Chapter Text
Chuuya is driving through the familiar streets on one of Yokohama's suburbs with one hand steady on the steering wheel and his phone pressed against his ear, listening as Kouyou goes over the responsibilities she is leaving in his care.
The rental house is only a few minutes away, but she apparently decided that the drive is the perfect opportunity to make absolutely certain he remembers everything. Chuuya doesn't mind. If anything, he appreciates the thoroughness. Kouyou looked after the property for years, and if she is trusting him to take over as she settles into her new home, the least he can do is make sure everything remains in order.
“The water bill needs to be paid before the fifteenth, and the gardener comes every other Tuesday. The back gate sticks whenever the weather gets humid, so don't force it if it doesn't open properly. You remember where the spare keys are, don't you?”
“In the drawer beside the telephone,” Chuuya answers without hesitation. “I remember. You already showed me where everything is, and I wrote down the dates for the bills as well.”
“I know you did. I'm only making sure.”
“You don't need to worry so much. I've got it under control.”
“I know you do, but this is your first time managing the house on your own. There are a few things you might overlook if you're not familiar with the place yet. The kitchen faucet on the second floor still leaks if you turn it too far to the left, and the storage room tends to get damp after heavy rain. Just keep an eye on it.”
“I'll check everything once I get there, Ane-san. I'll make a list of anything that needs fixing and take care of it before it becomes a bigger problem.”
“That's what I wanted to hear." Kouyou gives a small hum of approval. "Oh, and Akutagawa should be back from college later today. He's a quiet boy, but he's a good tenant. His rent is always on time, and he generally keeps to himself. You shouldn't have any trouble with him.”
“Got it. I'll leave him alone unless he needs something. If there's an issue with the house, I'll let him know.”
“Good. I don't expect you to hover over your tenants. Just make sure they know they can come to you if something needs attention.”
“I understand.”
Chuuya turns onto the street where the rental house comes into view, the familiar building looking slightly different now that he is approaching it with the knowledge that it is now his responsibility. The garden is neat, the windows are clean, and from the outside there's nothing to suggest that anything has changed. Still, there's something strangely final about seeing the place waiting for him.
Kouyou continues before he can say anything about it.
“There is one other thing I want you to remember.”
Chuuya already knows from her tone that this is going to be the part she considers most important. “The neighbor?”
“Yes. Stay away from the lazy landlord across the road.”
Chuuya glances toward the house opposite the rental property as he slows the car near the driveway. From where he is, it looks perfectly ordinary. He can't see anyone outside, and there is nothing particularly suspicious about the house itself, except for the slightly overgrown weeds sticking out of the front yard.
“Is he really that troublesome?”
“You'll understand once you meet him. He's lazy, he always gets involved in things that don't concern him, and he seems to have an endless supply of free time. I don't know how someone can accomplish so little while somehow managing to annoy everyone around him.”
“That sounds impressive in its own way.” A faint smile pulls at Chuuya's mouth despite himself.
“I'm being serious, Chuuya.”
The amusement immediately fades from his expression. “I know. Don't worry. I won't involve myself with him.”
“That's all I'm asking. If he bothers you, don't let him drag you into an argument. You have enough responsibilities without wasting your time dealing with someone like that.”
“I'll keep my distance. If there's a problem involving the property, I'll handle it properly. Otherwise, I have no reason to bother with him.”
Kouyou is quiet for a moment, then lets out a satisfied breath. “Good. I knew I could trust you with the house.”
“You can. I'll make sure everything is taken care of while you're away.”
Chuuya pulls into the driveway and shifts the car into park, but he doesn't end the call immediately. He looks toward the house through the windshield, already mentally going through everything he needs to do once he gets inside.
Kouyou's voice softens when she speaks again. “We're nearly settled here. The house is beautiful, and Kyouka is already making herself comfortable. She seems happy with the new place.”
“I'm glad to hear that. You both deserve to enjoy it after everything you've been dealing with. Don't spend the whole time worrying about what's happening here. I'll take care of things.”
“I know you will. Just don't work yourself into the ground trying to prove it.”
Chuuya smiles faintly. “I'll be fine, Ane-san. You should be the one enjoying the break for once. You've spent years looking after everyone else.”
“Well, someone has to.” Kouyou laughs softly, and the familiar sound makes Chuuya relax. He reaches for the door handle and glances toward the house across the road once more.
“Alright, I should get inside and start unpacking. Take care of yourself, and enjoy England. Give Kyouka my regards too. Tell her I'll call when I've finished settling in.”
“I will. You take care as well, Chuuya. And remember what I told you.”
The call ends, and Chuuya slips his phone into his pocket before stepping out of the car. He opens the trunk and starts unloading his things, already thinking about the work waiting inside the house. Before closing the trunk, his gaze drifts across the road again. The neighbor's house remains quiet. Chuuya studies it for a moment, then shakes his head and turns back toward their rental property. He has a house to manage, tenants to meet, and enough responsibilities of his own.
Whatever kind of person lives across the road, Chuuya intends to follow one simple rule.
Stay out of his way, and keep him out of Chuuya's.
The house looks exactly as it did in the pictures Kouyou sent him. Though, Chuuya still spent the better part of the morning walking through it anyway.
The rooms are completely furnished, the kitchen is stocked, and everything sits roughly where Kouyou said it would. He checks the locks, tests the lights, looks over the appliances, and familiarizes himself with the little things that are easy to overlook when someone else has been living in a place. By the time he's done, the house no longer feels like somewhere he is simply taking care of for his sister.
This is going to be his home now, at least for a long while, and he intends to run it properly.
Two college students will be living with him, Akutagawa and Tachihara. Chuuya haven't met either of them yet, though Kouyou sent him their pictures and a little information about each. They are supposed to arrive soon, which means there will be two people relying on him to keep the place functioning.
That thought alone makes him look toward the kitchen.
Kouyou already filled the refrigerator and pantry before leaving, so technically there's no reason for him to go shopping today. Still, the selection is mostly the practical sort of food his sister prefers. Chuuya wants his own snacks, and since he's already going out, he might as well pick up everything he needs.
He decided he'd like to make red bean pancakes, too.
It seems like a decent way to introduce himself to the tenants without making a big deal out of it. He can cook, the ingredients are easy enough to find, and everyone can eat together when Akutagawa and Tachihara arrive.
By early afternoon, Chuuya grabs his wallet and keys and heads back outside. The drive to the nearest grocery store is short. He parks, takes a cart at the entrance, and starts with the ingredients for the pancakes before making his way toward the snack aisle. He picks up a few things he recognizes, checks the shelves for anything new, and reaches the section he actually came for.
Then he sees them.
Limited-edition Pocky, his favorite brand.
Chuuya's expression brightens despite himself. He reaches for one of the last three boxes on the upper shelf, intending to take one, when another hand suddenly sweeps across in front of him and all three boxes disappear.
Chuuya's hand remains suspended for a second before he slowly lowers it.
The stranger who took them drops the boxes into his own cart.
Chuuya turns toward him. The first thing he noticed is that the man is tall. Ridiculously tall, actually, and irritatingly close considering they are complete strangers. Dark brown hair falls loosely around his face, his clothes look comfortable enough to suggest he put absolutely no effort into getting dressed, and there is something about his whole appearance that makes Chuuya wonder if this man has anywhere to be at all. He looks like someone who could spend an entire weekday afternoon wandering around a grocery store simply because he has nothing better to do.
Unemployed, Chuuya decides. Or at the very least, suspiciously free.
The stranger looks down at him and, instead of apologizing for taking all three boxes, he smiles.
“You were going for one of those, weren't you?”
Chuuya glances at the three boxes sitting in the man's cart. “Obviously.”
“Ah. Then this is awkward.” The stranger looks at the shelf, then back at Chuuya. His expression doesn't carry a trace of guilt. If anything, he looks entertained. Then, he picks up one of the Pocky boxes from his cart and turns it over in his hand. “Actually, since I have three, I can give you one.”
Chuuya raises an eyebrow. “Really?”
The stranger's smile shifts into something more mischievous. “If you give me your number.”
There is a beat of silence while Chuuya processes what he just heard. He looks at the stranger's face, then at the Pocky in his hand, and finally back at him.
“No.”
The answer comes so quickly that the stranger lets out a quiet laugh. Chuuya doesn't bother waiting for whatever ridiculous response is coming next. He turns back toward the shelf, grabs a different snack, drops it into his cart, and starts walking.
“Wait,” the stranger calls after him, sounding far too amused by the whole thing. “You don't even want to negotiate?”
“Nope.” Chuuya keeps walking.
“That's harsh.”
That comment didn't stop Chuuya from pushing his cart toward the next aisle, refusing to give the man another opportunity to say something stupid. He can feel the irritation settling in his chest, but he forces himself to let it go. He's new to the neighborhood, and the last thing he needs is to start picking fights with random people before he has even met his tenants.
Besides, the stranger looks exactly like the sort of person who enjoys getting a reaction.
Chuuya isn't going to give him one.
—
The house is divided neatly between the two floors. Kouyou and Kyouka occupied the first floor when they lived here, and now that space belongs to Chuuya. The second floor is split into two separate rooms, each rented to a college student who would rather put up with a landlord than pay the ridiculous prices of the university dormitories.
Akutagawa is the first one home.
Chuuya is in the kitchen when he hears the front door open, followed by the quiet sound of footsteps. He looks over just in time to see a dark-haired boy step inside with a bag slung over one shoulder. Akutagawa takes two steps before noticing the unfamiliar redhead standing in the kitchen.
The boy stops. His eyes move briefly from Chuuya to the kitchen, then back again. There is a moment of obvious confusion before recognition settles across his face. Kouyou must have informed them about Chuuya's arrival beforehand.
Akutagawa gives him an awkward nod.
Chuuya returns it. “Akutagawa, right?”
“Yes.” The answer is quiet and polite. Then, he starts heading toward the stairs, apparently deciding that introductions can wait for another day.
“Akutagawa.” Chuuya calls out and the boy paused with one foot on the first step and looks back. “I’m making a snack right now,” He gestures toward the kitchen. “It'd be nice if the three of us get to know each other. Once Tachihara gets home, maybe we can eat together.”
Akutagawa glances toward the stove, then back at Chuuya. He looks as though he is considering whether this is some kind of obligation he's supposed to accept as a tenant. After a moment, he gives another polite nod. “That would be fine.”
Then he continues upstairs.
Chuuya watches him disappear around the corner.
“Not bad.”
It isn't exactly a warm welcome, but Akutagawa didn't reject the invitation, and Chuuya decides to count that as a small victory.
A few minutes later, the front door opens again. This time, a much louder voice announces Tachihara's arrival before Chuuya even sees him. The younger man comes into the kitchen with the energy of someone who has spent the entire day surrounded by people and somehow still has enough enthusiasm left to talk to another two.
Introductions go considerably more easily this time.
By the time Chuuya sets the pancakes on the table, Tachihara is already asking about Chuuya, while Akutagawa sits quietly with his plate and answers only when someone addresses him directly. The conversation remains polite, perhaps a little too polite, with everyone still feeling out where the boundaries are.
Chuuya learns that Tachihara is studying engineering and spends more time on campus than he expected. Akutagawa is in the literature program, which Chuuya finds slightly surprising considering how little the boy talks. They learned that Chuuya graduated from Computer Science a few years ago, that he recently moved in, and that Kouyou is his older sister.
There are no awkward silences that last long enough to become uncomfortable, but there are plenty of moments when Chuuya can tell they are all still figuring each other out.
He doesn't mind.
People don't become comfortable with each other in a single afternoon. They'll be sharing the house, crossing paths in the kitchen, hearing each other's footsteps on the stairs, and eventually learning one another's habits without even thinking about it. For now, the important thing is that nobody walks away from their first meeting with a bad impression.
By the time the plates are empty, Tachihara is already complimenting the pancakes, while Akutagawa gives a quiet but sincere thanks before taking his plate to the sink.
“Thanks for the food, Chuuya-san,” Tachihara says as he stands. “You didn't have to make all this just because we're your tenants.”
“I know. I wanted to.”
Tachihara smiles and carries his plate upstairs with Akutagawa following behind him. Chuuya watched them go before collecting the remaining dishes. It feels strangely satisfying to see both of them settle back into their rooms without any problems. Maybe this landlord thing won't be as difficult as he thought.
He finished cleaning the kitchen, dries his hands, and is halfway toward the stairs when he remembers the commission.
“Shit.”
The deadline is tonight.
Chuuya heads straight for his laptop.
After graduating from Computer Science, he took a job at a corporate office in Tokyo. It seemed like the sensible thing to do at the time, and for a while, he convinced himself that he could handle the workload. Eventually, though, the long hours and constant pressure started wearing him down. Tokyo itself began to feel exhausting, and by the time Kouyou called to ask if he could take over the rental house in Yokohama, Chuuya was already considering a change.
He submitted his resignation letter after years of working nonstop.
Freelancing as a graphic designer gives him a better arrangement. He can earn his own money without having to return to an office every morning, and managing the house gives him something stable to focus on. The schedule is his to control, which means he can work around the responsibilities that come with being a landlord.
For the first time in years, his life feels manageable.
At least until the Wi-Fi disconnects.
Chuuya stares at the screen and he waits. Nothing, so he tries to check the router but it's lights are off.
“What now?”
Before he can get up, a sharp sound comes from outside, followed by the unmistakable crash of something hitting the backyard.
Chuuya immediately closes his laptop. He heads outside and follows the sound around the side of the house. Only to find a length of Wi-Fi cable laying across the grass, pulled loose from where it runs along the back wall.
Beside it sits a golf ball.
Chuuya picks it up and he looks at the damaged cable, then at the ball in his hand, before glancing towards the street.
A second later, he sees someone.
The man is standing across the road in front of the neighboring house, dressed in a crumpled bathrobe that looks as though he put it on without bothering to check whether it was properly tied. His hair is an absolute mess, and there is a golf club in his hand.
Chuuya watches as the man adjusts his stance and prepares to swing again. He looks like someone who hasn't seen a productive day in years.
“Oh, for fuck's sake.” He inhales slowly, already feeling the stress building up inside of him.
This has to be the landlord Kouyou warned him about. The troublemaker landlord across the road that he heard about.
Of course.
His sister could have warned him about a noisy neighbor, a difficult tenant, or someone who regularly throws parties until three in the morning. Instead, he finds a man in a bathrobe playing golf in his front yard. Before Chuuya can talk himself out of it, he starts walking. The golf ball remains clenched in his fist as he cross the street, each step making his irritation settle into something considerably more deliberate.
His first day as the new landlord isn't even over, and the universe is already testing his patience.
Fine.
Let it try.
—
“I'm telling you, Atsushi-kun, he was really pretty.”
Dazai reached into the pocket of his bathrobe and pulls out another golf ball as though the subject of their conversation hasn't already been thoroughly established. He rolls it between his fingers while standing in the middle of the front yard, the golf club resting loosely against his shoulder. His hair is still a mess from his afternoon sleep, his robe hangs crookedly around him, and there isn't a single indication that he intends to dress properly anytime soon.
From inside the house, Atsushi watches him through the window. Experience had taught him not to stand too close whenever Dazai is holding a golf club, or any stick in general.
“But you didn't even ask for his name,” Atsushi says, keeping a safe distance from the glass. “What did he look like?”
That makes Dazai pause. He tilts his head, apparently searching through his memory, and the corner of his mouth lifts as he remembers the stranger from the grocery store.
“Red hair. Blue eyes. About this tall.” He raises one hand to roughly the height of his own neck. “He was reaching for the Pocky on the upper shelf, and then he looked at me like I'd personally ruined his entire day.”
Atsushi listens, trying to picture the man.
Dazai continues, apparently pleased with his own recollection. “He was carrying one of those little shopping baskets, too. Very serious about his groceries. I think he might've been buying ingredients for something. He had this expression like he'd rather fight the shelf than admit he couldn't reach it.”
“Dazai-san.”
“And when I offered him one of the Pocky in exchange for his number, he looked at me as though I'd committed some sort of unforgivable crime. Very dramatic. I barely even knew him.”
“Dazai-san!”
“He's short, angry, and probab-”
A golf ball flies across the yard and strikes the back of his head, cutting Dazai's sentence off.
Atsushi closes his eyes. He knew this was going to happen eventually, the moment his landlord decided to play golf in a small space.
Dazai slowly turns around, one hand going to the back of his head. The golf club remains in his other hand as he look to where the ball came from.
The man standing there is unmistakable. Red hair, blue eyes, short, clearly angry. He looked slightly takem aback for a second after Dazai turned around, probably because he recognizes him from the grocery store.
“Get your fucking balls off my fucking property.” the redhead hissed, marching toward the fence. “You broke our freaking Wi-Fi!”
Dazai's expression changes. Not because of the golf ball, but because of the word Property. He glances past the redhead toward the house across the street, then toward the cable lying in the grass behind him. Understanding settles in with an unpleasant sort of clarity.
“Oh.” His voice loses its earlier amusement as he look back at the redhead, eyes narrowing. “You're the lady's minion?”
The reaction is immediate.
“The fuck did you just call me?”
Dazai lets out a humorless laugh. “I said minion. I thought that was fairly generous.”
The redhead's fist evidently tightens. “You broke my Wi-Fi and you're standing there calling me a minion?”
“Your Wi-Fi broke because it was apparently hanging on for dear life.” Dazai gestures lazily toward the damaged cable. “If a golf ball can bring down your entire connection, perhaps the problem isn't entirely on my side.”
“You hit the fucking cable!”
Atsushi watches from the window with growing concern.
This is already considerably worse than the usual arguments Dazai gets into with the woman who lives across the street. Dazai usually just gets a little bit irritated at those. This one, he doesn't. There's something about the redhead's attitude that immediately gets under Dazai's skin. The man doesn't seem remotely intimidated by him, doesn't appear interested in being polite, and certainly doesn't seem willing to let Dazai talk his way out of anything.
Then the redhead looks toward Dazai's house and scoffs. “And you don't get to insult our Wi-Fi when your yard still has Christmas lights in April!"
Dazai follows his gaze and sees the lights hanging around the porch up to the potted plants. He hadn't noticed them in months. His fingers tighten around the golf club because he recognizes the tone.
The same judgmental attitude he'd dealt with from the woman across the street for years, except somehow this is worse. At least she usually had the decency to glare from her own property. While her brother just crossed the street, thrown a golf ball at him, and is now insulting his house as though he'd been appointed head of the neighborhood association.
Dazai looks him over with a cold, unimpressed expression. “So that's what this is about. Ozaki sends her little brother over to supervise the neighborhood. Great."
The redhead's face twists with irritation. “Don't drag my sister into this.”
“Then don't come over here behaving like a worse version of her.”
“I'm here because you damaged my property.”
“And I'm standing here because you decided to make it my problem.”
“It became your problem when your golf ball landed in my yard.”
Dazai looks down at the golf ball in the redhead's hand. Then back at him. “You really are committed to being annoying, aren't you?”
He doesn't like this man.
He doesn't like his voice, his attitude, his constant yelling, or the way he stands there as though Dazai is the unreasonable one in this situation, he probably is by a few details, but that's not important. Most of all, he doesn't like that the stranger from the grocery store, the one Dazai thought was pretty enough to remember after only a few minutes, turns out to be the same infuriating person currently standing in his yard and insulting everything within eyesight.
Whatever pleasant impression he had formed earlier disappears completely.
“You don't get to insult my house while you're standing there, midget.”
The redhead's eyes widen. Then he gives Dazai the most offended look yet. “Fine. Then keep your bullshits off my property.”
He flips Dazai off, turns around, and marches back to his house without waiting for another response. Dazai watched him go, the golf club still clenched in his hand. Atsushi finally steps out of the house to approach his landlord with an awkward look.
Dazai's expression remains sour.
“Atsushi-kun.”
“Yes?” Atsushi glanced at Dazai, then towards the redhead disappearing through the front door across the road.
“I take back everything I said earlier." Dazai looks at the house, then at the golf ball still sitting in his own hand. "That man barks like a coyote eating trash."
Atsushi waits as Dazai's eyes narrow toward the neighboring house.
“Not pretty at all."
The boy wisely says nothing.
For years, the woman across the street had been enough of a nuisance for Dazai to avoid whenever possible. She was too stoic, too judgmental, and far too interested in what everyone else was doing just because she want everyone around him to be as disciplined and boring just like her. Now she had apparently left behind a younger, louder version of herself. And this one had already thrown a golf ball at his head.
Dazai looks across the street again, irritation settling deeper with every second.
He hates the redhead.
Absolutely hates him.
—
Even with his blood still boiling, Chuuya managed to resist slamming the front door behind him. Barely.
The audacity of that man is enough to make his head ache. He could have taken accountability for the damage like a normal human being, apologize, and offer to pay for the repairs, but apparently that would have required too much common sense. Instead, the bastard chose to insult Chuuya, drag his sister into the argument, and somehow act as though Chuuya were the one causing trouble.
He knows the house is old. Most of the things inside work because Kouyou spent years taking care of them rather than replacing them at the first sign of trouble. If something still does its job, she sees no reason to throw it away, and Chuuya understands that. What he doesn't appreciate is having to dip into his own pocket to replace perfectly usable equipment because some idiot decided to practice golf without considering where his balls might land.
He could go back outside. He could cross the street, demand compensation, and make that lazy bastard understand exactly what he damaged.
But Chuuya is already tired of arguing.
It's his first day here. He doesn't want to spend it getting into a neighborhood feud with the man Kouyou specifically warned him about.
Yes, he's short-tempered. Yes, his voice gets loud when he's angry. And yes, this certainly isn't his first argument with someone. Still, Chuuya stands by his point. He isn't picking a fight for the sake of it. The landlord across the street damaged his property, refused to take responsibility, and then insulted him when he complained.
If anyone deserves to be annoyed, it's him.
“Chuuya-san?” A low voice comes from behind him.
Chuuya nearly jumps out of his skin.
“Fuck!" He turns around so quickly that his shoulder nearly got caught to the edge of the wall. Akutagawa stands halfway down the staircase, watching him with a faintly concerned expression. “God, you scared the shit out of me.”
His heart is still beating hard when Akutagawa doesn't answer. Instead, the boy walks past him and heads straight for the nearest window. He carefully pulls the curtain aside just enough to look through the gap. The moment he sees whatever is outside, he closes it again. Quickly.
Chuuya's irritation fades. He walks over and peers through the same window himself. Across the street, the landlord is still outside with the other boy, apparently talking about something. The distance makes it difficult to hear them, but Chuuya doesn't need to hear much to recognize the same man from the grocery store and the backyard.
His jaw tightens. Then he looks back at Akutagawa. The boy is trying very hard to look composed, but there is a faint flush across his face that wasn't there before. Chuuya's attention sharpens. “What's wrong?”
Akutagawa shakes his head.
Chuuya studies him for another moment. “Did they do something to you?”
That finally makes Akutagawa glance over.
“No.”
The answer is quiet, but Chuuya isn't convinced. His thoughts immediately run through every possibility. If his first day in the house already involves a problem with the neighbors, Akutagawa, who's been living here for a year and a half, might have dealt with much worse. The kid is quiet and keeps to himself. He doesn't seem like someone who would willingly pick a fight with anybody, which unfortunately also makes him the sort of person a bully might decide to target.
Chuuya's expression hardens.
Not on his watch.
He may have only just met his tenants, but they're living under his roof now. That means something.
“Alright,” he says, gentler this time. “If something happened, you tell me. I don't care if it's about the neighbors, the house, or anything else. You're not bothering me.”
Akutagawa looks at him for a second, as though he isn't quite sure what to make of that. Then he gives another small shake of his head and turns toward the staircase. “Nothing happened, Chuuya-san.”
He heads upstairs before Chuuya can ask anything else. Chuuya watched him disappear around the corner. Something about that answer bothers him. Not enough to chase after the boy, but enough to make him glance once more toward the window.
Across the street, the crazy landlord is still standing in his yard.
Chuuya's eyes narrow.
Maybe Kouyou's warning wasn't nearly specific enough.
—
It took two full days to finally get the Wi-Fi installation scheduled.
Two whole days without internet other than mobile data, followed by endless phone calls, waiting, rescheduling, and repeatedly explaining that yes, he understands the technician is busy, but he would still like to have a functioning connection in the house he is currently responsible for. Thankfully, those two days pass without another incident involving the landlord across the street.
Well, almost.
Tachihara managed to get into a fight at university.
Chuuya still doesn't understand how a college student can come home with a split lip and a bruise forming along his cheek and nose, then stand there looking more annoyed about missing dinner than concerned about his injuries. Chuuya cleans him up anyway, disinfects the small cuts, and sticks a bandaid across his nose while giving him a lecture about how people are supposed to grow out of getting into schoolyard fights once they enter college.
Tachihara, naturally, insists that the other guy started it. Chuuya doesn't care. A fight is still a fight.
By the third morning, at least things finally seem to be returning to normal.
The WiFi workers arrive early, and Chuuya spends the better part of the morning standing in the front yard with his neck tilted at an increasingly painful angle as he watch them work. One technician is on the roof while another checks the cables along the side of the house, and Chuuya keeps looking up every few minutes despite knowing absolutely nothing about installation.
He simply wants to make sure nobody accidentally breaks something else.
The morning air is cool enough to make standing outside pleasant, and for once, Chuuya isn't thinking about the long list of commissions that piled up.
Then he noticed the landlord across the street taking out the trash. He looks like he hasn't slept properly, with his hair sticking out in every direction and his eyes barely open, but what catches Chuuya's attention isn't his appearance. It's the pajamas that the man is wearing.
Chuuya recognized them immediately because he's wearing the exact same pair.
They're the blue Stitch pajamas from the department store nearby, the ones Chuuya bought because they were comfortable enough to wear around the house. He looks across the street again, just as the other man seems to notice the same thing about him. Their eyes meet, then both of them glance down at their matching pajamas before looking back at each other with the same expression of disbelief.
For a few seconds, they simply stare across the street, apparently trying to process how two people who already dislike each other somehow ended up owning the exact same pajamas.
Chuuya's mouth twists in annoyance. Of all the things they could possibly have in common, it had to be this.
The other man looks equally unimpressed.
They both roll their eyes at the same time, then turn away and head back toward their respective houses without saying a word. Chuuya walks through his front door with one thought firmly settled in his mind.
These pajamas are never leaving the house again.
After the workers are done with installing the brand-new WiFi, Chuuya immediately goes back inside and gives his commissions the attention they deserve. He spent most of the afternoon bent over his laptop, occasionally getting up to brew another cup of tea or rummage through the kitchen for something to snack on whenever staring at the same screen starts making his eyes ache. By evening, he managed to clear most of the work that piled up during the move, leaving only a few smaller reediting for the following day.
The next few days settle into something resembling a routine.
Chuuya wakes early, usually before his alarm, and opens the windows downstairs to let the morning air through before making breakfast. Sometimes he works at the dining table, sometimes at his desk, depending on how much space he needs for whatever project he is handling. He quickly learns which chair gives him the best view of the garden and which part of the first floor stays coolest in the afternoon, little things that seem insignificant until they become habits without him noticing.
He also starts seeing more of his tenants.
Tachihara is usually the first one downstairs, often appearing on the staircase with his hair still messy from sleep and immediately asking if there is anything to eat. Akutagawa is quieter, usually leaving for class with a polite greeting and returning later in the afternoon. Since the two share the upper floor, Chuuya doesn't see them constantly, but he starts recognizing their routines. The sound of footsteps overhead in the morning, the occasional conversation drifting down the stairs, the front door opening when one of them leaves for class.
Chuuya gradually stops feeling like he needs to make conversation every time they cross paths. A simple greeting in the hallway or a brief question about their day becomes enough, and the house slowly loses the awkwardness of three strangers trying to figure out how to share a space.
One Saturday morning, Chuuya finds himself standing in the kitchen making breakfast for everyone without really thinking about it. Tachihara wanders downstairs halfway through and offers to help, which mostly results in Chuuya handing him plates and telling him to stay out of the way. Akutagawa joins them a little later, and for once, the three of them manage to sit together without the meal feeling like an introduction.
It's nice.
Not exciting, not particularly memorable, but nice.
Over the following days, Chuuya finished unpacking the last of his boxes. His clothes are arranged properly in the closet, his books occupy one of the shelves in the living room, and the kitchen finally contains the ingredients he actually likes instead of whatever Kouyou decided would be practical. A few framed photographs from home find their way onto the shelves, and a small plant he buys during an afternoon walk ends up beside the window.
The first floor starts to feel less like something he is temporarily looking after and more like somewhere he lives.
About a week and a half passed before Chuuya realizes he no longer thinks about the move every time he wakes up. His freelance work settles into a comfortable rhythm, his tenants come and go according to their schedules, and the occasional phone call from Kouyou an Kyouka keeps him connected to the other side of life.
Some evenings, after finishing his work, Chuuya closes his laptop and sits outside for a while with a cup of tea. He likes the quiet at that hour. The neighborhood settles down, the traffic thins, and there is enough silence for him to actually hear himself think.
Yokohama isn't Tokyo.
That's probably the point.
There are fewer demands on him here, fewer reasons to rush from one thing to another. For the first time in a while, Chuuya can finish his work, put his laptop away, and know that the rest of the evening belongs to him.
So he lets himself enjoy it.
He cooks when he feels like cooking, orders takeout when he doesn't, occasionally experiments with new recipes that Tachihara is more than happy to volunteer as a taste tester for, and slowly fills the empty spaces around the first floor with things that make it feel lived in.
By the time another week passes, Chuuya has stopped wondering whether leaving Tokyo was the right decision.
He already knows the answer.
—
Tuesday morning arrives with Chuuya already thinking about caffeine.
He goes straight to the kitchen after waking up and starts brewing coffee, watching the machine work while mentally going through everything he needs to accomplish today. A big commission came in late last night, one that is going to take most of the day if he wants to finish it properly, and Chuuya is determined to get started as soon as possible. He pours himself a generous mug and takes the first sip with the quiet satisfaction of someone who knows he is going to need every drop of it.
He barely gets comfortable before the doorbell rings.
Right. The gardener.
Kouyou is particular about the gardens, especially the front and back yards. She wants the plants kept healthy and the flower beds looking presentable all year, which is why she arranged for someone to come every other Tuesday. Chuuya doesn't mind. If anything, having someone else deal with the garden means one less thing on his list.
He sets his mug down and heads for the front door. When he opens it, a cheerful blonde boy is standing outside with a smile bright enough to compete with the morning sun.
"Good morning! I am Kenji, Ozaki-san's favorite gardener, at your service!"
Chuuya almost smiles at the enthusiasm. "Oh. Right. I'm-"
His introduction dies before he can finish when something behind Kenji catches his attention.
The front yard is covered in trash.
Chuuya's eyes widen as he look past the boy and takes in the scattered cans, food containers, crumpled paper, and plastic bags littering the grass. For a moment, he struggles to understand what he is seeing because he distinctly remembers checking the yard last night, and the trash cans were empty.
Then his gaze follows the trail across the street.
The answer sits in plain sight. The trash can outside the neighboring house is lying on its side, its contents scattered across the road and several yards in every direction.
Kenji's cheerful expression falls as he look back at the mess."When I came here, I was shocked to see the yard in this state too. It must've been the stray dogs who knocked over Dazai-san's trash."
Chuuya grips his coffee mug a little tighter.
So that's his name.
Dazai.
He already knows the man is careless, but apparently leaving a trash can unsecured overnight is another thing to add to the list. The sanitary district schedules regular collection for a reason, and residents are supposed to put their trash out at the appropriate time instead of leaving it sitting around all night where stray animals can get into it.
Chuuya takes a slow breath and forces himself to calm down. He could spend the morning arguing with the man across the street, but that would only waste time he desperately needs for his commission.
"You know him?" he asks, making an effort to keep his voice even.
"Yup." Kenji nods. "Dazai-san asks for gardening services once in a while, though I wish he'd actually make a proper schedule. I can already see the weeds growing through his flower beds."
Chuuya looks toward the other house again, then down at his coffee. He considers ignoring it for all of five seconds before deciding that isn't going to work. The garbage is already scattered across his sister's carefully maintained yard, and leaving it there until someone decides to clean it up isn't exactly responsible.
"Give me a moment." He sets his mug inside and crosses the street, reminding himself as he goes that this can be handled like a normal adult conversation. He doesn't need to yell, insult anyone, or turn a simple request into another argument. He only needs the trash picked up and the problem solved.
When he reached the other house, Chuuya pressed the doorbell and waits. No one answers, so he tries again after a moment, only to be met with the same silence. He's reaching toward the button for a third time when the door suddenly yanks open with enough force to strike the wall behind it with a dull thud.
The man standing there looks nothing like the irritating stranger from the grocery store who stole his Pocky.
He looks exhausted. His hair is messier than usual, his expression completely devoid of patience, and there is something distinctly unpleasant in his eyes when they settle on Chuuya.
"You again."
Chuuya feels himself straighten. The other man doesn't look particularly pleased to see him, but Chuuya isn't here to make friends.
"Your trash got scattered around my yard."
"So?"
The response catches him off guard. Chuuya stares at him for a moment, wondering if he genuinely doesn't understand what the problem is. "So, I want you to be responsible and take it off my property."
A short, humorless laugh leaves the man's mouth. "What? You can't do it yourself? You'd actually prefer bothering someone early in the morning just to whine about something so simple?"
Something in Chuuya's patience gives way. "Look, I know you're clearly in a bad mood, but that doesn't mean you get to be a jerk. I'm trying to be civil here."
"If you know I'm in a bad mood, then walk away before I do something you'll regret."
The warning only irritates him further. Chuuya steps closer, refusing to let himself be intimidated by the man's attitude. "Or what?"
The other man's expression shifts slightly, as though he hadn't expected Chuuya to challenge him.
Chuuya holds his ground. He came here for a simple reason, and he's not leaving until the garbage is cleaned up.
—
Dazai hates people with too many principles.
He especially hates the sort who always seem perfectly put together, the kind who move through life according to a carefully arranged set of rules and somehow believe everyone else should follow them too. Meticulous, methodical, disciplined people who cannot resist correcting everything that doesn't fit neatly into whatever standard they've decided is acceptable.
They disgust him.
Perhaps that is why he chose to live the way he does.
Growing up under the care of a man who valued logic and control above almost everything else, Dazai learned early what it was like to have every part of his life measured against someone else's expectations. There was always a right way to do something, a proper way to behave, a reasonable decision to make. Order was treated like a virtue, and anything outside of it was viewed as something that needed fixing.
Dazai spent years deciding that he would never become that kind of person.
The moment he earned enough money to live on his own, he took the opportunity to leave as much of that life behind as possible. He bought a house somewhere quiet, far enough from the people who knew him and, more importantly, far enough from anyone who might care enough to tell him how he ought to live. He could sleep until noon, leave dishes in the sink, forget to take the trash out, decorate his house however he pleased, and spend an entire day doing absolutely nothing if he wanted.
That was the point.
Freedom.
Then the woman across the street arrived.
Well, technically, she had been there first. But Dazai remembers her as the first unfortunate obstacle to his peaceful existence. She is exactly the sort of person he spent years trying to get away from. Disciplined, stern, composed, principled, and apparently incapable of minding her own business whenever she sees him doing something she considers irresponsible.
At first, Dazai doesn't really care.
Her comments roll off him easily enough. He knows she's concerned about the way he lives, and occasionally he even finds her lectures amusing. But eventually, the concern turns into repeated scolding, and the scolding starts sounding less like concern and more like expectation.
You should do this.
You shouldn't do that.
You need to be more responsible.
Dazai begins hearing an old voice beneath hers, one he knows far too well.
And he hates it.
Now, somehow, he has acquired another person who thinks they have the right to tell him what to do.
Dazai looks down at the redhead standing in front of his door.
His morning is already ruined.
A sudden phone call from his father woke him earlier than he wanted, and the conversation left him in a mood foul enough that even the sight of another human being is irritating. He certainly doesn't need some stranger crossing the street to lecture him about garbage before seven in the morning.
"Or what?" the redhead asks.
The challenge makes Dazai inhale sharply through his nose. Why do people keep getting on his nerves lately? He steps forward, slowly closing the distance between them. The redhead is considerably shorter, which makes it easy for Dazai to look down at him, and he deliberately lets his height do some of the work. Usually, that is enough. Most people recognize when they've pushed too far.
This one doesn't.
The redhead remains exactly where he is, blue eyes fixed on Dazai with an expression that somehow manages to become even more irritating the longer Dazai looks at it.
Apparently, warnings mean nothing to him.
Fine. If words aren't enough to make this man reconsider, perhaps another kind of warning will.
"Listen here, Shorty." Dazai's voice drops as he leans slightly closer. "I don't want to deal with anything right now, but if you're that persistent, then we might as well settle things in a different way."
His hand curls into a fist at his side, not quite a threat of what he intends to do, but enough of an indication that he is rapidly running out of patience.
The redhead's eyes flick toward the movement before returning to his face.
"You think you're so scary?"
Dazai stares at him. This man really doesn't know when to stop.
For a moment, neither of them moves, but the tension between them is enough to make the situation perfectly clear. Dazai squares his shoulders, while the redhead shifts his stance in preparation, and suddenly they are both standing there ready to throw punches before breakfast over a pile of garbage.
Then a voice comes from behind Dazai.
"Dazai-san!"
A pair of arms catches him from behind before he can take another step. Dazai recognizes Atsushi's voice immediately, followed by the sound of hurried footsteps coming down the stairs. "Please don't get into fights."
At almost the same time, another figure rushes across the street and catches the redhead by the arm, pulling him backward before he can move any closer.
"Chuuya-san!"
Dazai's attention snaps toward the other tenant.
Chuuya.
So that's his name.
He looks back at the redhead, now being dragged away by his black-haired tenant, and feels his irritation return almost immediately.