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Chuuya returns to the base with three bags of food hanging from his hands and exactly zero regrets for letting his fathers pack enough snacks to feed an entire platoon.
A week of leave is never long enough, especially when most of it disappears between family dinners, errands, and the inevitable arguments over whether he is eating properly while away from home.
Arthur had packed the first bag with enough homemade food to last several days, Paul had apparently decided that several days meant enough to survive a siege, and somewhere along the way a third bag appeared containing an unreasonable amount of snacks that Chuuya suspects Kouyou contributed purely because she knows he will complain if anyone tries to take them from him.
He shifts the weight in his arms as he walk through the military compound, already thinking about getting everything put away before evening. The base looks much the same as when he left it a week ago, though returning after time away always gives him the strange sensation of stepping back into a routine that never stopped while he was gone. Soldiers move between buildings, vehicles roll across the grounds, and somewhere in the distance someone is already shouting instructions at a group of unfortunate trainees.
At least everything feels normal.
Then he reaches the dormitory. Chuuya climbs the stairs, unlocks the door to his room, pushes it open with his shoulder, but then he stops.
For several seconds, he simply stands there.
His eyes travel slowly across the room, taking in the overturned chair, the piles of clothing spread across one bed, the open drawers, the books stacked precariously on the floor, several folders that appear to have been abandoned halfway through being sorted, and a collection of miscellaneous objects whose purposes Chuuya cannot begin to guess. One of his boots sits on top of the desk. A pillow somehow ended up underneath it, and there's a towel hanging from the back of the lamp.
The room looks less like a military dormitory and more like the aftermath of a small but determined natural disaster.
At the center of it all stands Dazai Osamu.
The brunette is holding a stack of papers in one hand and looking at Chuuya with an expression of such complete innocence that, for one brief and irrational moment, Chuuya wonders if he somehow opened the wrong door.
Then Dazai smiles. It's the kind of smile that immediately tells Chuuya he is about to regret asking any questions.
“What the fuck happened here?” Chuuya finally asks, carefully setting the bags down before he crushes something, or someone, with them. He looks from the room to Dazai and back again, trying to identify the precise moment during his week away when their quarters apparently became a crime scene. “I leave for seven days, Dazai. Seven. How in the hell do you manage to turn a perfectly respectable room into something that looks like it got hit by artillery?”
Dazai's expression brightens as though Chuuya has just complimented him.
“Welcome home, Chuuya,” he says cheerfully, gesturing toward the chaos around them with the papers in his hand. “You're just in time. I was organizing.”
Chuuya stares at him before slowly looking at the room again. Then he looks back at Dazai, who appears entirely pleased with himself.
“You call this organizing?”
“Of course. I am creating a more efficient living environment.”
“You've created a fucking disaster!"
“That is a matter of perspective.” Dazai places the papers onto the nearest surface, which happens to be a pile of Chuuya's books, and folds his arms with the calm confidence of a man defending a perfectly reasonable decision. “You should be grateful. I've been working very hard.”
“You've been working hard at destroying everything in our room!”
“Not everything. I only moved the things that were getting in the way.”
Chuuya closes his eyes for a moment and takes a slow breath through his nose. He just got back on base for less than ten minutes, and already he can feel the familiar headache forming behind his eyes. He opens them again and notices a small cardboard box sitting beside Dazai's feet. “What's in that?”
“My belongings, obviously."
“Then why the hell are they all over the room?”
Dazai considers the question with exaggerated seriousness before giving him a perfectly sincere answer. “Because I am in the process of deciding where they belong.”
Chuuya looks at the box, then at the open drawers, then at the clothes covering the bed, then at the books, folders, shoes, papers, and assorted pieces of Dazai's life currently occupying every available surface.
“Organizing is a delicate art, Chuuya. You can't rush these things.” Dazai adds.
“You absolutely can when the alternative is me coming back to this.”
Dazai's smile widens. “Just say you missed me~”
"If there's one thing in my body that misses you, it's my fist." Chuuya gives him a flat look.
Dazai laughs, apparently satisfied with himself, and steps around the mess toward the bags Chuuya left near the door. His eyes immediately settle on the largest one. “What did you bring?”
“Food.”
“From our dads?”
“No, my dads. You're not welcome in our family. Besides, Ane-san will probably kill you.”
“But the food's for us.”
“No.”
Dazai looks genuinely wounded. “After a whole week apart, you're refusing to share your provisions with your roommate?”
“You've got two perfectly functioning legs. Go buy your own.”
“But yours probably tastes better.” Dazai crouches beside the bags anyway, already reaching for one of them.
Chuuya catches his wrist before he can open it. “I swear to God, if you touch anything in those bags before I properly put them away, I'll break your fingers.”
Dazai looks down at Chuuya's hand around his wrist, then up at him, his expression becoming suspiciously amused.
“You really did miss me.”
“Shut up.” Chuuya releases him immediately.
Dazai grins.
The room is still a disaster. His week of leave is officially over. And judging by the look on his roommate's face, Chuuya suspects the next few days are going to be every bit as exhausting as the ones he just spent away.
—
“Why is there no fucking lights?”
Chuuya whisper-shouts the question into the darkness, keeping his voice low enough not to wake the man sleeping in the other bed. It is three in the morning, the room is pitch black, and somewhere behind him Dazai continues sleeping as peacefully unaware that the military base suddenly lost all electricity.
Chuuya glances toward the other bed, barely able to make out the shape of his roommate beneath the blankets. He can already imagine Dazai's reaction if he wakes him up now, probably some half-asleep complaint about being disturbed before sunrise followed by an attempt to convince Chuuya that the power outage is an excellent excuse to skip work altogether.
Not happening.
Chuuya is assigned to handle the trainees this morning, which means he needs to be on the field before most of the base is even awake. He does not remember exactly how he managed to shower with nothing but the tiny flashlight on his phone, and frankly, he does not care anymore. The important thing is that he is clean, dressed, and running late.
The darkness is not going to ruin his morning.
Chuuya had spent years building his reputation as one of the most disciplined soldiers on base. If he tells his trainees to be punctual, then he is going to be punctual. If he expects them to show up prepared regardless of the circumstances, then he has no intention of standing in front of them with some pathetic excuse about the electricity going out.
Besides, he refuses to give them a reason to think their commanding officer cannot handle a little inconvenience.
He reaches for his boots and slips them on without bothering to lace them as neatly as usual, then grabs the uniform lying across his desk. He barely gives it a glance because there is no time to waste checking every detail when he is already several minutes behind his preferred time, so he pulls it on, straightens the collar by touch, grabs his cap, and heads for the door.
Behind him, Dazai does not move.
Typical.
Chuuya quietly shuts the door and immediately breaks into a run.
The cool morning air hits his face as soon as he steps outside, and the darkness of the base makes the world feel strangely unfamiliar. A few scattered lights remain visible in the distance, probably from buildings running on backup power, but most of the compound sits in shadow. Chuuya barely notices. His mind is already on the training field, on the schedule waiting for him, and on how many laps he is going to make the trainees run if any of them decide to use the power outage as an excuse for being late.
His boots strike the pavement in quick, steady rhythms as he cuts across the compound.
This is one of the few things that irritates him about the division of their work.
Field officers wake before dawn, spend their mornings running drills, and deal with trainees who apparently believe basic discipline is a personal attack. Meanwhile, officers assigned to desk work get to remain asleep for several more hours because their offices do not even open until seven.
Chuuya knows better than to resent the difference. Intelligence work is important, and Dazai in particular spends most of his days buried in reports, operational plans, and enough classified information to give Chuuya a headache just thinking about it. Still, at three in the morning, with his lungs burning from running and the sun nowhere near the horizon, it is difficult not to feel slightly bitter about the fact that his roommate is probably still warm and comfortable in bed.
“Lucky bastard,” Chuuya mutters under his breath. He pushes the thought aside and picks up his pace.
The trainees are waiting. And if Chuuya is going to demand discipline from them, then he is going to arrive on that field ready to give them exactly that.
—
The first thing Atsushi noticed when he woke up is the floor.
The second thing he noticed is the throbbing ache at the back of his head. The third thing is Akutagawa standing beside his bed with an expression that suggests he feels absolutely no remorse whatsoever.
"A-Akutagawa, that's mean!" Atsushi rubs the back of his head as he push himself upright, still trying to understand why the mattress he remembers falling asleep on is suddenly several feet away from him. "You could have just called my name like a normal person. You didn't have to kick me out of bed."
"Get up or I'm leaving you."
The threat comes with such calm certainty that Atsushi knows better than to argue. He scrambles to his feet, blinking against the darkness as he looks around their room. There is no light coming from the ceiling, no faint glow beneath the curtains, not even the scheduled loud wakeup alarm for every trainees. The only illumination comes from the small flashlight on Akutagawa's phone, which casts just enough light across the room to make everything look vaguely ominous.
Atsushi glances toward the clock on the wall, then toward the ceiling.
"Wait. There's no electricity?"
Akutagawa gives him a long, unimpressed look. "Good guess, jinko."
Atsushi chooses not to comment on the nickname. Everyone else on the base seems to have decided that calling him Jinko is some kind of compliment after he won Best Rookie last month and finished the obstacle course faster than everyone. Atsushi still feels embarrassed whenever someone praises him for it, but Akutagawa uses the nickname differently. There is no admiration hidden beneath it, only the particular brand of sarcasm that seems to accompany nearly everything the other boy says.
Akutagawa came second place that month. Atsushi suspects that explains quite a lot.
Still, beneath all the insults and the constant threats to leave him behind, Akutagawa is actually a good roommate. He is dependable, strangely punctual, and somehow capable of waking up at exactly the time he intends to without relying on the base's alarm system. Atsushi suspects that if he ever told Akutagawa he considered him his best friend, the boy would either deny it or punch him for saying something embarrassing out loud, so he keeps the thought to himself.
For now, however, there is a more immediate problem.
"No electricity means no dormitory alarm," Atsushi realizes.
"Congratulations. Your brain functions."
"And we're supposed to be at the training grounds soon."
"That is also correct."
Atsushi stares at him.
"Why are you talking like you're personally offended that I'm asking questions?"
"Because you are asking questions instead of getting ready."
That finally gets Atsushi moving. The next several minutes become a frantic race against the darkness. Atsushi managed to shower with the help of his phone flashlight, nearly drops his soap twice, gets dressed while holding his uniform in one hand and the phone in the other, and spends an embarrassing amount of time trying to locate one of his boots beneath his bed.
Akutagawa, meanwhile, moves through the chaos with the calm efficiency of someone who apparently prepared for the apocalypse several months ago. By the time they leave the dormitory, Atsushi is still trying to fasten one of his cuffs properly.
At least they are not late.
According to their schedule, Officer Chuuya is commanding their training group for the entire week, and that alone gives Atsushi enough motivation to hurry across the dark base. Nakahara Chuuya is one of the most respected officers among the trainees, not simply because of his rank but because of the reputation he earned through years of field work. Everyone knows about his physical strength, his discipline, and the fact that he expects the same standards from himself that he demands from everyone under his command.
Atsushi looks up to him.
He wants to become the kind of soldier who can stand in front of a group of trainees and command their attention without raising his voice, the kind of officer who can make people push themselves harder simply by showing them what discipline looks like.
Which is why Atsushi is particularly determined not to embarrass himself during this week's training.
He and Akutagawa reach the grounds on time, although several of their fellow trainees arrive only moments later, stumbling through the gates with varying degrees of panic written across their faces. Atsushi watches them fall into formation while trying not to look too smug about the fact that Akutagawa saved them from joining that particular group.
He makes a mental note to thank him later.
The morning begins without the usual base-wide bell, leaving the training grounds unusually quiet as everyone gathers beneath a sky still dark enough to hide the edges of the buildings. When Chuuya finally orders them to start jogging around the base, their footsteps become the only real sound cutting through the early morning air.
Atsushi settles into his pace beside Akutagawa, breathing steadily as they make their first circuit.
The air is cold as the sky slowly changes. And somewhere between the second and third lap, the horizon begins to brighten enough for the buildings, vehicles, training equipment, and rows of soldiers to emerge from the darkness.
Atsushi is beginning to appreciate the sunrise when something sharp nudges his ribs that made him nearly stumble.
"Ow. What was that for?"
Akutagawa doesn't answer immediately. Instead, he points toward the front of the formation. More specifically, toward their commanding officer.
Atsushi follows his gaze. Then his eyes widened, for several seconds, he simply stares.
Officer Chuuya is standing ahead of them in the morning light, hands resting at his sides as he watch the trainees run. Nothing about his posture looks unusual. His boots are polished, his cap sits perfectly, and his uniform appears neat despite the early hour.
Except for one very important detail.
There is a surname embroidered across the left side of his chest. The letters are dark, clean, and impossible to misread.
DAZAI.
He reads it once without really registering it, then his eyes linger on the letters as the name slowly becomes familiar. Atsushi's attention sharpens at once.
He knows that name. Everyone on the base knows it, and there is only one person it could possibly belong to when it appears on a uniform worn by Officer Chuuya. Atsushi looks at the embroidery again, suddenly aware that Akutagawa must have noticed it for the same reason, and an unexpected thought begins to take shape in his mind as he looks between the surname and the redheaded officer leading their training.
The name sitting so naturally on Officer Chuuya's uniform suddenly seems to mean far more than Atsushi initially thought, and the realization leaves him wondering if he is looking at something he was never supposed to notice in the first place.
—
The bell rings just as the trainees finish their early morning routine, and Chuuya takes the opportunity to dismiss them before they can start dragging their feet. He gives them the usual reminder to make good use of their break, though the sight of several exhausted faces earns a small huff of amusement from him.
"All right, you're dismissed. Go get some breakfast and enjoy the next hour while you can. I expect every one of you back here before the next course begins, so don't make me come looking for you."
The trainees straighten at once, offering their acknowledgements before dispersing toward the cafeteria. Chuuya waits until the formation breaks apart before turning in the same direction, already thinking about getting something to eat himself. The early morning training leaves him hungry, and after waking up at an ungodly hour, he figures he has earned a decent breakfast before the next round begins.
He barely takes a few steps before someone calls his name.
"Good morning, Officer Chuuya!"
Chuuya turns to find one of the trainees hurrying toward him with an unusually bright smile. Nakajima, if he remembers correctly. The boy is one of the more promising trainees in the group, not necessarily because he is the strongest among them but because he approaches nearly everything with an enthusiasm that Chuuya rarely sees at this hour of the morning. Even after an exhausting round of drills, Nakajima somehow still looks as though he is genuinely happy to be here.
"Morning, Nakajima."
The trainee slows to a stop in front of him, still smiling.
"Akutagawa and I would like to congratulate you, sir!"
Chuuya pauses. "Congratulate me?"
Nakajima only smiles wider, apparently satisfied that he has delivered his message, before turning around and making his way toward the cafeteria with Akutagawa in tow. The other trainee looks considerably less enthusiastic about whatever this is, although Nakajima seems determined to drag him along regardless.
Chuuya watches the two disappear into the crowd, his brows drawing together as he tries to think of a single reason why one of his trainees would suddenly feel the need to congratulate him.
For what?
He runs through the possibilities in his head, but nothing immediately comes to mind. He has not received a promotion. There is no special commendation waiting for him. He has not accomplished anything particularly remarkable this morning beyond getting his trainees through their routine without anyone falling flat on their face.
Maybe they're congratulating him for being back at the base.
That seems unlikely, but Chuuya decides it is better than standing around trying to make sense of it. Whatever the reason, he can ask later if it actually matters.
He turns toward the cafeteria again.
"Good morning, Officer Chuuya!"
Another group of trainees passes by, and Chuuya gives them a nod, only for one of them to grin and offer him the exact same congratulations Nakajima gave him moments earlier. Before Chuuya can ask what they are talking about, they are already heading inside, leaving him standing there with an increasingly suspicious feeling that he is somehow missing an important piece of information.
Then another group approaches.
"Congratulations, sir!"
And another.
"Congratulations, Officer Chuuya!"
The cheerful greetings continue as more trainees pass him on their way to breakfast, each one wearing the same wide smile as though Chuuya is the recipient of some wonderful news that everyone except him seems to know about. He returns their greetings automatically, though his confusion only grows with every congratulatory remark.
By the time the next group disappears into the cafeteria, Chuuya is left staring after them with a frown, wondering exactly what the hell everyone on base thinks he did this morning.
As Chuuya enters the cafeteria, he joins the line for breakfast without giving much thought to the strange congratulations he received on the way there. Whatever the trainees are so pleased about can wait. He is hungry, and after spending the early hours of the morning running drills and putting them through their routine, food takes priority over whatever nonsense seems to be spreading around the base.
He barely stands in line for a minute before someone grabs him from behind.
"There was no electricity when I woke up," Dazai sighs, resting his chin comfortably on top of Chuuya's head as though using him as a convenient armrest. "I had to bathe in cold water. Do you have any idea how cruel that is?"
Chuuya immediately tries to slap his arms away, but Dazai is too tall and annoyingly heavy to move without making a scene, so after a brief struggle, he gives up with an irritated exhale and lets the brunette continue clinging to him.
"Stop whining. You're a goddamn soldier."
Dazai lets out a long, wounded groan against the top of his head, as though Chuuya had personally betrayed him by reminding him of his occupation. Instead of answering, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small bag of snacks.
Chuuya recognizes it immediately.
"Oi. That's mine." He elbows Dazai in the stomach from behind, but the other man only shifts his grip enough to keep hold of the bag.
"But our dads packed it for us!"
Chuuya rolls his eyes at the sheer audacity of this man to say our dads. Dazai had somehow spent enough time around him to start claiming anything his family gives Chuuya as though he is already part of the household, and the confidence with which he says it makes Chuuya certain Kouyou would have given him one of her most terrifying glares if she were here to witness it.
Before Chuuya can come up with a suitable response, a strange murmur begins spreading through the cafeteria. Conversations continue all around them, but the whispers seem to multiply from one table to another, accompanied by muffled laughter and the occasional gasp. None of the words reach Chuuya clearly enough to make sense, and when he glance around, he finds several people suddenly very interested in their food.
He looks at Dazai and Dazai looks at him. Neither of them seems particularly interested in figuring out what everyone else is whispering about, so they exchange the same small shrug before Chuuya turns his attention back to the snack bag.
"Give it."
Dazai lifts the bag just beyond his reach. "Come on, Chuuya. Ask nicely."
"At least have the decency to give me my own damn food."
Instead of lowering the bag, Dazai reaches inside and pulls out one of the snacks. Chuuya expected him to hand it over, but the brunette simply brings it toward his mouth.
Chuuya freezes.
Before he can properly process what Dazai is doing, the snack is placed between his lips, leaving him too startled to do anything except accept it. Dazai looks entirely pleased with himself, and apparently decides once is not enough, because he picks another piece from the bag and feeds Chuuya again with the same casual familiarity.
Only then does Chuuya become aware of the cafeteria around them.
The whispers that were already filling the room grow noticeably louder, followed by a chorus of muffled giggles and startled gasps that makes several heads turn in their direction. Chuuya slowly looks around, still chewing, and finds an alarming number of people watching them with expressions that make absolutely no sense.
He looks back at Dazai. The brunette merely smiles and offers him another snack.
Once they got their food, the two of them make their way toward their usual table at the corner of the cafeteria, the same one they have occupied for so long that nobody bothers questioning it anymore. They have been stationed at this base together for years, and somewhere along the way, an unspoken rule developed around that particular table. It belongs to Dazai and Chuuya. Anyone who happens to arrive early enough to claim it usually takes one look at the two names that have become practically attached to it and chooses somewhere else without complaint.
Chuuya settles into his seat and starts eating, grateful for the chance to sit down after the morning's training. Across from him, Dazai seems considerably more interested in everything except his breakfast, lazily picking at his food until a dramatic sigh escapes him.
"I may need to reorganize my stuff later."
Chuuya immediately groans, already regretting the thought of it. The image of their dormitory from the previous night returns to him with painful clarity, along with the realization that Dazai had apparently spent hours sorting through his belongings only to leave the room looking worse than before.
"Fuck no."
"But I can't find my uniform," Dazai complains, sounding genuinely troubled for approximately half a second before his usual dramatic tone returns. "I need to return it tomorrow because they gave me the wrong size last week, and I'm beginning to think someone deliberately hid it from me."
"Maybe if you didn't have enough stuff in our dormitory to furnish another room, it wouldn't get lost."
Chuuya still cannot understand how one person managed to accumulate so many belongings. Dazai somehow keeps bringing more things into their already small quarters, as though he is slowly attempting to relocate his entire life into the room they share. Every available surface seems to belong to him, and Chuuya is fairly certain he discovers another unnecessary possession every time he opens a drawer.
Dazai merely shrugs and continues eating, apparently unconcerned by the accusation.
Chuuya finishes his breakfast before him, then gets to his feet and leaves the cafeteria to report to General Fukuzawa's office. He needs the list of activities scheduled for the day's training, and unlike Dazai, who can apparently spend an entire morning complaining about cold showers and missing uniforms, Chuuya intends to make sure the rest of his trainees know exactly what they are doing before the next course begins.
He reaches Fukuzawa's office shortly afterward and steps inside, finding the general seated behind his desk with a stack of reports spread neatly in front of him. A cup of tea sits nearby, steam still curling from its surface, and the quiet atmosphere of the office feels almost peaceful compared to the noise of the cafeteria.
"Good morning, sir." Chuuya gives him a proper salute. "I'm here to receive the activities for today's training."
Fukuzawa looks up from the reports.
"Good morning, Chuuya. Here's the list."
The general reaches for the papers and holds them out, but his gaze settles on Chuuya before he can take them. Something in Fukuzawa's expression changes, subtle enough that Chuuya might have missed it if the man were anyone else. The general paused for several seconds, his eyes fixed on him with an unusual silence before he finally clears his throat and hands over the list.
Chuuya accepts it without comment.
"Thank you, sir."
He gives another salute and turns toward the door, already thinking about how he wants to structure the next course. His hand is just reaching for the handle when Fukuzawa speaks again, his voice as calm and matter-of-fact as though he is offering nothing more significant than a final instruction.
"Congratulations, Chuuya. I'm happy for you and Dazai."
Chuuya stops. His fingers remain around the doorknob as he turns his head slightly, confusion immediately replacing the thoughts about training that occupied his mind moments ago.
"For me and Dazai?"
But Fukuzawa is already looking back down at his reports, the conversation apparently finished.
Chuuya stands there for another moment, waiting for an explanation that never comes, before slowly stepping out of the office with the activity list still in his hand and an increasingly familiar question settling at the back of his mind.
What the hell is everyone congratulating him for? And why is Dazai involved?
Things only become stranger when Operations Officer Kunikida joins them for training.
Chuuya is in the middle of checking the trainees' formation when the blonde officer approached with his usual clipboard tucked beneath one arm, his attention already fixed on the list of names as he prepares to go through attendance. Kunikida is nothing if not punctual and thorough, so Chuuya expects the usual brief exchange about the day's schedule before they get started.
Instead, Kunikida takes one look at him and pauses.
"Congratulations, Officer Chuuya. I'm glad Dazai finally made up his mind."
Chuuya raises a brow, certain he must have misheard. "Made up his mind about what?"
Kunikida seems momentarily surprised by the question, but he quickly recovers and adjusts his glasses before glancing down at his clipboard.
"You should have informed me beforehand. If I had known, I would have arranged another week-long leave for the two of you."
Chuuya stares at him.
Kunikida, apparently satisfied that he had said what needed to be said, begins checking the trainees' attendance as though he did not just dropped the strangest statement Chuuya had heard this morning.
Chuuya remains where he is, watching him go through the names one by one while the confusion that started in the cafeteria only grows more difficult to ignore.
First the trainees, then General Fukuzawa and now Officer Kunikida.
And somehow, every single one of them seems to think he and Dazai are celebrating something that Chuuya himself apparently knows absolutely nothing about.
—
Tons of paperwork are piled across Dazai's desk, neatly arranged enough to suggest that someone still believes he might actually accomplish all of it before the end of the day. Dazai, unfortunately, does not share that optimism. He sits back in his chair with his pen loosely balanced between his fingers, staring at the stack without the slightest desire to touch any of it. His thoughts keep drifting back to the dormitory and, more importantly, to the uniform he still cannot find.
The tailor who handles alterations for the officers is only available until tomorrow before leaving for another military base in the neighboring city, which means Dazai really does need to find the missing uniform soon. He could probably request another one, but that would require paperwork, and the thought alone makes him even less inclined to deal with the mountain already occupying his desk.
A long sigh escapes him as he lets his head fall against the back of his chair.
The office door opens.
Dazai looks up to find Kunikida standing there, his posture as stiff and proper as ever, clipboard tucked beneath one arm and his expression carrying the familiar seriousness that suggests he has arrived with something important to discuss.
"You didn't inform me about the marriage."
Dazai blinks at him, confused. "What marriage?"
Kunikida squints. For several seconds, the blonde simply studies him as though trying to determine if Dazai is deliberately being difficult. Eventually, he exhales, his expression softening into something that resembles reluctant understanding.
"Sorry. That's probably invasive of me. If you two prefer to keep it discreet, I shouldn't have brought it up."
Dazai stares at him, more puzzled than offended. "Kunikida-kun, I don't understand what you're referring to."
He sighs again and looks down at the paperwork on his desk, too exhausted to summon the energy required to untangle whatever strange conversation has suddenly found its way into his office. Kunikida, however, does not elaborate. Instead, he walks toward one of the cabinets along the wall, opens it, and begins searching through the neatly organized files.
Dazai watches him with mild curiosity until Kunikida pulls out a small stack of forms and places them directly on his desk.
Dazai lowers his gaze. The first page reads Declaration of Marriage. He flips to the next. Marital Status Change Form.
There are several more documents beneath those, each carrying official headings that leave very little room for interpretation.
Dazai slowly looks back at Kunikida.
"Even if you two want to keep it discreet, you still need to fill out and submit some forms for proper documentation," Kunikida says, completely unfazed by the fact that Dazai is staring at him as though he had just produced evidence of an entirely different reality.
Dazai opens his mouth to ask what exactly Kunikida thinks he is talking about, but before he can get the question out, the bell rings throughout the base, signaling the beginning of lunch break.
Kunikida immediately checks the time.
"I'll see you later."
With that, he leaves the office with the same efficiency he applies to everything else, apparently unwilling to sacrifice even a minute of his carefully scheduled lunch break.
Dazai remains at his desk. His gaze slowly returns to the forms. He reads the first page again, then the second, trying to figure out what Kunikida could possibly want from him. Perhaps the man is planning to get married himself and wants advice on how to handle the paperwork. Maybe he is asking Dazai for help with proposing to someone. It would certainly explain why he appeared so serious about the matter, although Dazai cannot imagine why Kunikida would choose him as a source of romantic guidance.
Then again, perhaps that is exactly the problem.
Dazai glances toward the door Kunikida disappeared through, considers the forms once more, and finally decides that whatever this is, it can probably wait.
He pushes himself out of his chair and heads for the cafeteria, leaving the paperwork exactly where Kunikida placed it and his missing uniform still completely forgotten for the moment.
He comes across his grumpy roommate on his way to the cafeteria. Chuuya looks a little bothered by something, so Dazai makes a beeline toward him, only stopping when they're standing close enough to annoy each other properly.
"Why so grumpy?" His bandaged hand reaches out to smooth the crease between Chuuya's brows. "You'll get old faster."
Chuuya, of course, immediately slaps his hand away.
They fall into step together as they make their way toward the long line for food, and after a moment, the redhead lets out a frustrated sigh.
"Everyone's acting strange," he says. "They've been congratulating me nonstop. I don't even know what I did."
Dazai nods along, pretending to share his confusion. He's about to mention Kunikida's unusual behavior when something catches his eye.
The surname embroidered across the uniform Chuuya is wearing looks unmistakably familiar.
His surname.
That's when everything starts to click.
Dazai finds himself smiling as the realization settles in, finally making sense of everything that's been happening around them since morning. The strange congratulations, the knowing looks, Kunikida's bizarre behavior, all of it suddenly becomes hilarious once he puts the pieces together. He can't help but giggle at the thought of everyone on the base apparently congratulating Chuuya for getting married to him, and the more he imagines it, the harder it becomes to keep the amusement off his face.
"Oi, what's so funny?" Chuuya jabs him in the side.
"Nothing~" Dazai singsongs, barely containing his grin before moving closer and casually draping an arm around the redhead's shoulders. Chuuya lets out an irritated grunt but, perhaps too distracted by whatever is bothering him, doesn't immediately shove him away.
"Oh, Chuuya. You really are full of surprises."
Before Chuuya can question him, Dazai leans down and presses a quick kiss to the top of his head, entirely because he's feeling far too giddy about the ridiculous situation to resist. The reaction is immediate. Chuuya's fist collides with his chest, making Dazai stumble back with a laugh.
"What the fuck are you doing?!" Chuuya demands, his cheeks reddening as he tries to hide his flustered expression.
Instead of explaining himself, Dazai simply reaches for Chuuya's hand, wearing the most innocent smile he can manage. "I just want to congratulate you, my dear~"
The response from the cafeteria is immediate. A collective gasp rises from nearly everyone in the room, loud enough that Chuuya finally looks around in confusion. Yet the moment his gaze sweeps across the tables, everyone suddenly becomes very interested in their food, returning to their meals as though absolutely nothing happened.
—
If everyone is acting weird, Dazai is definitely acting the weirdest.
Chuuya mentally counts from one to ten as he tries to calm himself, though the effort isn't doing much to help. Ever since lunch, Dazai refuses to leave him alone. Even after the break ended, the strategist didn't bother returning to his office. Instead, he followed Chuuya straight to the training grounds, apparently deciding that wherever Chuuya goes, he should be there too.
Which leaves Chuuya in the middle of an existential crisis, because why the hell is Dazai being so fucking clingy?
The brunette is normally shameless enough to invade Chuuya's personal space whenever he feels like it, and after years of being roommates, Chuuya is more than familiar with his usual brand of weirdness. Today, however, Dazai is operating on an entirely different level. Chuuya lost count of how many times he punched the bandage-wasting man within the span of an hour, yet somehow Dazai keeps coming back with that irritating smile, as though every hit only encouraged him.
What makes it worse is that Chuuya can't seem to handle the touches nearly as well as he should. Every time Dazai casually drapes an arm over his shoulders, pats his head, leans against him or finds some ridiculous excuse to get closer, Chuuya's thoughts stumble over themselves before he can even decide whether to shove him away. His face warms, his words disappear for a second, and by the time he remembers that he's supposed to be annoyed, Dazai is already grinning like he knows exactly what he's doing.
And Chuuya hates that.
He hates how easily Dazai can fluster him. He hates how his so-called best friend can kiss the top of his head out of nowhere and leave him standing there too stunned to immediately retaliate. He especially hates the way those ridiculous terms of endearment somehow sound almost... nice coming from Dazai, even when they're accompanied by that infuriatingly smug smile.
Who cares if his longtime roommate is suddenly clingier than usual? Who cares if his so-called best friend keeps kissing his head whenever he gets the chance? Who cares if Dazai has apparently decided that shameless little endearments are perfectly acceptable now?
Certainly not Chuuya.
Not at all.
And if he happens to stop himself from punching Dazai every once in a while because, secretly, he doesn't entirely mind it, then that's nobody's business but his own.
By the time Chuuya finally dismissed the trainees, with the sun already beginning to sink toward the horizon, he had officially reached his limit.
Instead of preparing for dinner, he grabs Dazai by the hand and marched him straight toward the dormitory area, ignoring every curious glance they receive along the way. The moment they reach their room, Chuuya pulls Dazai inside, shuts the door behind them and locks it.
"Seriously, what the fuck is wrong with you?!"
He grabs Dazai by the collar, the difference in their heights becoming painfully obvious as Chuuya has to tilt his head back to glare at him. It doesn't faze him in the slightest. After an entire afternoon of Dazai behaving like a particularly affectionate menace, he's far too irritated to care about anything else.
"Something interesting happened," Dazai says, completely unbothered by the confrontation. Instead of pulling away, he leans closer with that infuriatingly pleased smile. "And I just realized that I don't hate the idea of it."
"The idea of fucking what?"
"Us. Married." Dazai gestures between them, his smile growing as he watch Chuuya's expression change. "You, taking my last name."
Chuuya immediately goes red.
For a moment, he's too stunned to form a coherent response, which is precisely why he almost missed Dazai's hand reaching toward his chest. He feels the warmth of those fingers the moment they settle against the left side of his uniform, and when Dazai's pointer finger slowly moves across the embroidered letters, Chuuya finally snaps out of his stupor and slaps his hand away.
"What the fuck are you doing?!" he shouts, his face somehow turning even redder. But before he can demand an explanation, his gaze drops to the spot Dazai just touched.
The embroidered surname stares back at him.
DAZAI
For several seconds, Chuuya can only stare at the letters, his mind painfully retracing every strange interaction from the entire day. The congratulations. The knowing looks. Fukuzawa. Kunikida. The trainees. The cafeteria. Dazai's inexplicable behavior.
Everything suddenly makes sense.
"There you go," Dazai says happily, sounding far too pleased with himself.
Chuuya doesn't answer. He's too busy realizing that he spent the entire day wearing Dazai's uniform without noticing.
"Why didn't you tell me?!"
Chuuya immediately tries to pull the uniform off, but Dazai catches his wrist before he can get very far. The redhead shoots him an irritated glare, only to find the brunette shamelessly whistling as though this entire situation is perfectly ordinary.
"Because I like it," Dazai answers.
"Like what? Making fun of me? Letting me embarrass myself in front of the trainees?"
Dazai shakes his head, looking almost offended by the accusation. "God, you're so dense."
"The fuck did you just call me?"
"I said I like the idea of you taking my last name and everyone knowing we're married."
That immediately shuts Chuuya up.
Dazai watches the color creep back into his face, clearly delighted by the reaction, before adding, "And don't act surprised. We've been dancing around each other for a long time now."
"No, we haven't." Chuuya looks away, already regretting locking the two of them inside their room. Somehow, being alone with Dazai feels much more dangerous than standing in front of an entire training ground.
Dazai gives him an unimpressed look before releasing a long, dramatic sigh.
"Ouch. Are you telling me that what happened last Christmas was nothing? That when I got assigned to a different base for three months and finally came back, you practically threw yourself at me with that hug? That getting invited to your family gatherings was nothing? That you saving me a seat at dinner, waiting for me after late shifts, stealing food from my plate and pretending you weren't saving the best pieces for me was nothing? That-"
"Okay! Okay! Stop whining!"
Chuuya covers Dazai's mouth with both hands, his embarrassment reaching a level he refuses to acknowledge. "God, you're insufferable."
He feels Dazai's lips curve into a smile against his palm, and whatever the brunette tries to say comes out as nothing more than an unintelligible mumble. Chuuya keeps his hands there for another second before finally pulling them away, only for Dazai to catch both of them and gently hold them between his own.
The teasing expression remains, but something softer settles behind it when Dazai waits for Chuuya to meet his eyes.
"So?" he asks, his grin returning. "Does all of it mean nothing?"
Chuuya doesn't answer immediately.
Instead, his mind drifts back to the previous Christmas, when he and Dazai were stationed together and spent the holiday on duty. After finishing their shifts on Christmas Eve, there was nowhere else either of them needed to be, so they returned to their dormitory, changed into something comfortable and spent the rest of the night watching old cartoons while the rest of the base settled down. At some point, exhaustion caught up with them. Chuuya remembers waking sometime during the morning with Dazai's arms around him and his own arms wrapped comfortably around the brunette in return.
Neither of them moved.
They simply stayed there, warm beneath the blankets, listening to the quiet of Christmas morning. Neither mentioned it afterward, but Chuuya remembers exactly how natural it felt. There was no awkwardness, no need to pull away or pretend they hadn't fallen asleep that way. For once, being held by Dazai felt so easy that Chuuya didn't even think about it until much later.
Then there was the three-month assignment.
Chuuya remembers the day he received the news that the base where Dazai was stationed had come under attack. He remembers how his stomach dropped, how he couldn't concentrate on anything else for the rest of the day, and how every passing hour without an update seemed to stretch longer than the last. He remembers telling himself that he was only worried because Dazai was his roommate, his friend, his partner. He remembers repeating those explanations until they almost sounded convincing.
And then Dazai came back.
Alive. Unharmed. Standing in the doorway of their shared room with that familiar stupid smile on his face.
Chuuya hadn't even thought about what he was doing before crossing the room and wrapping his arms around him.
He remembers the way Dazai froze for half a second before hugging him back. He remembers how neither of them seemed particularly interested in letting go, even after the initial relief faded and they both became aware of how long they had been standing there. It should have been embarrassing. Instead, Chuuya only remembers feeling relieved enough to breathe properly again.
Maybe that should have told him everything.
Maybe he already knew.
He knew in all those small moments he never bothered naming. In the way he always looked for Dazai first when they return from assignments. In the way Dazai was the person he wanted beside him when something good happens, and the person he instinctively search for when something went wrong. In the way their room never quite felt like home when one of them id away for too long. In the way Dazai's presence had slowly become something Chuuya stopped questioning because it felt so natural that imagining his life without it seemed almost impossible.
Chuuya finally looks at him.
"No," he admits quietly.
Dazai's expression softens.
"It doesn't mean nothing." The words leave Chuuya's mouth before he can take them back, and for once, Dazai doesn't tease him for it.
Chuuya swallows, his fingers still loosely caught in Dazai's hands. "I just... I didn't want to think about it."
"Why?"
"Because you're you," Chuuya mutters, looking away again. "You're annoying, you're shameless, you never shut up, and somehow you've been living in my space long enough that I can't remember what it's like without you."
A quiet laugh escapes Dazai.
"And," Chuuya continues, cheeks warming again, "I figured if I ignored whatever this was, eventually it'd stop being a problem."
Dazai tilts his head. "And did it?"
Chuuya looks back at him.
"No."
The answer comes so easily that it almost surprises him.
Dazai's smile grows, but this time there's no smugness behind it. He simply squeezes Chuuya's hands, warm and gentle, as though he's giving him all the time he needs.
Chuuya lets out a quiet breath and finally allows himself to smile. "You're still insufferable, though."
"I know."
"And don't think this means you can start calling me ridiculous things whenever you want."
"Of course not." Dazai's smile turns mischievous again. "I'll simply have to choose my terms of endearment more carefully."
Chuuya groans, but he doesn't pull his hands away. For once, he doesn't feel the need to.
"Does that mean I can kiss you?" Dazai asks.
For once, there is no teasing in his voice. His eyes hold a genuine softness, and beneath it, Chuuya catches something he rarely sees from him at all.
Anxiety.
The realization makes Chuuya's chest tighten. Dazai is actually waiting for his answer, giving him the choice instead of assuming. Chuuya clenches his fist, takes a slow breath and finally gives a small nod.
Dazai exhales in relief before closing the remaining distance between them.
Their lips meet, warm and gentle, and somehow the moment feels much simpler than Chuuya expected. He closes his eyes, letting himself stop overthinking for once, and when they eventually pull apart, he finds himself smiling despite every instinct telling him to hide it.
In the quiet of their room, with everything between them finally becoming something neither of them needs to pretend away anymore, Chuuya realizes that this feels right.
After all the years of teasing, arguments, shared assignments, late nights and moments neither of them ever bothered to name, somehow this is where they've ended up.
Together.
Dazai looks at him for a moment, his own smile softening before the familiar mischief returns.
"Again?" he asks hopefully.
Chuuya rolls his eyes, though the smile on his face gives him away. "You're really not going to let this go, are you?"
"Absolutely not."
—
The next morning, Chuuya arrives at the training grounds wearing his own uniform.
The surname NAKAHARA is embroidered clearly across his chest, and the moment the trainees notice it, the cheerful atmosphere from yesterday seems to disappear.
Atsushi's expression falls. "Oh no."
Akutagawa looks at the surname, then sighs solemnly. "They got divorced."
"Already?" Atsushi looks genuinely heartbroken. "But they were so happy yesterday."
"I know."
The same realization spreads through the rest of the trainees, with several of them exchanging mournful looks as though they had just witnessed the end of a great love story.
Chuuya, completely unaware of the tragedy they've apparently invented, looks over the formation with a frown.
"Why are you all looking at me like that? Get into position."
"Yes, sir."
They immediately obey, but the sympathetic looks don't stop. Chuuya glances down at his uniform, then back at the trainees, thoroughly confused.
What the hell is wrong with everyone?
Meanwhile, Dazai, who had only just woken up, stands in their room staring at the uniform Chuuya accidentally wore the day before. It's the uniform that fits him too small, and apparently fits Chuuya perfectly.
He should bring it to the tailor.
That is the sensible thing to do, especially since he needs a proper uniform for himself. Yet every time Dazai looks at it, he finds himself remembering Chuuya walking around the base wearing his surname, completely unaware of the chaos it caused.
The memory leaves a strange warmth in his chest.
That day, Dazai never went to the tailor.