Archive of Our Own

Part I: L’angoisse

The concept of identity was something Paul Verlaine always struggled with. Once, he was told that every person born in this world grows up to become pieces of everyone they’ve known.

He wasn’t really sure what pieces of himself were truly his own.

Of course, with a turbulent childhood like his, becoming an adult in a child’s body wasn’t much of a surprise. Having a mother who was never there, with a name forbidden for him to know of; Élisa, Paul eventually learned was her name, through the thin walls and peeling paint within the motel his father, Nicolas Verlaine, rented for the night. And then there was getting dragged from country to country—going from France to England to Italy to France again, with no room for him to truly settle when his father’s presence was a constant shadow over his shoulder, a puppeteer pulling on his puppet’s strings. With this, making friends or learning social graces rarely ever crossed his mind.

So when a supposed one month long stay in Japan turned to three months, then six months, then a year, and then two years, even at five years old Paul knew something was up.

He didn’t complain, though; well, more like there wasn’t any room to. There weren’t many good memories made in France, anyways.

He was six when his father finally decided to marry a new woman, Fuku Nakahara, who he had a child with before their marriage. He didn’t even know his nine month old half-sister, Kouyou, existed until after they moved into the same home together. Learning of these revelations back to back forced a merry-go-round of emotions through him, and he channelled them in the only way he knew how.

During the wedding, Paul sat rigidly on a stool, away from the buzz of the party. His small frame was hunched over, legs dangling over the edge and blazer rumpled and dirty from his earlier tantrum. Fuku tried to convince his father to let him stay or at least let an adult watch over him, unwilling to leave a small child like him alone, but to no avail. Her efforts were dismissed, and his father dragged him outside of the venue.

The smell of sake and wine clung to the air during the wedding, sharp and heady while the harmony of a violin and piano drifted from one ear to another. Paul felt his stomach churn as he sat alone, the sounds of laughter and clinking glasses just out of reach. His fingers traced the rough, splintered edges of the wooden stool before digging his nails into the bark, grounding him, pulling him away from the lump in his throat.

“It was an accident. You should know this by now; after all, I made the same mistake with you and your mother,” His father’s words hung above his head like a Damocles sword; a stern reminder that he was an asset that could be easily replaced with the new family he’s created, that he could go from calling him “father” one day and then “Nicolas” the next. The image of his father’s arms crossed and face tense as his tall figure towered over him lingered in his mind. He was told that there was no reason to fret and that his father loved his wife, and whatever he had with Fuku was not like what he had with Paul’s mother.

Before, Paul was skeptical at first, and yet in the end he chose to believe it, thinking his father would truly maintain a healthy relationship this time. His doubts lessened further when Fuku—his step-mother now, was pregnant again by the time he was nine and Kouyou was four. A child almost younger than him by a decade. By the time he enters high school, they would be fresh out of kindergarten.

It was news that excited even Kouyou, who seemed to only find joy in bothering him to no end. Kouyou, with her wide eyes and tiny hands, was relentless. She’d pull at his sleeves and tug at his hair behind his back. “I’m just playing,” she’d say, but Paul didn’t understand how any of this could be fun. Although…sometimes, when he would hear her chuckle as she scampered away, a part of him couldn’t help but smile—just a little, though.

“I’ll be the better older sibling,” She declared one late afternoon, munching on the bunny-shaped apple slices their mother made for them. He sat diagonally from her, pencil scratching the worksheet as he quietly finished his assignments, the constant rhythm of the lead on paper keeping his mind at ease.

Paul glanced up at her from behind his bangs, “What makes you think that?”

Kouyou leaned into her chair, tone casual as she reached for another slice and responded: “You’re too stuffy, aniue. Sometimes it feels like you’re my classmate and not my brother!” She said, clearly pleased with herself.

Paul frowned. It was an insult he was used to; Before, his immediate response would be “what’s wrong with that?” but this time, the words hit a little differently. There was something about the way Kouyou said it, the playful confidence in her voice, that made him pause. A second sibling. Someone even younger than Kouyou, someone who would depend on him even more. Could he do it? He had barely figured out how to be Kouyou’s brother—if what they had even counted as that. They weren’t close. Their bickering came so naturally that it felt like more of a habit than anything else.

Paul glanced over at Kouyou, who was happily munching on her apple slices, completely unfazed by the future looming ahead of them. He, on the other hand, couldn’t help but feel a sense of dread creeping in. How was he supposed to be a good older brother to this new baby when he could barely handle Kouyou? Was he really just “too stuffy” to know how to be fun, how to bond with his siblings the way other kids did? Kouyou, for all her teasing and independent nature, seemed to at least understand that part of it.

He thought back to when he was younger, back to the days when it was just him and his father, moving from place to place like the nomads in the old stone age. France, Italy, England, several more countries—each blurred into the next, leaving behind no trace of familiarity or stability. He’d never had the chance to make friends, to learn how to interact with other kids. Homeschooling had been the only option, but even that had felt hollow, like he was just filling in the blanks without really understanding the bigger picture. It was hard to care when you didn’t have a real home to return to at the end of the day.

Now, he was enrolled in school, but nothing had changed. He still hadn’t made any friends, and most days he found himself as the black sheep of the classroom, fiddling with his chopsticks and lunch long forgotten while other kids formed groups around him. He couldn’t figure out how they did it—how they just connected so easily, how they laughed and joked without a care in the world. It was as if he was some alien, a non-human entity, made to coexist and interact with actual human beings.

It was not much different at home. His father was as distant as ever, retreating into his own world; He went out after work to drink or party and often came home in the late hours of the morning, which Fuku absolutely despised. Paul had never called his step-mother “mom,” not once in the years they’d lived together. He respected her, admired her even, but he couldn’t bring himself to close that gap. As for Kouyou, their relationship felt more like a rivalry than anything resembling brotherly love. He wondered, sometimes, if she saw it the same way.

For the past four years, despite the stability of having a roof over his head and a family to put food on the table, very little had changed. If anything, the news of this new baby only made things more complicated. Paul couldn’t help but wonder if he was truly capable of being the big brother this baby would need—of being anything more than the distant older brother Kouyou claimed he was.

He’s been living with his new family for years now, but has he ever been a good son? A good brother? Has he ever been a son or a brother at all?

As he watched Fuku’s belly swell with the promise of new life, Paul couldn’t help but feel dread weighing heavy in his chest, his emotions always striving to take him down with them; he already didn’t know how to be a good big brother to Kouyou, so what would happen once this baby was born?

The once abandoned corner of the nursery, now being transformed into a cozy space for little one, was a daily reminder of what he feared he might never be. He often found himself wandering through the room, gazing at the soft fabrics and tiny toys but never daring to touch them, feeling a strange mix of fascination and dread.

His step-mother noticed his growing distance and, with a tender smile, would often try to engage him in conversations about the baby. “I thought you might like to help me choose a few things,” she’d suggest, her tone hopeful and warm. Paul would nod politely, hoping that perhaps helping could relieve the weight in his chest.

One evening, she came to find Paul sitting alone on the wooden stairs, playing with the item in his hand. She approached him gently, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. “You’re doubting yourself. I can tell,” she said softly. “But even if it doesn’t seem like you’re doing much, I know that you’re a genuine boy.”

Paul was stunned, but still appreciated the gesture. “Thank you…” He replied, drawing the last word out on accident when the word “mom” lingered on the tip of his tongue.

“It’s nothing,” His mother smiled, “After all, you seemed quite adamant on picking that out for Chuuya.”

Paul looked up at her, and then at the plush in his palms. It was a plush of a sheep—a bighorn sheep specifically—with all of its fluffy white fur and comically large horns. Chuuya, the name ringed throughout his head, piecing the kanji together. The name his step-mother chose for the little one, he now knows.

Chuuya Verlaine, he sounded out in his head, and then tried another combination. Chuuya Nakahara. Both had a nice ring to it.

Paul’s lips curved up into a small smile.

Even before being born did Chuuya still fill their lives with surprises.

Chuuya was born prematurely, although only a few weeks before he was due thankfully. Their step-mother’s premature labour meant she and Chuuya needed to stay in the hospital longer than expected. Meanwhile, their father kept Paul and Kouyou at home, dismissing their desire to visit with a curt, “It’s not a place for children,” though his words carried an undertone filled with annoyance rather than concern. A bad excuse, when his father himself had only gone to the hospital to check on them twice or thrice.

Paul, left in charge of Kouyou, struggled to maintain some semblance of normalcy at home. His only source of updates were from eavesdropping on his father’s conversations with the hospital on the phone, the muffled words making it difficult altogether. When Kouyou asked how they were doing, his father’s only response was that “They’re both doing fine. You don’t need to worry about it,” as if he didn’t have an ounce of care to know the specifics.

As the weeks dragged by, Kouyou’s frustration and worry only grew, but there was nothing she or Paul could do. All they could do was wait.

Finally, on one bright evening, Nicolas came home with their mother and Chuuya in tow. It was a mixture of relief and weariness. She held a fragile, swaddled bundle in her arms, a tiny face peeking out from beneath the layers. Chuuya was here, but the weeks apart had cast a long shadow on their home, leaving Paul to grapple with his own mixed emotions—relief mixed with the lingering sting of neglect and the uncertain hope of maybe bridging the gap between himself and his family.

Kouyou had wasted no time making a beeline for Fuku and Chuuya, awe and curiosity replacing her solemn mood while she stared at the infant nestled in her mother’s arms. Paul, on the other hand, approached with hesitation, unsure if it was really his place to especially after catching his father’s eyes for a brief second.

Amidst Kouyou’s four year old ramblings, he looked at his mother and asked if both of them were alright. She quickly nodded, and then ushered them over to the nursery since it was already getting late.

Now, Paul stood stiffly at the nursery’s doorframe, eyes locked on the small bundle in his mother’s arms. The baby, (his baby brother), Chuuya, was barely a month old. Tiny fists peeked out from the swaddle, chubby face serene and oblivious to the world around. Paul avoided holding him since they returned from the hospital, though he wasn’t sure why. Maybe it was fear. Or maybe it was the weight of responsibility that suddenly felt too real.

“Paul, do you want to hold him?” Fuku’s gentle voice broke through his thoughts. Kouyou looked over from where she stood next to her, “Yeah, aniue. Don’t you wanna hold him?”

He froze, eyes flickering from her to the baby. Hold him? Paul had never held a baby before. He swallowed, shifting uncomfortably, but after a moment’s hesitation, he nodded. Fuku smiled and carefully passed the fragile bundle into his arms, helping him carry Chuuya so that he wouldn’t drop him. Paul cradled Chuuya awkwardly, his body tense as if the slightest movement might cause the little one to break.

Suddenly, Chuuya stirred in his sleep, a tiny hand slipping out from the blanket after much effort and wrapping around Paul’s finger. The grip was weak, but it was there—warm and delicate. Paul stared, his heart skipping a beat. His breath hitched in his throat as a strange, unfamiliar warmth spread through his chest.

Chuuya was so small, so vulnerable, and yet here he was, trusting him completely.

“I’ve got you,” Paul whispered softly, “I’m here.”

Chuuya’s fingers stayed wrapped around his, and for the first time in a long while, Paul felt like maybe—just maybe—he could be the big brother his siblings deserved. He’ll definitely do better.

Part II: Bonheur

Let it be known that Paul adored his younger siblings, and especially after the storms they’ve weathered together.

For instance, the divorce was the climax of a series of messy events, which wasn’t surprising given his father’s attitude towards his children, not to mention his own wife. When it all came crashing down, his father stormed out of the house, belongings packed tightly into a suitcase before heading straight to France with his tail between his legs. The bastard didn’t even deign them a goodbye, not that they would’ve cared anyways.

His father’s departure had left a void in their lives, but it was a void that, in truth, hardly seemed to be filled by his absence. Rather, what he felt most was the sudden weight of responsibility thrust upon him as Fuku, now a single mother, struggled to balance the demands of their new lives. She had taken charge of providing at least some semblance of normalcy, moving them from their place in the San’in region all the way to Yokohama—her birth city, and also where a few of her relatives lived in—for a fresh start.

The challenges of raising Chuuya and Kouyou on her own meant that Paul found himself increasingly in the role of caregiver and protector. Chuuya was only three while Kouyou was seven, too young to go through hardships like these; and so as their older brother, he took it upon himself to look after them whenever his mother couldn’t. He managed the household chores, helped Kouyou with homework and school projects, and occasionally cooked meals for all four of them.

And then there was Chuuya.

Raising him was…eventful, to say the least. Chuuya was a little ball full of energy, bouncing from place to place. A nice, hard working kid, always putting others’ comfort above his own. Of course, there were times where he was a hassle to deal with—tantrums are rare when it comes to Chuuya, but when he does, it’s explosive. An anger that burns the people around him but also himself.

There was nothing that made Paul love him any less, though. He was there for Chuuya’s first words, his first steps, his first day of school. He was there when Chuuya came home with red, scraped knees, when he won top of his class, when he was stabbed in the wrist by a classmate, the dark mark of pencil lead tainting his wrist because he hated it when people tainted his family’s honour.

He was there when Chuuya tried on a boy's uniform for the first time.

After going through hell and back, he thought that he’d already seen the worst, which was his first mistake.

So when Chuuya comes home with puffy eyes and a proud smile in contrast, every alarm started blaring in his head.

“Mon chéri,” Paul said hurriedly, crouching down to be on Chuuya’s level. “Did something happen at school? What can I do to help?”

“There was an annoying fish in class today,” Chuuya’s smile turned into a tiny grin, his voice raspy from crying. “But it’s okay, ‘cuz I beat him at tag three times today! He’s a meanie, but he’s really, reaaally bad at running…”

Paul’s expression darkened, “He was being mean? What did he do?”

Chuuya’s expression soured, bottom lip jutting out as his grip on the straps of his oversized randoseru tightened. “He called me a slug, a little chibikko…”

“Cette petite merde,” He cursed under his breath. It wasn’t the first time he had to deal with someone picking on Chuuya. A plan already forming in his head, he said firmly, “Tell you what. I’ll get rid of him within a week, and then I’ll convince mother to take us to the arcade. Does that sound fun?”

Chuuya’s mood lifted as his face lit up, “Really…?”

“Yes,” Paul nodded, a determined smile on his lips. “Really.”

After this, he’ll need to tell his mother about Chuuya’s predicament and maybe get Kouyou up to speed. This was a serious case.

Paul sat stiff behind his desk, chopsticks held tight while he played with the rice in his bento box. “—I have the layout of Chuuya’s elementary school mapped out, including entrances and exits I could use in secret; the problem is how? How can I watch in on his classes again when I was grounded the last time I was caught? Ah, merde… At this rate, if I get caught again, it'll be the third time, but if I don’t take care of this fast, Chuuya’s going to continue sulking.”

“It seems like Chuuya-kun has really taken it to heart,” Arthur Rimbaud, his most beloved, commented from his seat in front of him. “However, I do have a question.”

Paul perked up. “What is it?”

“You said before that you were going to give Chuuya more freedom to be independent,” Rimbaud said, “Is it not a good idea to see how he handles this on his own, first and foremost? Perhaps test the waters, and if things get worse, you will intervene.”

Paul sighed, collapsing into his seat. “Is this not ‘worse’ already? I’m beginning to regret that statement. I feel like testing the waters is unnecessary in this situation.”

“I apologize, Paul, but I feel like you’re overthinking it too much. Can you recall what Lucien told you, how you tend to resort to the extreme? It was what bothered him the most.”

“I am aware,” Paul grumbled, bouncing his leg. “I’m just worried.”

“I know you are, and that’s okay,” Rimbaud sighed softly. “But sometimes, you need to use your brain before letting your emotions take the reigns. A common piece of advice, yes, but it really helps when you take it seriously.”

Paul opened his lips to object, but was immediately cut off. “We talked about this, Paul,” Rimbaud chided him. “Whether it comes to your brother or your sister, you need to accept that you can’t coddle them for long.”

“…My sister,” Paul muttered, and suddenly, his eyes lit up like a lightbulb. “That’s…that’s it. Oh, mon coeur, you’ve always been such a beautiful genius—“

Rimbaud’s shoulders hunched over in defeat. This was going to be a long day.

“You want me to sneak into Chuuya’s school and pose as a student in his class?”

Paul nodded, posture relaxed. “Precisely.” Kouyou was good at practically anything, but there was one thing she was good at that made him choose her—the art of disguise. The countless games of dress-up they’ve played was a testament to that, and it got even more fun once Chuuya came along. Of course, Chuuya wasn’t keen on dressing up as a rodeo clown princess, but Kouyou and Paul found it rather adorable. He still has the photo of him that day hung above his desk.

Kouyou went silent before deadpanning: “I sometimes forget how insane you are. Were you dropped on the head as an infant? Have you been taking edibles? Is Rimbaud-san—”

“Your point is?” He deadpanned back.

“With all due respect, aniue,” She narrowed her eyes, “This is nonsense. It’s on a totally different level of bizarre. I am a whopping four years older than Chuuya, and should I remind you that he is turning eight this April?”

Paul tapped his foot, impatient. “Kouyou, my dear sister, will you do it or not?”

Kouyou’s mouth was twisted into an annoyed frown, as if a series of insults threatened to spill at any moment. She was worried about Chuuya too, yes, but what her brother was asking of her was worthy of getting him sent to a correctional facility. She pondered over it and replied, “Fine. However, I expect a large amount of payment. In money. And you need to convinced mom to cook tempura for dinner for the second day in a row.”

“Good! I’ll rig your teacher’s records to mark you present,” He smiled. “If you’re found out, I will take the full blame.”

“No need,” Kouyou smiled, a hint of smugness present. “I’ve already got that covered.”

He raised an eyebrow, “And how exactly do you ‘have it covered’?”

“I’ve got connections, aniue,” She quipped. “Which is none of your business.”

Paul fought back a smirk. Kouyou wasn’t the only one with connections. From what he knows, Kouyou’s a good friend of the vice principal’s adopted daughter, who happens to be quite the charmer unlike her brother with an ego bigger than his size.

A strategic approach. He couldn’t help but feel a swell of pride in his chest at that. “Alright,” He waved her off. “I’ll leave it to you then.”

Now it was Kouyou’s turn to be skeptical. With how much of a worrywart Paul was, she was surprised that he didn’t push her for a proper answer, but she didn’t press him on it. With a humph, she called to him as she retreated to her room: “You better pay me!”

Paul rolled his eyes, a small smile painted on his face. “I will, you imbécile.”

(In the early morning, after their mother left for work with Chuuya in tow to drop him off at school, Paul stayed behind to help Kouyou out.

“Hm. ‘Tokutaro Ozaki’?” He hummed, staring at the little nameplate Kouyou made for herself.

“Yep,” She smirked. “I look convincing, do I not?”

If he was any dumber, he would’ve thought that Kouyou was just a regular schoolboy. It was convincing indeed.

Paul let out an amused sigh, “Very.”

Kouyou’s lips curled into a smirk, “I’ll do my very best.”)

Kouyou was a fucking liar.

When the doorbell rang, Paul expected to see a very smug Kouyou and a happy little Chuuya.

What he didn’t expect was that Osamu fucking Dazai had come with them. It startled the life out of him.

“Oh, putain,” Paul sucked in a breath, “…Mon chéri, who is this?”

“The mackerel, aniki!” Chuuya said, as the brat in question clung to his baby brother.

“Osamu Dazai,” Kouyou chimed in.

Dazai gave him a small wave. “Hi, Paul-nii-san.”

Once again, alarms started blaring in his head again. All he needed to do was look to see that this kid would be a pain in the ass, and said pain in the ass was now attaching himself to his brother like glue. The sheer audacity of this boy? To insult his brother one day and worship the ground he walks on the next–?

His shock must’ve made him devoid of all logic and rationale, because the only thing he could muster up was a greeting for the brat, and then let him step inside his own home.

“Wait for me down there, okay? I’m just gonna get somethin’!” Chuuya called out to Dazai from atop the stairs, who was sitting at the dining room table. The spawn of the devil gave him an enthusiastic nod.

He is going to kill Kouyou.

Paul stood there in the doorframe of the dining room, torn between following Chuuya upstairs, giving Kouyou the scold of a lifetime, and staying here to make sure the brat doesn’t do anything funny.

He was about to make a decision when—

Dazai gazed at Paul’s direction. “Paul-nii-san, can I ask you a question?”

Paul felt his eye twitch, but took a deep breath to save face. “What?”

Almost immediately, a smile crept up the brat’s face. “If you’re the chibi’s big brother, why’re you white?”

God, please help me.