on the window ledge. “Oh, I’m not coming inside. You’re coming out.”
“Been there, done that,” is Dazai’s clever quip.
Chuuya rolls his eyes, though a few spots dance in his vision from the blood in his head rushing back down to his body. “Funny,” he says, “Now, c’mon.”
He gestures for Dazai to come closer. Dazai stares pointedly at Chuuya’s hand, then back up at his face. He turns his nose up. “And where do you plan on taking me?”
Sighing, Chuya motions once more. He knows the summer days are long, but he wants to leave sooner rather than later so they don’t miss the view of the sun slipping past the ocean’s horizon.“You’ll see.”
Dazai’s still frowning, their eyes level for once thanks to Chuuya’s vantage point perched on the ledge. It’s unfair really, how much the other teen has grown over the years. There used to be a time where Dazai was barely taller than himself, but sometime between then and his recent eighteenth birthday he’d shot up to looming at least a head above Chuuya. Probably more, if he’s honest.
It’s not always that bad though. Especially when Dazai has to curl into himself like a shrimp when they kiss standing up. Chuuya thinks that’s pretty funny. Maybe a little cute, too.
A loud huff cuts off Chuuya’s train of thoughts.
“But Chuuya,” he whines, “It’s so hot outside, and I don’t wanna walk anywhere and get all sticky and sweaty.”
At this point, Chuuya knows Dazai is just being difficult for the sake of it. Still, he bites back an exasperated groan to settle on a smirk instead, “Who said anything about walking?”
Dazai’s eyes go a little wide. It makes the brown of his irises clearer to see, the light catching in them and turning them a brilliant amber.
“You always complain about me never swinging you anywhere,” Chuuya continues. It’s not something they’ve ever done before. First it was because Chuuya had been too unfamiliar with his powers to trust himself with transporting Dazai safely. Later it turned into a thing of principle, something Chuuya would keep denying the younger as a way of pissing him off whenever he got too annoying.
Now, however, he’s feeling lenient. Softened, perhaps, with affection. With the knowledge of Dazai’s sullen expression every time Chuuya had rushed out after their hangouts lately.
“So, here’s your chance. You’re not gonna chicken out on me now, are you?” he adds on, catching the wary once-over Dazai gives him as he talks.
The brunette’s gaze immediately hardens. “Don’t act like you’re all that, Chibi,” Dazai grumbles as he makes his way over.
Chuuya snorts, though he makes sure to help Dazai as he climbs up onto the ledge. It’s a tight fit with the two of them there, but Chuuya’s got good balance, keeping them both steady as he tells Dazai to wrap his arms around his neck. His own hands reach out to help Dazai’s long legs settle around his waist, until the younger basically clings to him like a koala.
Dazai’s eyes never once leave his face the entire time.
“You okay?” Chuuya questions, more amused than truly concerned.
“Fine. Peachy,” Dazai shrugs, “Can we leave now? I’m awfully bored just sitting here.”
“You’re so—” Chuuya can’t hold back the frustrated groan this time. He heaves a long-suffering sigh before winding his arm around Dazai’s waist to pull him closer, securing him against his side.
Dazai’s breath hitches ever so slightly as he does, and the sound is enough to put a smug smile back on Chuuya’s face. “Ready, princess?” he teases, tugging his mask down over his face.
“Yes, you stupid toa— ahh!”
The brunette’s insulting quip dissolves into a startled scream, lost to the wind as Chuuya abruptly kicks off. He plummets down before shooting out his first web and pulling them up towards the nearest building.
He feels the way Dazai’s arms and legs immediately lock around him, practically trying to fuse them together. If they’d tried this even as little as a year ago, the added weight would’ve thrown Chuuya for a loop. Now, he keeps himself steady with ease, left arm reaching around to grab Dazai’s thigh while his right shoots out webs that steer them toward the other end of the city.
Chuuya laughs, loud and unrestrained, as Dazai hides his face in the crook of his neck. He knew it; his boyfriend’s smack talk had always been just that. Going on and on about how he could easily do what Chuuya does if he had his powers. How he would never, ever be scared of something as simple as swinging through the streets a couple metres above ground.
“Come on now, princess,” he quips, still laughing. “Open your eyes! You’re missing the show!”
Dazai, however, just holds on tighter. His fingernails dig almost painfully into Chuuya’s shoulder where he’s grasping onto the suit. And, okay, that wasn’t meant to happen. Chuuya falters, frowning beneath his mask.
He’d only meant to tease Dazai for hiding away after he’d acted all high and mighty so many times before, but now he realises the younger seems genuinely afraid. Through the hand on Dazai’s thigh, he feels minute tremors that he’d chalked up to the jostle of them arching through the air until now.
“Only a little further!”
He keeps his voice light, a little unsure of how to gauge Dazai’s mood. Even with the wind soaring past them, Chuuya can feel Dazai’s hot exhales on his neck. They’re a little too frequent for Chuuya’s liking. He squeezes Dazai’s thigh in what he hopes is a reassuring gesture.
True to his word, they reach the rooftop Chuuya had picked out for their date only a few minutes later. Chuuya makes sure to shift both his hands to carry Dazai’s weight, his own thighs and knees bearing the brunt of the landing.
“We’re here,” he says gently, trying to ease Dazai off of him when the younger refuses to budge.
Dazai does end up complying, standing on slightly shaky legs. Even through the eyes of his mask, Chuuya sees Dazai’s eyelashes are clumped together with tears, though he knows they’re most likely from the harsh wind than anything else.
When Dazai stumbles forward and settles into a low crouch, Chuuya gets a little more concerned. He tugs his mask off completely, shrugs the backpack off his shoulders. Slowly, he steps around to try and get a better look at his boyfriend’s face.
Dazai is somewhat alarmingly pale.
“You okay?” This time, worry coats his tone.
It takes far too long for Dazai to answer for Chuuya’s liking.
“Horrible,” Dazai mumbles, so low Chuuya barely hears it at first. “Horrible,” he repeats, a little louder. “That was— Ugh, terrible! Awful! Stupid slug, how could you do that to me?”
He sounds a little shaken still, but more annoyed than anything. Chuuya feels the steadily growing knot in his throat loosen with relief.
The redhead allows himself a chuckle. “Hey, you were the one always nagging me about it. How was I meant to know you’re deathly afraid of heights?”
“I’m not,” Dazai sneers, though it loses most of its desired effect with him still looking seconds away from throwing up. “You’re just— You suck at that. Felt like I was on the worst rollercoaster ever.”
Chuuya rolls his eyes. He zips open his backpack and starts to spread out the picnic blanket he’d brought as Dazai continues to sit hunched over with his head between his legs.
“Well, if you’re gonna throw up do it over the side of the building, would ya? And don’t let it ruin your appetite, I made bentos.”
Dazai sends him a nasty glare over his shoulder which Chuuya pointedly ignores, still setting up their picnic spot. The sun continues to glow in the distance, though it burns a deeper red now, inching further and further down the edge of the sky.
Settling down on the blanket, Chuuya kicks out his feet in front of him, leaning back on his hands and letting his eyes slip closed to take in the fading light of day. It doesn’t take long for him to hear some shuffling before a shadow crosses over his face, familiar weight sitting down at his side. He smiles.
“What did Chuuya make?” Dazai asks.
Though when Chuuya opens his eyes, the younger is already undoing the latches on one of the bento boxes. It’s a simple meal, two onigiri, some dumplings and a side of cooked edamame, but Chuuya is well aware that Dazai is a big fan of his cooking, despite how much he likes to deny the fact. He sees it now in the way Dazai is all too eager to unwrap his chopsticks.
“Thank you for the meal,” the brunette mutters under his breath, because Dazai does have manners sometimes, surprising as that is, and digs in.
It makes Chuuya happy to see him eat, knowing how bad he is at taking care of himself, often skipping meals because he’s too lazy or too ‘unskilled’ to make anything. Chuuya is half-convinced the second reason is a lie, because Dazai is extremely smart, and there’s no way he hasn’t picked up on the recipes Chuuya insists on teaching him even though Dazai insists he just doesn’t get it.
He probably only says that so he can keep getting Chuuya to cook for him instead, but whatever. Chuuya will admit that he finds it cute, if a little annoying, and he can’t say he doesn’t enjoy seeing Dazai eat the food he makes him. Chuuya opens his own box too, muttering his thanks before he joins in.
When the food is done, they dissolve into easy conversation. The wind up this high is as cold as Chuuya had imagined, and it only gets worse when the sun is finally swallowed whole by the jaws of the sea, leaving them doused in a faint cerulean light. The jacket resting on Chuuya’s shoulders ends up on Dazai’s instead, just like the older had known it would. Even then, Dazai moulds himself to Chuuya’s side so he can leech off Chuuya’s body heat. Chuuya can’t really say he minds.
With one arm still propping him up, his spare hand finds its way to Dazai’s hair, steadily brushing through and tugging on the small knots in his waves as they talk. They go on until Chuuya’s arm hurts enough that he makes them both lie down instead.
Above them, the stars have taken their rightful place in the firmament, still pale and hardly discernible in a sky that clings to the brightness of day. Dazai’s voice is a constant in his ear, taking it upon himself to give Chuuya a lesson in astronomy as he points out every constellation they can see from here, and even the ones they can’t. Chuuya doesn’t much care for the topic, but he’s thankful for the steady rhythm of Dazai’s voice, content to just let him speak for a while.
When he finally goes quiet, Chuuya turns his head to look at him.
Dazai continues to gaze up at the sky. It’s a darker blue now, but the moon is enough to keep his profile visible even in the darkness descending around them. Chuuya traces his eyes over the curves and lines of Dazai’s face, much like he had earlier. Dazai is no longer bathed in the warm lilac and coral hues that he had been then, but he still looks just as beautiful.
“Hey,” Chuuya calls out. His voice sounds a little rough. Dazai doesn’t look at him, but his head tilts enough that Chuuya knows he’s listening.
“Love you.”
A smile tugs at Dazai’s lips, humming amusedly. He doesn’t reply.
“Dickhead,” Chuuya breathes, though he’s grinning himself. He kicks at Dazai’s shin half-heartedly. “Say it back.”
Dazai finally turns towards him, though his gaze strays somewhere lower. A hand reaches out to trace over the outline of the spider symbol that sits front and centre on Chuuya’s chest.
“Love you too,” he whispers.
Chuuya’s own hand comes up to wrap around Dazai’s, the firm fabric of his suit settling against the soft skin of Dazai’s palm. He shuffles forward until their foreheads touch.
The city below offers no attempt to pry them out of their own world.
For once, the night is tranquil.
At peace.