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Dazai hadn’t meant to follow him.
At least, that’s what he told himself as he leaned lazily against the brick wall across the street, bandaged hands tucked into his coat pockets, eyes narrowed just enough to be dangerous.
Chuuya Nakahara was laughing.
That alone was enough to make Dazai’s stomach twist.
The man beside him—tall, unfamiliar, far too close—said something that made Chuuya tilt his head back slightly, ginger hair catching the late afternoon light. It was an unguarded laugh, the kind Chuuya rarely gave anyone outside of very select company.
Dazai’s jaw tightened.
The stranger leaned in, gesturing animatedly, and Chuuya didn’t step away. Didn’t shut it down. He even reached out, fingers brushing the man’s sleeve in a casual, thoughtless way that made something sharp and ugly coil in Dazai’s chest.
“Oh,” Dazai murmured to himself, lips curling into a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “I see how it is.”
He pushed off the wall just as Chuuya turned—and froze.
Their eyes met.
Chuuya’s expression flickered through surprise, then irritation. “Dazai? What the hell are you doing here?”
Dazai strode over without answering, gaze flicking once—just once—toward the man beside Chuuya. Long enough to assess. Long enough to decide he didn’t like him.
“Who’s your friend?” Dazai asked brightly, voice light and falsely pleasant.
The man opened his mouth, but Chuuya cut in, scowling. “That’s none of your business.”
Dazai hummed, stepping closer until he was well within Chuuya’s personal space. “Funny. I thought everything about you was my business.”
Chuuya bristled. “You don’t get to—”
Dazai grabbed his wrist.
Not roughly. Just firmly enough to leave no room for argument.
“Sorry,” Dazai said, already turning and tugging Chuuya along. “Emergency.”
“Dazai—!” Chuuya snapped, yanked forward as the stranger called his name in confusion.
But Dazai didn’t stop until they were blocks away, until the sounds of the street faded into the quiet hum of their shared apartment hallway.
The door barely had time to close before Chuuya shoved him. “What the hell was that?!”
Dazai didn’t answer.
He leaned in and kissed him.
It was sudden—sharp, claiming, all teeth and desperation. Chuuya froze for half a second before instinct kicked in, grabbing Dazai’s coat and pulling him closer with a frustrated growl.
Dazai kissed him like he was trying to make a point.
Like he was trying to erase something.
Chuuya broke away just long enough to gasp, “You’re jealous.”
Dazai smiled against his jaw. “Am I?”
He didn’t wait for a response, mouth trailing lower, lingering at Chuuya’s neck. Chuuya cursed softly when Dazai bit down—not enough to hurt, but enough to leave a mark. Then another. And another.
“Dazai—” Chuuya warned, voice breathless, fingers tangled in dark hair. “You’re being ridiculous.”
“Mmm,” Dazai hummed. “Then why didn’t you stop me?”
Chuuya didn’t have an answer.
The apartment blurred after that—hands pulling, footsteps stumbling, laughter turning sharp and breathless. Dazai pressed Chuuya back against the wall, then the door, then the couch, always too close, always smirking like he knew exactly what he was doing.
By the time they finally disappeared into the bedroom, Chuuya’s collar was askew, skin flushed, and Dazai looked far too satisfied with himself.
The door closed softly behind them.
What followed was nobody else’s business.
The lights stayed off for a long time.
And by morning, Chuuya would absolutely have something to say about the marks Dazai had left—but for now, the night stretched on, heavy with tension, laughter, and the unmistakable sense that neither of them had any intention of holding back.