👠devil in designer👠

skk | omegaverse | E | fashion magazine editor!Dazai x aspiring fashion designer!Chuuya
tags and trigger warnings! will be updated as story goes on!
Dazai really should have learned by now not to check his email right when he wakes up. It only ever ruins his day.

Today, the offending email is from his soon-to-be ex-husband, changing the terms of their divorce. /Again/.

He rubs a tired hand down his face with a resigned
sigh and flops down on his bed. He knew that Kohaku was /vindictive/, but this is ridiculous. They've been separated for nearly a /year/ now, but he still seems to think they can /fix/ it.

Dazai just wants this whole thing to be /over/. He just wants to live his life and not be
legally attached to the man who /ruined/ his son’s life. He doesn’t even /care/ about what Kohaku did to him. It’s not important. But what he did to Izumi, Dazai will /never/ forgive.

So seeing an email signed with ‘with love, your Kohaku’ leaves a rancid taste in his mouth.
He has the fleeting urge to sink his teeth into something and just release the anger and frustration inside him. His teeth practically /ache/ with it.

Instead, he closes his email app and pulls up his contacts.

“Shouldn’t you be at work?” Ranpo says as soon as the line clicks.
Dazai scoffs.

“Yosano threatened to change every lock and access point in the building unless I took the morning off. But I have to interview a new secretary this afternoon.”

Ranpo laughs at him and he rolls his eyes even as he smiles. Ranpo has stuck with him even when he was
a self-destructive asshole. Well, more than he is now, anyway. Even when Dazai accidentally fathered a baby he wasn’t prepared for, even through his entire marriage to Kohaku.

Dazai sobers again when his thoughts drift to his spouse. “He wants the dog now.”

“He hates the dog.”
“I know,” Dazai sighs. “But he knows that Izumi /loves/ him.”

“So, he thinks that threatening to take the dog will make you reconsider the divorce.”

“Yeah, I think so.”

“The offer to make him disappear is still on the table, you know,” Ranpo says casually. It sounds like
he’s cooking breakfast, the sizzling of a pan coming through the phone quietly. “I have connections.”

“I know you do,” Dazai sighs. Ranpo has his finger on the pulse of the entire city because he spent seven years fucking anything that moved, going to extravagant parties,
living the high life. When he settled down with Oda, Dazai swore there was a wake. “But with my luck he’d just come back as a vengeful spirit."

“I know an exorcist.”

“Of course you do.”

“Not as loud as I thought he’d be, though,” he continues. “It’s no fun when they’re quiet.”
⚠️this is your general trigger warning about discussions of physical and emotional abuse against Dazai's son Izumi by his ex-husband. Explicit scenes describing the specific instances of abuse will be marked, but it is a major topic in general!⚠️
Dazai forces himself out of bed. Izumi has the day off from school, so he should spend time with him before he goes to work. But lately, he just doesn't know what to /say/ to him.

Dazai’s feet hit the cold wood floor and his mind flashes wish images of blood and Izumi crying
and Kohaku’s wedding ring. It all spins in his mind so fast he feels dizzy with it. “As much as I enjoyed being right,” Ranpo’s voice cuts his thoughts short. “What happened to Izumi isn’t actually your fault.”

“Yes it is.”

“Kohaku being an abusive piece of shit isn’t your
fault.” The phone shifts and Dazai can hear another voice.

//“Is that Dazai?”

“It’s Kohaku again. Go sit down.”

“I’ve been sitting all morning.”

“/Good/.” //

Oda seems to walk away and then Ranpo’s voice is back near the speaker. “I know you think you’re above it all, but he
hurt you, too.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not.”

Dazai clenches his teeth. If he just blocks out their entire marriage, then nothing hurts. Bringing it up is what hurts.

“I’ll call you later.”

“You can only run so far before you’ll stumble, Dazai.”

Dazai hangs up before dropping
his face into his hands as his elbows rest on his knees. He collects himself--as much as he can anyway. He leaves his phone on the bed when he stands up.

Approaching Izumi’s door has felt more daunting since he and Kohaku separated. Everytime he does, he thinks about /that day/.
About the blood and the tears and the /screaming/. He shakes his head, knocking lightly. The door squeaks as it falls open.

“Izumi?” he asks.

“I’m awake.” He still sounds like he’s been hollowed out and it makes Dazai’s chest ache for what he /was/. They used to be inseparable
and now...now they’re both broken down. Dazai clears the lump in his throat and steps into the room. Nori looks up over Izumi’s body under the covers and whines at Dazai.

Dazai sits on the side of the bed and pats the dog’s head gently.

“Do you want to come down for breakfast?
I can make whatever you want.”

“M’not hungry.”

His son is stiff in the bed, not looking over or shifting at all. He’s /tense/. Dazai takes a slow, calming breath. Kohaku did this. /Kohaku/ did this to his baby. And he just /let it happen/. He stands up before scooping Izumi up
with his comforter. He sits back on the bed, cradling Izumi. He’s ten now, so it’s a bit more difficult than it used to be, but Izumi doesn’t struggle or push Dazai away, even as he whines.

“Baby, you need to eat.”

“Don’t want to,” Izumi grumbles, turning his face away from
Dazai. Dazai gently nudges him until he turns back with a huff. “Put me down. I’m /not/ a baby.”

The tension that’s been building for months, the tense atmosphere that surfaces every time Dazai sees the scar on Izumi’s chin, is ready to snap now. Dazai has so many things he
wants to say. To reassure his son that they’re going to be okay. But he /can’t/. Because he doesn’t even /know/ if that’s true.

Dazai leans down, his nose brushing over Izumi’s dark hair, scenting him and hugging him close.

“Talk to me. /Please/, Izumi. I can’t help if I don’t
know what’s wrong.”

Izumi is silent for a long, heavy moment. And then he hiccups, body shaking and leaning into Dazai’s body.

“I can’t sleep,” he says, quiet and strained. Dazai holds him closer. He feels so lost and Izumi is trembling and scenting him back and his entire
body /aches/ with grief. “M’scared.”

Dazai takes a steadying breath. He’s about to snap. He’s so close to the breaking point and all he can do is /listen/. He can’t /fix it/. He nuzzles Izumi’s head, crooning softly.

“What are you scared of?”

Izumi sobs, shaking fists
clinging to Dazai’s shirt desperately.

“I--I’m scared he’ll come /back/,” Izumi whispers. “I don’t want him to come back.”

Dazai clenches his teeth, holding Izumi so close, in the safety of his arms where /no one/ can hurt him again.

“I will never let him touch you again,
Izumi. Not /ever/.”

“Dad,” Izumi says, one hand moving out of the comforter to cling to Dazai’s shirt. “I don’t want him to take you away.”

“I’m not going anywhere, I /promise/. You’re /my son/. And there’s nothing that can stop me from being here with you.”
Izumi doesn’t seem all that comforted by his words and Dazai feels the bone deep exhaustion settle over him.

He wants to go back to before he even /met/ Kohaku. When everything was easier. “Why don’t you sleep with me tonight? We can watch a movie and eat dinner in my room.”
It takes a while, but Izumi nods slowly. “Alright.” Dazai smiles, kissing his forehead. “For now, let’s get some breakfast, okay?”

“Okay.”

Dazai squeezes Izumi one more time before standing and setting him back down. Before he steps away he holds Izumi’s cheeks gently.
“Izumi?”

“Yeah?”

“I love you. Don’t /ever/ doubt that.”

Izumi shuts his eyes, leaning into Dazai’s touch as his breath catches. He nods quickly.

“I love you, too, Dad.”

Dazai leans in and kisses his son’s forehead, ruffling his hair and leaving the room.
Once he makes it to the kitchen, he takes a moment to brace his hands on the countertop and just breathe. There are so many things he wants to go back and change.

But he can’t. All he can do is be better now. He can be what Izumi needs /now/.
Feet shuffling in front of him draws his gaze up and he smiles at Izumi as he steps into the kitchen with Nori at his side. If one thing saved them both it was the dog. He barely leaves Izumi’s side now and Dazai is grateful.

“Hey, kiddo,” Dazai says. Izumi climbs up into a
stool at the island bar and lays his hands on the counter carefully. He’s still so /tentative/ about his movements. Like he’s taking up too much space. “What do you want for breakfast?”

Izumi shrugs.

“I don’t care,” he says quickly. “What do you want?”
Dazai leans his elbows on the counter so he’s closer to Izumi’s height in the chair.

(Everyone tells him how /amazing/ it is that he’s so tall, but all he feels is the inconvenience. Doorways are too low, he has to buy custom clothing, he takes up so much /space/. It’s more of a
hassle than it’s worth in his opinion.)

“I want to make what /you/ want, Izu.”

Izumi looks away, fingers twisting together on the counter.

“It really doesn’t matter, Dad. I’ll eat whatever you make, I promise.”

That’s another thing. Izumi is /so/ focused on being /good/
that he doesn’t know how to ask for things that he wants. Dazai is about to continue badgering his son into asking for what he wants when he notices the scent. Or /lack/ of scent, really.

He scented Izumi ten minutes ago, but now he can’t smell anything and his heart drops.
He reaches out to push down Izumi’s collar to find a scent blocker patch on his shoulder. His teeth clench and his hands /itch/ to punch something. Instead, he forces himself to take a deep breath and calm down.

Smelling like anger isn’t going to help either of them. His thumb
moves to the patch and Izumi jolts, reaching up to stop him.

“You don’t need to wear that.”

“But I...I smell bad,” Izumi insists.

“No, you don’t,” Dazai retorts, but Izumi shakes his head.

“Kohaku said...he said that I smell too sweet. I don’t...I don’t wanna distract you.”
“Kohaku doesn’t know what he’s talking about. I’m your dad and I’m telling you that you smell /fine/, Izumi. You smell…” he trails off. He doesn’t think Izumi needs to be brought into the logistics of his /birth mother/ right now. “You smell like a friend I had a long time ago.”
“I do?” Izumi asks so softly, like speaking too loudly would make Dazai take it back.

Dazai just nods as he moves Izumi’s hands aside and gently removes the scent blocker. The scent of Izumi and him and home fill the kitchen and Dazai’s shoulders relax.

“Much better,” he says.
Izumi looks to the side with a half shrug, and Dazai vows to make scenting normal in their house again. He just wants his son to be /happy/. “Now, if you could have /anything/ for breakfast, what would it be?”

Izumi looks down at his hands, kicking his feet back and forth and
concentrating.

“Uncle Atsushi talks about tea on rice a lot,” Izumi says softly. “I think...I think I wanna try that.”

Dazai laughs softly, ruffling Izumi’s hair.

“Tea on rice sounds great.”

Izumi smiles up at him, so wide and genuine it makes Dazai’s eyes sting a little.
He smiles back before turning to the countertop and starting the rice and tea. Cooking is quick and quiet and they eat in comfortable silence for a long while.

Eventually, Dazai sets his spoon down and clears his throat. “So, I have to go to work for a few hours this afternoon.”
Izumi’s spoon stops halfway to his mouth as he pouts at Dazai.

“I thought you had the day off,” he says, but then winces, shoving the rice in his mouth and turning his head down and to the side. “Sorry, it’s fine.”

Dazai holds back a sigh. Healing takes /time/. He just has to
be supportive. And patient. He reaches across the table to tilt Izumi’s chin up.

“You’re allowed to be upset, Izu,” he says. “I wanted to take the whole day, but I have to interview someone. If it works out, I can come home earlier, though. Does that sound good?”
Izumi’s eyes widen as he meets Dazai’s gaze. One blue and one green eye look so hopeful it breaks his heart.

“Like...like you could cook dinner at night again?”

Dazai smiles as he nods once.

“You don’t like Yuan’s cooking?” he teases. Izumi smiles back softly.
“No, I do,” he says. “But I like yours better.”

Dazai hasn't had a lot of proud moments as a father in the past few years, but seeing Izumi smile and take another bite of tea on rice makes his heart swell.

He’s /never/ regretted his son.
Even when he was a stupid twenty year old with a draining modelling career and no sense of direction who’d just been handed a baby one day.

As soon as he looked at his son’s face, he knew that it would all be worth it.

“I’ll be home to cook dinner tonight, too. Promise.”
“Okay,” Izumi agrees, sitting up in his chair. “Can we have omurice for dinner?”

“Sure,” Dazai agrees easily, just to see Izumi smile again. “But you have to have some vegetables, too, okay?”

“That’s fine!”

Dazai nods, picking up his own spoon with a smile.
Atsushi agreed to watch Izumi for a few hours and he’s the /only/ Beta that Izumi isn’t squirrely around these days. Dazai even got him moved to another class with an Omega teacher last year.

But he’s doing well. They’re both /getting there/.
Once they’re done eating, Izumi insists on helping with the dishes before Dazai scoops him up and drops on the couch.

Izumi laughs as he bounces on the cushions and looks up at Dazai. He crawls over to lean against Dazai’s side when he sits down. Dazai wraps his arm around him
and pulls him up to scent him, crooning against his hair. Izumi leans up to rub his cheek against Dazai’s and Dazai’s entire body feels warm with quiet affection. He rubs his cheek back, encouraging him to keep going.

Dazai's been /slowly/ teaching Izumi about scenting over the
past year. He was deprived of /any/ sort of input for two years and it cracks Dazai’s heart every time he thinks about it. He holds Izumi closer, kissing the top of his head when he settles down against Dazai’s side again.

They watch a movie, and it’s /nice/. It feels like
/progress/. And Dazai knows that not every day will be this good. But he has /hope/ that there will be more and they’ll be even /better/.

By the time Atsushi arrives, Izumi is dozing off against Dazai’s chest and Dazai shakes him gently.

“I have to go to work, Izu,” he says
softly. “Uncle Atsushi is here, but you can go back to sleep. I’ll be home for dinner.”

Izumi grips his shirt tightly with pursed lips before he lets go and nods. He rubs his cheek against Dazai’s one more time before falling back on the couch. Dazai lays a blanket over him as
Atsushi walks over, backpack and laptop in hand.

“Busy morning?” he asks softly. Dazai rubs the back of his neck with a sigh.

“Not really,” he says. “He hasn’t been sleeping, so you can let him nap as long as he needs to.”

Atsushi nods.

“I need to write a paper anyway,”
he says. “How are you doing? Dad’s been worried.”

Dazai smiles with a shrug.

“As well as I can be, I guess. Kohaku is dragging everything out. It’s just…a lot. But I think we’re getting there.”

“Okay,” Atsushi says softly, nudging Dazai’s shoulder softly with a smile. “You
should call Dad and Pops. They miss you.”

Dazai has /maybe/ been avoiding talking to his parents lately. Partially because he’s been busy and he doesn’t want to accidentally unload on them. Partially because he thinks they’ll be disappointed in him. For not seeing the signs,
for letting his child get traumatized by a man he trusted.

He’s messed up /so much/ in his life and his parents have helped him every time. He just doesn’t know what the final straw would be. The thing that would make them regret adopting him at all.
But in his state of exhaustion he's /sure/ it exists. No matter what they say or do, there's a small part of his brain that doubts he deserves something so nice.

Atsushi nudges his shoulder again with a quizzical expression. "You should go get ready."

"Right," Dazai agrees,
making his way up the stairs to put on his bandages and a suit.

He brushes cheeks with Atsushi on his way out who trills at him softly and scents him back. He bounds out the door and he /almost/ makes it to work before something else ruins his day.

His phone rings as he's
scanning his access card at the door. He pulls it out without thinking and answers. The voice that replies sends a chill down his spine.

"Hey, honey bear!"

Dazai’s back straightens as he trudges to the elevator and slams the button to call it.

“Akiyama-san,” he greets
pleasantly. He can practically picture the pout Kohaku makes in response.

“Osamu, that’s so cold!” he complains. “Is that any way to greet your /husband/?”

Dazai steps onto the elevator and ponders the benefits of crushing his phone under his foot and escaping into the woods
with his son to live off the grid. But that kind of massive change wouldn’t be good for Izumi’s mental health, so he elects to take a calming breath instead.

“No,” he agrees. “But it is the way I greet my /ex/-husband.”

“We’re not divorced yet,” Kohaku counters with
unrelenting glee. If Dazai were a worse man, he would take Ranpo up on making the man just /disappear/. But they always suspect the spouse.

“We’ve been separated for a year, Akiyama-san,” Dazai says, stepping off the elevator on the top floor and breezing into his office without
greeting anyone. He’s sure the sour look on his face would just scare people, anyway. “We’re not together anymore.”

Kohaku sighs, clearly reaching the end of his patience for forced politeness.

“We can /fix/ this, Pumpkin!” he says. Dazai /hates/ those pet names. Kohaku seems
to be incapable of saying them in a way that /isn’t/ condescending. And now they just make Dazai want to rip his hair out. “I just don’t understand why you’re blowing this out of proportion.”
‼️ THE FOLLOWING SCENE INCLUDE DISCUSSION OF NONCONSENSUAL DRUG USE FROM A CHILD, PHYSICAL ABUSE OF A CHILD, PERMANENT INJURY OF A CHILD, EMOTIONAL MANIPULATION AND GASLIGHTING ‼️

(the scene will be summarized at the end!)
“Out of proportion?” Dazai snaps as his office door slams shut. “You /drugged/ my child to hide his secondary gender from me and then /hit/ him when he stopped complying. How the /fuck/ is that /out of proportion/?”

“/Drugged/ is such a nasty word, Osamu.”

“It’s a /nasty/
thing to do to a seven year old, Akiyama-san. I’m sure your lawyer explained that to you.”

“He wasn’t /ready/, that’s all!”

“Did you ask his /doctor/? Or did you decide for yourself?”

“I’m his father, too, Osamu. I /know/ Izumi.”

“Don’t /fucking/ say his name. You don’t
deserve to even /think/ about my son ever again. He’s still suffering and it’s /your fault/. I’m never letting you near him again.”

“Osamu, you’re being dramatic.”

“Seven stitches.”

“What?”

“/Seven stitches/. That’s what Izumi needed after you hit him.”

Kohaku scoffs
and Dazai’s hand curls into a fist. He’s so close to just /snapping/.

“It was a /tiny cut/!”

“You split his chin open,” Dazai growls, voice low and dangerous. Kohaku doesn’t seem to take the hint.

“Oh, /please/. Facial injuries always bleed a lot.”
“Every time I lifted my hand to do /anything/ he flinched away from me. From /me/, Akiyama. For /five months/. He still has nightmares about you. He can’t look Betas in the eye,” with each word, Dazai’s voice grows louder and more vicious. “He can’t sleep because he’s scared
you’ll come back to /hurt/ him. He’s /terrified/ that you’ll take me away from him. He’s terrified of /you/. How dare you try to blame /him/ for reacting to /abuse/.”

“I didn’t know he would be so affected, Osamu, you /have/ to believe me!” Kohaku says, voice taking on a
grating, pleading tone that Dazai despises. He always does this. As soon as Dazai is angry he acts like he’s scared and tries to make Dazai backpedal.

It took the separation for him to /realize/ it, and when he did he was furious. He still /is/ furious. “Please, just let me
apologize!”

“I’m not letting you anywhere /near/ him, Akiyama.”

“Osamu, /please/ say my name,” he says, and it sounds like he’s about to cry. /Good/. “Please, honey, you’re scaring me. I don’t like it when we fight.”

“We’re not fighting, Akiyama. I’m telling you that if you
want to contact me again, do it through my lawyer. Goodbye.”

Dazai hangs up just as he hears the sound of /purring/ on the other line. He throws his phone on his desk and shivers, body wracked with terror for just a moment. He /almost/ feels bad. And then the feeling passes.
He collapses in his chair and runs his hands down his face. He just wants the day to /end/ already.
__

Chuuya turns to Baki, holding up two shirts. The orange tabby flicks his tail slowly, eyes trained on his owner. He tilts his head and Chuuya laughs.
‼️ END OF TW ‼️

Dazai's soon-to-be ex-husband calls him to attempt to get him to drop the divorce. They discuss Kohaku physically assaulting Izumi by hitting him and cutting his chin and forcing Izumi to take suppressants to hide him being an Omega from Dazai for two years.
“This one?” he asks, holding one shirt in front of him. Baki is silent. Chuuya moves the other shirt in front of him. “This one?”

Baki chirps, sitting up straighter. Chuuya nods, setting the black cut-out turtleneck on his bed next to the red leather pants Baki already picked
out. Chuuya turns to place the other shirt back in his closet. As he hangs it up, though, something falls from the top of the closet.

Chuuya frowns as he looks down and then a sick, twisted anguish lights up in his stomach.
‼️TRIGGER WARNING‼️

the next few tweets discuss mid-term miscarriage/stillbirth. I will note when the scene is over!
He kneels down to pick up the clean, unused baby blanket from the ground and sinks down to curl around it as he hugs it to his chest. He presses his back against the doorframe of his closet and tries to keep his breathing steady.

He thought he was /over/ it. He thought he’d
moved on, but seeing the blanket, remembering when he /bought/ it, has him trembling slightly. He reaches down to grip his stomach, biting his lip to keep a sob inside. His hand meets solid, flat muscle and he hiccups. He’s distantly glad that he hadn’t put his makeup on yet
because he would have ruined it already.

His stomach /hurts/ and he /swears/ he feels it all over again. The sense of absolute dread, the scorching pain in his entire body. He feels a fuzzy warmth on his arm and lifts his head slightly, sniffling and looking down as Baki rubs
against his arm, meowing and chirping as he brushes his body against Chuuya again.

Baki headbutts Chuuya’s leg before climbing onto his knees and headbutting Chuuya’s cheek. Chuuya sniffles again, his shoulders relaxing slightly as his sobs slow and he hugs Baki close to his
chest.

Baki purrs against Chuuya’s chest and Chuuya gasps, purring in response to calm himself down. He’s fine. It’s been a year. He’s okay. It just wasn’t the right time. Still, he feels an aching emptiness inside him that he just /can’t/ fill.

No matter how hard he tries,
he lost a part of himself that day. And he doesn’t know if that wound will /ever/ fully heal.

But he can’t put his life on hold anymore. He can’t let himself sink into that place again. HIs fingers brush the small necklace over his heart, tracing the engraved NK there,
trying to calm down.

Baki meows at him and Chuuya’s shoulders relax slowly. His fingers don’t release the blanket, though. He forces himself to his feet, reaching up to hide the blanket again before pausing. It’s a bad idea, but he turns to set the blanket carefully in his nest.
He takes a deep breath to clear his head before putting his clothes on and moving to the bathroom to clean his face. He’s going to take his life back. He /will/ get this job. He /will/ achieve his dream.

He puts on his make-up carefully, not too much, but enough to make him
stand out. If he gets the job he’ll do a surprise celebration stream. His viewers would like that. The last thing he does is pull half his hair up into a bun and use concealer to cover the rest of his freckles.

With that, he kisses the top of Baki’s head and dashes out the door.
The walk to the Dynamic magazine building is quick. The receptionist, a pretty young girl with brown hair and glasses greets him. She’s a Beta and cheerful enough. She gives Chuuya instructions to go to the top floor to meet with the Editor in Chief, which doesn’t /seem/ right.
He can’t be getting interviewed by the /Editor/, right? He thought it would just be some HR person.

He swallows down the nervous lump in his throat and struts onto the elevator and pushes the button for the top floor. He can do this. It’s just one step. It’s easy.
He takes a deep breath.

Chuuya steps into the big, corner office, chin up because he /deserves/ this chance. He’s worked his ass off for /years/ and he knows he can do it. The Alpha he finds in the office is hunched over his desk, scribbling something and huffing in agitation.
When the door clicks behind Chuuya, who /refuses/ to back down, he looks up. His messy brown hair falls over his eyes and Chuuya clenches his teeth.

He was /aware/ that Dazai Osamu is hot--he followed the man’s modelling career for years, after all. But to see him in /person/
is something else.

While Chuuya is fighting back the urge to say something stupid, Dazai is met with the single most beautiful person he’s seen in his entire life. The man is short and slim with long red hair and bright blue eyes.

“/Oh/,” he says. Chuuya, who assumes that
Dazai is reacting to the fact that he’s an Omega, sneers at him.

“If you were going to be put off by an Omega employee you should have required my secondary gender on my application.”

Dazai blinks at him slowly, processing. He tilts his head when he doesn’t come up with a
logical reason for such a response.

“I have no problem with you being an Omega.”

Chuuya pauses, frowning and shifting slightly. It takes a bit of steam out of him, but he still doesn’t /believe/ him.

“You don’t?”

“Why would I?”

And this is where Chuuya makes /another/
assumption. He scoffs.

“I get it,” he says, really on a roll now. “You don’t mind if your /secretary/ is an Omega, right? Because you don’t think I can move up? Next you’re gonna tell me that my resume is impressive /for an Omega/.”

Dazai, who had the world’s /shittiest/
morning, finds himself holding back a smile. He likes to see that /drive/.

“Chuuya Nakahara, right?” he asks. Chuuya nods.

“You’d better remember it, too.”

Dazai is /positive/ that he will.

“Your resume isn’t impressive for an Omega,” Dazai says, casually leaning back in
his chair. His long legs stretch out in front of him and he smirks. Chuuya looks like he’s about to go off on a tangent when Dazai continues. “Your resume is /just impressive/.”

Chuuya pauses, momentarily stunned.

“Really?” he asks, like an idiot. Dazai raises an eyebrow and
/fuck/ it’s hot. Chuuya feels drawn to him like a gravitational pull, his subtle, woody scent calming and mouthwatering. He’s just close to his heat, that’s all. This stupid crush will pass.

“It is,” he says, and his voice is so /deep/. It washes over Chuuya like a calming wave.
“But you already know that.”

Chuuya grinds his teeth. /Focus/, idiot.

“I do,” he agrees. “And I don’t plan on being a secretary for long, just so you know. But this was my only way to get my foot in the door myself.”

Dazai nods, rocking his chair slightly.
“Of course,” he says. “I wouldn’t expect anyone so promising to stay in an administrative position for more than six months. I’m sure you’ll be snatched up if I’m not careful.”

Chuuya fights off a blush, vaguely grateful that his foundation is so opaque. Kouyou has told him
his entire life that he has /talent/. But he didn’t want to get into the business on the basis of being Kouyou’s brother. He has his own pride keeping him from accepting help like that.

“You know, sir, it kind of sounds like I’m already hired.”

Dazai shrugs, tossing Chuuya’s
folder onto his desk again.

“Because you are. If you want it, anyway. I already knew I wanted to hire you after reading your application. But my Lead Writer insisted that I at least /meet/ you,” Dazai says, standing up. Chuuya’s eyes travel up, up, /up/ and /fuck/ he’s tall.
Chuuya finds himself imagining how big something /else/ might be. And then promptly scolds himself because that’s his new /boss/.

“Just like that?” Chuuya asks, skeptical.

“Just like that,” Dazay confirms, reaching a hand out to Chuuya and smiling softly. Chuuya takes it,
shaking firmly. Dazai is so /warm/. “Can you start on Monday?”

“Uh, yeah--yes! Yes, that’s perfect,” Chuuya says, nodding frantically. Chuuya feels himself being drawn in and forces himself to step back. “Thank you. Sir.”

Dazai smiles and it’s a /nice/ smile. It’s soft and
sweet and a little tired. But it’s genuine. He leans back on his desk, crossing his legs at the ankle.

“My head of HR will contact you about Orientation.”

Chuuya nods, stepping back toward the door. Without another word he slips out the door and leans back on it when it shuts
to catch his breath.

He did it. He got the job! He’s grinning as he reaches up to grab his necklace again, thumb running over the familiar letters as he bites his lip.

“I did it,” he whispers. “I /did it/, Kazuo.”

Chuuya pushes himself off the door and makes his way back to
the elevator, texting his sister excitedly.

[CHUU]: i got the job at dynamic!

[ANE-SAN]: I thought you were applying to Underground?

[CHUU]: i want to start at dynamic

[CHUU]: when i meet fyodor dostoevsky i want to impress him

[ANE-SAN]: You’re already impressive, Chuuya
[ANE-SAN]: But I’m happy for you :) send me your schedule and we’ll have lunch!

Chuuya gets off the elevator, sending a thumbs up emoji in response and leaves the building. He needs to make a stream announcement and set up. The nest in his guest room needs to be remade.
He stops just outside the doors and pulls up Twitter. He switches to his streaming account and smirks at the profile picture. It’s a few weeks old at this point.

He replaces it with one he took last night with Kouyou’s latest set of lingerie with a smirk and writes a quick post.
He hits send and slips his phone back in his pocket. He’ll shower and then pretty himself up.

Maybe he’ll bring out his new toy, too.
__

Dazai leans back in his chair after completing the few tasks he needed before he could leave. He just has one more thing to do.

• • •

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