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The first time Dazai meets Chuuya, they're both fourteen. Chuuya was a half-French half-Japanese little boy with anger issues whose father had died of a stroke and mother in a car incident, and had been moved to Okano Junior High School because of his legal guardian, Arthur Rimbaud, who just so happened to be the school director's husband. It had been a mess of paperwork and legal files, Dazai had heard, but at last, Chuuya had been given a new chance at life.
For one year, they did not interact. Dazai heard wind of Chuuya's popularity, of his striking heterochromatic eyes, of his skills in sports and literature. He wasn't interested in him back then. He wasn't interested in anything, really, and barely managed to keep himself afloat. Dazai's grades were only passable. Ironically enough, his weakest subjects were the ones Chuuya excelled at, and vice-versa. But at the time, Dazai did not pay it any mind. Maybe he never even thought of it.
They first meet the day Chuuya turns fifteen, in mid-late April, when Dazai is forced to assist the redhead's social group to arrange a birthday party. He wouldn't have agreed at all, if it weren't for his legal guardian, Mori, threatening to split his allowance in half. And Dazai really wanted to buy that one dress-up mobile game — it was very much his guilty pleasure, though, so there was no way he'd tell Mori — so he had to make a compromise. He helped Chuuya's dumb little friends.
(And the mobile game was very much worth it.)
The next day, Chuuya came up to him with rosy cheeks and wide blue-and-brown eyes. Dazai learned the same day that he'd gotten a bit of a 'teacher's pet' reputation in his school.
"You… Why would you help, out of all people?" Chuuya had sounded confused, lost, but most of all, flustered .
Dazai had caught a glimpse of an opportunity. "I was bored," he hummed, and it was only half a lie.
Chuuya's blush deepened. "Erm. Wanna hang out?"
He'd said something about not wanting to spend time with slugs, earning a delightfully explosive reaction, but in the end, Dazai accepted the request. And the one that came the day before, and every other ones, too. In barely a month, Dazai and Chuuya had become the new popular duo. They were inseparable. Attached at the hip. They walked each other to school, ate lunch together, studied together, and slept together in the same room. Rumours about a relationship bloomed fast, as it often was the case for teenagers their age, and though at first they weren't quite true, it only took another month and a rushed fifteenth birthday for them to become accurate.
They graduated. They were each-other's first relationship, first kiss, first time, and first everything. Dazai didn't like to settle, but he often thought that he would never want them to change. What they had was everything.
But tragedy struck when Arthur Rimbaud passed away due to heart complications, and Chuuya, just shy of turning eighteen, was forced to move to with distant cousins of his, whom had accepted to take him in. They did not live in Yokohama, though, but rather in Marseilles, France. Dazai did not cry when Chuuya left. However, he wept every other day after that. Their promises of daily video calls and chats were honoured for a few months at best. Soon, they both began to lose interest in continuing a long-distance relationship, and so the inseparable power-couple of Kanagawa Sohgoh High School was broken off.
Dazai liked to think the opposite, but he never truly moved on.
He had never excelled in school the way Chuuya did, so his education was nothing spectacular. Mori didn't care — or rather, didn't mind — so Dazai rolled with whatever life threw his way, and graduated college with a degree in Psychology and no real idea of what he was doing. He dated one or two cute guys only to break up barely one month into the relationship because somehow, they were never as strikingly different as Chuuya was. Their eyes weren't as earth-shattering, and their personality too bland.
He turned nineteen one sunny day in June with unshed tears in his eyes. He turned twenty on a partially cloudy day in June with an uptight boyfriend dangling off his arms. He turned twenty one another partially sunny day in June with no one by his side, head in his hands, on Mori's bedside as the surgeon's heart grew weaker and weaker by the second. He turned twenty two with friends he thought he didn't have and newfound hope.
The second time Dazai meets Chuuya, they're both twenty two and a half.
Dazai doesn't understand, at first. He was walking around the neighborhood with Kunikida — the boyfriend — in hopes to go grab a bobba tea or some kind of fresh drink, since the summer weather is so unbearable, and catches a glimpse of fiery red hair. His reaction is automatic. He stops dead in his track. Kunikida doesn't realise he has stopped walking for a few seconds, and when he does, his brows immediately furrow in concern. Dazai is asked if he's okay. He doesn't answer.
There's quite a few people around, but the crowds aren't too dense. He looks right and left. He isn't sure if he wants it to be true or not. In the end, maybe it doesn't matter. Chuuya appears from behind a small group of people, phone pressed against his ear, looking awfully good in the sun. His hair is pulled up in a ponytail, sunglasses propped up against his nose. There's a splash of freckles across his face. Chuuya's looking straight at him, one painfully bright blue eye and one soft, warm brown eye widened, his expression as though he's seen a ghost. Maybe it has.
Chuuya was pretty back then, but now, he's devastating. He's matured into such an attractive man Dazai feels weak at the knee. His waist is narrow, throat pale and delicate, his cheekbones high and jawline defined. Still as short as he used to be, Dazai notes distractedly, but his fashion style more than makes up for it. The dark choker, the black fedora, the expensive-looking clothes… Then, Dazai notices something else. Chuuya looks surprised, yes, but also awfully afraid. And it aches to realise that he is the reason of Chuuya's distress, for one reason or another.
Dazai's lips part, but nothing comes out.
"Osamu?" Chuuya blurts out, and turns cherry red merely a second after. "Oh, god."
Next to him, Kunikida frowns. He looks at Chuuya once, then back at Dazai, and then at Chuuya again. "Is this someone you know, Dazai?"
He shakes himself out of it. Or at least, he tries.
"I— yeah," he breathes, and watches with unconcealed delight as Chuuya takes a step towards him. Towards him . "That's Chuuya."
Kunikida's eyebrows shoot up to his hairline. "Oh!"
Of course, he knows. Dazai had told him about Chuuya Nakahara the first day they met, and almost every day after that. Less, when they started dating, but only because he respected Kunikida too much to admit that he was still in love with his high school sweetheart. But Kunikida knows, has heard him whisper Chuuya's name in his sleep, whimper it when drunk. It's a secret he can't hide.
"Osa— Dazai, " Chuuya repeats. Dazai wishes he wouldn't call him that, wishes he could act as if they've never been apart. "What are you doing here?"
Dazai laughs, breathless, "I could ask you the same thing, chibi. Weren't you in France?"
"I mean, yeah." Chuuya's eyes flicker from Kunikida to him, as if he isn't sure what he can say. "I'm here just for two months."
"Oh." He can't be disappointed. He can't . "Work travel?"
"Family-related, actually."
Dazai is about to ask the details when a high-pitched voice makes him startle. " Daddy! I'm back!"
Chuuya visibly winces. He turns towards the sound and puts on a shaky smile. Dazai feels his stomach drop as the implications start to sink in. Daddy. Dad. Chuuya is a dad, a father. He has a child. Dazai has no right to feel betrayed, but his heart squeezes like it's been hit by a truck.
Kunikida stays silent next to him. Dazai wishes he'd go away, like he sometimes does when he's too tired to process his emotions. When he realises he will never love this man like he loves a boy he was in love with at sixteen.
A little girl comes running from behind the crowds, almost tripping once or twice. She barely looks five, with red hair darker than Chuuya's but just as flamboyant, cut in a bob and held back on the sides with colourful hairpins. Her eyes are the exact same shade as Chuuya's right one. Bright blue, as deep as the sea and as vast as the sky. She is, objectively, a good-looking child. Perhaps she's inherited her father's genes. If not her mother's.
A mother's, Dazai thinks bitterly. This child has a mother. A mother who he does not know, a mother who has most likely replaced him in Chuuya's golden heart. It's hard not to hold it against the child.
She glances at them curiously as she clings to her father's leg. Dazai doesn't miss the way Chuuya instantly relaxes, softens, like having his daughter close is enough to make him feel safe. Two-coloured eyes flicker down at a small, barely developed child, and don't look away even once. It's as if Chuuya is looking directly into the center of the world— the apple of his eye. The love he holds for his daughter is painfully obvious.
"Aya, what did I tell you, about not running away?" Chuuya chides her, his tone gentler than he's ever heard before.
"I know, Daddy, but Slug was too fast! He just, ran, like, like Bolt!" The little girl says, her eyes a little wide. She smiles brightly. "He left!"
"Slug?" Dazai finds himself asking.
Chuuya startles, as if he forgot Dazai was even here. He glances back at him hesitantly. The softness in his gaze doesn't go away.
"Our dog. He's probably not lost, he always goes around town to—"
"You named your dog Slug?" Dazai can barely fight the huge grin threatening to bloom on his lips. It isn't lost on him that it's a nickname he often used on the redhead when they were younger.
"For old time's sake," Chuuya clarifies. He looks so good in this sunny light, his hair like pure embers, and Dazai is a weak, weak man.
He takes a few steps towards him. Kunikida is left behind. He can't bring himself to care. He isn't a good man; especially not when it comes to Chuuya.
"I don't believe we've been introduced," he hums quietly, his gaze shifting to the curious little redheaded girl. She doesn't look the least bit afraid of him, but she glances at her dad for a second, almost as if looking for permission.
"Go on," Chuuya smiles, gentle, indulgent.
"M'name is Aya!" she beams, then pokes her father's leg. "And he's my dad."
Dazai nods. A hint of a smile curls his lips, and it feels like a rush of adrenaline. Like sitting on the edge of a cliff with powerful winds shifting left and right, like being so close to falling but trusting the Universe so much you're willing to risk it. Like he could mess this up completely.
"Yeah? And is he a good dad?"
"The best!" Aya promises, "He gives me sweets! And we have a dog!"
Dazai thinks of Odasaku, briefly, when he squats down to look at the little girl in the eye. She's got a few freckles, too, here and there, though less than Chuuya does. Her nose is a cute little button one. She's not old enough to be called a child, but too young to be a toddler. But her eyes are just the same as Chuuya. Eyes of a force to be reckoned with. Eyes that speak of storms and rainfalls and trust, and eyes that he has always been in love with.
He reaches out to pat her head. She doesn't flinch.
And perhaps that, more than anything, is what makes the tears spill out of his eyes. He doesn't want to cry, not in front of this little girl so happy and lively and safe , and especially not in front of Chuuya, whom he loves so much it hurts. But he weeps, silently, caressing the soft little strands of hair, and Aya doesn't comment on his tears.
She smiles, instead, and approaches him. Her small little arms try to wrap around him — not fully succeeding — in one of the warmest hugs he's ever received.
"Daddy says hugs are good when you're sad," she whispers loudly in his ears.
He chokes back a fond laugh. "Does he, now?"
"Yeah!" She bobs her head up and down, her cheek rubbing against his. "He gives the best hugs!"
"I'd say you're not so bad yourself," Dazai comments.
His eyes flicker upwards and lock with Chuuya's. There are no words to describe the pure, raw, unaltered love swirling in his gaze, so strong and powerful it shakes Dazai to his very core. This is what he's fallen in love with all those years ago. This is why he's here, crying in the arms of a four year-old child, his heart impossibly full.
"Daddy, I think he needs more hugs," Aya frowns when he doesn't stop crying immediately. "C'we go back home? Slug gives the best hugs!"
Chuuya hums. "You'll have to ask Osamu. Ah, I mean—"
"Osamu is fine," Dazai interrupts him. "And, I'd be happy to."
More than happy. So, so much more than happy. He doesn't say it. But he has a feeling that Chuuya already knows.
"You're leaving," Kunikida says flatly. It's not a question. They both know that.
Dazai winces, hesitant. "Listen, Kunikida—"
Kunikida shakes his head. Something akin to bitter relief washes over his features as he takes a step closer and reaches out. His hand resting on Dazai's shoulder, he looks exactly like he did when they first met. They've been friends for a quite a while, after all.
"It's okay. We've talked about this before. I'm glad you found him again, Dazai." For a stone-faced man like Kunikida, this might as well be a passionate declaration of eternal love.
Dazai laughs quietly, shaking his head. "It was good while it lasted."
"It was." Kunikida lowers his eyes. Then all of the softness disappears, and he is back to being the uptight nerd that Dazai loves so much. He clears his throat. "Well— I am going to go, now. I still need to get back to work. See you around, Dazai. Don't be a stranger."
"Of course not," he hums. "Right back at you."
With a small grunt, Kunikida nods. Then he spins on his heels, pushing his pair of glasses further on his nose and leaves. Dazai stares at the back of his head for a moment before dropping his gaze. He smiles to himself, shaking his head. Chuuya taps him on the shoulder.
"Are you all right?" The redhead's voice is filled with delightful concern.
"Oh, don't worry about me. It was bound to happen eventually. Just… Give me a minute, will you?"
Chuuya hesitates. But then Aya tugs at his pants, and he seemingly gives up. "Fine. I'll be waiting for you 'round the corner, okay?"
"Yes, yes, chibikko, no problem," he sing-songs.
He shoves his hands in his pockets, trying to wrap his head around his new single status. Single means open. Open means… Chuuya. He could try having something with Chuuya again. Just as he was about to turn around and reach out to the redhead, a melodic clear of the throat interrupts him. Dazai blinks. He looks down and, sure enough, there's a short little lady here, maybe seventeen or eighteen. She has an honest, kind sort of face; plump cheeks and a smiling mouth. He doesn't recognise her; there's absolutely nothing familiar about this stranger. But he stops and listens.
She fiddles with her curly brown hair for a moment before speaking up. "Um, excuse me— I don't mean to bother, I just saw your boyfriend leave with tears in his eyes. Is he okay?"
Dazai huffs. "He was probably not crying."
"Well—" the girl interrupts herself, her cheek turning a pale pink colour. "Is he?"
"Oh, yes." He smiles a bit. "We weren't dating for the long term."
"You—? Oh!"
Realisation dawns on the young girl quickly. Her big chocolate eyes widen as she glances towards where Kunikida had disappeared, then right back at him. An uncertain smile blooms on her lips.
"Well, then, are you okay?"
It's a strange question. He does not know this girl, probably never will, but her questions don't feel like prying. She's genuinely asking, caring about a person she is not close to, and that itself gives Dazai hope. For humanity, for himself, for everything around him. He nods, half-distracted by a glimpse of ocean-deep blue and brown eyes, and grins. The answer comes easily.
"I will be."
Chuuya's summer home is less expensive than what Dazai expected. It's by no means small, but the furniture is, well, ordinary, and there's no sign of Petrus wine bottles from 1998 in the kitchen. It's very homey, though, that's for sure. The house is decorated in shades of rich brown and warm green. A glass frontage in the living room gives a fantastic view on the sunset and on the garden. It's a well trimmed, flower-filled one, and Dazai smiles a little when he notices all of the different colours. Vibrant reds, soft pinks and warm oranges, mostly, but also small splatters of purple and blue here and there.
"Beautiful," he murmurs to Chuuya when they arrive inside, Aya sprinting towards the open garden door. There's a puppy there, a dark brown dog with a long muzzle that reminds him of a dobermann.
Chuuya flashes him a secretive smile, the kind that always make his stomach warm. "The garden, or me?"
Dazai feels heat rush to his cheeks. "Both," he answers truthfully. "You flirt."
Chuuya laughs, then, all bright and sunny, and his shrug is one graceful movement that make him want to cry. In a good way. "Well, you've got a boyfriend, now, right? I need to make sure I'm still your favourite."
"Always." Dazai doesn't think before he opens his mouth. He glances away, embarrassed by his direct answer. "Er— It's not that I don't like Kunikida, but…"
"We should probably talk about that," Chuuya remarks. He eyes him knowingly. "It's been a while, Osamu."
"Yeah." Dazai sighs. "It has."
Despite what Chuuya just said, they both don't say anything for a while. Aya is playing with some flowers over in the garden and giggling at Slug. The dog — pup, probably — licks at her cheeks and wags its tail so hard it nearly falls over. With the sun shining down on her, Aya looks a bit like fifteen year-old Chuuya, when boyhood was still etched on his face. She grins just as widely as he did. Dazai knows she'll grow up to be just as much of a wild creature as her father is.
"So," he hums at last, "A child?"
Chuuya's quiet fondness turns into blatant exhaustion. "She wasn't planned."
"I can guess that much. You never liked kids back then."
"Still don't. You can say she's an exception."
Dazai shakes his head. "That's not the point. How old is she?"
"Four and a half," Chuuya admits as he fidgets with the buttons of his sleeveless vest.
"Chuuya, that's—" Dazai cuts himself right off, his heart sinking down into murky darkness. "You were, what, eighteen? Were we still…"
He can't bring himself to finish his phrase. Chuuya looks pained.
"No, we'd just broken up." His tone turns bitter, eyes flickering away. "I was scared and alone, and I… fuck, I didn't know what to do. So I slept around a bit, until one day a girl I'd taken to bed called me out of the blue to tell me she was two months pregnant."
Dazai looks up to the ceiling. It seems to stare back at him. "You didn't think to use protection?"
"She had endometriosis," Chuuya shrugs, "And she told me she was on the pill. I didn't think too much about it. Her getting pregnant should've been impossible."
"She… had?" Dazai carefully asks, lowering his head to look directly into Chuuya's deep blue and brown eyes. "You're talking about her in the past tense."
"She died."
Chuuya doesn't look desperate, or grief-stricken, or anything that Dazai expected. Instead, he just looks… well, normal. Acceptance is written everywhere on his face. He meets Dazai's gaze with a half-smile.
"It's been a while. I'm fine. Ever since, it's been me and Aya against the world."
"It doesn't have to be," Dazai blurts out. "It doesn't have to be just you and her."
Chuuya's eyes shine just a bit brighter at that. "Don't joke around, 'Samu. Not with this."
"I'm not."
"You've always hated children." Chuuya shook his head, "I can believe that you'd want to get back together with me, but I'm not a single deal anymore. It's either me and my daughter, or nothing at all. And… we changed. Both of us." He looks away. "I need time to figure out if it'd be okay to have you back in my life. And to see if Aya likes you."
Dazai feels a surge of affection warming his insides. "Chuuya, you're rambling."
"No, I'm not!" The redhead cheeks turn slightly pink.
"You are," Dazai sing-songs, and takes a step closer to him. He lowers himself until they're nose-to-nose and he can feel Chuuya's breath on his lips. He's missed this perfect mouth so, so badly, it hurts. He yearns to touch.
"Dazai," Chuuya murmurs, his voice like a warning. The way he locks his eyes with Dazai's and bats his pretty eyelashes is more like an invitation, though.
Dazai kisses him. It's soft and gentle, like kissing sunlight, and his entire body trembles. It lasts a few seconds. When he pulls away, he grabs Chuuya's waist and pulls him in a bruising hug. Chuuya immediately wraps his arms around him, one of his hands curling at the nape of his neck. Dazai realises, giddy, that the redhead has to stand on his tiptoes to reach him properly.
Aya rushes inside barefoot. Her feet are covered in grass and sandy dirt, and she even has some on her hands. Slug comes running after her, his ears peeking up when he notices Dazai. Aya makes a pouty face at the sight of her father embracing someone who isn't her . Hands on her hips, frowning, she looks exactly like a younger, brattier Chuuya.
Dazai can't help but giggle, pressing a kiss to the crown of silky red hair on Chuuya's head. "She's just like you," he whispers. His smile is so large it makes his cheeks ache.
Chuuya laughs, buries his face in the crook of Dazai's neck. "I know. She's perfect."
"Ew!" Aya suddenly gasps. "You two are in love!" She says it like it's the greatest crime of humanity.
Dazai squeezes Chuuya a little tighter, kissing his head again. He can't seem to stop himself, but somehow finds it in him to look to the side and meet Aya's pale blue gaze. "Is there something wrong with your Daddy being in love?"
"Yes! It's yucky!" Aya stomps her foot on the floor.
"Aya," Chuuya reprimands her, "What did we discuss last time? No stomping." His voice is still so very gentle though, vibrating against Dazai's skin.
She shakes her head fervently, "I want a hug!"
"You can have a hug." Chuuya detaches himself from Dazai easily, crouching down to sit directly onto the floor. He crosses his legs and winks at him. Dazai probably blushes. He imitates Chuuya and sits, as Aya eyes him like a judge.
She seems to think that he's doing well enough, in the end, because she reaches for him and wraps her small arms around his waist. Dazai is both surprised and delighted. He pats her back, allowing her to climb into his lap. She is pretty heavy for a child that small, but her weight is somewhat reassuring, and so is her warmth. Aya closes her pretty eyes and bumps her cheek with Dazai's belly. He laughs gently.
Chuuya doesn't seem bothered in the least. He stares at the both of them, eyes impossibly fond, and grins wide and beautiful. He is beautiful. Ethereal, almost. Happiness is everywhere on him, on his face, his eyes, his mouth, on his body, the way he holds himself, on his hands. He reaches out to brush his knuckles against Dazai's cheekbones. Dazai leans in.
"I figured it out," Chuuya whispers.
"Have you, now?"
"Yeah."
He closes his eyes, happy and full like he's never been before.
"I want you back in my life, Osamu." It sounds like a confession, almost.
Dazai nods. He smiles, softly. "I never left."
And it's as simple as that.