Chapter Text
"Chuuyaaa! I’ve got some very exciting news to break," Dazai exclaims proudly with his hands fixated on each side of his hips, the usual playful glint in his eyes.
Chuuya hums to show that he's listening, while stuffing the last of his books into his bag with a soft frown.
Dazai’s grin just widens. "Fumiko likes me back! And, get this—she made the first move. Can you believe it? She told me she’s been into me this whole time too!"
Chuuya's smile freezes, his hand halting mid-motion. The words hit him like a punch to the gut. His heart skips a beat, and there’s a tightness in his chest he doesn’t quite understand.
what's this weird feeling?
He’s heard Dazai go on and on about Fumiko—how he liked her, how he struggled to admit it. And each time, Chuuya just listened. He would sit there, quiet, head tilted down as he completed some work, offering nothing more than soft hums to let Dazai know he was listening.
Even though he really wasn't.
And right now, Dazai is grinning at him like an idiot, eyes practically glowing with happiness.
he looks genuinely happy, Chuuya thinks.
He doesn’t know why, but the sight of it… bothers him. He wants to say something, make a snarky comment, anything to shift the weight of his discomfort. But the words stick in his throat, and the bitter feeling sits heavily in his chest.
He doesn’t want Dazai’s smile to disappear. Not when it looks so real.
Then maybe, Chuuya should be happy too.
“That's…” he starts, trying to get a grip. He can’t make sense of what he’s feeling. His chest is tight, his throat burning, and he can’t quite figure out why he suddenly wishes he were anywhere else.
He should be happy for Dazai, right? This is what Dazai wanted. Fumiko likes him back, finally. It’s what he deserves.
But no matter how much he tries to convince himself, his chest doesn’t loosen. His hands shake ever so slightly as he forces himself to smile, the corners of his mouth trembling under the weight of it. "—great. Really great. I'm so happy for you, bastard. You finally managed to—confess to her," he finishes, his voice barely above a whisper by the end.
He hopes his words sound convincing and how strained his smile is, and that Dazai won’t notice the way Chuuya’s hands shake just slightly. The way he can’t look Dazai in the eye.
But Dazai doesn't notice. He’s too busy grinning like an idiot, eyes wide and sparkling. “Yup! Isn’t it amazing?” He continues, oblivious to the way Chuuya’s fingers curl around his bag strap, his knuckles blanching.
His smile gets even wider when he sees her coming down the hall. She’s approaching them, and Chuuya’s heart stutters—he doesn’t know why.
It’s ridiculous. He shouldn't feel like this. He should be glad that Dazai’s finally found someone. He should be relieved, even. He won't have to deal with the annoying asshole anymore.
But the way Dazai’s looking at her, that soft, adoring look, it feels… wrong. Like it shouldn't be happening in front of him.
But then again, Dazai looks so happy. The happiest Chuuya’s seen him in ages.
Maybe that’s all that matters.
Chuuya clenches his jaw, trying to push the feeling down. He forces himself to take a step back, needing space. "Dazai—I have work to do. I’ll go ahead, 'kay?"
Dazai’s too wrapped up in Fumiko to respond. His eyes are already on her, his attention completely absorbed. Chuuya doesn’t need another excuse to leave, so he slips away, blending into the crowd of students pouring down the hallway.
It’s fine. This is fine. He tries to convince himself. But as he walks, something tugs at his chest, something he can’t quite explain. His throat tightens, and his eyes sting, though he doesn’t know why.
All he can hear is the loud, echoing silence in his own chest.
Fumiko will take Dazai away from him. And maybe that’s for the best. He won’t have to deal with the idiot anymore.
At least, that’s what he keeps telling himself.
***
Why does it feel like I’m losing something?
He leans his head back against the couch, closing his eyes, but the image is already burned into his mind: Dazai laughing, eyes alight with something rare and warm. Except it wasn’t for him—it was for her.
I shouldn’t care. I don’t care.
He digs his pen into the paper, frustration seeping into him. His chest aches like hell, and no matter how many times he tells himself it’s nothing, the knot inside him only tightens. Dazai’s voice keeps echoing in his mind, replaying snippets of the story he’d shared about Fumiko—her clumsiness, her laughter, the way she could fluster him so easily.
But the way he looked at her… I’ve never seen him like that before.
It wasn’t just fondness—it was admiration, maybe even love. Dazai, who spent years taunting Chuuya with his apathy toward the world, had looked at her like she was his whole world.
And for some reason, it fucking hurts.
Chuuya’s eyes snap open as the realisation hits harder than he expects. It shouldn’t hurt. It doesn’t even make sense. He grabs a cushion from the couch and shoves it over his face, groaning into the fabric.
“This is so stupid,” he mutters, dragging the cushion away to glare at the ceiling instead. It’s not like he has feelings for Dazai. Dazai’s just a friend—or a rival, or whatever it is they’ve always been. He’s annoying, stupid and gross. There's no way Chuuya likes Dazai.
But the memory of Dazai’s laughter loops in his head.
“Fuck,” he mutters, sitting up abruptly and burying his face in his hands. His thoughts are spiralling again, dragging him into territory he doesn’t want to explore.
There’s a sharp knock at the door, snapping him out of his daze. He drags himself off the couch, his movements sluggish, and opens the door to find Yosano standing there with her arms crossed, an eyebrow raised.
“Well, you look like shit,” she says bluntly, stepping inside without waiting for an invitation.
Chuuya scowls, but there’s no real venom behind it. “Nice to see you too.”
Yosano plops onto the couch and pats the spot beside her. “Spill it.”
“Spill what?”
She levels him with a look. “Don’t play dumb with me. You’ve been acting off all day."
Chuuya hesitates, his mind racing for an excuse, but before he can come up with one, Yosano adds, “Does this have anything to do with Dazai?”
The way she says his name makes Chuuya flinch, and Yosano catches it instantly. Her eyes widen with realization, and a slow smirk spreads across her face.
“Oh my god,” she says, drawing out the words. “You like him, don’t you?”
Chuuya’s face turns scarlet in an instant. “What the fuck are you talking about?” he snaps, crossing his arms tightly over his chest.
“You do!” Yosano crows, leaning closer like she’s just uncovered the greatest secret of the century. “Holy shit, this is amazing. No wonder you’ve been acting so weird.”
“I do not like him,” Chuuya growls, but the defensive edge in his voice only makes her laugh harder.
"You loooove him~"
"I do not."
"Yes you do!"
"I do not!"
“Keep telling yourself that, lover boy.”
“Yosano, I swear to god—”
She waves him off, still grinning. “Relax, I’m not gonna tell anyone."
Chuuya glares at her, but there’s no real heat behind it. The truth in her words stings far more than he’s willing to admit, and that only makes his frustration spike.
"...What makes you think I like him?"
Yosano raises a single, unimpressed brow, crossing her arms as she leans back in her chair. "You’re serious? You practically set yourself on fire every time Dazai is too close. It’s not exactly subtle."
“Shut up,” Chuuya mutters, his ears burning. “You’re imagining things.”
She leans back with a laugh. “Am I?” she asks, her tone infuriatingly calm, like she already knows she’s right. “Because you’ve been acting weird ever since he started dating that girl. What’s her name? Fumiko? Yeah, that’s when the brooding started.”
“I don't brood!” Chuuya screeches, but it only earns him a smirk from Yosano.
“Sure you don’t. And you’re not jealous either, right?” She leans forward now, her expression teasing but not unkind. “Look, I’m not judging you or anything. I just think you should figure out your shit before it eats you alive.”
Chuuya huffs, the knot in his chest tightening. "I don’t like him, okay? He’s just—he’s an idiot, and that’s all there is to it.”
Yosano sighs, shaking her head. "If you say so. Look, I’m not saying it’s easy to admit, but lying to yourself won’t make it hurt any less."
***
The changes are small, almost unnoticeable at first. Dazai starts spending lunch with Fumiko instead of him, sharing soft smiles and looks. Chuuya brushes it off at first, telling himself it’s just the natural progression of things. So what if Dazai has a girlfriend? But there’s an unfamiliar twist in his chest every time he catches a glimpse of them together, her laugh echoing in the hallway, Dazai’s gaze soft in a way Chuuya has never seen before.
It’s not like he’s jealous, though. That would be ridiculous. Chuuya doesn’t care what Dazai does in his spare time, and he sure as hell isn’t bothered that Dazai has someone else to eat lunch with. It’s just...annoying, that’s all.
That evening, they’re back at Chuuya’s place for their usual tutoring session. Dazai’s in his usual spot across from him, looking at Chuuya with that lazy, too-casual grin, but tonight it only irritates him further. "I was thinking we’d cover logarithms today,” he says, leaning back on his hands, his voice light and carefree as always.
Chuuya hums in response, keeping his gaze on the page in front of him, the numbers starting to blur together. His mind isn't on the equations at all. The way Dazai kept grinning earlier, as though he'd won some prize. Chuuya’s chest tightens again at the thought of it, the one thing that’s been nagging at him all day. Chuuya forces himself to focus on the math problems in front of him, hoping Dazai won’t pick up on his mood.
But, of course, Dazai does. After a while, he leans back, his voice light but edged with curiosity. “Chuuya—did I do something to piss you off?”
Chuuya barely glances up. “You always piss me off.”
Dazai shrugs, his smirk tilting into something closer to amusement. “That's different. You're always angry with that annoying temper of yours, glaring like I’m the worst decision humanity ever made, but today you’re all weirdly quiet. No insults, no yelling. It’s almost unsettling. It’s like you’re not even here.”
“I’m focusing,” Chuuya replies, gripping his pen a little too tightly. “It’s called studying, Dazai. You should try it sometime.”
Dazai watches him for a moment, clearly unconvinced. “Come on, Chuuya, it’s me. What’s going on?”
“It’s nothing,” he mutters, hating how defensive he sounds. “Why would it be?”
Dazai gives him a long, thoughtful look before finally sighing. “If it’s about lunch, you know you can come sit with Fumiko and me, right?”
Chuuya wants to snap back with some quick retort, but the words don’t come. He doesn’t even know why he feels this way—why there’s this nagging irritation every time Dazai mentions her. The offer lands somewhere between an invitation and an afterthought, and it leaves an unfamiliar, hollow ache in Chuuya’s chest. He knows he could sit with them. It’s not like Dazai’s avoiding him—so why does the thought of sitting with them feel so…off?
“Yeah, maybe,” he replies with a forced shrug. But the idea of being around them both, watching Dazai laugh with someone else, twists something inside him he can’t quite name. "Can we study now?" he asks, hoping to divert the conversation.
"Yeah," Dazai nods.
***
"Fuck, that was exhausting,” Chuuya muttered, snapping his textbook shut with an audible thud. He stretched his legs out, leaning back on his hands.
"Just a little more practice, slug, and you'll get the hang of it," Dazai replied, a smug grin spreading across his face as he stretched out leisurely, balancing himself on his palms.
Chuuya’s eye twitched. "I told you to stop calling me that!"
“Hmm? But it suits you so well.” Dazai’s grin widened, his tone dripping with mock innocence. Before Chuuya could fire back another insult, Dazai’s gaze flicked across the table, his interest piqued by something nearby. “Oh? What’s that?” he asked, pointing at a leather-bound journal resting on the desk.
Chuuya froze for half a second before shooting Dazai a sharp glare. “None of your goddamn business,” he snapped, the tips of his ears burning a faint red.
“Oh?” Dazai leaned forward, resting his chin in his palm as his eyes narrowed with amusement. “Could it be… a secret diary? Maybe you’ve been writing down all the ways you adore me in there? Let me guess—‘Dear Diary, today Dazai looked insufferably handsome again, as usual.’”
Chuuya growled, snatching the journal off the table before Dazai could get any closer. “Keep dreaming, dumbass,” he said, clutching it protectively against his chest. “Touch this thing, and I’ll fucking break your fingers.”
“Aw, Chuuya, you’re so mean to me,” Dazai pouted dramatically, though his eyes still glimmered with mischief. “Now I’m even more curious.”
"Fuck off, be curious somewhere else, you nosy bastard.” He crossed his arms, the journal still hidden behind him like a guarded treasure.
"You're the worst, Chuuya!" Dazai pouts dramatically, letting himself fall back onto the floor, sprawling out like he’s completely defeated. His arms splay wide as he gives an exaggerated sigh, eyes fluttering shut in mock misery.
Chuuya rolls his eyes, leaning back on his hands as he watches the ridiculous display. “Yeah, yeah, whatever. I don't care."
Dazai lifts his head just enough to look at him, bright smile—unguarded, lighting up his face. "Fumiko and I had a great time today."
"Yeah?" Chuuya mutters, his chest tightening without warning. He quickly tries to push it down, focusing on something else in the room, anything but Dazai's words.
"We went to this really cute cafe. Fumiko wanted to try one of those over-the-top parfaits—you know, the ones with all the layers and decorations. Anyway, as soon as it got to the table, she tried to take a picture of it, but somehow, she ended up tipping the entire glass over. It spilled everywhere—table, chair, her lap, everything. And she just froze for a second before going full panic mode—flapping her hands, apologizing to the waiter, and trying to clean it up with, like, five napkins that clearly weren’t enough. And her face—” He’s laughing harder now, his voice breaking slightly. “Her face was so red. I couldn’t stop laughing, and that just made her even more flustered! She kept glaring at me, all ‘This isn’t funny, Dazai!’ " he giggles, the sound warm and genuine.
"Sounds… fun,” Chuuya mutters, though the words are heavy with something he can’t quite name. His neck grows warm seeing Dazai laugh like that. He doesn't even realise he's been staring until Dazai turns to look at him, catching him off-guard.
"Right?" Dazai coos, his laughter slowly dying out as he sits up, glancing at the time on his phone. "Well, it's late. Dad's going to kill me," he whines, stretching his arms above his head.
Chuuya watches him, a faint tug in his chest. "Yeah, guess you should head out then."
"I'll see you tomorrow," Dazai says, leaning over to ruffle Chuuya's hair, his fingers running through the messy ginger curls. "There, there, good dog."
A flash of heat rushes to Chuuya's ears, and without thinking, he kicks Dazai’s shin, making him yelp dramatically.
"My dog's so astute!"
"I'm not your dog fucker! And keep your slimy hands off me," Chuuya snaps, slamming the door shut before Dazai can say anything more.
The instant the door clicks closed, Chuuya exhales a breath he hadn’t even realised he was holding.
He leans against the door, eyes closed, trying to push the fluttering sensation in his chest away. It’s just Dazai being Dazai, right? He breathes in slowly, trying to shake the tension creeping up his neck. His hand unconsciously clenches into a fist, fingernails digging into the skin of his palms.
He’s being ridiculous. There’s no reason to feel this way—no reason to be affected by Dazai’s stupid teasing. But for some reason, today it feels different.
"Shit," he mutters under his breath as he walks to his couch and sinks into it, rubbing a hand over his face.
But the fluttering in his chest doesn't stop. And it’s driving him insane.
***