He’s hugging back his uncle, his scent turning /gentler/ as it blends with Verlaine’s — the note of blood-like iron in the redhead smoothed out by the presence of someone he considers family.
It’s /impossible/ to pinpoint Verlaine’s second gender without even the most subtle
It’s /impossible/ to pinpoint Verlaine’s second gender without even the most subtle
trace of scent but, end of day, Dazai doesn’t care.
His stomach churns, thought, at the sudden realization that he’s /not/ the only person Chuuya cares about.
To someone like him, naturally jealous of the few he considers /his/, it’s a weird realization.
Not unpleasant. Odd.
His stomach churns, thought, at the sudden realization that he’s /not/ the only person Chuuya cares about.
To someone like him, naturally jealous of the few he considers /his/, it’s a weird realization.
Not unpleasant. Odd.
Because Chuuya might pretend he’s bothered, because he’s a stubborn Chibi tsundere, but Dazai can /taste/ the change in his attitude.
Chuuya is in his /element/.
He’s surrounded by the people he loves.
And—
“So, who are you?”
Chuuya is in his /element/.
He’s surrounded by the people he loves.
And—
“So, who are you?”
The question pulls the rug from under Dazai’s feet.
He blinks, stupidly, failing to connect the words to a meaning and, in turn, to find a decent reply.
Verlaine’s piercing eyes linger on him.
He didn’t even realize the attention shifted to him and—
Well. Not the best start.
He blinks, stupidly, failing to connect the words to a meaning and, in turn, to find a decent reply.
Verlaine’s piercing eyes linger on him.
He didn’t even realize the attention shifted to him and—
Well. Not the best start.
Dazai swallows, throat suddenly dry.
“I’m—“
Ah, shit.
Here’s his fight or flight instinct kicking in, telling him to leave before he says something out of place.
Paul Verlaine quirks an eyebrow. His mirth nicks at him, sharp, leaving invisible paper cuts on Dazai.
“I’m—“
Ah, shit.
Here’s his fight or flight instinct kicking in, telling him to leave before he says something out of place.
Paul Verlaine quirks an eyebrow. His mirth nicks at him, sharp, leaving invisible paper cuts on Dazai.
Good first impressions come easily to him, normally; it’s sticking by them that might be an issue.
Why must he feel like an idiot /now/?
“Yes?” he nudges.
Dazai bows his head.
“My name is Dazai,” he forces out, as /politely/ as he can without chocking on his own spit.
Why must he feel like an idiot /now/?
“Yes?” he nudges.
Dazai bows his head.
“My name is Dazai,” he forces out, as /politely/ as he can without chocking on his own spit.
“Dazai Osamu. I’m…”
“He’s my boyfriend,” Chuuya interrupts him.
Dazai’s heart hiccups.
Chuuya blurted it out matter-of-factly, almost stubbornly, staring at his uncle with his chin held proudly high.
He /needed/ to say that as much as Dazai needed to hear it.
“He’s my boyfriend,” Chuuya interrupts him.
Dazai’s heart hiccups.
Chuuya blurted it out matter-of-factly, almost stubbornly, staring at his uncle with his chin held proudly high.
He /needed/ to say that as much as Dazai needed to hear it.
Dazai flashes the omega a tiny, intimate smile, his hand reaching for Chuuya’s free hand again — fingers lacing around his slim wrist.
“I’m Chuuya’s boyfriend,” he repeats. It tastes like /mate/. “And a /very/ lucky person. It’s nice to finally meet you, Verlaine-san.”
“I’m Chuuya’s boyfriend,” he repeats. It tastes like /mate/. “And a /very/ lucky person. It’s nice to finally meet you, Verlaine-san.”
Verlaine grins.
“Smooth.” He turns to Chuuya. “Good time to have your alpha around, hm, mon rossignol?”
Next to him, Chuuya’s shoulders turn rigid. Dazai eyes him, seeing a fierce blush swallow his freckled cheeks.
“It’s always a good time,” the omega mutters.
“Smooth.” He turns to Chuuya. “Good time to have your alpha around, hm, mon rossignol?”
Next to him, Chuuya’s shoulders turn rigid. Dazai eyes him, seeing a fierce blush swallow his freckled cheeks.
“It’s always a good time,” the omega mutters.
With a tilt of his head, Verlaine focuses back to Dazai.
His body seems to be moving in a different dimension, like a movie. He’s graceful, but strong — that all-Parisian mix of nonchalance and sophistication that the man embodies so perfectly.
Verlaine quirks his eyebrow.
His body seems to be moving in a different dimension, like a movie. He’s graceful, but strong — that all-Parisian mix of nonchalance and sophistication that the man embodies so perfectly.
Verlaine quirks his eyebrow.
If he squints, Dazai can distinguish some of Chuuya’s mannerism on Verlaine.
The way he carries himself, the way he smiles. The clothes, the long hair.
He can /distinguish/ the facets of Chuuya’s personality that have been borrowed from the man.
The way he carries himself, the way he smiles. The clothes, the long hair.
He can /distinguish/ the facets of Chuuya’s personality that have been borrowed from the man.
“Well, nice to meet you, Dazai-kun. Thanks for looking after Chuuya.”
Dazai nods. It’s more like the /contrary/, though, isn’t it?
He tries to take care of Chuuya, fucks up, and the omega is gracious enough to take him back.
“Thanks for having me at /your/ party.”
Dazai nods. It’s more like the /contrary/, though, isn’t it?
He tries to take care of Chuuya, fucks up, and the omega is gracious enough to take him back.
“Thanks for having me at /your/ party.”
“Of course.” The man winks. “It’s going to be quite the show. You won’t be disappointed.”
“That doesn’t sound reassuring.” Chuuya chimes in with a furrowed brow.
Verlaine seems almost offended by the comment for a moment, then waves it away.
“That doesn’t sound reassuring.” Chuuya chimes in with a furrowed brow.
Verlaine seems almost offended by the comment for a moment, then waves it away.
“A party doesn’t have to be /reassuring/, Chuuya.”
“Hm’m. How much did uncle Arthur agree with?”
Verlaine seems to ponder over it for a moment.
“/Most/ of it,” he compromises, eventually. “What he doesn’t know will surprise him, anyway.”
“Hm’m. How much did uncle Arthur agree with?”
Verlaine seems to ponder over it for a moment.
“/Most/ of it,” he compromises, eventually. “What he doesn’t know will surprise him, anyway.”
Chuuya frowns.
“That’s what I’m scared of.”
“You’re no fun,” Verlaine says with a groan that, again, strikingly reminds Dazai of Chuuya.
But then the man turns to Dazai, his white suit almost /blinding/ under the sun.
“Anyway. /You/ take good care of Chuuya, alright?”
“That’s what I’m scared of.”
“You’re no fun,” Verlaine says with a groan that, again, strikingly reminds Dazai of Chuuya.
But then the man turns to Dazai, his white suit almost /blinding/ under the sun.
“Anyway. /You/ take good care of Chuuya, alright?”
/That/ Dazai can do.
It’s the only thing he can promise, and nods without a second thought.
“Sure.”
Chuuya stabs his chin on the chick plushie. “I’m right here, y’know.”
“I know, mon rossignol,” Verlaine hmms. “Now, I wonder where’s Arthur. I hope he didn’t try to run.”
It’s the only thing he can promise, and nods without a second thought.
“Sure.”
Chuuya stabs his chin on the chick plushie. “I’m right here, y’know.”
“I know, mon rossignol,” Verlaine hmms. “Now, I wonder where’s Arthur. I hope he didn’t try to run.”
Dazai raises an eyebrow, leaning closer to Chuuya.
“Why would anybody run from a vow renewal?” he murmurs into the omega’s hair.
Chuuya shakes his head. He seems vaguely /strengthless/ already.
“Don’t ask,” he mutters.
/But/ Chuuya also cranes his neck and pecks him on the
“Why would anybody run from a vow renewal?” he murmurs into the omega’s hair.
Chuuya shakes his head. He seems vaguely /strengthless/ already.
“Don’t ask,” he mutters.
/But/ Chuuya also cranes his neck and pecks him on the
lips, so Dazai is more than happy to let the matter go.
—
Dazai never thought Chuuya’s parents would really like him.
He expected them to politely stand this weird boy who crashed their family reunion, nothing more.
Unexpectedly, though, they seem to… accept his presence?
—
Dazai never thought Chuuya’s parents would really like him.
He expected them to politely stand this weird boy who crashed their family reunion, nothing more.
Unexpectedly, though, they seem to… accept his presence?
He feels part of the family, somehow.
It’s a heartwarming feeling, to be part of something.
All of a sudden, the idea of having kept Chuuya away from his own past appears as terribly selfish.
And then…
Then there’s Chuuya’s sister.
Kouyou is /terrifying/.
It’s a heartwarming feeling, to be part of something.
All of a sudden, the idea of having kept Chuuya away from his own past appears as terribly selfish.
And then…
Then there’s Chuuya’s sister.
Kouyou is /terrifying/.
She’s beautiful — a sharper, much colder beauty than her brother.
If Chuuya is a flame, she’s a blood stain. If he’s the burning sunset, she’s the crisp alpenglow.
And being finally introduced to her is an /experience/.
As a young alpha who grew up with none other
If Chuuya is a flame, she’s a blood stain. If he’s the burning sunset, she’s the crisp alpenglow.
And being finally introduced to her is an /experience/.
As a young alpha who grew up with none other
than Mori Ougai, when Dazai says that someone has a piercing gaze it’s a serious statement. Kouyou definitely /owns/ it.
Her expression remains serious as Dazai drops in a bow, arms rigid by his side.
“Nice to meet you, Ane-san,” he says, bowing from the waist.
Her expression remains serious as Dazai drops in a bow, arms rigid by his side.
“Nice to meet you, Ane-san,” he says, bowing from the waist.
She looks at him in silence.
“Dazai-kun…” her voice trails off, leaving him waiting.
He waits.
And /waits/.
It feels like a punishment for something he hasn’t done yet. As if she /knows/ he’s just like the others.
“If you make my baby brother cry, I’ll castrate you.”
“Dazai-kun…” her voice trails off, leaving him waiting.
He waits.
And /waits/.
It feels like a punishment for something he hasn’t done yet. As if she /knows/ he’s just like the others.
“If you make my baby brother cry, I’ll castrate you.”
Dazai’s head lurches up, utterly stunned, an ‘o’ forming on his lips.
“N—“
But Kouyou already turned, leaving behind only a trail of barely-there minty scent and the very real ghost of her threat.
Dazai is left standing like an idiot, with Chuuya comfortingly patting him on
“N—“
But Kouyou already turned, leaving behind only a trail of barely-there minty scent and the very real ghost of her threat.
Dazai is left standing like an idiot, with Chuuya comfortingly patting him on
the shoulder.
/…What the fuck was that./
“Ane-san likes you.”
Dazai snorts out a soft ‘pfff’, plummeting on Chuuya’s bed.
Ten minutes later, Kouyou’s glare is still making Dazai shiver, slightly worried for his safety if she discovers that he /did/ make Chuuya cry.
/…What the fuck was that./
“Ane-san likes you.”
Dazai snorts out a soft ‘pfff’, plummeting on Chuuya’s bed.
Ten minutes later, Kouyou’s glare is still making Dazai shiver, slightly worried for his safety if she discovers that he /did/ make Chuuya cry.
The redhead’s childhood bedroom is simple, western style.
Chuuya sits down next to him, so close that his warmth blankets Dazai.
“Don’t be ridiculous. Your sister /despises/ me.” A chortle rolls out Dazai’s lips. “Is that because I stole you? Because of the house?”
Chuuya sits down next to him, so close that his warmth blankets Dazai.
“Don’t be ridiculous. Your sister /despises/ me.” A chortle rolls out Dazai’s lips. “Is that because I stole you? Because of the house?”
Chuuya shrugs before resting his head on Dazai’s shoulder.
The bed doesn’t even /remotely/ reminds a nest — it makes Dazai’s stomach churn, uneasy — but at least the chick plushie is safely tucked at the corner of the bed now, resting on the pillow.
“Don’t be dramatic.”
The bed doesn’t even /remotely/ reminds a nest — it makes Dazai’s stomach churn, uneasy — but at least the chick plushie is safely tucked at the corner of the bed now, resting on the pillow.
“Don’t be dramatic.”
Dazai scowls, throwing a glance at the omega. “Have you heard what she said?”
“Trust me, you’re not the first alpha she threatens. She can do much worse.”
“Oh? How many people did she threaten?”
Chuuya hesitates.
“A… few,” he murmurs.
“Trust me, you’re not the first alpha she threatens. She can do much worse.”
“Oh? How many people did she threaten?”
Chuuya hesitates.
“A… few,” he murmurs.
Now, Dazai might go down the ‘how many people did you date, exactly?’ route.
Chuuya never told him.
To be honest Dazai never shared much, either.
It would be an insensitive question knowing Chuuya’s past, but they have done many insensitive things to each other.
Chuuya never told him.
To be honest Dazai never shared much, either.
It would be an insensitive question knowing Chuuya’s past, but they have done many insensitive things to each other.
However, a hiss comes out of Dazai’s lips before he can think of any other reaction.
Those people made Chuuya feel /disposable/.
“Those assholes.”
Chuuya nuzzles up against his chest, curling by his side. “It’s alright. I moved on.”
“Still, I wish I could do something.”
Those people made Chuuya feel /disposable/.
“Those assholes.”
Chuuya nuzzles up against his chest, curling by his side. “It’s alright. I moved on.”
“Still, I wish I could do something.”
“Well, you can’t, ‘Samu. It’s ok.”
/He’s my boyfriend/.
It’s /amazing/ how much weight that sentence carries after a long string of disappointments.
And Dazai recalls how Chuuya seemed to /boast/ their relationship — as one brags about a success after a lifetime of failures.
/He’s my boyfriend/.
It’s /amazing/ how much weight that sentence carries after a long string of disappointments.
And Dazai recalls how Chuuya seemed to /boast/ their relationship — as one brags about a success after a lifetime of failures.
Gently, the alpha takes advantage of the gap in the conversation to lay on the bed and get comfortable, dragging Chuuya down with him.
The springs cry under their weight. Even laying on his back, Dazai /can/ sense a clear, ghost trace of Chuuya’s scent.
It’s an old trace,
The springs cry under their weight. Even laying on his back, Dazai /can/ sense a clear, ghost trace of Chuuya’s scent.
It’s an old trace,
slightly different from the scent Dazai grew to know so well.
It’s like digging in /memories/.
Happy ones.
Old ones.
Ones that nostalgia and time smoothed out, tuning down their intensity.
On this bed, for some reasons, Dazai feels /at peace/.
It’s like digging in /memories/.
Happy ones.
Old ones.
Ones that nostalgia and time smoothed out, tuning down their intensity.
On this bed, for some reasons, Dazai feels /at peace/.
Dazai wraps an arm around the omega’s shoulders — he’s so /small/, so /inviting/ even in an old, ratty sweater — and makes sure to hold him close.
And Chuuya—
As Chuuya settles by his side, Dazai can’t but think that the omega seems warmer, sweeter, more languid than usual.
And Chuuya—
As Chuuya settles by his side, Dazai can’t but think that the omega seems warmer, sweeter, more languid than usual.
Every movement of Chuuya’s heaving chest resonates with the alpha as an /invitation/.
“I’ll prove your sister wrong,” Dazai promises.
Somehow, it feels unnecessarily dramatic. A little ridiculous, too.
But it’s /honest/.
Chuuya chuckles.
“You don’t have to prove yourself.”
“I’ll prove your sister wrong,” Dazai promises.
Somehow, it feels unnecessarily dramatic. A little ridiculous, too.
But it’s /honest/.
Chuuya chuckles.
“You don’t have to prove yourself.”
“I /kinda/ do, though.” Dazai says, voice quiet. “Do you still think I’ll get tired and leave, too?”
Chuuya sucks in a sharp breath.
He doesn’t reply immediately, loading a reply that hurts without meaning to.
“…I don’t know,” he says, eventually. “I /hope/ not.”
Chuuya sucks in a sharp breath.
He doesn’t reply immediately, loading a reply that hurts without meaning to.
“…I don’t know,” he says, eventually. “I /hope/ not.”
“I’m not leaving. I’m not an idiot; you’re mine, and you’re perfect,” Dazai reiterates.
The reassurance and the praise make Chuuya shift closer — head hidden in the crook of Dazai’s neck, breath hovering over bandages and skin.
But the answer /did/ disappoint Dazai, deep down.
The reassurance and the praise make Chuuya shift closer — head hidden in the crook of Dazai’s neck, breath hovering over bandages and skin.
But the answer /did/ disappoint Dazai, deep down.
“Maybe. For now.”
“Chibi…” Dazai calls, just to reassure himself he still has a voice. “I’m not going /anywhere/.”
“You can’t promise that.”
Dazai holds his breath— he holds it and holds it, forgetting to breathe until the air burns in his lungs.
It’s so /frustrating/.
“Chibi…” Dazai calls, just to reassure himself he still has a voice. “I’m not going /anywhere/.”
“You can’t promise that.”
Dazai holds his breath— he holds it and holds it, forgetting to breathe until the air burns in his lungs.
It’s so /frustrating/.
It kills him to still spot an edge in Chuuya’s voice — a frail, trembling edge — and insecurity in his reply.
But he knew from the beginning that it would take time.
Some things are even just wired in Chuuya’s brain.
Fear and anxiety are engraved in him. They just /exist/.
But he knew from the beginning that it would take time.
Some things are even just wired in Chuuya’s brain.
Fear and anxiety are engraved in him. They just /exist/.
They operate out of Chuuya’s control and, like most things out of anybody’s control, there’s no use in stressing about them all the time.
(Ah.
If only he could be that detached, that objective with /his own/ monsters.)
Ever so tenderly, Dazai brushes a lock of soft, red hair
(Ah.
If only he could be that detached, that objective with /his own/ monsters.)
Ever so tenderly, Dazai brushes a lock of soft, red hair
off Chuuya’s back.
It’s a delicate touch, butterfly-light.
Chuuya shivers under it, letting out a low vibrato — a noise from the throat halfway between a purr and a hmm.
“I can’t promise,” Dazai agrees. “But I can reassure you that I’m not planning on going anywhere.”
It’s a delicate touch, butterfly-light.
Chuuya shivers under it, letting out a low vibrato — a noise from the throat halfway between a purr and a hmm.
“I can’t promise,” Dazai agrees. “But I can reassure you that I’m not planning on going anywhere.”
Chuuya smiles faintly against the alpha’s skin.
“This is not fair,’ he mumbles. “How are you so patient with me?”
Slowly, Dazai leans forward.
He kisses the crown of Chuuya’s head, inhaling the mix of vanilla and coconut of the omega’s conditioner and pheromones.
“This is not fair,’ he mumbles. “How are you so patient with me?”
Slowly, Dazai leans forward.
He kisses the crown of Chuuya’s head, inhaling the mix of vanilla and coconut of the omega’s conditioner and pheromones.
Then, relaxing his grip around the other, Dazai guides Chuuya away from his side — his lips go to Chuuya’s eyelashes, his cheeks, the tip of his nose.
“I made you cry only a week ago, sweetheart. It’s /you/ who are bearing with me.”
“That’s not true,” Chuuya says.
“I made you cry only a week ago, sweetheart. It’s /you/ who are bearing with me.”
“That’s not true,” Chuuya says.
The alpha’s mouth lingers on Chuuya’s chin, on the chiseled line of his jaw.
Gosh, he’d /really/ like to mark him, now.
But he can’t, though he’s growing impatient lately.
“…‘Samu?”
The call almost gets lost in the drumming of their mixed heartbeas — /almost/.
Gosh, he’d /really/ like to mark him, now.
But he can’t, though he’s growing impatient lately.
“…‘Samu?”
The call almost gets lost in the drumming of their mixed heartbeas — /almost/.
Dazai holds his breath.
It sounds so sheepish, apologetic, and so /damn/ alluring.
“Can you kiss me?”
Which is the way Chuuya has been asking him — without /really/ asking — to have sex.
And—
Well.
Mapping every inch of the omega’s body in Chuuya’s old bedroom?
It sounds so sheepish, apologetic, and so /damn/ alluring.
“Can you kiss me?”
Which is the way Chuuya has been asking him — without /really/ asking — to have sex.
And—
Well.
Mapping every inch of the omega’s body in Chuuya’s old bedroom?
Leaving bites and scratches that are there, invisible to anyone but him, right under the eyes of Chuuya’s family?
Adding /his/ presence to the memories that compose the unique scent of the room?
Being a door away from the risk of getting caught?
It /does/ turn Dazai on.
Adding /his/ presence to the memories that compose the unique scent of the room?
Being a door away from the risk of getting caught?
It /does/ turn Dazai on.
“Yes,” he murmurs.
/Yes./
Chuuya appears /feverish/, eyes glistening as his body seems to come alive with that simple word.
Want swells in Dazai’s lungs like a wave, roaring.
Chuuya rarely looks vulnerable, with flushed cheeks and parted lips and need overflowing in his
/Yes./
Chuuya appears /feverish/, eyes glistening as his body seems to come alive with that simple word.
Want swells in Dazai’s lungs like a wave, roaring.
Chuuya rarely looks vulnerable, with flushed cheeks and parted lips and need overflowing in his
scent and gestures.
Nakahara Chuuya doesn’t beg. He rarely ever /asks/ for intimacy.
He never seeks it actively — especially with someone else around.
/Kiss me/.
/Own me./
So, how could Dazai /refuse/?
He might be a genius, but he’s only human.
🙊 TW // NSFW 🙊
Nakahara Chuuya doesn’t beg. He rarely ever /asks/ for intimacy.
He never seeks it actively — especially with someone else around.
/Kiss me/.
/Own me./
So, how could Dazai /refuse/?
He might be a genius, but he’s only human.
🙊 TW // NSFW 🙊
The first thing Dazai does is to reach for the phone in his trousers pocket, scrolling through the apps.
His fingers find the path almost automatically.
Menu, music, playlist.
Acoustic covers.
The first note that folds out the phone’s speaker is mellow — a static noise
His fingers find the path almost automatically.
Menu, music, playlist.
Acoustic covers.
The first note that folds out the phone’s speaker is mellow — a static noise
like a vintage radio, and a piano and a gritty voice that scrapes the otherwise imperfect silence.
He’s not a fan of background music, Dazai.
He'd rather hear every tiny moan, every broken sob.
He doesn’t /need/ music to create an atmosphere, never did.
He’s not a fan of background music, Dazai.
He'd rather hear every tiny moan, every broken sob.
He doesn’t /need/ music to create an atmosphere, never did.
But he’s also not entirely comfortable with hearing other people as they roam around the house, stepping up and down the corridors.
/Especially/ since it's Chuuya's family.
The bed doesn’t seem necessarily loud, but the alpha would rather avoid embarrassing Chuuya for nothing.
/Especially/ since it's Chuuya's family.
The bed doesn’t seem necessarily loud, but the alpha would rather avoid embarrassing Chuuya for nothing.
“Is this playlist ok?” Dazai asks, glancing at Chuuya.
The omega flashes him a tiny smile.
“Yeah. I don’t care.” He leans in, one hand resting on the back of Dazai’s neck. "I really, /really/-" He moves close, and closer, until his lips brush the alpha’s mouth. "/Don't/ care."
The omega flashes him a tiny smile.
“Yeah. I don’t care.” He leans in, one hand resting on the back of Dazai’s neck. "I really, /really/-" He moves close, and closer, until his lips brush the alpha’s mouth. "/Don't/ care."
Good, Dazai thinks. It’s good that Chuuya doesn’t care, because neither does he.
Music is just a wall to have Chuuya all to himself — even if it's just a moment of fleeting peace.
Only them and a world that will never be able to cross the door of Chuuya’s bedroom.
Music is just a wall to have Chuuya all to himself — even if it's just a moment of fleeting peace.
Only them and a world that will never be able to cross the door of Chuuya’s bedroom.
And, as he lets himself be carried away in Chuuya's kiss, Dazai drops the phone on the mattress and /forgets/ about it.
Something in him — an ancestral /alpha/ instinct, perhaps — dictates the pace of every caress, of every lick and gentle bite.
Slow; pampering. /Reassuring/.
Something in him — an ancestral /alpha/ instinct, perhaps — dictates the pace of every caress, of every lick and gentle bite.
Slow; pampering. /Reassuring/.
His hands roam above Chuuya’s sweater as if to relish in the last drops of innocence as it fades away, as the touches grow hungrier.
//I don’t know. I hope not//.
That’s not the answer Dazai wanted, but it’s what /Chuuya/ feels. And he’d lie if he said that he didn’t have his
//I don’t know. I hope not//.
That’s not the answer Dazai wanted, but it’s what /Chuuya/ feels. And he’d lie if he said that he didn’t have his
fair share of blame in that. He didn't exactly make it easy for the redhead to believe him.
But now—
He can /change/.
Slowly, the alpha pulls away.
He still lingers close for a moment, nose against Chuuya's nose, lips tingling, brain fighting against the interruption.
But now—
He can /change/.
Slowly, the alpha pulls away.
He still lingers close for a moment, nose against Chuuya's nose, lips tingling, brain fighting against the interruption.
But he has a /plan/.
So Dazai straightens up and hops off the bed, standing in front of Chuuya.
Towering over him, almost.
He gains some space between the omega's knees, Chuuya's lithe legs dangling off the bed while his upper half remains comfortably settled on the matress.
So Dazai straightens up and hops off the bed, standing in front of Chuuya.
Towering over him, almost.
He gains some space between the omega's knees, Chuuya's lithe legs dangling off the bed while his upper half remains comfortably settled on the matress.
Copper-red hair opens like a halo over the sheets, framing Chuuya's face.
It's a /glorious/ view. Heart-stopping.
Dazai shakes his head when Chuuya scowls and tries to follow him, gently pressing his open palm on Chuuya's thigh.
“Stay there,” he murmurs.
It's a /glorious/ view. Heart-stopping.
Dazai shakes his head when Chuuya scowls and tries to follow him, gently pressing his open palm on Chuuya's thigh.
“Stay there,” he murmurs.
Chuuya obeys, flinching slightly when Dazai’s hands reach for his legs — grazing his ankles, then the gracious curve of his instep.
First, he gets rid of Chuuya's socks.
Then, sweatpants and underwear — hooking his fingers to the fabric and slowly tugging the clothing down.
First, he gets rid of Chuuya's socks.
Then, sweatpants and underwear — hooking his fingers to the fabric and slowly tugging the clothing down.
Chuuya inhales.
“What are you doing…?”
“Proving a point,” Dazai drawls.
His fingers flutter across Chuuya’s skin, which bloomed in goosebumps once uncovered. He caresses the shapely legs, the thighs and bony knees, making sure to map every freckle, every blue-ish vein.
“What are you doing…?”
“Proving a point,” Dazai drawls.
His fingers flutter across Chuuya’s skin, which bloomed in goosebumps once uncovered. He caresses the shapely legs, the thighs and bony knees, making sure to map every freckle, every blue-ish vein.
Every note of the music -- Dazai isn't /hating/ it, for a change -- settles in the silence, rising like dust.
It overpowers the rustle of the clothes and the occasional sigh.
With every inch of flesh uncovered, Dazai feels himself growing harder in his slacks.
It overpowers the rustle of the clothes and the occasional sigh.
With every inch of flesh uncovered, Dazai feels himself growing harder in his slacks.
Chuuya’s gaze flickers up, a sigh rolling out of his lips.
He helps Dazai getting him out of his sweater, which is oversized and shapeless enough to make it easy to get rid of it.
Dazai tosses it to the ground with one hand, movements /slow/ and measured. He's still guided
He helps Dazai getting him out of his sweater, which is oversized and shapeless enough to make it easy to get rid of it.
Dazai tosses it to the ground with one hand, movements /slow/ and measured. He's still guided
by that instinct that whispers to him to be /protective/ -- to not let his omega go, ever.
(Because what is an alpha, really, without an omega? What's an end without a beginning?
Strength without meekness?
What is /he/ without /Chuuya/?
Nothing.
He's fucking nothing.)
(Because what is an alpha, really, without an omega? What's an end without a beginning?
Strength without meekness?
What is /he/ without /Chuuya/?
Nothing.
He's fucking nothing.)
With the other hand, he palms Chuuya’s stomach -- the smooth valley of his torso and the curves of his shoulders.
He bends to take a nipple between his teeth.
Chuuya flinches, hands grasping Dazai’s arms through the shirt.
An 'oh' is born and dies on the redhead's lips, lost.
He bends to take a nipple between his teeth.
Chuuya flinches, hands grasping Dazai’s arms through the shirt.
An 'oh' is born and dies on the redhead's lips, lost.
Dazai doesn't stop.
He blows on the responsive skin, coaxing a moan out of Chuuya. That’s perfect, too.
He sucks on the nipple unhurriedly, licking on it until it turns turgid under his tongue — until Chuuya is squirming and grinding against him in lazy but /demanding/ tides.
He blows on the responsive skin, coaxing a moan out of Chuuya. That’s perfect, too.
He sucks on the nipple unhurriedly, licking on it until it turns turgid under his tongue — until Chuuya is squirming and grinding against him in lazy but /demanding/ tides.
Only then Dazai considers himself satisfied.
He smiles, and skims his lips across the hard line of the omega’s collarbone. His hands comb through Chuuya’s hair.
He’s weighing over Chuuya, covering him like a /blanket/, burying him in lazy caresses and searing kisses.
He smiles, and skims his lips across the hard line of the omega’s collarbone. His hands comb through Chuuya’s hair.
He’s weighing over Chuuya, covering him like a /blanket/, burying him in lazy caresses and searing kisses.
He leaves a trail of open mouthed kisses, his pants rubbing against the omega’s naked body.
It leaves on the fabric traces of slick that neither of them notices.
He’s seen his fair share of naked people, but no one is capable to make his stomach drop like Chuuya does.
It leaves on the fabric traces of slick that neither of them notices.
He’s seen his fair share of naked people, but no one is capable to make his stomach drop like Chuuya does.
Dazai lifts himself up to carry on with his mission to make all of Chuuya feel /seen/ and—
Chuuya’s eyelashes flutter, his eyes blue and clear and wide with /amazement/.
Suddenly, Dazai has been pushed off the Cosmo Clock 21.
He’s broken down to pieces.
He’s falling again.
Chuuya’s eyelashes flutter, his eyes blue and clear and wide with /amazement/.
Suddenly, Dazai has been pushed off the Cosmo Clock 21.
He’s broken down to pieces.
He’s falling again.
And Chuuya clearly can’t quite decide if this is teasing or foreplay or just a very embarrassing and dragged-out joke, but, really—
How can Dazai explain that this is /worshipping/?
How can Dazai explain that this is /worshipping/?
Because having Chuuya like /this/, exposed and beautiful and just a little taken aback, is something Dazai still can’t get enough of.
Without breaking eye contact, Dazai unzips his own trousers and steps out of them.
His underwear slides down his legs as he’s unbuttoning
Without breaking eye contact, Dazai unzips his own trousers and steps out of them.
His underwear slides down his legs as he’s unbuttoning
his shirt, swift movements that lost all the care they had while he touched Chuuya.
(He doesn’t need it with himself.)
He’s still wearing his open shirt as he bends over the redhead.
The front panels cover Chuuya like a curtain, soft cotton caressing the omega’s sides.
(He doesn’t need it with himself.)
He’s still wearing his open shirt as he bends over the redhead.
The front panels cover Chuuya like a curtain, soft cotton caressing the omega’s sides.
He’s careful, though, as he climbs on top of Chuuya.
Finally, his brain cries, /finally/.
The mattress creaks as Dazai’s shins sink in it — a lone cry that, for a second, pierces the veil of a new song that started playing from Dazai’s phone.
But he barely notices it, because
Finally, his brain cries, /finally/.
The mattress creaks as Dazai’s shins sink in it — a lone cry that, for a second, pierces the veil of a new song that started playing from Dazai’s phone.
But he barely notices it, because
Chuuya has already thrown his arms around his neck; he tilted his hips /up/, enclosed between Dazai’s legs.
Chuuya’s mouth captures his in a kiss that sears like a bruise, spreading like fire. It’s hardly a kiss at all — it’s /greed/, and need, and yet languid at the same time.
Chuuya’s mouth captures his in a kiss that sears like a bruise, spreading like fire. It’s hardly a kiss at all — it’s /greed/, and need, and yet languid at the same time.
A scorching shiver propagates under their skin, making them both hiss as Dazai rubs the head of his cock against Chuuya’s stomach.
But Chuuya’s skin— that’s quickly turning colder.
“Are you cold?” Dazai murmurs against Chuuya’s lips, gaze roaming over the omega’s face.
But Chuuya’s skin— that’s quickly turning colder.
“Are you cold?” Dazai murmurs against Chuuya’s lips, gaze roaming over the omega’s face.
Chuuya blinks — lush and gone and out of focus.
It takes him a handful of seconds to realize the question.
“A little,” he says.
He clings to Dazai’s shoulders, nails digging in the collar of his shirt.
Now, Dazai might offer to tuck them both under a blanket. He could
It takes him a handful of seconds to realize the question.
“A little,” he says.
He clings to Dazai’s shoulders, nails digging in the collar of his shirt.
Now, Dazai might offer to tuck them both under a blanket. He could
propose to move under the covers.
He could at least attempt to be chivalrous.
But he /can/ be selfish, now, right?
He /can/ have Chuuya wear /his/ shirt and still be mostly naked under him, right?
It’s a win/win.
(And… ok, Dazai has been /waiting/ for this to happen.)
He could at least attempt to be chivalrous.
But he /can/ be selfish, now, right?
He /can/ have Chuuya wear /his/ shirt and still be mostly naked under him, right?
It’s a win/win.
(And… ok, Dazai has been /waiting/ for this to happen.)
The bandages, however itchy, keep him warm most of the time. In summer is mostly a curse, to be honest.
He doesn’t like to stay exposed outside his apartment, sure, but he still has the gauze on. He doesn’t need more.
So…
“Wear this,” he says, sliding the shirt off his arms.
He doesn’t like to stay exposed outside his apartment, sure, but he still has the gauze on. He doesn’t need more.
So…
“Wear this,” he says, sliding the shirt off his arms.
/It fits Chuuya better anyway./
Chuuya’s eyes widen, but he accepts the offer.
(Dazai absolutely doesn’t rejoice.
Oh no. He did it only for /Chuuya/. Obviously.)
The omega wears it carefully, hands disappearing in the cuffs. The involuntary friction between their bodies as
Chuuya’s eyes widen, but he accepts the offer.
(Dazai absolutely doesn’t rejoice.
Oh no. He did it only for /Chuuya/. Obviously.)
The omega wears it carefully, hands disappearing in the cuffs. The involuntary friction between their bodies as
Chuuya lifts his upper half to clothe himself with the shirt makes them both /wince/.
It’s then that Dazai, the genius, the schemer, realizes he fucked up.
Because Chuuya /swims/ in his shirt.
Because he’s stealing every inch of the alpha’s sanity and he /knows/ it.
It’s then that Dazai, the genius, the schemer, realizes he fucked up.
Because Chuuya /swims/ in his shirt.
Because he’s stealing every inch of the alpha’s sanity and he /knows/ it.
The collar of the shirt brushes the redhead’s skin, cotton as white as snow against the blood-red strands.
Under his breath, Chuuya mutters a ‘thank you’ that betrays how /conscious/ the omega is of his appearance.
Dazai can’t bring himself to reply, though, tongue
Under his breath, Chuuya mutters a ‘thank you’ that betrays how /conscious/ the omega is of his appearance.
Dazai can’t bring himself to reply, though, tongue
glued to the roof of his mouth, speechless with awe.
His cock twitches almost in /retaliation/ to the view.
As if it’s his damn fault that Chuuya might make him cum just by standing /there/ and wearing /his/ clothes and nothing else.
His cock twitches almost in /retaliation/ to the view.
As if it’s his damn fault that Chuuya might make him cum just by standing /there/ and wearing /his/ clothes and nothing else.
He is so /beautiful/, Chuuya.
Something in the omega — in the perfect curve of his neck, in his legs, in how the fabric of Dazai’s open shirt pools at his sides and how it softly falls down his sides — is utter /light/.
It’s holier than the grounds they’re on.
Something in the omega — in the perfect curve of his neck, in his legs, in how the fabric of Dazai’s open shirt pools at his sides and how it softly falls down his sides — is utter /light/.
It’s holier than the grounds they’re on.
Dazai doesn’t realize he’s been staring like a fool until Chuuya puckers.
He glances up to meet Dazai’s gaze, not daring to move, a question in his eyes.
Only a blush graces his cheeks.
“What?” The omega mutters, voice hesitant. “Is there something weird on my face?”
He glances up to meet Dazai’s gaze, not daring to move, a question in his eyes.
Only a blush graces his cheeks.
“What?” The omega mutters, voice hesitant. “Is there something weird on my face?”
Dazai swallows, trying to push down all the emotions that are strangling him.
There is /definitely/ something odd with the situation, he’s not an /idiot/, but… his mind? His mind simply refuses to linger on it.
Because you don’t /think/ when you have a masterpiece under you.
There is /definitely/ something odd with the situation, he’s not an /idiot/, but… his mind? His mind simply refuses to linger on it.
Because you don’t /think/ when you have a masterpiece under you.
Dazai’s body, though, finally reacts with the gentle nudge of Chuuya’s question.
He rocks his hips against Chuuya’s body, seeking friction.
“Nothing,” he murmurs, barely higher than the music, sinking his nose in the crook of Chuuya’s neck. “I could just look at you forever.”
He rocks his hips against Chuuya’s body, seeking friction.
“Nothing,” he murmurs, barely higher than the music, sinking his nose in the crook of Chuuya’s neck. “I could just look at you forever.”
His words roll over Chuuya’s skin like satin, making the redhead shiver.
They are followed by kisses — dry, light, dragged down the column of Chuuya’s neck.
Pushing away the collar of the shirt, Dazai kisses the pulse point, feeling the vein throb under his mouth.
They are followed by kisses — dry, light, dragged down the column of Chuuya’s neck.
Pushing away the collar of the shirt, Dazai kisses the pulse point, feeling the vein throb under his mouth.
He grinds against the omega — /slow/ and /deep/, still following his instinct, taking his time to make it last.
The tip of his nose brushes against the scent glands on Chuuya’s neck, feeling them swollen and /sensitive/.
The protest Chuuya has been loading — something
The tip of his nose brushes against the scent glands on Chuuya’s neck, feeling them swollen and /sensitive/.
The protest Chuuya has been loading — something
self-deprecating, no doubt — dies in the back of his throat with a faltering pant.
It washes away with another deep jolt of Dazai’s hips, with the scraping of their erections, with the delicious warmth that pools in their stomachs with every skin-on-skin caress.
It washes away with another deep jolt of Dazai’s hips, with the scraping of their erections, with the delicious warmth that pools in their stomachs with every skin-on-skin caress.
It’s not the quick, storm-like kind of build up. It’s not the wild grinding that makes Dazai chasing the orgasm.
It’s deliberately slow and spun out. Something is soaring in Dazai, sure, but /quietly/.
Desire /tiptoes/ in.
It’s like making love in the morning, half-awake.
It’s deliberately slow and spun out. Something is soaring in Dazai, sure, but /quietly/.
Desire /tiptoes/ in.
It’s like making love in the morning, half-awake.
Damp traces of precum and slick spread across their bellies, bodies pressing together and dicks trapped in between them.
Dazai’s blood sing every time his cock rubs against Chuuya’s.
The wet sounds, the bit-back moans, Chuuya’s hands on him, the music carrying him away.
Dazai’s blood sing every time his cock rubs against Chuuya’s.
The wet sounds, the bit-back moans, Chuuya’s hands on him, the music carrying him away.
The omega bends in search for contact, tilting his pelvis up.
He curves so lavishly that Dazai can’t but enclose the bridge of Chuuya’s hips in his hands, pressing him closer.
He’s so /tiny/, Dazai can cover his whole back with his hands.
It wears away his /control/.
He curves so lavishly that Dazai can’t but enclose the bridge of Chuuya’s hips in his hands, pressing him closer.
He’s so /tiny/, Dazai can cover his whole back with his hands.
It wears away his /control/.
It’s languid, almost /lethargic/, the way the omega leans in and reaches out to rub himself against Dazai.
He nibbles at Chuuya’s neck, tongue lapping in circles, laving the teeth marks in spit.
It’s not a bond mark, but it’s— wishful.
It’s a ‘one day’.
He nibbles at Chuuya’s neck, tongue lapping in circles, laving the teeth marks in spit.
It’s not a bond mark, but it’s— wishful.
It’s a ‘one day’.
It’s a taste of something future, and it’s matched with Dazai’s hand slithering between their bodies, grasping Chuuya’s dick and giving it a firm pump.
It’s an act of reckless courage, to make Chuuya moan like that.
To bite him in a way he /knew/ Chuuya wouldn’t be able to
It’s an act of reckless courage, to make Chuuya moan like that.
To bite him in a way he /knew/ Chuuya wouldn’t be able to
swallow back the noises, to have his thumb trace circles over the wet, reddened tip of Chuuya’s dick—
/it’s all asking to be caught./
But Dazai doesn’t regret it one bit, not when Chuuya comes undone under his touches.
Not when Chuuya arches again, rutting in his fist.
/it’s all asking to be caught./
But Dazai doesn’t regret it one bit, not when Chuuya comes undone under his touches.
Not when Chuuya arches again, rutting in his fist.
The change of pace, although /subtle/, makes them both whimper.
Chuuya is so /responsive/.
// Mine. //
And Dazai finds himself wanting more.
Maybe it’s Chuuya’s nails digging in his shoulder blades, traveling down his spine, occasionally tripping over the white gauze.
Chuuya is so /responsive/.
// Mine. //
And Dazai finds himself wanting more.
Maybe it’s Chuuya’s nails digging in his shoulder blades, traveling down his spine, occasionally tripping over the white gauze.
Maybe he’s still not over how good Chuuya looks in his shirt.
Maybe it’s how Chuuya’s hips snap as he fucks himself in the alpha’s hand.
Maybe it’s the arousal and the music and the memories and the /peace/.
Maybe it’s the fuzzy feeling roiling in Dazai’s guts, awakened by
Maybe it’s how Chuuya’s hips snap as he fucks himself in the alpha’s hand.
Maybe it’s the arousal and the music and the memories and the /peace/.
Maybe it’s the fuzzy feeling roiling in Dazai’s guts, awakened by
Chuuya’s touches.
// I’m happy because you make me happy. //
Chuuya sighs.
// I won’t leave. //
The bulge of Dazai’s knot makes Chuuya /yelp/ as it grinds against the omega’s flat stomach.
The alpha’s hand coaxes deaf moans out of him.
Then a creak, like old hinges.
// I’m happy because you make me happy. //
Chuuya sighs.
// I won’t leave. //
The bulge of Dazai’s knot makes Chuuya /yelp/ as it grinds against the omega’s flat stomach.
The alpha’s hand coaxes deaf moans out of him.
Then a creak, like old hinges.
It might be the music, or the bed, and Dazai doesn’t even pay it any /mind/.
// Which— //
“Chuuya? Mum’s been c—”
Then, somebody slamming the door close.
// Which is a big damn mistake //
What did they say? Chuuya’s Ane-san approved of him?
Well. Not anymore, /clearly/.
// Which— //
“Chuuya? Mum’s been c—”
Then, somebody slamming the door close.
// Which is a big damn mistake //
What did they say? Chuuya’s Ane-san approved of him?
Well. Not anymore, /clearly/.
And that is the exact moment Nakahara Chuuya wishes he were /dead/.
He has no idea if they didn’t hear her footsteps in a haze, if the music really was /that/ loud or if his sister turned into a goddamn ghost.
The ajar door stares back at him almost /mockingly/.
He has no idea if they didn’t hear her footsteps in a haze, if the music really was /that/ loud or if his sister turned into a goddamn ghost.
The ajar door stares back at him almost /mockingly/.
Even worse, Dazai abruptly lets him go and it’s like Chuuya’s dick starts a /mutiny/.
The pre-heat makes him want to cry.
He’s suddenly aware that he’s /naked/ under Dazai, and they need to /learn/ to keep some things /private/ but—
but his pre-heat is making him /stupid/.
The pre-heat makes him want to cry.
He’s suddenly aware that he’s /naked/ under Dazai, and they need to /learn/ to keep some things /private/ but—
but his pre-heat is making him /stupid/.
Or maybe he’s just a horny idiot.
One praying for the earth to swallow him whole.
“I didn’t see anything!”
/That/ is the first thing Kouyou screams.
Which— ok, it’s /something/. It’s not even the first time Kouyou walks in on him and someone.
Dazai looks mortified, though.
One praying for the earth to swallow him whole.
“I didn’t see anything!”
/That/ is the first thing Kouyou screams.
Which— ok, it’s /something/. It’s not even the first time Kouyou walks in on him and someone.
Dazai looks mortified, though.
The alpha’s complexion turned dull, and he seems about to retch for the anxiety.
“Oh my god,” he wails.
“Sorry!” Kouyou says from the corridor “I thought you were /asleep/!”
“Then fucking knock!” Chuuya cries, voice strangled.
“I /did/! Close the damn door, will you?”
“Oh my god,” he wails.
“Sorry!” Kouyou says from the corridor “I thought you were /asleep/!”
“Then fucking knock!” Chuuya cries, voice strangled.
“I /did/! Close the damn door, will you?”
“It /was/ closed.”
“Er, no it wasn’t!?”
Chuuya’s blood turns to ice. Dazai goes /rigid/ too, still hovering over him.
Chuuya can pinpoint the exact moment the brunet realizes neither of them cared to check the door, too carried away by their conversation and what followed.
“Er, no it wasn’t!?”
Chuuya’s blood turns to ice. Dazai goes /rigid/ too, still hovering over him.
Chuuya can pinpoint the exact moment the brunet realizes neither of them cared to check the door, too carried away by their conversation and what followed.
They thought of the goddamn music, and not the door.
See? Pre-heat.
Making Chuuya careless and just straight up stupid since God-knows-when.
“Just /leave/,” Chuuya begs.
“Gladly.”
The disgust that seeps through the cracks of Kouyou’s voice is mild, though — /mocking/.
See? Pre-heat.
Making Chuuya careless and just straight up stupid since God-knows-when.
“Just /leave/,” Chuuya begs.
“Gladly.”
The disgust that seeps through the cracks of Kouyou’s voice is mild, though — /mocking/.
It’s not disgust at all, if one listens closely — it’s /amusement/. She is /never/ going to let him live this down. “Come downstairs, both of you. Dressed, possibly.”
// He’s ruined. //
At least, Chuuya supposes, nobody is going to crucify Dazai for helping him with a pre-heat
// He’s ruined. //
At least, Chuuya supposes, nobody is going to crucify Dazai for helping him with a pre-heat
his entire family tree has already sensed on him.
…Or so he hopes.
And it’s only the first damn day.
“Yeah.”
“Chop chop,” Kouyou adds, clapping, her voice growing muffled as she walks away. “Mum was calling.” A pause. “And take the blockers.”
Chuuya rolls his eyes.
…Or so he hopes.
And it’s only the first damn day.
“Yeah.”
“Chop chop,” Kouyou adds, clapping, her voice growing muffled as she walks away. “Mum was calling.” A pause. “And take the blockers.”
Chuuya rolls his eyes.
Dazai lets out a exhale. “Why does this keep happening?”
“Hell if I know.”
Well.
Maybe they should learn the noble art of being /respectful/ and keep their hands off each other when there are other people around.
“The door,” Dazai murmurs.
“Yes.”
“We’re stupid.”
“/Yes/.”
“Hell if I know.”
Well.
Maybe they should learn the noble art of being /respectful/ and keep their hands off each other when there are other people around.
“The door,” Dazai murmurs.
“Yes.”
“We’re stupid.”
“/Yes/.”
As he watches Dazai roll off of him in silence and reach for the phone, stopping the music, Chuuya ponders on their misfortune.
He /definitely/ has to take the scent blockers, because he’s reeking of /sex/.
Under the new circumstances, the lack of privacy lost all the appeal.
He /definitely/ has to take the scent blockers, because he’s reeking of /sex/.
Under the new circumstances, the lack of privacy lost all the appeal.
And—
Chuuya’s eyes fall on Dazai’s knot, softening by the minute and turning less visible.
Frustration bubbles in him.
“Are you ok with holding that thought?” he hums, quirking an eyebrow.
“Are /you/?” Dazai replies, eyes darkened.
/No./
He’s not ok with it, but the only
Chuuya’s eyes fall on Dazai’s knot, softening by the minute and turning less visible.
Frustration bubbles in him.
“Are you ok with holding that thought?” he hums, quirking an eyebrow.
“Are /you/?” Dazai replies, eyes darkened.
/No./
He’s not ok with it, but the only
thing he can do is to bite his bottom lip. He closes himself in Dazai’s shirt
“I’m keeping this.”
It sounds /bratty/.
“It’s yours, Chibi.” The ghost of a grin curls his lips. “But I don’t want your family to think I tainted their precious son.”
“Might be a bit late for that.”
“I’m keeping this.”
It sounds /bratty/.
“It’s yours, Chibi.” The ghost of a grin curls his lips. “But I don’t want your family to think I tainted their precious son.”
“Might be a bit late for that.”
But it’s never too late for /regrets/.
Chuuya knows it well.
He’s been stupid.
Idiot.
Careless.
He regrets letting go. Oh, God, he does.
He mulls over it while he and Dazai get dressed — he keeps Dazai’s shirt, wearing it over a pair of jeans, basking in its scent that
Chuuya knows it well.
He’s been stupid.
Idiot.
Careless.
He regrets letting go. Oh, God, he does.
He mulls over it while he and Dazai get dressed — he keeps Dazai’s shirt, wearing it over a pair of jeans, basking in its scent that
cloaks him like an armor.
Dazai, in turn, fetches an oversized sweater from his bag.
You see, /regrets/ are stubborn companions.
They fill Chuuya’s silence, easily mistakable for embarrassment.
They follow him downstairs.
And, once again, Chuuya’s head is spinning.
Dazai, in turn, fetches an oversized sweater from his bag.
You see, /regrets/ are stubborn companions.
They fill Chuuya’s silence, easily mistakable for embarrassment.
They follow him downstairs.
And, once again, Chuuya’s head is spinning.
The cramps took over his body again as soon as Dazai stopped touching him, clasping his stomach and nosediving his temperature.
But the thing is—
Heat means instinct.
Pre-heat means /imbalance/.
It’s shame and pain and need amplified, mind /and/ body sent into overdrive.
But the thing is—
Heat means instinct.
Pre-heat means /imbalance/.
It’s shame and pain and need amplified, mind /and/ body sent into overdrive.
It’s feeling painfully awake and yet tired, with a deaf, mind-blowing need building inside of you like a storm.
And he doesn’t really have an appetite either, but Chuuya is aware that he /can’t/ skip the first meal home.
The omega managed to swallow a painkiller and a heat
And he doesn’t really have an appetite either, but Chuuya is aware that he /can’t/ skip the first meal home.
The omega managed to swallow a painkiller and a heat
blocker in the bathroom, gulping them down dry, but he’s restless.
When Dazai is not touching him, he’s plunged in ice water.
He’s freezing.
And, even though the alpha is sitting right next to him, the distance makes him sleepy.
Even lifting the chopsticks is a /chore/.
When Dazai is not touching him, he’s plunged in ice water.
He’s freezing.
And, even though the alpha is sitting right next to him, the distance makes him sleepy.
Even lifting the chopsticks is a /chore/.
This is not good, Chuuya thinks, playing with a piece of chicken in his plate.
He usually loves his mother’s curry, but he’s also letting his— /situation/ undermine his control.
What happened with Kouyou just goes to show how /careless/ he’s getting.
And if he’s honest…
He usually loves his mother’s curry, but he’s also letting his— /situation/ undermine his control.
What happened with Kouyou just goes to show how /careless/ he’s getting.
And if he’s honest…
He’s terrified.
Rationally, he could tell Dazai.
He could tell him everything.
Dazai is right /here/, and he loves him — Chuuya knows he loves him. But… /does/ he? — and would make it stop.
But he can’t.
/ What will Dazai do? /
He’s stuck on that, silent and trapped.
Rationally, he could tell Dazai.
He could tell him everything.
Dazai is right /here/, and he loves him — Chuuya knows he loves him. But… /does/ he? — and would make it stop.
But he can’t.
/ What will Dazai do? /
He’s stuck on that, silent and trapped.
Regrets are stubborn, but silence is /loyal/.
And every moment Chuuya waits, every ‘hey, I need help’ he gulps down, makes it a little harder to talk.
Until he knows he won’t talk at all — because he never fucking does.
And it’s /irrational/, but it stops him all the same.
And every moment Chuuya waits, every ‘hey, I need help’ he gulps down, makes it a little harder to talk.
Until he knows he won’t talk at all — because he never fucking does.
And it’s /irrational/, but it stops him all the same.
And, ignoring the conversation at the dinner table, Chuuya can’t but think that Heats are a /trade/ he’ll never win.
// ‘What do you mean, *no*? Now!?’ //
An alpha would get him through it, but—
// ‘Seriously?!’ //
He’s asking too much.
// ‘You’re fucking selfish.’ //
// ‘What do you mean, *no*? Now!?’ //
An alpha would get him through it, but—
// ‘Seriously?!’ //
He’s asking too much.
// ‘You’re fucking selfish.’ //
Because his heats are the times when Chuuya has been abandoned the most.
// ‘/You/ wanted it.’ //
He’s supposed to want /all/ of it, all the way. It’s biology. It’s nature.
Only, his body begs to differ
As he tries to force down a mouthful of curry, it all tastes like sand.
// ‘/You/ wanted it.’ //
He’s supposed to want /all/ of it, all the way. It’s biology. It’s nature.
Only, his body begs to differ
As he tries to force down a mouthful of curry, it all tastes like sand.
// ‘Can’t you just try to be /normal/?’ //
So really— how can he /risk/ Dazai?
// ‘You ruined it.’ //
He doesn’t want Dazai to think he’s selfish. He doesn’t want Dazai to /hate/ him, too.
So, no; his pre-heat is his problem.
He just needs to be more careful.
So really— how can he /risk/ Dazai?
// ‘You ruined it.’ //
He doesn’t want Dazai to think he’s selfish. He doesn’t want Dazai to /hate/ him, too.
So, no; his pre-heat is his problem.
He just needs to be more careful.
He doesn’t want Dazai to be disappointed when he’ll beg the alpha to knot him, only to take it back right before it happens.
And Chuuya’s body aches to reach for Dazai, but his fist closes on the chopsticks until they dig into his fingers.
He focuses back on the conversation.
And Chuuya’s body aches to reach for Dazai, but his fist closes on the chopsticks until they dig into his fingers.
He focuses back on the conversation.
“How are you parents, Dazai-kun?” Is the first thing he hears, sharp like a bullet.
Chuuya blinks.
/Wow. Uncle Arthur went for the kill./
He definitely returned to earth at the damn right time.
Chuuya /did/ mention to avoid personal questions, but of course nobody listened
Chuuya blinks.
/Wow. Uncle Arthur went for the kill./
He definitely returned to earth at the damn right time.
Chuuya /did/ mention to avoid personal questions, but of course nobody listened
He glances at Dazai, at his serene smile as he gracefully borrows time with a spoonful of curry.
He knows the alpha enough to recognize a polite mask when he sees one, though.
“They are…” Dazai clears his voice. “Not exactly in the picture.”
He knows the alpha enough to recognize a polite mask when he sees one, though.
“They are…” Dazai clears his voice. “Not exactly in the picture.”
It’s a gentle begin, Chuuya can tell.
And he also sees that his mother elbowed Arthur in the ribs under the table, considering from the way the man flinched.
Just for good measure, next to his husband, Paul scoots away too.
Now, Nakahara Fuku surely can make you regret /ever/
And he also sees that his mother elbowed Arthur in the ribs under the table, considering from the way the man flinched.
Just for good measure, next to his husband, Paul scoots away too.
Now, Nakahara Fuku surely can make you regret /ever/
speaking.
She’s sitting in between Arthur and Chuuya’s father. His parents’ scents intertwine so firmly that the omega struggles to separate them.
He would say they are the same person, just based on their scents.
It’s the kind of relationship he always wanted for himself.
She’s sitting in between Arthur and Chuuya’s father. His parents’ scents intertwine so firmly that the omega struggles to separate them.
He would say they are the same person, just based on their scents.
It’s the kind of relationship he always wanted for himself.
Yet, they are also polar opposites: his mum’s figure stands thin and lithe, his dad’s broad and imposing.
“I’m sorry,” she says. “If you need, come to us. You’re family now.”
Dazai bows his head. It’s /unfair/ that he can’t know how Chuuya’s heart hiccups.
“I appreciate it.”
“I’m sorry,” she says. “If you need, come to us. You’re family now.”
Dazai bows his head. It’s /unfair/ that he can’t know how Chuuya’s heart hiccups.
“I appreciate it.”
“And you study, right?” Paul chimes in, elegantly waving his chopsticks in Dazai’s direction. “Literature, yes? Chuuya says you’re the best in you department.”
“Well…”
“He’s super smart,” Chuuya says, munching on a bite. “Don’t let him say otherwise.”
“Chibi, you think so~?”
“Well…”
“He’s super smart,” Chuuya says, munching on a bite. “Don’t let him say otherwise.”
“Chibi, you think so~?”
“Hah? Of course I do!” he barks, turning to face a beaming Dazai. If it wasn’t for his family and pre-heat, Chuuya would be /hollering/. “And what’s with the sing-song voice again, Bandages? You know I’m proud of you!”
“Ah, Chu-u-ya is making me blush~”
“W— Stop acting creepy!”
“Ah, Chu-u-ya is making me blush~”
“W— Stop acting creepy!”
The change from the put-together, polite, /cold/ young alpha to boyish student is almost scary.
It’s like flipping a switch.
(Who is the real one?)
But it also makes Chuuya’s father /laugh/, at least, the embarrassment from before wiped away by the man’s heartily chuckle.
It’s like flipping a switch.
(Who is the real one?)
But it also makes Chuuya’s father /laugh/, at least, the embarrassment from before wiped away by the man’s heartily chuckle.
“You better find a good job and earn enough, boy, because my son takes his taste in clothes after his uncles,” Chuuya’s father chuckles. “Expensive.”
“I have a /job/?” Chuuya wails.
At that, Paul blinks as if Chuuya has just said something in equal parts /obvious/ and offensive
“I have a /job/?” Chuuya wails.
At that, Paul blinks as if Chuuya has just said something in equal parts /obvious/ and offensive
“Your alpha should spoil you,” Paul clarifies, eyes jumping from Dazai to him.
His… /what/ now.
The definition - in front of Dazai, too! - turns Chuuya’s face into a wild fire.
“He’s n—”
“Good, I like to buy Chuuya presents!” Dazai interrupts, a little too enthusiastic.
His… /what/ now.
The definition - in front of Dazai, too! - turns Chuuya’s face into a wild fire.
“He’s n—”
“Good, I like to buy Chuuya presents!” Dazai interrupts, a little too enthusiastic.
“Don’t side with them!”
Dazai looks at him, owlishly. “But it’s true?”
With a deep sigh, Chuuya slumps back against the backrest of his chair. He loves his chick plushie, sure, but /why/ does he have to be the spoiled one?
It’s a /two way/ route.
“Whatever,” he mumbles.
Dazai looks at him, owlishly. “But it’s true?”
With a deep sigh, Chuuya slumps back against the backrest of his chair. He loves his chick plushie, sure, but /why/ does he have to be the spoiled one?
It’s a /two way/ route.
“Whatever,” he mumbles.
Kouyou shakes her head, her movements almost too /elegant/ for the predicament.
She outgrew their little town soon, Kouyou.
Sometimes, Chuuya wonders if he didn’t just copied his sister, hoping to be /like/ her.
“You are quite high maintenance, lad.”
He scrunches his nose.
She outgrew their little town soon, Kouyou.
Sometimes, Chuuya wonders if he didn’t just copied his sister, hoping to be /like/ her.
“You are quite high maintenance, lad.”
He scrunches his nose.
“Says /you/.”
“But I get Akiko pretty nice gifts too,” she drawls. “That’s what /mates/ do.”
…Mates.
The word sinks in him like a stone.
Ok. So she’s embarrassing him and making him pay for earlier, and that’s just /unfair/.
The thing is, their mother completely misses
“But I get Akiko pretty nice gifts too,” she drawls. “That’s what /mates/ do.”
…Mates.
The word sinks in him like a stone.
Ok. So she’s embarrassing him and making him pay for earlier, and that’s just /unfair/.
The thing is, their mother completely misses
the playful sarcasm lingering in Kouyou’s voice. She /glows/ up at the mention of a bond.
“Of course, dear, they didn’t talk about bonding, yet…” she says.
Which means: tell me I’m wrong.
Tell me you’ll have pups soon.
// Tell me you’re normal. //
Chuuya’s jaw /drops/.
“Of course, dear, they didn’t talk about bonding, yet…” she says.
Which means: tell me I’m wrong.
Tell me you’ll have pups soon.
// Tell me you’re normal. //
Chuuya’s jaw /drops/.
This is just plain invasive, is the first thing Chuuya’s brain provides.
The second one is: hell no.
“Of course not, mum,” he hisses, a dangerous edge in his voice. “Let’s stick to one shitty wedding, ok?”
He’s so mortified that the cramps mix with the irritation, sending ice
The second one is: hell no.
“Of course not, mum,” he hisses, a dangerous edge in his voice. “Let’s stick to one shitty wedding, ok?”
He’s so mortified that the cramps mix with the irritation, sending ice
cold chills down his spine. Yet the anger mounting in him boils, aided by the hormones.
However, before the can apologize to Dazai because he had /no/ idea that ‘wedding’ was a contagious illness, Chuuya feels a hand closing around his.
A bandaged palm and soft, lean fingers.
However, before the can apologize to Dazai because he had /no/ idea that ‘wedding’ was a contagious illness, Chuuya feels a hand closing around his.
A bandaged palm and soft, lean fingers.
“It’s fine,” Dazai says. He looks at Chuuya’s mother, then at Kouyou, voice quiet and gentle. The air smells like /expectations/. “We didn’t talk about it, frankly. It’s too early.”
Chuuya’s heart stops.
He inhales but Dazai keeps talking, squeezing his hand above the table.
Chuuya’s heart stops.
He inhales but Dazai keeps talking, squeezing his hand above the table.
“But /this/ is what I want, and— I wouldn’t mind being bonded to Chuuya, one day.”
Oh.
His hand rests limp in Dazai’s.
// I’m not going anywhere.//
Oh.
It’s the only sound Chuuya can emit, trying to digest what he heard.
/Shit.
So they’re really in for the long run, huh./
Oh.
His hand rests limp in Dazai’s.
// I’m not going anywhere.//
Oh.
It’s the only sound Chuuya can emit, trying to digest what he heard.
/Shit.
So they’re really in for the long run, huh./
Chuuya’s stomach drops, not sure if he ought to be flattered or /embarrassed/.
“It’s early,” he repeats.
“That’s what I said,” Dazai hmms.
/Why/ does he feel like he can’t quite breathe?
Kouyou’s eyes darken as she stares at Dazai, gaze roaming his face for a trace of
“It’s early,” he repeats.
“That’s what I said,” Dazai hmms.
/Why/ does he feel like he can’t quite breathe?
Kouyou’s eyes darken as she stares at Dazai, gaze roaming his face for a trace of
insincerity. She threatened him, and witnessed them in a compromising situation earlier before, and yet Chuuya can’t pinpoint what his sister /thinks/.
It’s probably nothing good.
“We didn’t talk about it,” Chuuya repeats. “We will. Some day. Maybe.”
“/Maybe/,” Dazai echoes.
It’s probably nothing good.
“We didn’t talk about it,” Chuuya repeats. “We will. Some day. Maybe.”
“/Maybe/,” Dazai echoes.
He slides his hand out of Dazai’s grip, pre-heat sending him contrasting signals.
Should he be happy?
Irritated?
Should he bawl his eyes out? Is Dazai /using/ this to keep the subject away from his own family?
This is the same boy who won’t introduce him to his best friend.
Should he be happy?
Irritated?
Should he bawl his eyes out? Is Dazai /using/ this to keep the subject away from his own family?
This is the same boy who won’t introduce him to his best friend.
It feels like they’re fighting, now. /Great/.
And yet—
// I’m not going anywhere. //
Yet why is his heart /bursting/?
Why is he dying to let himself /fall/ even further down this rabbit hole?
“The food was delicious,” Arthur says, trying to break the awkward silence first.
And yet—
// I’m not going anywhere. //
Yet why is his heart /bursting/?
Why is he dying to let himself /fall/ even further down this rabbit hole?
“The food was delicious,” Arthur says, trying to break the awkward silence first.
Fuku waves away the comment with a blush.
The attempts at conversation that follow after that are timid, /choked/ by Dazai’s comment and the tension that runs between he and Chuuya.
Everybody scatters soon after.
The attempts at conversation that follow after that are timid, /choked/ by Dazai’s comment and the tension that runs between he and Chuuya.
Everybody scatters soon after.
“He’s a nice boy,” Fuku murmurs in Chuuya’s ear.
He’s washing the dishes, holding a plate and rinsing it, hot water soothing his cold skin. She /hugs/ his shoulders, relief dripping from her voice.
“Try to keep this one, just this time? Please?”
// ‘You’re selfish.’ //
He’s washing the dishes, holding a plate and rinsing it, hot water soothing his cold skin. She /hugs/ his shoulders, relief dripping from her voice.
“Try to keep this one, just this time? Please?”
// ‘You’re selfish.’ //
In that moment, almost dropping the plate, Chuuya realizes two things.
One, his mum is wary of Dazai.
That ancestral, visceral fear that comes with an alpha with no family and a suspiciously fervent declaration of love.
As if he has nothing to offer, or not much to live.
One, his mum is wary of Dazai.
That ancestral, visceral fear that comes with an alpha with no family and a suspiciously fervent declaration of love.
As if he has nothing to offer, or not much to live.
He wonders if his mum smelled the death wish on Dazai.
She’d be too polite to say that, of course.
Two: it’ll do anyway, because Chuuya is embarrassing her with the neighbors.
For the first time, Chuuya realizes what Dazai means when he says that people naturally dislike him.
She’d be too polite to say that, of course.
Two: it’ll do anyway, because Chuuya is embarrassing her with the neighbors.
For the first time, Chuuya realizes what Dazai means when he says that people naturally dislike him.
—
Chuuya’s hometown doesn’t exactly shine for /entertainment/ offered to its inhabitants.
Dazai would define everything about the place — keeping it polite — as /rural/.
Which is an understatement for boring as hell.
And depressing.
There isn’t even a /bar/.
Chuuya’s hometown doesn’t exactly shine for /entertainment/ offered to its inhabitants.
Dazai would define everything about the place — keeping it polite — as /rural/.
Which is an understatement for boring as hell.
And depressing.
There isn’t even a /bar/.
Surrounded by woods, the town has /one/ arcade, only one restaurant that also serves as an inn and… well.
There /is/ Arahabaki’s ancient shrine, standing right in Chuuya’s backyard.
Which sounds spooky and amazing to crash, but Chuuya /won’t/ let Dazai even speak about it.
There /is/ Arahabaki’s ancient shrine, standing right in Chuuya’s backyard.
Which sounds spooky and amazing to crash, but Chuuya /won’t/ let Dazai even speak about it.
The moment Dazai proposed to sneak into the small wooden shrine hosting Arahabaki’s statue? /Dramatic/.
Chuuya threw a pillow at him — which Dazai promptly side-stepped, but Chuuya’s point remained.
No Arahabaki.
No cool shrines that smell like incense and ancient blood. Meh.
Chuuya threw a pillow at him — which Dazai promptly side-stepped, but Chuuya’s point remained.
No Arahabaki.
No cool shrines that smell like incense and ancient blood. Meh.
So, you see, there isn’t much to do.
Dazai thought he and Chuuya might /talk/.
They might idle about the house all day.
They might /cuddle/ all day.
But Verlaine has shoved them out of the way, sending them to get groceries so ‘the adults can plan the wedding ceremony’.
Dazai thought he and Chuuya might /talk/.
They might idle about the house all day.
They might /cuddle/ all day.
But Verlaine has shoved them out of the way, sending them to get groceries so ‘the adults can plan the wedding ceremony’.
Which means: the adults can gossip about Chuuya’s new boyfriend.
Or they might put some effort in stopping Verlaine from demanding fireworks and a marching band.
And, talking about marching bands… Dazai’s no idiot.
He’s /aware/ he might have overdone it the night before.
Or they might put some effort in stopping Verlaine from demanding fireworks and a marching band.
And, talking about marching bands… Dazai’s no idiot.
He’s /aware/ he might have overdone it the night before.
But Chuuya didn’t comment on it afterwards.
Once alone, the omega looked at Dazai for a long moment — lost somewhere Dazai couldn’t /reach/.
Then, he hugged the brunet and murmured a ‘thank you for being here’.
He sounded so /hollow/.
His skin felt so /cold/ to the touch.
Once alone, the omega looked at Dazai for a long moment — lost somewhere Dazai couldn’t /reach/.
Then, he hugged the brunet and murmured a ‘thank you for being here’.
He sounded so /hollow/.
His skin felt so /cold/ to the touch.
Chuuya’s scent came to him in feeble waves, so weak and /distant/.
The alpha didn’t know how to respond.
He didn’t know if he was allowed to pry, either, so he /didn’t/.
He simply hugged Chuuya right back, and kissed him, and that was the end of it
(For now, Dazai guessed.)
The alpha didn’t know how to respond.
He didn’t know if he was allowed to pry, either, so he /didn’t/.
He simply hugged Chuuya right back, and kissed him, and that was the end of it
(For now, Dazai guessed.)
And this is how they ended in the current predicament.
First of all, it’s early.
/Well/.
It’s ten in the morning, but Dazai isn’t the kind of person who sleeps through the night.
/Especially/ in a new room.
Little did Chuuya’s scent do, since the Chibi oozes restlessness.
First of all, it’s early.
/Well/.
It’s ten in the morning, but Dazai isn’t the kind of person who sleeps through the night.
/Especially/ in a new room.
Little did Chuuya’s scent do, since the Chibi oozes restlessness.
And his bed is small, too.
(Actually, no.
It’s /short/.
Thank god Dazai stopped believing in monsters lurking in the dark, or sleeping with his feet dangling off the bed’s edge would have been a problem.
He almost hoped Arahabaki would emerge from the closet.)
/Anyway/.
(Actually, no.
It’s /short/.
Thank god Dazai stopped believing in monsters lurking in the dark, or sleeping with his feet dangling off the bed’s edge would have been a problem.
He almost hoped Arahabaki would emerge from the closet.)
/Anyway/.
They’re loitering outside the a local supermarket — a small thing, really, once a house and dominating a crossroads of empty, dusty streets.
Just outside, in the sun-basked alley cornering the building, four vending machines stand aligned — all bright colors and glass
Just outside, in the sun-basked alley cornering the building, four vending machines stand aligned — all bright colors and glass
reflecting the morning sunshine.
That seems like the perfect place to /not/ do what Verlaine asked them, according to Chuuya.
(“Fuck if the old man thinks he can command us around” were the words.)
Leaning against the wall, Dazai shoves his hands the pockets of his trousers.
That seems like the perfect place to /not/ do what Verlaine asked them, according to Chuuya.
(“Fuck if the old man thinks he can command us around” were the words.)
Leaning against the wall, Dazai shoves his hands the pockets of his trousers.
A blue sweater falls around his hips, way too big for his willowy frame.
Chuuya—
Dazai is /not/ sure what is Chibi’s problem with standing straight — a height complex? — but the omega is sitting on the street, back against the wall and knees pressed against his chest.
Chuuya—
Dazai is /not/ sure what is Chibi’s problem with standing straight — a height complex? — but the omega is sitting on the street, back against the wall and knees pressed against his chest.
He’s holding a can of coffee, hands lightly shaking.
It’s his /third/.
Dazai would /lie/ if he said he isn’t concerned, but Chuuya looks like he might bite his head off for asking.
“We’re going to hide here for long?” he drawls, instead.
The question seems to pinch Chuuya.
It’s his /third/.
Dazai would /lie/ if he said he isn’t concerned, but Chuuya looks like he might bite his head off for asking.
“We’re going to hide here for long?” he drawls, instead.
The question seems to pinch Chuuya.
“We’re not hiding.”
“We kind of are,” Dazai says.
The omega clicks his tongue.
He takes a sip of coffee, though he shivers subtly as the can touches his lips.
“Do you really want to go back and watch Paul and Arthur fight?”
“I was thinking we could stay in your /room/.”
“We kind of are,” Dazai says.
The omega clicks his tongue.
He takes a sip of coffee, though he shivers subtly as the can touches his lips.
“Do you really want to go back and watch Paul and Arthur fight?”
“I was thinking we could stay in your /room/.”
“After Ane-san? Not gonna happen.”
“Come on,” the alpha says, blowing a dark strand of hair off his eyes. “She didn’t murder you, /or/ me.” A chuckle climbs up his throat. “Though I expected her to.”
“Told you she doesn’t hate you,” Chuuya murmurs.
Somehow, it’s detached.
“Come on,” the alpha says, blowing a dark strand of hair off his eyes. “She didn’t murder you, /or/ me.” A chuckle climbs up his throat. “Though I expected her to.”
“Told you she doesn’t hate you,” Chuuya murmurs.
Somehow, it’s detached.
And Dazai can grin, but that timbre digs in his /bones/.
Chuuya’s only half-listening; Chuuya’s not /here/.
Dazai shrugs. “Well, it was fun.”
“No. It was mortifying.”
Not a single second of hesitation.
And yes, it /was/ mortifying, but aren’t they supposed to laugh it off?
Chuuya’s only half-listening; Chuuya’s not /here/.
Dazai shrugs. “Well, it was fun.”
“No. It was mortifying.”
Not a single second of hesitation.
And yes, it /was/ mortifying, but aren’t they supposed to laugh it off?
Dazai gnaws at his bottom lip, in search for a good reply to a conversation that feels like a big /excuse/.
It’s almost like Chuuya doesn’t want to be around him.
Not when they are alone.
Not with /him/.
And Dazai can’t possibly /think/ of a reason, because it’s /stupid/ and
It’s almost like Chuuya doesn’t want to be around him.
Not when they are alone.
Not with /him/.
And Dazai can’t possibly /think/ of a reason, because it’s /stupid/ and
certainly all in his mind, but it burns all the same.
The alpha inhales, taking in the oddity of Chuuya’s scent.
An iron-like note always lurked under the surface, but it became more prominent recently.
/Anxiety./
Which is expected since Chuuya has been overworking himself.
The alpha inhales, taking in the oddity of Chuuya’s scent.
An iron-like note always lurked under the surface, but it became more prominent recently.
/Anxiety./
Which is expected since Chuuya has been overworking himself.
But— damn.
Even the sclera of Chuuya’s eyes is veined with screaming red
“So.” Dazai sighs. “What’s happening?”
“Nothing.”
“/Chibi/.”
“I’m fine.”
He quirks an eyebrow.
“I didn’t ask you if you were /fine/,” he says. “Which makes me suspect you are /not/ fine, actually.”
Even the sclera of Chuuya’s eyes is veined with screaming red
“So.” Dazai sighs. “What’s happening?”
“Nothing.”
“/Chibi/.”
“I’m fine.”
He quirks an eyebrow.
“I didn’t ask you if you were /fine/,” he says. “Which makes me suspect you are /not/ fine, actually.”
It’s /sharp/, but Chuuya shakes his head.
“I just replied to your shitty question.”
“Yeah. And you don’t even look fine.”
A harsh laughter. “Do I look like shit, then? Wow. Thanks and fuck you.”
Oh, /God/.
Frustration crawls up Dazai’s arms.
“You /know/ what I mean.”
“I just replied to your shitty question.”
“Yeah. And you don’t even look fine.”
A harsh laughter. “Do I look like shit, then? Wow. Thanks and fuck you.”
Oh, /God/.
Frustration crawls up Dazai’s arms.
“You /know/ what I mean.”
And all of a sudden, Dazai can feel the tension from yesterday looming over them — it’s back, rising and /rising/. Bubbling in every pause, in every moment of silence.
In every crack of the can squeezed by Chuuya’s hand.
And Dazai realizes that lately they are building their
In every crack of the can squeezed by Chuuya’s hand.
And Dazai realizes that lately they are building their
relationship on a house of cards, no matter how solid is the ground it’s based on.
“I’m absolutely /fine/, ‘Samu. Just back off a little, yeah?”
Dazau’s lips close in a thin line.
Actually, though—
“Y’know, Chibi, you can’t ask me to back off every time I worry about you.”
“I’m absolutely /fine/, ‘Samu. Just back off a little, yeah?”
Dazau’s lips close in a thin line.
Actually, though—
“Y’know, Chibi, you can’t ask me to back off every time I worry about you.”
He’s not ok with letting Chuuya deal with his problems alone.
It shouldn’t be like this.
And he guesses his wish to help is hypocritical when he won’t let Chuuya do the same to him, but—
But he can’t see Chibi like this. So tired, so jumpy, avoiding him and lost in thoughts.
It shouldn’t be like this.
And he guesses his wish to help is hypocritical when he won’t let Chuuya do the same to him, but—
But he can’t see Chibi like this. So tired, so jumpy, avoiding him and lost in thoughts.
And maybe, just maybe, it’s time to dissipate this damn tension.
Chuuya sighs.
He rolls the coffee in the can, and stares at the bottom of it as if to find an /answer/ in it.
An answer Dazai is not sure /he/ can provide.
“Oi. ‘Samu.”
Dazai flinches.
“Yes, Chibi?”
Chuuya sighs.
He rolls the coffee in the can, and stares at the bottom of it as if to find an /answer/ in it.
An answer Dazai is not sure /he/ can provide.
“Oi. ‘Samu.”
Dazai flinches.
“Yes, Chibi?”
“What you said yesterday…” Chuuya’s voice fails. He coughs to clear his throat. Suddenly, Dazai’s blood runs cold in his veins. “About the mating bond.”
Dazai’s mouth feels desert-dry as he swallows.
“Yes.”
“Did you mean it?”
/God, yes. He did./
The alpha parts his lips.
Dazai’s mouth feels desert-dry as he swallows.
“Yes.”
“Did you mean it?”
/God, yes. He did./
The alpha parts his lips.
He’s even ready to take it back, if necessary.
Ready to scream that he’ll stay, he’ll always stay.
There is not a universe where he’ll leave.
Because — contrary to what he always believed — he found relief not in a stream bed, but in the bottomless ocean of Chuuya’s eyes.
Ready to scream that he’ll stay, he’ll always stay.
There is not a universe where he’ll leave.
Because — contrary to what he always believed — he found relief not in a stream bed, but in the bottomless ocean of Chuuya’s eyes.
Because he wants to stay.
Because Chuuya plunged a hand in his chest and grasped his heart.
Dazai opens his mouth.
He breathes and collects his courage — the risible, reckless courage a human can boast.
But—
// “Chuuya? Is— woah, it’s really you.” //
And Chuuya /pales/.
Because Chuuya plunged a hand in his chest and grasped his heart.
Dazai opens his mouth.
He breathes and collects his courage — the risible, reckless courage a human can boast.
But—
// “Chuuya? Is— woah, it’s really you.” //
And Chuuya /pales/.
The omega freezes, eyes wide like a deer’s caught in headlights.
The contrast with the newcomer’s panache is /painful/.
Although unaware of the situation, Dazai’s first instinct — the first thing he /does/ — is to press closer to Chuuya, one hand landing solid on his shoulder.
The contrast with the newcomer’s panache is /painful/.
Although unaware of the situation, Dazai’s first instinct — the first thing he /does/ — is to press closer to Chuuya, one hand landing solid on his shoulder.
Because the pungent smell of Chuuya’s /discomfort/ winged over the street, lighter than fear and so much more unsettling.
It grows more sour with every word he swallows back.
But the man steps closer, not a sign of worry crossing his graceful figure.
A smile curls his lips.
It grows more sour with every word he swallows back.
But the man steps closer, not a sign of worry crossing his graceful figure.
A smile curls his lips.
It forms soft dimples at the corners of the man’s mouth, but doesn’t make his dark eyes any less /cold/.
Shameless.
Confident.
/Dominant/.
“Come on!” The man chimes, running a hand through styled-to-perfection hazelnut hair. “You’re Nakahara Chuuya, right? You remember me!”
Shameless.
Confident.
/Dominant/.
“Come on!” The man chimes, running a hand through styled-to-perfection hazelnut hair. “You’re Nakahara Chuuya, right? You remember me!”
Dazai’s eyes jump from his omega
(His, hammers in Dazai’s brain.
His.
No one else’s.
Even though this… /bug/ acts like he /owns/ Chuuya’s attention.)
to the newcomer. Another alpha.
He didn’t need to /smell/ the subtle musky notes seeping from the man to realize it.
(His, hammers in Dazai’s brain.
His.
No one else’s.
Even though this… /bug/ acts like he /owns/ Chuuya’s attention.)
to the newcomer. Another alpha.
He didn’t need to /smell/ the subtle musky notes seeping from the man to realize it.
Some people, you get their second gender from the way they carry themselves.
From the way they look at /omegas/.
“Chibi…?” Dazai hums.
It’s a request in case he needs help, really, but Chuuya takes it as a /nudge/ to reply.
Slowly, the omega stands up.
From the way they look at /omegas/.
“Chibi…?” Dazai hums.
It’s a request in case he needs help, really, but Chuuya takes it as a /nudge/ to reply.
Slowly, the omega stands up.
His hand, firmly clinging to the coffe can, shakes a little more visibly.
And he’s so /tense/, shoulders taut and rigid, that Dazai’s stomach crumples uncomfortably too.
“Hi, Mishima.”
The man beams — that joyless, meaningless smile.
“So it /is/ you! Handsome as ever, huh?”
And he’s so /tense/, shoulders taut and rigid, that Dazai’s stomach crumples uncomfortably too.
“Hi, Mishima.”
The man beams — that joyless, meaningless smile.
“So it /is/ you! Handsome as ever, huh?”
Not swinging at this Mishima guy is an exercise in self-control.
A self control that doesn’t belong to Dazai, to be fair, but Chuuya made it clear he can — and will — fend for himself.
But the omega lowers his head in a nod.
“You still live here.”
Ok, /what/?
Dazai blinks.
A self control that doesn’t belong to Dazai, to be fair, but Chuuya made it clear he can — and will — fend for himself.
But the omega lowers his head in a nod.
“You still live here.”
Ok, /what/?
Dazai blinks.
There is nothing healthy in the dissonance between Chuuya’s words and the stress in his body language.
“I left after high school,” Mishima says, cocking his head. “I’m back for my son. He’s five today.”
A trembling smile stretches across Chuuya’s lips. Dazai doesn’t know what
“I left after high school,” Mishima says, cocking his head. “I’m back for my son. He’s five today.”
A trembling smile stretches across Chuuya’s lips. Dazai doesn’t know what
kind of history lives inside that number, but he can see Chuuya /crumble/.
“Congrats.”
“She meant nothing, Chuuya.”
Chuuya’s heart is /pounding/.
He’s five.
She meant nothing.
What part is supposed to make the fact that Mishima knocked her up while dating /him/ hurt less?
“Congrats.”
“She meant nothing, Chuuya.”
Chuuya’s heart is /pounding/.
He’s five.
She meant nothing.
What part is supposed to make the fact that Mishima knocked her up while dating /him/ hurt less?
That fucking text sent to the wrong cellphone.
That stupid one year anniversary Chuuya was /so/ looking forward to.
// ‘Dinner w/ family is 💀 5 minutes and I’ll be at your house 🔥 ’//
“It’s none of my business,” Chuuya still manages to say and sound somewhat believable.
That stupid one year anniversary Chuuya was /so/ looking forward to.
// ‘Dinner w/ family is 💀 5 minutes and I’ll be at your house 🔥 ’//
“It’s none of my business,” Chuuya still manages to say and sound somewhat believable.
And these— these might be the hardest words Chuuya has spoken in a while.
In his voice he can capture echoes of a younger self.
/ ‘I like you, Mishima-senpai. Please go on a date with me.’ /
Hell.
How stupid he used to be.
But now— now Dazai squeezes his shoulder /harder/.
In his voice he can capture echoes of a younger self.
/ ‘I like you, Mishima-senpai. Please go on a date with me.’ /
Hell.
How stupid he used to be.
But now— now Dazai squeezes his shoulder /harder/.
And all of a sudden, Chuuya is reminded that he is /not/ alone.
He doesn’t have to be a slave of his past, of that kind of fear that grinds bone to powder.
“No hard feelings?” Mishima says.
And he /smiles/ — that smile that, god, why did Chuuya ever think of it as charming?
He doesn’t have to be a slave of his past, of that kind of fear that grinds bone to powder.
“No hard feelings?” Mishima says.
And he /smiles/ — that smile that, god, why did Chuuya ever think of it as charming?
This time, Chuuya grins right back.
Fuck you, he thinks.
“I don’t care, really.” He never lied with a straight face, but he’ll blame Dazai’s influence. “By the way, this is my boyfriend. Dazai.”
He searches for Dazai’s hand, voice dripping /vindication/.
Mishima’s eyes widen
Fuck you, he thinks.
“I don’t care, really.” He never lied with a straight face, but he’ll blame Dazai’s influence. “By the way, this is my boyfriend. Dazai.”
He searches for Dazai’s hand, voice dripping /vindication/.
Mishima’s eyes widen
as if he can’t believe someone would take Chuuya.
As if he can’t believe someone would really waste time with a half-functioning omega.
Then, he bows.
“Nice to meet you.”
Chuuya’s chest roars when Dazai barely moves.
“Can’t say the same,” the brunet says. “You are…?”
As if he can’t believe someone would really waste time with a half-functioning omega.
Then, he bows.
“Nice to meet you.”
Chuuya’s chest roars when Dazai barely moves.
“Can’t say the same,” the brunet says. “You are…?”
Irritation flickers across Mishima’s face.
Chuuya remembers it well; he used to see that disappointment all the time.
“Mishima Yukio. Chuuya and I used to—“ He hesitates. “Date, once.”
Dazai seems to gauge the reply.
Then, he hmms; his mirth is sharp, cutting like silver.
Chuuya remembers it well; he used to see that disappointment all the time.
“Mishima Yukio. Chuuya and I used to—“ He hesitates. “Date, once.”
Dazai seems to gauge the reply.
Then, he hmms; his mirth is sharp, cutting like silver.
His smirk could draw blood.
// It’s one of those exes. //
Chuuya can see what’s coming in how the alpha’s beauty turned cold and dark — something /dangerous/.
“I /see/.” He looks down on Mishima, eyes scanning his face for a long moment. “Chibi sure used to have poor taste.”
// It’s one of those exes. //
Chuuya can see what’s coming in how the alpha’s beauty turned cold and dark — something /dangerous/.
“I /see/.” He looks down on Mishima, eyes scanning his face for a long moment. “Chibi sure used to have poor taste.”
Chuuya shrugs. He’s about to tell Dazai to not be /mean/ (ah! He’s really stupid, still acting civil after all) when—
When Mishima /chuckles/.
“/He/? Poor taste?” He echoes. The ugly contempt in his voice burns Chuuya like a bruise. “You two must be /new/.”
Dazai frowns.
When Mishima /chuckles/.
“/He/? Poor taste?” He echoes. The ugly contempt in his voice burns Chuuya like a bruise. “You two must be /new/.”
Dazai frowns.
“Nah. I’m just not into cheaters anymore,” Chuuya replies.
He slides closer to Dazai, his thumb skimming over the scent glands in Chuuya’s wrist.
“It’s not exactly our fault though, is it?” Mishima says. “You know it.”
It’s immediate, as if he’s been loading it for /years/.
He slides closer to Dazai, his thumb skimming over the scent glands in Chuuya’s wrist.
“It’s not exactly our fault though, is it?” Mishima says. “You know it.”
It’s immediate, as if he’s been loading it for /years/.
It must be something he tells himself to pretend to be a good person and not a /cheater/.
Because that’s what he is.
“Careful,” Dazai drawls.
A cheater.
Mishima holds the alpha’s gaze, chest heaving. “I don’t like to be accused of things that were driven by circumstances.”
Because that’s what he is.
“Careful,” Dazai drawls.
A cheater.
Mishima holds the alpha’s gaze, chest heaving. “I don’t like to be accused of things that were driven by circumstances.”
Then why—
“Bold words to say you can’t keep your knot in your pants,” Dazai hisses.
Then /why/ does Chuuya feel like Mishima’s right? Why do those words sink like stones?
He can’t keep a lover.
He’s not worthy of a partner.
Because they leave, and leave, and /leave/.
“Bold words to say you can’t keep your knot in your pants,” Dazai hisses.
Then /why/ does Chuuya feel like Mishima’s right? Why do those words sink like stones?
He can’t keep a lover.
He’s not worthy of a partner.
Because they leave, and leave, and /leave/.
“Wait for his heat,” Mishima’s eyes linger on Chuuya. “That damn frustration? /Jeez/. Good luck with that.”
“At least I don’t go around breeding people,” Chuuya mumbles.
Mishima’s eyes turn into slits. “Yes, Chuuya, I had a /child/. And whose fault is that?”
“At least I don’t go around breeding people,” Chuuya mumbles.
Mishima’s eyes turn into slits. “Yes, Chuuya, I had a /child/. And whose fault is that?”
// ‘You’re so damn selfish. You’re asking me to stop now? Hell, I will. Fuck you, Chuuya, I /will/. But I’ll finish with someone else.
Is this what you want?
/You/ are making me do this.’ //
And that’s when the omega tumbles down, falling silent, crushes by guilt.
/Shit/.
Is this what you want?
/You/ are making me do this.’ //
And that’s when the omega tumbles down, falling silent, crushes by guilt.
/Shit/.
He’s standing in front of one of the people that made him feel like nothing and it is /cathartic/, but it’s also tearing him to pieces.
His heat is practically upon him, and this is /not/ helping.
Dazai’s scent turning up, growing more possessive and angry, is not helping.
His heat is practically upon him, and this is /not/ helping.
Dazai’s scent turning up, growing more possessive and angry, is not helping.
And god knows that the way this is making him feel — small and /young/ and /selfish/ — is not. Damn. Helping.
“It was /your/ fuck up,” he murmurs. He hates how weak it sounds.
Mishima, though, lifts his head. He looks victorious, for a moment; his dark eyes gleam.
“It was /your/ fuck up,” he murmurs. He hates how weak it sounds.
Mishima, though, lifts his head. He looks victorious, for a moment; his dark eyes gleam.
His voice drops honey-sweet resentment.
“Chuuya. You know why I did what I did.”
“Honestly.” Dazai tuts, like a teacher in front of a particularly stupid child. “Blaming someone else because your dick felt adventurous? I stand corrected. You’re not stupid, you’re /delusional/.”
“Chuuya. You know why I did what I did.”
“Honestly.” Dazai tuts, like a teacher in front of a particularly stupid child. “Blaming someone else because your dick felt adventurous? I stand corrected. You’re not stupid, you’re /delusional/.”
Mishima barks a guttural chuckle. It’s in moments like this that Chuuya can discern the worst kind of alpha — the one that borders to bully.
“Come on. Chuuya, I’m not saying it’s your fault, babe, but…”
/ But it’s exactly what he’s implying. /
Chuuya swallows. He stammers,
“Come on. Chuuya, I’m not saying it’s your fault, babe, but…”
/ But it’s exactly what he’s implying. /
Chuuya swallows. He stammers,
a lump of anger and shame and anxiety blocking his throat. He’s not his /babe/.
Yet he’s still the loyal schoolboy Mishima cheated on.
But then—
Then Dazai is behind Chuuya, hands circling his hips. Lips grazing his pulse point.
(His /bonding/ spot.)
His voice, velvet,
Yet he’s still the loyal schoolboy Mishima cheated on.
But then—
Then Dazai is behind Chuuya, hands circling his hips. Lips grazing his pulse point.
(His /bonding/ spot.)
His voice, velvet,
drags a shiver down Chuuya’s spine.
“Chuuya’s fault~?” Dazai drawls. “Funny. Chuuya and I have the /best/ sex. But— I guess we can’t all know how to please our omegas, hm?” His teeth hover over Chuuya’s neck, eyes /fixed/ on Mishima. “Thank goodness I take good care of /mine/.”
“Chuuya’s fault~?” Dazai drawls. “Funny. Chuuya and I have the /best/ sex. But— I guess we can’t all know how to please our omegas, hm?” His teeth hover over Chuuya’s neck, eyes /fixed/ on Mishima. “Thank goodness I take good care of /mine/.”
Chuuya sees every word sinking in Mishima like rocks in a lake.
He doesn’t take the accusation of not being good in bed /gracefully/. His face crumples for a moment, his calm upfront cracked by irritation.
But he hmpfs — a weak sound compared to the smugness from before.
He doesn’t take the accusation of not being good in bed /gracefully/. His face crumples for a moment, his calm upfront cracked by irritation.
But he hmpfs — a weak sound compared to the smugness from before.
“Yours?” Mockery soaks Mishima’s voice. “How is someone /yours/ if you can’t claim them?”
Dazai’s teeth graze the omega’s skin.
“My~ You really are dense.”
“And you have rather low standards.”
Chuuya swallows, guilt hunched over his shoulder — still there, /always/ there.
Dazai’s teeth graze the omega’s skin.
“My~ You really are dense.”
“And you have rather low standards.”
Chuuya swallows, guilt hunched over his shoulder — still there, /always/ there.
That’s not true, he screams in his head. But the thing is— he can’t summon enough /courage/ to speak.
He’s in Dazai’s embrace, and he’s /paralyzed/.
Because Mishima always made him feel inadequate.
Because, in the end, it’s his own fault for allowing the alpha to break him.
He’s in Dazai’s embrace, and he’s /paralyzed/.
Because Mishima always made him feel inadequate.
Because, in the end, it’s his own fault for allowing the alpha to break him.
It’s the way it was between them.
Because fists can fall upon a man and mould him, but words can too.
They have their own kind of violence, words.
And Chuuya knows he let the violence in his past relationships shape him — his attitude, his fears, his /limits/.
His trauma.
Because fists can fall upon a man and mould him, but words can too.
They have their own kind of violence, words.
And Chuuya knows he let the violence in his past relationships shape him — his attitude, his fears, his /limits/.
His trauma.
But Dazai’s breath is damp and hot on him, his fangs tickling his unmarked skin.
They leave goosebumps as the alpha tugs Chuuya’s back closer against his chest.
“Not at all.” Dazai stares at Mishima as he speaks. “Though I’m glad Chuuya raised the bar for /his/ standards.”
They leave goosebumps as the alpha tugs Chuuya’s back closer against his chest.
“Not at all.” Dazai stares at Mishima as he speaks. “Though I’m glad Chuuya raised the bar for /his/ standards.”
A ripple of anger flashes across Mishima’s face, plain as day.
Then, he swiftly masks it with a pleasant smile — venom glazed in honey.
“Anyway. Chuuya said it’s all water under the bridge.” The alpha’s dark eyes land on him, and Chuuya’s whole body /shrinks/. “Right, Chuuya?”
Then, he swiftly masks it with a pleasant smile — venom glazed in honey.
“Anyway. Chuuya said it’s all water under the bridge.” The alpha’s dark eyes land on him, and Chuuya’s whole body /shrinks/. “Right, Chuuya?”
“I don’t give a shit,” Chuuya agrees. “But don’t blame me. It’s not my fault you are a joke.”
“/Who/ is the joke here though, babe?”
// It’s your fault. //
Mishima hates him.
// ‘If you don’t change I’ll go to someone else, and it’ll be your fault’. //
Mishima blames him.
“/Who/ is the joke here though, babe?”
// It’s your fault. //
Mishima hates him.
// ‘If you don’t change I’ll go to someone else, and it’ll be your fault’. //
Mishima blames him.
And Chuuya wishes there wasn’t a part of him believing that too.
The idea is so deeply engraved in his marrow that it keeps resurfacing, no matter how he tries to push it away.
Chuuya swallows. “Don’t call me that.”
Mishima smiles /pleasantly/.
“You know I’m right.”
The idea is so deeply engraved in his marrow that it keeps resurfacing, no matter how he tries to push it away.
Chuuya swallows. “Don’t call me that.”
Mishima smiles /pleasantly/.
“You know I’m right.”
No, he’s not. He’s /not/ right.
Fuck him, Mishima is not. damn. right.
As Chuuya tries so desperately to /believe/ it, Dazai pulls away.
Ice washes over Chuuya at the sudden lack of contact, leaving only the burning ghosts of fangs.
His hand mechanically runs to his neck.
Fuck him, Mishima is not. damn. right.
As Chuuya tries so desperately to /believe/ it, Dazai pulls away.
Ice washes over Chuuya at the sudden lack of contact, leaving only the burning ghosts of fangs.
His hand mechanically runs to his neck.
He brushes the area — he /feels/ it, and the prickling electricity running under his skin.
But the alpha is moving in front of him now, placing himself between Chuuya and Mishima like a shield.
“It’s really about time you go play somewhere else.”
Dazai slides his hands in his
But the alpha is moving in front of him now, placing himself between Chuuya and Mishima like a shield.
“It’s really about time you go play somewhere else.”
Dazai slides his hands in his
trousers pockets as he speaks. He’s grinning.
“Shoo,” he nudges.
Mishima only tilts his chin up, though. His steps mirror Dazai’s — just as confident.
“Why? The road is free.”
“Don’t test me.”
“Oh, but you’ll thank /me/ when his heat comes,” Mishima says, glancing at Chuuya
“Shoo,” he nudges.
Mishima only tilts his chin up, though. His steps mirror Dazai’s — just as confident.
“Why? The road is free.”
“Don’t test me.”
“Oh, but you’ll thank /me/ when his heat comes,” Mishima says, glancing at Chuuya
Dazai’s face hardens.
“I doubt that.”
“You got yourself a faulty one. I’m just warning you.”
That’s what he is, Chuuya thinks.
He is broken. And—
“How kind of you. Now fuck off.”
/ And Dazai made him see how *wrong* he was. /
Mishima pushes closer — every step brazenly
“I doubt that.”
“You got yourself a faulty one. I’m just warning you.”
That’s what he is, Chuuya thinks.
He is broken. And—
“How kind of you. Now fuck off.”
/ And Dazai made him see how *wrong* he was. /
Mishima pushes closer — every step brazenly
dominant when Dazai is /nonchalant/.
They’re face to face, scents clashing.
“We alph—”
“We?” Dazai deadpans. “Like I said, I take /good/ care of my omega.”
“I—“
“You, by the sound of it, not only couldn’t do that, but can’t even take responsibility for a bastard pup.”
They’re face to face, scents clashing.
“We alph—”
“We?” Dazai deadpans. “Like I said, I take /good/ care of my omega.”
“I—“
“You, by the sound of it, not only couldn’t do that, but can’t even take responsibility for a bastard pup.”
Before, Chuuya never understood why Mishima hated and wanted him so, but the man still looks at him and he sees a /waste/.
A waste he thought he could fix, almighty alpha as he is.
In Chuuya, he met the hard truth that he is /not/ special.
And that he fucked up.
A waste he thought he could fix, almighty alpha as he is.
In Chuuya, he met the hard truth that he is /not/ special.
And that he fucked up.
But few things are more dangerous than a little man exposed for what he is.
The realization hits Chuuya like a slap, though it’s not him Mishima tries to hit.
He sees the raised arm, bloodshot eyes overflowing with /shame/.
Shame for being down talked, for his past choices.
The realization hits Chuuya like a slap, though it’s not him Mishima tries to hit.
He sees the raised arm, bloodshot eyes overflowing with /shame/.
Shame for being down talked, for his past choices.
Shame because Chuuya has someone who stands for him when he’s too battered to stand for himself.
Chuuya stares at Mishima’s fist as he swings in Dazai’s direction — Dazai slightly taller than him, deadly calm/
He looks as if he’s /waiting/ for the punch to hit strong and true.
Chuuya stares at Mishima’s fist as he swings in Dazai’s direction — Dazai slightly taller than him, deadly calm/
He looks as if he’s /waiting/ for the punch to hit strong and true.
Fists like this are ill-calibrated and sloppy, guided by rage alone. Yet, Chuuya knows they hurt all the same.
His lips part, Dazai’s name on the tip of his tongue.
But, before he can speak, the smacking sound of palm against bone ricochets in the alley.
Chuuya’s eyes widen.
His lips part, Dazai’s name on the tip of his tongue.
But, before he can speak, the smacking sound of palm against bone ricochets in the alley.
Chuuya’s eyes widen.
Dazai doesn’t /seem/ strong, forever wrapped in white gauze. Yet he doesn’t falter, grabbing Mishima’s wrist a breath from his face.
Chuuya stares in awe at the soft brown strands that frame the quiet lake of the alpha’s face.
His eyes, though.
His lips.
Dazai is /amused/.
Chuuya stares in awe at the soft brown strands that frame the quiet lake of the alpha’s face.
His eyes, though.
His lips.
Dazai is /amused/.
As he steps closer to decide if he should stop the two or sit back and enjoy the scene, Chuuya sees Mishima /shrivel/.
He clearly wishes he could free himself, but he can’t — damn, he /can’t/.
“I said, leave.”
“Let me go,” Mishima commands.
It does /nothing/. An alpha
He clearly wishes he could free himself, but he can’t — damn, he /can’t/.
“I said, leave.”
“Let me go,” Mishima commands.
It does /nothing/. An alpha
Command, and it washes over Dazai like oil on water — equally a majestic and terrifying sight.
“That wouldn’t be very smart of me, though,” Dazai says, a joyless smile turning his chanting voice into something eerie. “You tried to hit me first.”
“Bastard.”
“/Apologize/.”
“That wouldn’t be very smart of me, though,” Dazai says, a joyless smile turning his chanting voice into something eerie. “You tried to hit me first.”
“Bastard.”
“/Apologize/.”
Mishima hisses in response, shaking his wrist to no avail.
“Fuck you.”
“Careful. You don’t want to make me command you.” Dazai moves closer. He speaks against the alpha’s ear, his voice dropping into a murmur.“Because it will work and, I promise you, you won’t /enjoy/ it.”
“Fuck you.”
“Careful. You don’t want to make me command you.” Dazai moves closer. He speaks against the alpha’s ear, his voice dropping into a murmur.“Because it will work and, I promise you, you won’t /enjoy/ it.”
Every word fondles Chuuya’s skin — velvet, heavy and dark.
He’s seen this all before. It happened at the café, and he /feared/ this hollow Dazai he doesn’t really /know/.
This time, though, he embraces it.
Because there’s something /alluring/ in the way Dazai protects him.
He’s seen this all before. It happened at the café, and he /feared/ this hollow Dazai he doesn’t really /know/.
This time, though, he embraces it.
Because there’s something /alluring/ in the way Dazai protects him.
And Chuuya doesn’t need protection, he made that clear, but he can’t fight these monsters alone.
He can’t.
And for the first time, Chuuya realizes that’s what a partner /is/ for; to fight those monsters that make you weak.
Mishima shrinks a little more, pushing away. At least,
He can’t.
And for the first time, Chuuya realizes that’s what a partner /is/ for; to fight those monsters that make you weak.
Mishima shrinks a little more, pushing away. At least,
he /tries/.
Dazai keeps him firmly where he wants him, though.
He’s fully in control and Chuuya is /mesmerized/, heart throbbing in its cage.
“You better not threaten me,” Mishima still says. At least, Chuuya has to commend the effort. “You don’t know who /I/ am. I am—“
Dazai keeps him firmly where he wants him, though.
He’s fully in control and Chuuya is /mesmerized/, heart throbbing in its cage.
“You better not threaten me,” Mishima still says. At least, Chuuya has to commend the effort. “You don’t know who /I/ am. I am—“
Mishima’s voice stammers, failing into a weird guttural whimper as he gives a sharp pull.
Dazai does let him step back this time, even if bare /centimeters/.
He still makes it painfully clear that it’s something /he/ is allowing.
“You are?”
“I work for a big company, and—“
Dazai does let him step back this time, even if bare /centimeters/.
He still makes it painfully clear that it’s something /he/ is allowing.
“You are?”
“I work for a big company, and—“
Chuuya scowls. Mishima commanded Dazai, so technically /he/ is breaking the law.
But Dazai stares at the nails of his free hand, mouth twisting as in /disappointment/.
“And…?”
“I have /connections/.”
“Congrats.”
/He’s bluffing/, Chuuya thinks. And it’s not working either.
But Dazai stares at the nails of his free hand, mouth twisting as in /disappointment/.
“And…?”
“I have /connections/.”
“Congrats.”
/He’s bluffing/, Chuuya thinks. And it’s not working either.
“People who’ll make you disappear, if I ask them.”
Dazai lifts his head. He stares at Mishima, face unreadable.
“By all means, call them.” His grip around the man’s wrist fastens, bones cracking. “But you… talk about /my/ partner again, and I won’t be as kind as I was today.”
Dazai lifts his head. He stares at Mishima, face unreadable.
“By all means, call them.” His grip around the man’s wrist fastens, bones cracking. “But you… talk about /my/ partner again, and I won’t be as kind as I was today.”
And something in Chuuya /clicks/.
It has been boiling for a while under the surface, but Dazai just pushed it over the edge.
It sets fire to Chuuya’s lungs, and his breath — his heart, his body — stutters under the sudden jolt of warm pleasure.
Butterflies dance in his belly.
It has been boiling for a while under the surface, but Dazai just pushed it over the edge.
It sets fire to Chuuya’s lungs, and his breath — his heart, his body — stutters under the sudden jolt of warm pleasure.
Butterflies dance in his belly.
The cramps bloom into fleshy, carnivorous flowers of want.
And he can’t blame it on no one but Dazai, this heat that sparked in him. He triggered it, simple as flipping a switch.
But the shift in his scent—
Dazai /senses/ it.
He turns his face sharply, glaring at Chuuya.
And he can’t blame it on no one but Dazai, this heat that sparked in him. He triggered it, simple as flipping a switch.
But the shift in his scent—
Dazai /senses/ it.
He turns his face sharply, glaring at Chuuya.
Dazai stares for a long moment without the need to say anything, eyes suddenly focused and the same cold expression he gave Mishima.
Only, this time, there’s another kind of hunger.
Not vendetta, but /want/.
Chuuya’s not sure Mishima realizes what just happened, or if he’s
Only, this time, there’s another kind of hunger.
Not vendetta, but /want/.
Chuuya’s not sure Mishima realizes what just happened, or if he’s
too preoccupied shitting himself.
It doesn’t matter, anyway.
His heat doesn’t belong to Mishima; it’s not his to judge, and most certainly not his to /sense/.
“Oi,” Chuuya says around a lump in his throat. His voice sounds /raspy/ after the silence. “‘Samu. It’s not worth it.”
It doesn’t matter, anyway.
His heat doesn’t belong to Mishima; it’s not his to judge, and most certainly not his to /sense/.
“Oi,” Chuuya says around a lump in his throat. His voice sounds /raspy/ after the silence. “‘Samu. It’s not worth it.”
“No.” Dazai casts a sideway glance at Mishima. The sweet scent of pheromones has wiped away his interest in the other alpha. “He’s not.”
“You’re getting yourself in big fucking troubles.”
“I /bet/,” Dazai drawls, shooting him a compassionate smile. “You’ll leave us alone. Now.”
“You’re getting yourself in big fucking troubles.”
“I /bet/,” Dazai drawls, shooting him a compassionate smile. “You’ll leave us alone. Now.”
Is /that/ a command? Is that why Mishima falls /silent/?
Hell, Chuuya doesn’t care.
“Let’s go,” he pleads, sounding a little chocked up.
Please, let’s go /now/.
When Dazai looks at him and nods, his eyes are bleary. A need so /deep/, it seems to swallow Chuuya whole.
Hell, Chuuya doesn’t care.
“Let’s go,” he pleads, sounding a little chocked up.
Please, let’s go /now/.
When Dazai looks at him and nods, his eyes are bleary. A need so /deep/, it seems to swallow Chuuya whole.
Territorial alphas will fight all the time, but omegas have the power to derail them.
The nurturing ones, the /caretakers/.
But Chuuya is an odd omega, always was.
He can’t take a knot.
Anxiety devours him.
And had his heat /triggered/ by Dazai acting like a damn gang leader.
The nurturing ones, the /caretakers/.
But Chuuya is an odd omega, always was.
He can’t take a knot.
Anxiety devours him.
And had his heat /triggered/ by Dazai acting like a damn gang leader.
And if Chuuya is stopping this fight /now/, it’s entirely for /selfish/ reasons.
Because Dazai is wearing that darkness like a king’s cape — balanced, /mellowed/ by Chuuya’s presence. Mindful.
It’s /hot/.
It’s still intimidating, that darkness inside Dazai. Of course it is.
Because Dazai is wearing that darkness like a king’s cape — balanced, /mellowed/ by Chuuya’s presence. Mindful.
It’s /hot/.
It’s still intimidating, that darkness inside Dazai. Of course it is.
But the beast is not /devouring/ the alpha this time.
It’s controlled, and sharpened like a blade.
His grin cuts from cheek to cheek. He towers over Mishima. His voice is venom-sweet.
But Chuuya catches himself staring at how Dazai holds the man’s wrist before letting go.
It’s controlled, and sharpened like a blade.
His grin cuts from cheek to cheek. He towers over Mishima. His voice is venom-sweet.
But Chuuya catches himself staring at how Dazai holds the man’s wrist before letting go.
Fingers strong like iron, long and elegant and marble-white. Mishima seems ready to obey, pliant and whimpering under the grip.
The fingertips kiss the skin for one last moment, and Chuuya /knows/ they’ll leave bruises.
And, God—
/God/.
He needs those hands on him.
The fingertips kiss the skin for one last moment, and Chuuya /knows/ they’ll leave bruises.
And, God—
/God/.
He needs those hands on him.
—
// People who might make you disappear. //
It’s funny.
Dazai wonders what Mori would think — how would a surgeon in cahoots with the underground react?
Funny, how easily Mishima threatened him.
An orphan. A lit student. A nobody.
The son of the previous Port Mafia boss.
// People who might make you disappear. //
It’s funny.
Dazai wonders what Mori would think — how would a surgeon in cahoots with the underground react?
Funny, how easily Mishima threatened him.
An orphan. A lit student. A nobody.
The son of the previous Port Mafia boss.
When Mori took him in after his parents’ suicide, Dazai didn’t/know/ why. He thought it kindness.
But he grew up and realized Mori didn’t like children. Then, he supposed it was /pity/.
But it didn’t take him long to realize that piety and charity had /nothing/ to do with it.
But he grew up and realized Mori didn’t like children. Then, he supposed it was /pity/.
But it didn’t take him long to realize that piety and charity had /nothing/ to do with it.
The boss of the Port Mafia had killed himself, a double suicide with his wife.
The child — the heir — had to be /preserved/. Ougai Mori fulfilled his task marvelously.
Well. Too bad brave Mishima, a no one from a godforsaken town, has /connections/.
Oh, /no/.
How tragic.
The child — the heir — had to be /preserved/. Ougai Mori fulfilled his task marvelously.
Well. Too bad brave Mishima, a no one from a godforsaken town, has /connections/.
Oh, /no/.
How tragic.
Color him /terrified/.
Now, Dazai wonders, organ trade is by far the best way to make someone disappear for a profit. Maybe it’s that.
Maybe the Yamaguchi-gumi, maybe the Triad.
He wonders if Mishima was bluffing — a fleeting moment before he decides he doesn’t care.
Now, Dazai wonders, organ trade is by far the best way to make someone disappear for a profit. Maybe it’s that.
Maybe the Yamaguchi-gumi, maybe the Triad.
He wonders if Mishima was bluffing — a fleeting moment before he decides he doesn’t care.
The thing is, Mishima looks like a guy who does taxes for fun, who believes in nothing but what he sees and reassures his five-year-old son that there are no monsters under his bed.
But Dazai—
He dined with the monsters. He saw them. He /is/ them.
Nothing fucking scares him.
But Dazai—
He dined with the monsters. He saw them. He /is/ them.
Nothing fucking scares him.
In silence, Dazai follows Chuuya’s down the steep road that leads back to the shrine.
His heart beats in his throat.
He balls his hands into fists, trying to push down the urge to /stop/ and hold Chuuya and /scent/ him, cover him in wild kisses until their mouths /hurt/.
His heart beats in his throat.
He balls his hands into fists, trying to push down the urge to /stop/ and hold Chuuya and /scent/ him, cover him in wild kisses until their mouths /hurt/.
Keeping a safe distance as they walk helps— for now.
Dazai is not sure how long that’ll last, though.
Because he is barely keeping himself from /jumping/ the omega, hands prickling and throat dry.
All he can focus on is the alluring trail of pheromones oozed by Chuuya.
Dazai is not sure how long that’ll last, though.
Because he is barely keeping himself from /jumping/ the omega, hands prickling and throat dry.
All he can focus on is the alluring trail of pheromones oozed by Chuuya.
And he feels dizzy with want, but he won’t act like an /animal/ in public.
He has more respect for his boyfriend than that.
Dazai is biting his bottom lip and trailing after Chuuya, empty handed and nostrils full with the boy’s heat, when the first raindrop hits his cheek.
__
He has more respect for his boyfriend than that.
Dazai is biting his bottom lip and trailing after Chuuya, empty handed and nostrils full with the boy’s heat, when the first raindrop hits his cheek.
__
__
Chuuya welcomes the cold rain on his face like a blessing.
They didn’t buy /shit/ of what Paul asked them, but the thought couldn’t be further from his mind right now.
Every drop seem to /sizzle/ when it touches his skin — he’s soaked and boiling, going up in flames.
Chuuya welcomes the cold rain on his face like a blessing.
They didn’t buy /shit/ of what Paul asked them, but the thought couldn’t be further from his mind right now.
Every drop seem to /sizzle/ when it touches his skin — he’s soaked and boiling, going up in flames.
And yet, he doesn’t quite have the courage to talk to Dazai — to look at him, even.
The silence is tense, full of expectations.
Not even the rain can wash away the pungent scent of lust; the sweet demands of Chuuya’s heat and Dazai’s barely-holding-it-together self control.
The silence is tense, full of expectations.
Not even the rain can wash away the pungent scent of lust; the sweet demands of Chuuya’s heat and Dazai’s barely-holding-it-together self control.
He /saw/ the hunger in Dazai’s eyes.
He /felt/ his own resolve crumble.
And Chuuya finds himself wishing that the hand that was blocking Mishima’s wrist could now /choke/ him while keeping him down — until he moans, until he /sobs/.
The silence roars loud in his head,
He /felt/ his own resolve crumble.
And Chuuya finds himself wishing that the hand that was blocking Mishima’s wrist could now /choke/ him while keeping him down — until he moans, until he /sobs/.
The silence roars loud in his head,
populated by the screaming thoughts of what he wants Dazai to do to him.
But they can’t go home like /this/, or he’ll go crazy.
Chuuya curses his bad luck. There isn’t even a damn love hotel.
And the rain falls harder, tapping on the street, painting the grey concrete black,
But they can’t go home like /this/, or he’ll go crazy.
Chuuya curses his bad luck. There isn’t even a damn love hotel.
And the rain falls harder, tapping on the street, painting the grey concrete black,
and— /Damn/.
The lust bleeds into pain.
Chuuya fears this all-consuming flame will devour him if he doesn’t /succumb/ to it, and there’s nowhere private he and Dazai can go.
Nowhere but—
…There /is/ a place.
It might even shut Dazai up.
They just better not get caught.
The lust bleeds into pain.
Chuuya fears this all-consuming flame will devour him if he doesn’t /succumb/ to it, and there’s nowhere private he and Dazai can go.
Nowhere but—
…There /is/ a place.
It might even shut Dazai up.
They just better not get caught.
If his parents ever discover that he /desecrated/ a god’s house and an historical site, he’s dead.
Done for.
Chuuya grits his teeth.
/Honestly, fuck it/.
The omega heads to the shrine’s grounds, Dazai silent and hot on his heels, and pushes further into the backyard.
Done for.
Chuuya grits his teeth.
/Honestly, fuck it/.
The omega heads to the shrine’s grounds, Dazai silent and hot on his heels, and pushes further into the backyard.
He hears the alpha whimper when they face the wooden building that /supposedly/ hosted the spirit of a primitive god.
Now, all that remains is a statue nobody ever sees and various supplies for the local summer festival.
The shrine is no bigger than a storage room, though
Now, all that remains is a statue nobody ever sees and various supplies for the local summer festival.
The shrine is no bigger than a storage room, though
Chuuya was always freaked out by the statue. He always breathed in the dust of thousands of years of belief inside those walls.
But Nakahara Chuuya doesn’t believe in /gods/, nor he fears them.
Especially not now.
All he knows is that it’s pouring, he’s soaked to the bone, his
But Nakahara Chuuya doesn’t believe in /gods/, nor he fears them.
Especially not now.
All he knows is that it’s pouring, he’s soaked to the bone, his
belly is on fire and he /needs/ Dazai to quench this /thirst/ in him.
He just hopes he won’t be cursed for this because — the moment Dazai sneaks in and Chuuya closes the shrine’s sliding door behind them — he has Dazai’s tongue in his mouth and Arahabaki’s empty eyes on him.
He just hopes he won’t be cursed for this because — the moment Dazai sneaks in and Chuuya closes the shrine’s sliding door behind them — he has Dazai’s tongue in his mouth and Arahabaki’s empty eyes on him.
Rain in his eyes and heart in his throat, Chuuya leans against Dazai’s chest.
He breathes against the alpha’s mouth, lips parting, eyes closed.
He takes it /in/, all of it.
The kiss.
The ancient smell of damp wood and dust.
The drumming of rain on the roof.
/The need/.
He breathes against the alpha’s mouth, lips parting, eyes closed.
He takes it /in/, all of it.
The kiss.
The ancient smell of damp wood and dust.
The drumming of rain on the roof.
/The need/.
And, as he /thaws/ under the warmth of Dazai’s lips and shudders at his wet, cold hands cradling his neck, images flicker behind Chuuya’s lids.
Dazai, blocking Mishima.
Dazai, defending him. /Wanting/ him.
And Chuuya desperately tries to gain a sense of /control/, but—
Dazai, blocking Mishima.
Dazai, defending him. /Wanting/ him.
And Chuuya desperately tries to gain a sense of /control/, but—
But he’s /far/ past that point, now.
“Sorry,” he mutters, pushing away just enough to speak against the alpha’s lips. His voice shakes with every word, vocal cords strained by the effort of not slurring. “I tried to fight this stupid heat, but…”
Dazai halts.
“You /what/?”
“Sorry,” he mutters, pushing away just enough to speak against the alpha’s lips. His voice shakes with every word, vocal cords strained by the effort of not slurring. “I tried to fight this stupid heat, but…”
Dazai halts.
“You /what/?”
His voice is colorless, but it makes Chuuya tremble all the same.
And the omega was never a good liar, always wearing his heart on his sleeve even when it was stupid to do so, but still he /tries/.
He shrugs, lulled by Dazai’s touch and his overwhelming scent filling the air.
And the omega was never a good liar, always wearing his heart on his sleeve even when it was stupid to do so, but still he /tries/.
He shrugs, lulled by Dazai’s touch and his overwhelming scent filling the air.
“I mean, I had a /hunch/—“
“So you knew,” Dazai says. “And you didn’t say anything.”
Chuuya closes in a stubborn — ashamed, really — silence.
It’s an exercise in futility, when all he wants to do is to kiss Dazai again, to silence everything else.
“Chibi. Look at me.”
“So you knew,” Dazai says. “And you didn’t say anything.”
Chuuya closes in a stubborn — ashamed, really — silence.
It’s an exercise in futility, when all he wants to do is to kiss Dazai again, to silence everything else.
“Chibi. Look at me.”
As he speaks, Dazai lodges one index finger under Chuuya’s chin, gently tilting his head up.
The omega realizes the finger is /shaking/ ever so slightly. But it’s like trying to keep a flood at bay; somehow, it’ll always slip through the cracks.
“You are /safe/ with me.”
The omega realizes the finger is /shaking/ ever so slightly. But it’s like trying to keep a flood at bay; somehow, it’ll always slip through the cracks.
“You are /safe/ with me.”
And it’s back; that mad jolt of desire that manifests when Dazai talks to him like this.
When he looks at him with warm eyes brimming with confidence.
But, before Chuuya can muster a reply, Dazai cradles his nape.
He seals his lips in a kiss, and Chuuya is /home/ again.
When he looks at him with warm eyes brimming with confidence.
But, before Chuuya can muster a reply, Dazai cradles his nape.
He seals his lips in a kiss, and Chuuya is /home/ again.
The omega is not sure if the wetness in his bottom half is caused by the rain or by the thin stream of slick dripping down his thighs, but the sudden constraint of his slacks is definitely /telling/.
Who cares anyway, Chuuya thinks.
That’s what he wants.
He’s gonna be /ok/.
Who cares anyway, Chuuya thinks.
That’s what he wants.
He’s gonna be /ok/.
Because Dazai is /here/ and Chuuya can’t think, not when his brain is /silenced/ by swift fingers unzipping his jeans, and—
And he can’t focus.
All he knows are the frenzied hands that peel off wet clothes and undo buttons, getting rid of layer after layer.
And he can’t focus.
All he knows are the frenzied hands that peel off wet clothes and undo buttons, getting rid of layer after layer.
He knows the rustle of clothes falling to the floor as he and Dazai stumble around, never breaking the kiss.
He knows and he needs, he needs, he /needs/ it.
// TW NSFW 🐒
Sloppily, Chuuya bares Dazai’s bandages as the alpha frees Chuuya from his clothes, blindly looking for
He knows and he needs, he needs, he /needs/ it.
// TW NSFW 🐒
Sloppily, Chuuya bares Dazai’s bandages as the alpha frees Chuuya from his clothes, blindly looking for
more skin to map.
Chuuya shivers — cold air caressing his naked body, only covered in /his/ alpha’s hand — but it’s just a moment.
He’s still lost in the mad rush of blood in his ears, in the tangle of damp, heavy breaths, when Dazai pushes him against the shrine’s wall.
Chuuya shivers — cold air caressing his naked body, only covered in /his/ alpha’s hand — but it’s just a moment.
He’s still lost in the mad rush of blood in his ears, in the tangle of damp, heavy breaths, when Dazai pushes him against the shrine’s wall.
Chuuya’s back collides with the wood with a soft sound.
The mix of heat and hushed sighs and scents blending into one makes his head /spin/.
He closes his knees around Dazai’s hips with a suffocated yelp, pinning his heels to Dazai’s inner thigh when the alpha lifts him up
The mix of heat and hushed sighs and scents blending into one makes his head /spin/.
He closes his knees around Dazai’s hips with a suffocated yelp, pinning his heels to Dazai’s inner thigh when the alpha lifts him up
in his arms.
He never suspected such a lanky body could hold him like this, to be fair.
Dazai appears so /fragile/ all the time.
Apparently, after today, Chuuya really can state that he didn’t know his boyfriend well at all — and there are /good/ things to discover, yet.
He never suspected such a lanky body could hold him like this, to be fair.
Dazai appears so /fragile/ all the time.
Apparently, after today, Chuuya really can state that he didn’t know his boyfriend well at all — and there are /good/ things to discover, yet.
He laces his arms around Dazai’s neck.
His legs scream as the omega keeps himself balanced, caught between the wall and the alpha.
His naked body goes up in cold flames, searching for heat — searching for /contact/.
And Chuuya knows it’s not fucking /smart/ and that he’s
His legs scream as the omega keeps himself balanced, caught between the wall and the alpha.
His naked body goes up in cold flames, searching for heat — searching for /contact/.
And Chuuya knows it’s not fucking /smart/ and that he’s
risking losing Dazai here, but he can’t stop — hands wandering, famished, stupid with lust.
And he’s moaning /loudly/, hands sunk in ruffled brunet strands and curled over Dazai as the alpha sucks at his bottom lip.
He skims one hand over the bandages covering Dazai’s neck.
And he’s moaning /loudly/, hands sunk in ruffled brunet strands and curled over Dazai as the alpha sucks at his bottom lip.
He skims one hand over the bandages covering Dazai’s neck.
“Will you—“ Chuuya lets out a husky moan, coaxed by Dazai’s teeth grazing the sensitive skin of his jaw. /Bastard/. “Will you ever take them off?”
/ Those stupid things. /
“/Later/,” Dazai says, part groan and part promise.
Later.
Which implies there will be a second time.
/ Those stupid things. /
“/Later/,” Dazai says, part groan and part promise.
Later.
Which implies there will be a second time.
However, for now, Dazai seems focused on a whole galaxy of other emotions stirring him up.
On the friction between their bodies, stealing gasps from the omega.
On the sweet slick running down Chuuya’s parted thighs. On his tensed muscles.
Suffocating a whine, Chuuya trembles.
On the friction between their bodies, stealing gasps from the omega.
On the sweet slick running down Chuuya’s parted thighs. On his tensed muscles.
Suffocating a whine, Chuuya trembles.
His cock rubs against Dazai’s, his shoulder blades scraping the wall.
It’s maddening, the way his entire body writhes with the rubbing.
He’s sore, trapped between Dazai and the wall, and holding to the alpha’s shoulders and hips for dear life because who the /hell/ knows for
It’s maddening, the way his entire body writhes with the rubbing.
He’s sore, trapped between Dazai and the wall, and holding to the alpha’s shoulders and hips for dear life because who the /hell/ knows for
how long Dazai will sustain his weight, but—
But he’s impatient, Chuuya, and high on lust.
Impatient people find interesting compromises with their bodies.
Chuuya hisses in Dazai’s mouth when his dick scrapes against the alpha’s length, wet with slick and pre-cum.
But he’s impatient, Chuuya, and high on lust.
Impatient people find interesting compromises with their bodies.
Chuuya hisses in Dazai’s mouth when his dick scrapes against the alpha’s length, wet with slick and pre-cum.
He arches his back to feel closer to his boyfriend, chasing a ghost of relief, grinding blindly. His abs and inner thighs protest for the effort of keeping himself balanced /and/ at the right height.
This stupid height difference.
It’s so frustrating Chuuya wants to /cry/.
This stupid height difference.
It’s so frustrating Chuuya wants to /cry/.
Desperately, the omega seeks as much skin-on-skin contact as possible. He fears he might go /crazy/ because of this flame burning him alive.
Still, he relishes in every sloppy kiss and moan he manages to spill from Dazai with the same, furious joy of the last survivor of a war.
Still, he relishes in every sloppy kiss and moan he manages to spill from Dazai with the same, furious joy of the last survivor of a war.
Every reaction is a personal victory, but--
“You’re so wet already,” Dazai humms against his mouth.
But, shit, /one/ distrait word from Dazai and he's lost.
Chuuya’s toes curl.
It’s an obvious statement, yet it’s tinged with pride — I did this. It’s mine. /You/ are mine.
“You’re so wet already,” Dazai humms against his mouth.
But, shit, /one/ distrait word from Dazai and he's lost.
Chuuya’s toes curl.
It’s an obvious statement, yet it’s tinged with pride — I did this. It’s mine. /You/ are mine.
It might as well be the hottest thing Chuuya ever heard — so raspy, murmured into Chuuya’s mouth as if not to bother the ancient spirits dwelling in these holy grounds — and the omega /falls apart/ under the praise.
The thing is, Dazai's right.
Chuuya /is/ wet and ready.
The thing is, Dazai's right.
Chuuya /is/ wet and ready.
His body throbs, treacherous, making Chuuya /think/ he wants a knot. Making him believe he can't take it, drunk on lust, hopeful against hope.
Even worse, hopeful against /experience/.
But he can feel the muscles at the base of Dazai’s dick swelling as his arousal grows, and
Even worse, hopeful against /experience/.
But he can feel the muscles at the base of Dazai’s dick swelling as his arousal grows, and
the thought of having that -- the anticipation, the feeling of Dazai's cock sliding against his naked stomach, smearing pre-cum on the skin -- makes Chuuya's mouth water.
That’s the blessing and the course of a damn heat, the omega supposes and—
And he’s secretly /terrified/.
That’s the blessing and the course of a damn heat, the omega supposes and—
And he’s secretly /terrified/.
What if.
What if Mishima is right, and Chuuya finds himself with but a handful of hopes and a stuffed toy and a request to move out.
What if he needs Dazai so much because, deep down, his inner, wretched omega knows it'll be the last time.
What if he's not enough.
What /if/.
What if Mishima is right, and Chuuya finds himself with but a handful of hopes and a stuffed toy and a request to move out.
What if he needs Dazai so much because, deep down, his inner, wretched omega knows it'll be the last time.
What if he's not enough.
What /if/.
But Dazai's body is hard against Chuuya's, his tongue warm as it slips between his teeth, and desire pushes fear off the chessboard.
It’s always like this.
He gets careless during heats.
But he can’t bring himself to care and... frankly, he's so damn /tired/ of being afraid.
It’s always like this.
He gets careless during heats.
But he can’t bring himself to care and... frankly, he's so damn /tired/ of being afraid.
There is no space for fear when he's captured between the wall and Dazai’s body, drifting away with the scent filling his mind and with the soft thump of his back hitting the wood.
The grinding is dragged out, at first.
Not tentative, but /savouring/ the crackling sparks that
The grinding is dragged out, at first.
Not tentative, but /savouring/ the crackling sparks that
the heat kindled under Chuuya’s skin. /Unhurried/.
That is, until one of Dazai’s hands tangles in the omega’s hair. It combs through the locks, at the beginning, tumbling over knots as he gently guides Chuuya to tilt his head.
Long, lean fingers lost in an ocean of copper.
That is, until one of Dazai’s hands tangles in the omega’s hair. It combs through the locks, at the beginning, tumbling over knots as he gently guides Chuuya to tilt his head.
Long, lean fingers lost in an ocean of copper.
The boy sighs against Dazai’s mouth, lips parting and jaw relaxing as Dazai kisses him deep and /slow/.
He grabs a fistful of strands, and Chuuya's cock twitches.
Then, the alpha gives the mass of auburn hair a generous tug — not enough to /hurt/, but firm. Dominant.
He grabs a fistful of strands, and Chuuya's cock twitches.
Then, the alpha gives the mass of auburn hair a generous tug — not enough to /hurt/, but firm. Dominant.
But Dazai frotting against him and fisting his hair, handling him without care but calling him /perfect/ in-between wet kisses, spit making their mouths glossy—
He /likes/ it.
Shit, he might like it a little too much.
And that’s when Chuuya /grins/, flashing white teeth.
He /likes/ it.
Shit, he might like it a little too much.
And that’s when Chuuya /grins/, flashing white teeth.
“You can pull my hair, y’know?” he teases. His voice comes out strained despite the attempt at being cocky, but it /still/ works.
He doesn’t have to tell Dazai twice.
Chuuya’s breath is cut by another generous pull, this time to the side, exposing the pale skin of his neck.
He doesn’t have to tell Dazai twice.
Chuuya’s breath is cut by another generous pull, this time to the side, exposing the pale skin of his neck.
“Is that so?” Dazai’s murmur vibrates in the shrine, almost distant. Chuuya shivers.
(Since when being talked down to turns him /on/?)
Before he can protest, Dazai clutches his hair tight, teeth ghost against the neck scent glands. He laps at the responsive skin meticulously,
(Since when being talked down to turns him /on/?)
Before he can protest, Dazai clutches his hair tight, teeth ghost against the neck scent glands. He laps at the responsive skin meticulously,
red marks blooming on the pale column of the omega's neck after Dazai is satisfied with his ministrations.
It's another side to Dazai entirely -- just how many /masks/ can this man wear? --, a more adult side Chuuya had only glimpsed at, yet he might be falling /hard/ for it.
It's another side to Dazai entirely -- just how many /masks/ can this man wear? --, a more adult side Chuuya had only glimpsed at, yet he might be falling /hard/ for it.
And maybe--
Dazai's fangs pierce his skin. Not enough to draw blood or mark him, but /enough/ to make Chuuya wish he did.
He moans around Dazai's name; loud, /much/ louder than he should be.
Just /maybe/--
"You sound beautiful."
Maybe he has to /thank/ Mishima, after all.
Dazai's fangs pierce his skin. Not enough to draw blood or mark him, but /enough/ to make Chuuya wish he did.
He moans around Dazai's name; loud, /much/ louder than he should be.
Just /maybe/--
"You sound beautiful."
Maybe he has to /thank/ Mishima, after all.
When Dazai nibbles at the sensitive skin right above the glands, Chuuya gasps; it's like having the alpha's scent injected right into his /marrow/. Sent right to his brain.
It resonates with his heat.
The sudden, dizzying wave of scent and the chafing make the omega jolt.
It resonates with his heat.
The sudden, dizzying wave of scent and the chafing make the omega jolt.
His hold around Dazai's hips almost falters, and he's ready for a second to end up close and personal with the shrine's floor.
He /doesn't/, though his stomach drops for a moment.
Chuuya falls silent, taking in a deep breath.
And this is all very /nice/ and all, but--
He /doesn't/, though his stomach drops for a moment.
Chuuya falls silent, taking in a deep breath.
And this is all very /nice/ and all, but--
Dazai's nose presses against Chuuya's neck, hands in his hair. “Are you alright, sweetheart?”
// Impatient people grow /tired/ of playing around, too. //
It’s not enough.
It's not nearly /enough/.
Chuuya swallows dry.
“I need—"
Ah, fuck.
He needs /a thousand/ things
// Impatient people grow /tired/ of playing around, too. //
It’s not enough.
It's not nearly /enough/.
Chuuya swallows dry.
“I need—"
Ah, fuck.
He needs /a thousand/ things
So he wriggles in Dazai’s arms, pressing his middle /closer/ to the alpha.
The movement makes Dazai wince with the way it rubs their dicks together, with the slight shift in weight.
“/Please/“ Chuuya tries again, realising how /close/ he sounds to begging. “I need more.”
The movement makes Dazai wince with the way it rubs their dicks together, with the slight shift in weight.
“/Please/“ Chuuya tries again, realising how /close/ he sounds to begging. “I need more.”
There's just a moment of hesitation before the alpha nods. “As you wish, angel.”
Dazai’s arms tremble before he puts Chuuya down, making sure to sustain the omega as his knees jitter and refuse to bolster his weight.
He frames Chuuya's face, leaving a tender peck on his lips.
Dazai’s arms tremble before he puts Chuuya down, making sure to sustain the omega as his knees jitter and refuse to bolster his weight.
He frames Chuuya's face, leaving a tender peck on his lips.
"Sit down," he instructs.
That /firmness/ again.
It makes the omega's heart hiccup, and he can't but follow that soft, soft command.
It's not a command at all, to be fair, but Chuuya can't but /comply/ nevertheless.
Strong, gentle hands guide Chuuya on the floor,
That /firmness/ again.
It makes the omega's heart hiccup, and he can't but follow that soft, soft command.
It's not a command at all, to be fair, but Chuuya can't but /comply/ nevertheless.
Strong, gentle hands guide Chuuya on the floor,
sitting with his back against the wall and legs parted. Dazai sits down in front of him, so close that the redhead can breathe /in/ his arousal.
They made a mess on the wall; the distinctive smell of slick will linger for weeks
He fucking hopes Arahabaki won't mind it, in hell.
They made a mess on the wall; the distinctive smell of slick will linger for weeks
He fucking hopes Arahabaki won't mind it, in hell.
The moment they are settled Chuuya blinks up, an unspoken question glimmering in his eyes.
/What, now?/
When Dazai leans in again, it's /gentle/.
He captures Chuuya's bottom lip in between his teeth, and smiles and pumps the omega's cock in his hand, palm smeared in fluids.
/What, now?/
When Dazai leans in again, it's /gentle/.
He captures Chuuya's bottom lip in between his teeth, and smiles and pumps the omega's cock in his hand, palm smeared in fluids.
There is no space to breathe; somehow Chuuya doesn’t /need/ it.
No space for talking, not when Dazai's lean fingers stretch.
He firmly keeps Chuuya's dick against his own, rubbing them together in a way that makes stars flicker behind the omega's lids as he closes his eyes.
No space for talking, not when Dazai's lean fingers stretch.
He firmly keeps Chuuya's dick against his own, rubbing them together in a way that makes stars flicker behind the omega's lids as he closes his eyes.
Blindly, he covers as much of Dazai’s back as he can, nails sinking in the bandages.
He hates them. Hates them.
But there’s also no time to focus on what he /can’t/ have, on the skin he /can’t/ touch, when Dazai pinches his nipple between the thumb and index of his free hand.
He hates them. Hates them.
But there’s also no time to focus on what he /can’t/ have, on the skin he /can’t/ touch, when Dazai pinches his nipple between the thumb and index of his free hand.
Chuuya’s yelp gets covered by the brunet's mouth. He wriggles to get closer, lulled by the friction, nullifying the inexistent distance between them.
It’s good.
Shit, it’s /really/ good.
The stroking sends jolts of pleasure down his spine, hands wandering down Dazai’s back.
It’s good.
Shit, it’s /really/ good.
The stroking sends jolts of pleasure down his spine, hands wandering down Dazai’s back.
He groans when Dazai pulls back, only to /marvel/ at the sudden, gentle pressure against his mouth.
Dazai, tracing the contour of his cupid's bow.
He seems almost mapping it in his mind, eyes still dark with want -- awed.
Chuuya parts his lips, nibbling at the alpha’s fingers.
Dazai, tracing the contour of his cupid's bow.
He seems almost mapping it in his mind, eyes still dark with want -- awed.
Chuuya parts his lips, nibbling at the alpha’s fingers.
The hard tip of his tongue runs on the soft pad of Dazai's index, bathing it in spit and torturing it gently with his teeth.
He teases it as he would tease the head of Dazai's dick, still hard and getting more /demanding/ against his own.
He takes his time, though.
He teases it as he would tease the head of Dazai's dick, still hard and getting more /demanding/ against his own.
He takes his time, though.
Obedient, almost unbearably /pretty/ in his play-pretend innocence.
And Chuuya /knows/ he’s enticing, wearing nothing but the alpha’s scent, all glistering eyes and flushed cheeks.
That’s when he looks up, gaze framed by long eyelashes, lips plump and parted.
He /stares/.
And Chuuya /knows/ he’s enticing, wearing nothing but the alpha’s scent, all glistering eyes and flushed cheeks.
That’s when he looks up, gaze framed by long eyelashes, lips plump and parted.
He /stares/.
He /challenges/.
That’s also when a groan escapes Dazai, and the alpha crams two fingers in Chuuya's mouth.
It’s unceremonious and fucking /unexpected/, accompanied by Dazai grinding faster and /harder/ against him, but Chuuya’s entire body comes alive under the reaction.
That’s also when a groan escapes Dazai, and the alpha crams two fingers in Chuuya's mouth.
It’s unceremonious and fucking /unexpected/, accompanied by Dazai grinding faster and /harder/ against him, but Chuuya’s entire body comes alive under the reaction.
He sucks on the fingers /greedily/ as Dazai moves on him, /with/ him, cock stroking against cock in a quickening pace.
He /craves/ this.
He craves the touch, the fullness.
He craves every inch of the alpha to the point that everything else slips out of the picture.
He /craves/ this.
He craves the touch, the fullness.
He craves every inch of the alpha to the point that everything else slips out of the picture.
He always needed /Dazai/ — his contrasts and his wounds and his shadows and his /lights/ —but this...
Jaw slacked, taking comfortably four fingers fucking his mouth, Chuuya rolls his head back and pushes down a gag reflex.
…This is /more/ than he ever thought he’d deserve.
Jaw slacked, taking comfortably four fingers fucking his mouth, Chuuya rolls his head back and pushes down a gag reflex.
…This is /more/ than he ever thought he’d deserve.
This maddening pace, the way Dazai is thrusting in his mouth until tears prickle his eyes.
“Chuuya,” Dazai breathes out.
His fingers slip of out the omega’s mouth with a soft pop
Chuuya’s body almost /cries/ in frustration.
“Chuuya,” Dazai breathes out.
His fingers slip of out the omega’s mouth with a soft pop
Chuuya’s body almost /cries/ in frustration.
One moment ago he was lost in his lover — his touch, his /fingers/ — and now…
He trembles.
They both still. He knows what Dazai is about to ask.
Fuck, he knows.
It’s one of those moments when you can /see/ your life splitting in two — a good outcome, or a devastating one.
He trembles.
They both still. He knows what Dazai is about to ask.
Fuck, he knows.
It’s one of those moments when you can /see/ your life splitting in two — a good outcome, or a devastating one.
“…Yes?”
// Please, don’t ask.
Don’t ask /that/.
Please. Please. Please— //
“Are you ok with this? If there’s /anything/ you’re not comfortable with…,” he says, wheeze.
Chuuya blinks. Eyes hazed with a thousand feelings, and /still/ Dazai—
“I’m ok,” he murmurs.
// Please, don’t ask.
Don’t ask /that/.
Please. Please. Please— //
“Are you ok with this? If there’s /anything/ you’re not comfortable with…,” he says, wheeze.
Chuuya blinks. Eyes hazed with a thousand feelings, and /still/ Dazai—
“I’m ok,” he murmurs.
He’s way more than just that, but /god/, his tongue is heavy and glued to the floor of his mouth.
// You’re safe with me. //
// I’ll stay. //
So he really meant it, huh.
They /really/ are in for the long run.
Because of all the alphas that /tried/ to take advantage of him
// You’re safe with me. //
// I’ll stay. //
So he really meant it, huh.
They /really/ are in for the long run.
Because of all the alphas that /tried/ to take advantage of him
during his heat, to push his boundaries only to leave him to lick his wounds after, Dazai is the only one who cared.
His hips jolt as he thrusts in the alpha’s hand.
“I’m ok,” he says again, voice husky, leaning forward. He presses a dry kiss to Dazai’s jaw. “Don’t stop.”
His hips jolt as he thrusts in the alpha’s hand.
“I’m ok,” he says again, voice husky, leaning forward. He presses a dry kiss to Dazai’s jaw. “Don’t stop.”
Tongue between teeth, Dazai hisses at the friction between their erections. The slick and the boiling skin make his jaw clench.
He /doesn’t/ stop, though.
And, God, Chuuya loves him for it.
Because he needs more, he /wants/ more.
He /doesn’t/ stop, though.
And, God, Chuuya loves him for it.
Because he needs more, he /wants/ more.
And Dazai’s hand is giving it all to him, holding their cocks together, rubbing them against each other, hips pushing into Chuuya’s.
“Perfect,” Dazai hums. “You’re so perfect.”
The omega gapes around a moan. He’s /silenced/ by the praise and the feelings it stirred in him.
“Perfect,” Dazai hums. “You’re so perfect.”
The omega gapes around a moan. He’s /silenced/ by the praise and the feelings it stirred in him.
But Dazai keeps going, punctuating every tug to the omega’s hair, every fluttering kiss he lands on Chuuya’s face and ever movement of his hips with honey-glazed, murmured praises.
“You’re so /beautiful/.”
“Look at you, so handsome for me.”
It sends Chuuya /spinning/.
“You’re so /beautiful/.”
“Look at you, so handsome for me.”
It sends Chuuya /spinning/.
Dazai’s teeth wander on his neck, so close to marking him but never /quite/ getting there. Anticipation clutches Chuuya’s stomach.
His body arches with every thrust, hips rocking, bending into Dazai’s touch.
Dutiful, Dazai keeps pulling at his hair with his free hand.
His body arches with every thrust, hips rocking, bending into Dazai’s touch.
Dutiful, Dazai keeps pulling at his hair with his free hand.
It’s never gentle, never overly careful.
Sharp tugs melt into sweet kisses.
Every time Chuuya moans in surprise, Dazai lifts his head to devour his lips and drown the ache with his tongue, bury it under searing bites.
And, for the first time, pain turns from enemy to lover.
Sharp tugs melt into sweet kisses.
Every time Chuuya moans in surprise, Dazai lifts his head to devour his lips and drown the ache with his tongue, bury it under searing bites.
And, for the first time, pain turns from enemy to lover.
And Chuuya didn’t know he /wanted/ to be treated this way — like he can /handle/ the pain, if it’s as his own terms.
Treated like someone who has power in circumstances that always /annihilated/ him, but—
But he knows himself a little better than he did yesterday, now.
Treated like someone who has power in circumstances that always /annihilated/ him, but—
But he knows himself a little better than he did yesterday, now.
Chuuya moans.
It’s shameless, it’s /loud/.
Mind numbed as he chases his high, the omega doesn’t even keep it in — he doesn’t even try.
And if Dazai kisses him a little harsher with a wolfish, pleased grin tugging at his lips, the omega takes it all as a /personal victory/.
It’s shameless, it’s /loud/.
Mind numbed as he chases his high, the omega doesn’t even keep it in — he doesn’t even try.
And if Dazai kisses him a little harsher with a wolfish, pleased grin tugging at his lips, the omega takes it all as a /personal victory/.
“Fuck, I—“ the omega breathes out, voice dying into a heavy breath.
Dazai gives a generous pull to his hair, making Chuuya’s head roll back. He leans in then, sucking at Chuuya’s earlobe — tongue playing with the soft skin, twisting and biting it with dedicated meticulousness.
Dazai gives a generous pull to his hair, making Chuuya’s head roll back. He leans in then, sucking at Chuuya’s earlobe — tongue playing with the soft skin, twisting and biting it with dedicated meticulousness.
He picks up the pace, careening against Dazai, fucking himself in his hand and against his dick; quenching his thirst in the friction of their groins grinding together.
His body is a thin silk string fraying under the flame that is Dazai’s /touch/.
Dazai’s knot, now swollen
His body is a thin silk string fraying under the flame that is Dazai’s /touch/.
Dazai’s knot, now swollen
and hard and /pulsating/, rubs against the base of Chuuya’s cock.
It would be /easy/ for Dazai to complain, to try and knot him, now that he is so close to his orgasm. But he /doesn’t/.
With every movement Chuuya’s body lights up, white stars exploding behind his lids.
It would be /easy/ for Dazai to complain, to try and knot him, now that he is so close to his orgasm. But he /doesn’t/.
With every movement Chuuya’s body lights up, white stars exploding behind his lids.
The warm wave of the orgasm creeps up on the omega, turning his limbs numb and his mind sharp. He holds his breath — he holds and /holds/ a gasp, trapped in his windpipe.
With every movement, he’s lost.
His head sinks forward, cheek against Dazai’s face — close, /so/ close.
With every movement, he’s lost.
His head sinks forward, cheek against Dazai’s face — close, /so/ close.
All he can think of is Dazai’s hand palming his stomach, and his mouth, and his teeth nibbling at his earlobe, and his swollen knot and hands and scent and voice and—
it’s /there/.
His high comes crumbling down on him, crushing him.
Unexpected, cutting Chuuya’s breath.
it’s /there/.
His high comes crumbling down on him, crushing him.
Unexpected, cutting Chuuya’s breath.
Warming him from the inside, and at the same time leaving him shivering.
He’s full and empty, and painfully /awake/ as he spills in Dazai’s hand with a strangled moan.
Dazai, too.
His body seems to tremble at its edges as he cums, breath heavy and lips crumpled up in a groan.
He’s full and empty, and painfully /awake/ as he spills in Dazai’s hand with a strangled moan.
Dazai, too.
His body seems to tremble at its edges as he cums, breath heavy and lips crumpled up in a groan.
With a hazed smile, Dazai pushes away from Chuuya.
The omega shudders when Dazai’s fingers part from his dick.
He’s done /nothing/, letting Dazai carry him through the entire predicament, and— and it’s nice to not worry for once.
The omega shudders when Dazai’s fingers part from his dick.
He’s done /nothing/, letting Dazai carry him through the entire predicament, and— and it’s nice to not worry for once.
And Dazai doesn’t seem to mind, so who the /fuck/ cares — who, when for once he’s too lightheaded to overthink what happened and obsess over his own thoughts.
The alpha’s shoulders relax. He detangles his hand from the omega’s hair to flip soft, sunset-red curls from blue eyes.
The alpha’s shoulders relax. He detangles his hand from the omega’s hair to flip soft, sunset-red curls from blue eyes.
“I love you,” Dazai says, voice soft, looking at Chuuya in the eye.
It’s really /so/ easy.
It’s reassuring. Soft.
A declaration from the bottom of Dazai’s soul — where shines no light but the one of this small, somewhat new, unfaltering emotion — that seals what happened.
It’s really /so/ easy.
It’s reassuring. Soft.
A declaration from the bottom of Dazai’s soul — where shines no light but the one of this small, somewhat new, unfaltering emotion — that seals what happened.
So Chuuya smiles.
He smiles, panting and /trembling/. Tears forming at the corners of his eyes, not for refusal but /relief/.
And if falling even deeper in love with Dazai in an ancient shrine is a fool’s game, call him a fool.
With a moment of delay, too lightheaded and
He smiles, panting and /trembling/. Tears forming at the corners of his eyes, not for refusal but /relief/.
And if falling even deeper in love with Dazai in an ancient shrine is a fool’s game, call him a fool.
With a moment of delay, too lightheaded and
tired and stunned to think properly, the omega realizes he is smiling for a /heat/. He cups Dazai’s cheek with one hand.
He’s at home, he faced Mishima, he mentally flipped off Arahabaki, Dazai /loves/ him and—
He’s smiling for a heat.
Well, shit.
/ This is new. /
He’s at home, he faced Mishima, he mentally flipped off Arahabaki, Dazai /loves/ him and—
He’s smiling for a heat.
Well, shit.
/ This is new. /
From: Ryu 🧛
// New guy clogged the coffee machine again.
Pls be back.
Chuuya sighs, running a hand through his hair.
He stares at the phone, then at the mirror as he turns on the tap.
Four days.
The part-timer needs to last only /four/ days.
Ryuu needs to hang in there
// New guy clogged the coffee machine again.
Pls be back.
Chuuya sighs, running a hand through his hair.
He stares at the phone, then at the mirror as he turns on the tap.
Four days.
The part-timer needs to last only /four/ days.
Ryuu needs to hang in there
for just four. Damn. Days.
Still, as he plunges his wrists under the cold water, Chuuya mulls that… /actually, it’s whatever. It’s ok./
They’ll survive without Chuuya shouldering the entire future of the café.
It’s something new for him, too, this marrowed-out tranquility.
Still, as he plunges his wrists under the cold water, Chuuya mulls that… /actually, it’s whatever. It’s ok./
They’ll survive without Chuuya shouldering the entire future of the café.
It’s something new for him, too, this marrowed-out tranquility.
Normally, taking time off still means worrying about work all the damn time. He /worries/. It might be a good summary of Chuuya’s life, that one.
He worries.
He takes responsibility.
However, after everything that happened and mind dazed by the heat, Fitzgerald could fire
He worries.
He takes responsibility.
However, after everything that happened and mind dazed by the heat, Fitzgerald could fire
the redhead now and Chuuya’s brain would still be fixed on one thought:
/Osamu/.
Even after hours and several hushed orgasms, Chuuya’s heart is still stuck there.
Because Dazai /does/ help his heat with searing kisses and touches that feel like brands on the omega’s skin.
/Osamu/.
Even after hours and several hushed orgasms, Chuuya’s heart is still stuck there.
Because Dazai /does/ help his heat with searing kisses and touches that feel like brands on the omega’s skin.
Turns out, Arahabaki doesn’t hate Chuuya after all. Or maybe it likes Dazai.
Anyway, no ancient deity cursed them for desecrating a shrine.
(Not yet, at least.)
Uncle Paul /did/ glare when he saw the two boys sneak in the house empty-handed, messy and soaked and /giggling/.
Anyway, no ancient deity cursed them for desecrating a shrine.
(Not yet, at least.)
Uncle Paul /did/ glare when he saw the two boys sneak in the house empty-handed, messy and soaked and /giggling/.
Chuuya simply shrugged in lieu of a reply, murmured a ‘sorry’ and dragged Dazai upstairs.
In the shrine, becoming a /tinge/ more lucid after the orgasm, Chuuya agreed that he could keep his voice /low/ — and Dazai would /help/ him — so they could move things to his bedroom.
In the shrine, becoming a /tinge/ more lucid after the orgasm, Chuuya agreed that he could keep his voice /low/ — and Dazai would /help/ him — so they could move things to his bedroom.
After all, comfy mattress beats shitty, cold wooden floor of a creepy shrine /any/ day.
As they undressed, Chuuya realized he was wearing his clothes backwards.
That gave a newfound sense to Verlaine’s stare but, again…
/ Who. Cares. /
As long as he’s in Dazai’s arms.
As they undressed, Chuuya realized he was wearing his clothes backwards.
That gave a newfound sense to Verlaine’s stare but, again…
/ Who. Cares. /
As long as he’s in Dazai’s arms.
As long as he can still calm this heat.
As long at they can stay in Chuuya’s nest, sheltered by a locked door, and maybe not freeze to death in a dark shrine — or in the rain.
As long as they are not interrupted.
And, god, Dazai is /everything/ the omega could have asked for.
As long at they can stay in Chuuya’s nest, sheltered by a locked door, and maybe not freeze to death in a dark shrine — or in the rain.
As long as they are not interrupted.
And, god, Dazai is /everything/ the omega could have asked for.
He pressed Chuuya on the mattress time and again, dragging trembling sighs out of the redhead as he went down on him ever so /meticulously/.
Perfectly silent, wearing nothing but a smug smirk and Chuuya’s hands, the alpha bit the boy’s lips every time a wanton moan escaped him.
Perfectly silent, wearing nothing but a smug smirk and Chuuya’s hands, the alpha bit the boy’s lips every time a wanton moan escaped him.
Now, the omega has /no/ idea of the time — early afternoon? Who the hell knows anyway — and he /just/ found the resolve to crawl to the bathroom.
The sweet scent of slick lingers on his skin, marked with hickeys and starred by pearls of sweat.
His body is on /fire/. Alive.
The sweet scent of slick lingers on his skin, marked with hickeys and starred by pearls of sweat.
His body is on /fire/. Alive.
And the thing is, Dazai wanted to go on.
Hell, he could have made Chuuya cum ten times more (his words, /quoting/).
But even with a heat raging in him, even with this overflowing /want/ and cold skin screaming for the warmth of an alpha, the omega needs a pause.
Hell, he could have made Chuuya cum ten times more (his words, /quoting/).
But even with a heat raging in him, even with this overflowing /want/ and cold skin screaming for the warmth of an alpha, the omega needs a pause.
He needs to /breathe/.
So he twists his wrists under the water, mulling over the idea to run downstairs and steal some snacks.
There /is/ a promise that Dazai has yet to keep, though: his bandages.
That sea of white gauze keeps staring back at Chuuya, almost mocking him.
So he twists his wrists under the water, mulling over the idea to run downstairs and steal some snacks.
There /is/ a promise that Dazai has yet to keep, though: his bandages.
That sea of white gauze keeps staring back at Chuuya, almost mocking him.
It makes him wonder if he is enough — even if it’s ridiculous, because Dazai /told/ him he is.
The bandages are is a situation that the omega plans to change soon.
But apparently not now, since his phone pings again.
From: Ryuu 🧛
// You’ll have to scrub blood from the counter
The bandages are is a situation that the omega plans to change soon.
But apparently not now, since his phone pings again.
From: Ryuu 🧛
// You’ll have to scrub blood from the counter
Rolling his eyes, Chuuya closes the tap and wipes his hands on the towel before replying.
If an indulgent smile is painted on his face, that’s for /him/ to know.
To: Ryuu 🧛
// Use your people skills ❤️
The reply takes one second.
From: Ryuu 🧛
// Right. My knife skills.
If an indulgent smile is painted on his face, that’s for /him/ to know.
To: Ryuu 🧛
// Use your people skills ❤️
The reply takes one second.
From: Ryuu 🧛
// Right. My knife skills.
To: Ryuu 🧛
// jsyk I don’t have money to bail your goth ass out of jail if you get caught
From: Ryuu 🧛
// That’s because you break people out of jail 💀
// Sushi says he’d bail us both out tho
To: Ryuu 🧛
// He’s an angel
// are you jealous if I say I love your boyfriend?
// jsyk I don’t have money to bail your goth ass out of jail if you get caught
From: Ryuu 🧛
// That’s because you break people out of jail 💀
// Sushi says he’d bail us both out tho
To: Ryuu 🧛
// He’s an angel
// are you jealous if I say I love your boyfriend?
From: Ryuu 🧛
// Nah, it would be the first healthy crush of your life 🤷🏻
// hope Dazai is rotting, by the way. He stays in jail.
Chuuya tuts to himself.
Now, he doesn’t have to ask himself if he would break Dazai out of jail.
He /loves/ the guy. Of course he would help him.
// Nah, it would be the first healthy crush of your life 🤷🏻
// hope Dazai is rotting, by the way. He stays in jail.
Chuuya tuts to himself.
Now, he doesn’t have to ask himself if he would break Dazai out of jail.
He /loves/ the guy. Of course he would help him.
The real question is: how many days would Chuuya let the alpha /wait/ for him?
What’s the acceptable fashionably late benchmark for breaking your boyfriend out of jail?
Anyway.
Nobody is going to jail because Ryuu is /not/ murdering the new guy.
(Hopefully. /Technically/.)
What’s the acceptable fashionably late benchmark for breaking your boyfriend out of jail?
Anyway.
Nobody is going to jail because Ryuu is /not/ murdering the new guy.
(Hopefully. /Technically/.)
Chuuya quickly types a reply, still trying to mend the unspoken conflict between his dearest friend and his boyfriend.
One who makes him cry, yes, and often, and for stupid shit, but—
But Dazai is /his/ alpha. He feels like the right one.
To: Ryuu 🧛
// Dazai misses you too
One who makes him cry, yes, and often, and for stupid shit, but—
But Dazai is /his/ alpha. He feels like the right one.
To: Ryuu 🧛
// Dazai misses you too
From: Ryuu 🧛
// 🤢
With a soft chuckle, Chuuya moves back to the bedroom.
Outside is still pouring, thick raindrops tapping against the window
His stomach gives a slow, pleasant twist when he notices Dazai comfortably sprawled on the bed, looking at him with a hooded smile.
// 🤢
With a soft chuckle, Chuuya moves back to the bedroom.
Outside is still pouring, thick raindrops tapping against the window
His stomach gives a slow, pleasant twist when he notices Dazai comfortably sprawled on the bed, looking at him with a hooded smile.
“Ryuu’s having problem with the new person,” he declares, showing the phone.
Dazai’s lips curl up.
Sex makes him /mellow/.
It rounds the edges of his sharp beauty.
“You’ll be back Tuesday. It’s just a few days.”
“A few days are plenty to murder someone and bury the body.”
Dazai’s lips curl up.
Sex makes him /mellow/.
It rounds the edges of his sharp beauty.
“You’ll be back Tuesday. It’s just a few days.”
“A few days are plenty to murder someone and bury the body.”
“You /seriously/ need to cut the true crime podcasts,” Dazai says, patting the empty space next to him. “Come here?”
Dutifully, Chuuya pads to the bed and curls next to his boyfriend.
He swallows his questions regarding the bandages, nuzzling his face in Dazai’s chest instead.
Dutifully, Chuuya pads to the bed and curls next to his boyfriend.
He swallows his questions regarding the bandages, nuzzling his face in Dazai’s chest instead.
“Are you ok?” Dazai asks. It’s quiet, tender, spoken while gently combing through Chuuya’s hair.
“Now yes.”
/For how long, though./
Dazai sinks his nose in the omega’s hair, kissing the crown of his head — inhaling their scents blended together into one.
“…Chibi?”
“Hm?”
“Now yes.”
/For how long, though./
Dazai sinks his nose in the omega’s hair, kissing the crown of his head — inhaling their scents blended together into one.
“…Chibi?”
“Hm?”
“Can I ask something? You don’t have to reply.”
/Here they go/, Chuuya thinks.
“Go ahead,” he murmurs, even though he’d rather dig a hole for himself and hide there.
Now Dazai will ask him /why/ Ryuu hates him so.
He’ll ask him why Ryuu didn’t forgive him, and Chuuya will
/Here they go/, Chuuya thinks.
“Go ahead,” he murmurs, even though he’d rather dig a hole for himself and hide there.
Now Dazai will ask him /why/ Ryuu hates him so.
He’ll ask him why Ryuu didn’t forgive him, and Chuuya will
be forced to spit out his frustrations about this Oda ghost, the guy he /still/ has to meet, and—
“Do you want to you talk about it? What do you feel when you…” Dazai stops, and inhales deeply. “Y’know. With sex.”
/Oh/.
This is /definitely/ not about Akutagawa.
“Do you want to you talk about it? What do you feel when you…” Dazai stops, and inhales deeply. “Y’know. With sex.”
/Oh/.
This is /definitely/ not about Akutagawa.
He is /definitely/ not going to mention the Oda guy.
Chuuya stiffens in the alpha’s arms, cold shivers running down his back.
It’s not like the question /blindsided/ him, exactly, but it dawned on him completely /unexpected/.
And the thing with pain is that it’s volatile.
Chuuya stiffens in the alpha’s arms, cold shivers running down his back.
It’s not like the question /blindsided/ him, exactly, but it dawned on him completely /unexpected/.
And the thing with pain is that it’s volatile.
The fleeting emotion, so /powerful/ in the moment, becomes hard to describe to someone who never suffered by its hand.
Chuuya gnaws at his bottom lip
“I…”
“You don’t have to,” Dazai clarifies immediately. “I owe you answers, too. I know that.”
“Damn yes you do,” he murmurs.
Chuuya gnaws at his bottom lip
“I…”
“You don’t have to,” Dazai clarifies immediately. “I owe you answers, too. I know that.”
“Damn yes you do,” he murmurs.
He’s getting /defensive/, but Dazai’s words — the light vibrations of his chest, as if he’s almost /crooning/ — work the omega back to a state of semi-calm.
“But Chuuya can talk to me, if he wants too.”
“I don’t see why it matters.”
“It does because I /care/,” Dazai says.
“But Chuuya can talk to me, if he wants too.”
“I don’t see why it matters.”
“It does because I /care/,” Dazai says.
The alpha doesn’t need to raise his voice to /rumble/ like a far away thunder. “And because I’m your heat partner, now, and I don’t want to hurt you.”
The omega stills. He closes in his shoulders, but it’s /pitiful/ — ashamed almost.
A petty attempt to escape the conversation.
The omega stills. He closes in his shoulders, but it’s /pitiful/ — ashamed almost.
A petty attempt to escape the conversation.
“You know me already, ‘Samu.”
The alpha nods.
“I’m /learning/,” he agrees. “I’m learning everything. Your body language, your pace, your habits. What you like. But you can help me.”
/ We can make it a pillow talk. Together.
Take some power away from the pain and the fear. /
The alpha nods.
“I’m /learning/,” he agrees. “I’m learning everything. Your body language, your pace, your habits. What you like. But you can help me.”
/ We can make it a pillow talk. Together.
Take some power away from the pain and the fear. /
And Chuuya /knows/ that this is a burden he cannot share — it’s his, and his alone — but…
But maybe Dazai can /understand/. After all, it’s a nice thing that somebody is willing to listen, for a change.
“It’s pain. Just pain.”
Chuuya breathes around the word, trying to find a
But maybe Dazai can /understand/. After all, it’s a nice thing that somebody is willing to listen, for a change.
“It’s pain. Just pain.”
Chuuya breathes around the word, trying to find a
better definition. It keeps slipping past his grasp, leaving him with no means to describe something that is so simple, yet so /devastating/.
He had to push that word out with all his might, yet it’s not nearly enough.
Dazai nods, eyes focused.
“Hm-m. Ok.”
He had to push that word out with all his might, yet it’s not nearly enough.
Dazai nods, eyes focused.
“Hm-m. Ok.”
It’s not an invitation to go on, really, yet it makes Chuuya /realize/ he’s being listened to. For real.
The omega clenches his jaw, trying to collect his scattered thoughts. Trying to make them make sense.
“I… it starts before, actually. I’m just mortified.”
“/Mortified/?”
The omega clenches his jaw, trying to collect his scattered thoughts. Trying to make them make sense.
“I… it starts before, actually. I’m just mortified.”
“/Mortified/?”
Scrunching his nose, Chuuya tells himself that he /can/ do this. It’s not helping now, but he can stop talking whenever he wants. If he wants.
Dazai’s not forcing him to, and he— he /wants/ to try.
If anything just to set a precedent, pave the way for a more /honest/ future.
Dazai’s not forcing him to, and he— he /wants/ to try.
If anything just to set a precedent, pave the way for a more /honest/ future.
“I mean, I— I kinda know things will go badly from the start. Because I’m bad at this, y’know.”
Dazai frowns.
“You’re joking.”
“I /am/, ‘Samu. I’m bad at sex and you can /say/ it, it’s ok. I know.”
“I promise you, it’s not true.” His eyes narrow. “You saw what you do to me.”
Dazai frowns.
“You’re joking.”
“I /am/, ‘Samu. I’m bad at sex and you can /say/ it, it’s ok. I know.”
“I promise you, it’s not true.” His eyes narrow. “You saw what you do to me.”
“Because you have shitty taste and charity cases turn you on.”
Dazai’s lips close in a thin, severe line. He’s disappointed.
“I didn’t ask you so you could insult yourself, Chuuya,” he says.
It’s low, as if Dazai could fight the omega on what he just said. A /real/ fight.
Dazai’s lips close in a thin, severe line. He’s disappointed.
“I didn’t ask you so you could insult yourself, Chuuya,” he says.
It’s low, as if Dazai could fight the omega on what he just said. A /real/ fight.
What a funny thing to say, when Dazai is the first one to insult himself all the time.
When he refuses to eat, sleep, /hope/.
When he has so little regard for his own life that every step he takes seems to be balanced on an invisible silver string between life and death.
When he refuses to eat, sleep, /hope/.
When he has so little regard for his own life that every step he takes seems to be balanced on an invisible silver string between life and death.
When you look at Dazai Osamu and there’s no glimpse of future, /but/ you can almost imagine how the rain will fall on his grave.
How lonely it will be.
Funny, how the alpha so violently defends Chuuya when he doesn’t respect himself at all.
But Chuuya shrugs the comment away.
How lonely it will be.
Funny, how the alpha so violently defends Chuuya when he doesn’t respect himself at all.
But Chuuya shrugs the comment away.
He pushes closer, slipping one leg between Dazai’s thighs in search of warmth.
The alpha doesn’t complain.
“What I mean is, sex is about relaxing, yeah? I’m in my head all the time.” Chuuya grimaces. “Trust me, it’s not a nice place. And I don’t fucking want to be there.”
The alpha doesn’t complain.
“What I mean is, sex is about relaxing, yeah? I’m in my head all the time.” Chuuya grimaces. “Trust me, it’s not a nice place. And I don’t fucking want to be there.”
When Dazai lets out a low hmm, Chuuya just knows that he’s hearing him /perfectly/.
“I know,” Dazai murmurs.
They are such horrible places, their heads. Heavy. Stiff. Devoid of light.
That’s why they’re good for each other. They keep the other afloat when their emotions drag
“I know,” Dazai murmurs.
They are such horrible places, their heads. Heavy. Stiff. Devoid of light.
That’s why they’re good for each other. They keep the other afloat when their emotions drag
them down — loving or, at times, hurting each other.
Their minds speak a common language of /shame/.
Of pain.
Of being flesh and blood, but feeling barely human at all.
Chuuya clears his voice.
He goes on, voice strangled, finding it impossible to keep it in once he left
Their minds speak a common language of /shame/.
Of pain.
Of being flesh and blood, but feeling barely human at all.
Chuuya clears his voice.
He goes on, voice strangled, finding it impossible to keep it in once he left
the door ajar.
It /all/ floods out.
“And I want /so/ much during heats, so I try. But then I do and it hurts to even think about something in me and— I don’t want that. I don’t know what I want.
It’s so stupid.
And then I ask myself /why/ I can’t keep a relationship. I—“
It /all/ floods out.
“And I want /so/ much during heats, so I try. But then I do and it hurts to even think about something in me and— I don’t want that. I don’t know what I want.
It’s so stupid.
And then I ask myself /why/ I can’t keep a relationship. I—“
Ah. He’s rambling again, isn’t he?Chuuya sighs, trying to find his footing as well as comfort in Dazai’s closeness.
Trying to make it hurt less/ because every word is tearing him apart, unveiling wounds that have been festering for /years/.
Dazai’s eyes soften as he leans in.
Trying to make it hurt less/ because every word is tearing him apart, unveiling wounds that have been festering for /years/.
Dazai’s eyes soften as he leans in.
He cups Chuuya’s cheek, and the omega /flinches/.
He doesn’t /deserve/ such kindness.
“Chibi…”
“It’s a damn joke, ‘Samu,” He blinks away /tears/ before they can roll down his cheek, escaping past his lashes. “I never asked for any of this.
I just want to be fucking normal.”
He doesn’t /deserve/ such kindness.
“Chibi…”
“It’s a damn joke, ‘Samu,” He blinks away /tears/ before they can roll down his cheek, escaping past his lashes. “I never asked for any of this.
I just want to be fucking normal.”
It’s the strength of the sentence — that escaped Chuuya’s lips with the ferocity of a rabid beast — that finally prompts Dazai to move.
He leans in. Close, closer.
He touches his forehead against Chuuya’s. The tips of their noses brush one against the other, breaths mixed.
He leans in. Close, closer.
He touches his forehead against Chuuya’s. The tips of their noses brush one against the other, breaths mixed.
He cradles the omega’s neck, keeping him close.
As he stares in honey-gold eyes, Chuuya wonders where did that tinge of red go. If it was ever there in the first place.
“What /is/ normal, anyway?” Dazai asks.
His voice is deep, low, like heavy velvet over Chuuya’s sore body.
As he stares in honey-gold eyes, Chuuya wonders where did that tinge of red go. If it was ever there in the first place.
“What /is/ normal, anyway?” Dazai asks.
His voice is deep, low, like heavy velvet over Chuuya’s sore body.
Chuuya winces.
It’s a bit of an empty remark, because anybody else would gladly explain to Chuuya what /exactly/ is considered normal.
People would /adore/ to list the many ways in which Chuuya is failing society and his second gender, yet—
Yet it’s weirdly /calming/.
It’s a bit of an empty remark, because anybody else would gladly explain to Chuuya what /exactly/ is considered normal.
People would /adore/ to list the many ways in which Chuuya is failing society and his second gender, yet—
Yet it’s weirdly /calming/.
The omega inhales. He breathes in Dazai, his scent of mint and whisky and gauze and crisp, sharp paper.
“Not me.”
“Not you,” Dazai murmurs, almost against his mouth. “And not me either. Normal is just a word.”
“But— you are ok with it.”
Chuuya finds himself regretting
“Not me.”
“Not you,” Dazai murmurs, almost against his mouth. “And not me either. Normal is just a word.”
“But— you are ok with it.”
Chuuya finds himself regretting
that sentence as soon as it leaves his lips.
Being more quick-witted and detached than most people seems so /natural/ to the alpha.
Still, Chuuya doesn’t know if Dazai is truly fine with it. If he ever feels lonely.
All he knows is that Dazai doesn’t /act/ bothered.
Being more quick-witted and detached than most people seems so /natural/ to the alpha.
Still, Chuuya doesn’t know if Dazai is truly fine with it. If he ever feels lonely.
All he knows is that Dazai doesn’t /act/ bothered.
Chuuya sighs.
He searches for Dazai’s gaze. So /reassuring/, so familiar. It reminds Chuuya of the first night he spent in a scary, new house he now calls /home/.
“I mean… what I’m saying is that you /seem/ ok with not being what others think you should be.”
“I learned.”
He searches for Dazai’s gaze. So /reassuring/, so familiar. It reminds Chuuya of the first night he spent in a scary, new house he now calls /home/.
“I mean… what I’m saying is that you /seem/ ok with not being what others think you should be.”
“I learned.”
Weakly, the omega flashes him a smile.
It remains unreturned, though Dazai’s touch is still gentle.
It leaves invisible, warm paths under Chuuya’s skin.
“Like you’re learning about /us/?”
“I like learning about Chibi,” Dazai says. “The rest is a necessary pain in the ass.”
It remains unreturned, though Dazai’s touch is still gentle.
It leaves invisible, warm paths under Chuuya’s skin.
“Like you’re learning about /us/?”
“I like learning about Chibi,” Dazai says. “The rest is a necessary pain in the ass.”
Colorless. Remiss.
Yeah, Dazai doesn’t give a shit, Chuuya thinks.
Or he’s still keeping him /out/.
Frankly, the omega doesn’t know which option bothers him more. Therefore, he refuses to dwell on it.
“Well.” Chuuya clicks his tongue. “You don’t care, fine. /I/ hate it.
Yeah, Dazai doesn’t give a shit, Chuuya thinks.
Or he’s still keeping him /out/.
Frankly, the omega doesn’t know which option bothers him more. Therefore, he refuses to dwell on it.
“Well.” Chuuya clicks his tongue. “You don’t care, fine. /I/ hate it.
Y’know when people kind of fit a certain description, belong to a certain group? That was never me.”
Pure hatred seeping through the cracks of his voice, Chuuya breathes in.
Dazai is letting himself speak and the words fly out of his mouth, but the thing Chuuya can’t bring
Pure hatred seeping through the cracks of his voice, Chuuya breathes in.
Dazai is letting himself speak and the words fly out of his mouth, but the thing Chuuya can’t bring
himself to explain is the loneliness. The sense of being wrong, and the only broken toy in an ocean of perfectly functioning omegas.
People told him about heats.
His body even started asking for an alpha.
He saw it in mags, movies, school. on the internet.
All he knew was—
People told him about heats.
His body even started asking for an alpha.
He saw it in mags, movies, school. on the internet.
All he knew was—
—He never saw anybody like himself.
“It’s like I don’t fucking exist,” the omega goes on, voice raspy from the effort. “I can never do shit right. I’m a people pleaser if I /try/, and selfish if I say I /can’t/.
And— I don’t know. Sometimes I just wanted to see myself somewhere.
“It’s like I don’t fucking exist,” the omega goes on, voice raspy from the effort. “I can never do shit right. I’m a people pleaser if I /try/, and selfish if I say I /can’t/.
And— I don’t know. Sometimes I just wanted to see myself somewhere.
And, as everybody kept ignoring the issue, at least it became obvious that normality /wasn’t/ whatever the hell I was.
But it wasn’t valid enough to be discussed. And it’s on me, because I never knew how to express this— /this/.
So I just tried to fit in. I forced myself.”
But it wasn’t valid enough to be discussed. And it’s on me, because I never knew how to express this— /this/.
So I just tried to fit in. I forced myself.”
He can see Dazai’s eyes grow wider with every sentence.
At the same time, the omega can sense his own train of thoughts becoming frantic as he goes on. Desperate. Derailing.
It’s a car crash, his head. Out of control.
Yet, absently, Chuuya wonders what’s so weird about that.
At the same time, the omega can sense his own train of thoughts becoming frantic as he goes on. Desperate. Derailing.
It’s a car crash, his head. Out of control.
Yet, absently, Chuuya wonders what’s so weird about that.
That he popped pain killers just to have sex, and they never helped anyway?
That he was so desperate to be accepted?
“I fucking /tried/.” He carries on, incapable to stop at this point. Incapable to shut up, even if it’s /ugly/. “But—”
// ‘Try to keep this one, dear.’ //
That he was so desperate to be accepted?
“I fucking /tried/.” He carries on, incapable to stop at this point. Incapable to shut up, even if it’s /ugly/. “But—”
// ‘Try to keep this one, dear.’ //
// ‘You’re so selfish.’ //
// ‘I’m not saying it’s your fault, but—‘ //
Chuuya snorts, the air burning his lungs like liquid fire.
“I tried to find a reason. A definition that would explain /me/. And at some point, I just wanted somebody to tell me /what the hell/ I was
// ‘I’m not saying it’s your fault, but—‘ //
Chuuya snorts, the air burning his lungs like liquid fire.
“I tried to find a reason. A definition that would explain /me/. And at some point, I just wanted somebody to tell me /what the hell/ I was
supposed to be. I /tried/ to look up for names and tags and orientations, but I can’t find shit, I can’t find /me/ and—“
And his eyes burn.
And his heart drums in its cage.
And he can feel anxiety simmering, swelling in every word.
He’s drowning on air.
It’s /blazing/.
And his eyes burn.
And his heart drums in its cage.
And he can feel anxiety simmering, swelling in every word.
He’s drowning on air.
It’s /blazing/.
His words are suffocating him yet they keep rushing out, filterless and strangled, and—
“Chuuya,” Dazai calls, voice /soft/.
Suddenly, gentle hands reach for Chuuya’s face.
The fresh touch skims over his cheeks, his mouth, his fluttering pulse point.
It /grounds/ Chuuya.
“Chuuya,” Dazai calls, voice /soft/.
Suddenly, gentle hands reach for Chuuya’s face.
The fresh touch skims over his cheeks, his mouth, his fluttering pulse point.
It /grounds/ Chuuya.
Suddenly, the omega finds himself breathing again.
He’s fogged up, numb and his tight chest hurts like a bitch still, but— /but/ he’s out of the whirlpool that’s his head.
It’s like Dazai is giving him permission to rest.
Steadily, Dazai drags him out of the terrifying cage
He’s fogged up, numb and his tight chest hurts like a bitch still, but— /but/ he’s out of the whirlpool that’s his head.
It’s like Dazai is giving him permission to rest.
Steadily, Dazai drags him out of the terrifying cage
his mind becomes at times.
He drags the omega back to the here and now; safe.
“Chuuya. Chibi. /Hey/. It’s ok.” Dazai’s murmur resounds soothing, gentle. “Breathe. You’re ok.”
/It’s the anxiety speaking. You’re not alone.
You’re understood.
You exist.
You’re valid./
He drags the omega back to the here and now; safe.
“Chuuya. Chibi. /Hey/. It’s ok.” Dazai’s murmur resounds soothing, gentle. “Breathe. You’re ok.”
/It’s the anxiety speaking. You’re not alone.
You’re understood.
You exist.
You’re valid./
Chuuya breathes in, then out.
When he repeats to himself that he’s /fine/, the voice in his mind sounds like Dazai.
“Sorry,” he wheezes out.
Dazai replies with a peck. Featherlight, barely there, yet so /comforting/.
“Don’t be, baby. It’s ok.”
“It’s just so frustrating.”
When he repeats to himself that he’s /fine/, the voice in his mind sounds like Dazai.
“Sorry,” he wheezes out.
Dazai replies with a peck. Featherlight, barely there, yet so /comforting/.
“Don’t be, baby. It’s ok.”
“It’s just so frustrating.”
Dazai’s hand trails down, finding its way to Chuuya’s neck.
It lingers over Chuuya’s scent glands in soothing, recurring movements that steadily calm the omega.
“I know, sweetheart. I /know/.”
“I’m fine,” he says.
It’s a lie.
Dazai can read right through it,
It lingers over Chuuya’s scent glands in soothing, recurring movements that steadily calm the omega.
“I know, sweetheart. I /know/.”
“I’m fine,” he says.
It’s a lie.
Dazai can read right through it,
Chuuya /knows/ he can. Yet, he nods.
“I know you are, Chibi.”
“I could never talk to anybody like this before,” Chuuya hums. “Y’know, about the mess that it’s being me.”
“You are /not/ a mess,” Dazai says.
The omega doesn’t fight the comment, though he would like to.
“I know you are, Chibi.”
“I could never talk to anybody like this before,” Chuuya hums. “Y’know, about the mess that it’s being me.”
“You are /not/ a mess,” Dazai says.
The omega doesn’t fight the comment, though he would like to.
He doesn’t know if it’s the heat or the hormones or just having bottled up so much for so long, but suddenly Chuuya feels /overwhelmed/.
He leans into Dazai’s touch, chest heaving, wondering if things will get better.
The easy reply would have been: ‘I can’t take penetration.
He leans into Dazai’s touch, chest heaving, wondering if things will get better.
The easy reply would have been: ‘I can’t take penetration.
Not at all. That killed my idea of intimacy, too.
It scared me into thinking I would never mate.’
Yet, turns out, there is /no/ easy reply.
And that simple explanation, so dearly hidden close to the omega’s heart, only blocked the way for a thousand other answers.
It scared me into thinking I would never mate.’
Yet, turns out, there is /no/ easy reply.
And that simple explanation, so dearly hidden close to the omega’s heart, only blocked the way for a thousand other answers.
“Sorry I vomited this on you.”
“I asked, baby. I /wanted/ to know.”
Chuuya still throws him an apologetic smile. He stretches his neck to allow more /access/ to Dazai’s fingers, still tracing circles on his neck.
“Bet you’re regretting it, huh?”
“Not even a little bit.”
“I asked, baby. I /wanted/ to know.”
Chuuya still throws him an apologetic smile. He stretches his neck to allow more /access/ to Dazai’s fingers, still tracing circles on his neck.
“Bet you’re regretting it, huh?”
“Not even a little bit.”
Dazai’s voice pours like fresh water off Chuuya’s senses, kicked into overdrive by the heat. “Can I ask you something else?”
“I guess?” Chuuya replies.
He’s drained, and hopes it won’t be too complicated, but Dazai squints.
“…Does Chuuya consider himself a saké bottle?”
“I guess?” Chuuya replies.
He’s drained, and hopes it won’t be too complicated, but Dazai squints.
“…Does Chuuya consider himself a saké bottle?”
Staring at his boyfriend, Chuuya tries to make sense of the question.
A saké bottle. Fucking saké.
…What the hell, honestly.
He gawks.
Dazai blinks right back, waiting for an answer as Chuuya’s lips part in an ‘o’.
God, Dazai’s crazy. Or maybe he’s just bullshitting him.
A saké bottle. Fucking saké.
…What the hell, honestly.
He gawks.
Dazai blinks right back, waiting for an answer as Chuuya’s lips part in an ‘o’.
God, Dazai’s crazy. Or maybe he’s just bullshitting him.
“A— saké bottle?” The omega echoes, frowning in confusion.
Dazai nods.
“Hm-m.”
“Is that an innuendo?”
“No. No,” the alpha says, with a slight bob of his head. “Is Chuuya a bottle that must be identical to all the others?”
“…I don’t /think/ so? I’m not a shitty bottle.”
Dazai nods.
“Hm-m.”
“Is that an innuendo?”
“No. No,” the alpha says, with a slight bob of his head. “Is Chuuya a bottle that must be identical to all the others?”
“…I don’t /think/ so? I’m not a shitty bottle.”
The answer seems to satisfy Dazai, who nods.
He stills traces patterns on Chuuya’s neck, quietly.
“Exactly. Then it’s fine if Chuuya can’t find himself in a tag. When you go to buy sake for lunch—”
“Only you buy sake for lunch, idiot.”
Dazai rolls his eyes.
He stills traces patterns on Chuuya’s neck, quietly.
“Exactly. Then it’s fine if Chuuya can’t find himself in a tag. When you go to buy sake for lunch—”
“Only you buy sake for lunch, idiot.”
Dazai rolls his eyes.
“Well, when /I/ buy sake for lunch, all the bottles are different but the same. They must fit some guidelines to be proper saké, and of the proper brand. The tags explain their characteristic, and they are necessary and absolute.”
/Oddly specific/, Chuuya thinks to himself.
/Oddly specific/, Chuuya thinks to himself.
But then Dazai looks at him almost evaluating his next words, and the omega forces himself to follow the reasoning.
“Ok, and…?”
“But Chuuya is not a saké bottle.”
“No shit.”
Dazai shoots him a smile, eyes shiny with mischief. “Though he /is/ tiny and surely tastes good.”
“Ok, and…?”
“But Chuuya is not a saké bottle.”
“No shit.”
Dazai shoots him a smile, eyes shiny with mischief. “Though he /is/ tiny and surely tastes good.”
“So it /was/ an innuendo!” Chuuya shrieks, flushing.
And it gets even more embarrassing because Dazai waves his embarrassment off like he’s being /childish/.
“My point being, most people don’t have a tag that describes their characteristics.”
Chuuya blinks.
And it gets even more embarrassing because Dazai waves his embarrassment off like he’s being /childish/.
“My point being, most people don’t have a tag that describes their characteristics.”
Chuuya blinks.
It clicks, then.
The metaphor shouldn’t make sense, especially not with saké, but it /does/.
“/Ah/,” the redhead says out loud.
“It’s ok. Chuuya is Chuuya. And you don’t need /tags/ to be a person.”
// And you don’t need to belong to a category to be valid. //
The metaphor shouldn’t make sense, especially not with saké, but it /does/.
“/Ah/,” the redhead says out loud.
“It’s ok. Chuuya is Chuuya. And you don’t need /tags/ to be a person.”
// And you don’t need to belong to a category to be valid. //
“That is… weirdly smart.”
The alpha grins. “It’s obvious, actually.”
“Stop it. You’re smart.”
“I am,” Dazai says. He lift his hand, thumb now tenderly skimming over Chuuya’s jawbone. “And, even if this was a simple reasoning, I agree it must seem smart to a shrimp.”
“Hey—!”
The alpha grins. “It’s obvious, actually.”
“Stop it. You’re smart.”
“I am,” Dazai says. He lift his hand, thumb now tenderly skimming over Chuuya’s jawbone. “And, even if this was a simple reasoning, I agree it must seem smart to a shrimp.”
“Hey—!”
“But did it help?”
“A little.” Chuuya rolls his eyes. “Your stupid alcoholic metaphor /works/. Though it won’t change much for now.”
“It’s fine. As long as Chuuya tries to remember that he’s a person, and a very special one.”
The omega nods. “/But/ saké is not a proper lunch.”
“A little.” Chuuya rolls his eyes. “Your stupid alcoholic metaphor /works/. Though it won’t change much for now.”
“It’s fine. As long as Chuuya tries to remember that he’s a person, and a very special one.”
The omega nods. “/But/ saké is not a proper lunch.”
Dazai frowns, patting the arc of Chuuya’s lips.
“It is.”
“It’s not.”
“It’s rice, silly slug. Food.”
Chuuya grimaces.
Smart, he said? Hell no. Those bandages are /obviously/ blocking oxygen from reaching the guy’s head.
“No it’s not, and I bet your Oda guy agrees with me.”
“It is.”
“It’s not.”
“It’s rice, silly slug. Food.”
Chuuya grimaces.
Smart, he said? Hell no. Those bandages are /obviously/ blocking oxygen from reaching the guy’s head.
“No it’s not, and I bet your Oda guy agrees with me.”
Dazai scrunches his nose. He seems to think over it for a moment.
“Odasaku doesn’t count.”
Chuuya’s stomach sinks.
He didn’t expect Dazai to brush off the subject so /quickly/, as if he wants nothing to do with it.
He didn’t expect to be faced with a refusal, not after he
“Odasaku doesn’t count.”
Chuuya’s stomach sinks.
He didn’t expect Dazai to brush off the subject so /quickly/, as if he wants nothing to do with it.
He didn’t expect to be faced with a refusal, not after he
laid his heart and /wounds/ open in front of the alpha.
Not after he opened a door, and found another one closed shut in response.
It’s just plain avoidance, and it /hurts/.
“Why?”
Dazai scoffs a chuckle. “Because, Chibi, he only likes tremendously spicy curry. He’s biased.”
Not after he opened a door, and found another one closed shut in response.
It’s just plain avoidance, and it /hurts/.
“Why?”
Dazai scoffs a chuckle. “Because, Chibi, he only likes tremendously spicy curry. He’s biased.”
Well, the omega supposes, at least /Odasaku/ is eating. And he must be a shitty friend if he never forced some food down Dazai’s throat as the idiot starves himself.
Still— still he wants to know this Oda.
He wants to know all of Dazai. Just like Dazai, now, knows him fully.
Still— still he wants to know this Oda.
He wants to know all of Dazai. Just like Dazai, now, knows him fully.
Cards on the table, Chuuya has no secrets to keep anymore. He’s still ashamed, but Dazai knows it all.
“Well, still sounds better than saké.”
“Chibi’s just mean~”
He just hopes—
“Will you introduce us?” Chuuya asks.
—He just hopes Dazai will find the courage to do the same.
“Well, still sounds better than saké.”
“Chibi’s just mean~”
He just hopes—
“Will you introduce us?” Chuuya asks.
—He just hopes Dazai will find the courage to do the same.
(In hindsight, though— /why/ did he want to know?
Why did he /ask/?
Was Chuuya ever ready, was he ever going to understand?
…Ah.
He should have wished more carefully.)
Why did he /ask/?
Was Chuuya ever ready, was he ever going to understand?
…Ah.
He should have wished more carefully.)
Dazai’s hand leaves Chuuya’s face, then. It’s /cold/, all of a sudden, without the alpha’s fingertips on him.
“At some point, yes. Soon.”
“You keep saying ‘soon’ like it means shit,” the omega says.
“I’m serious, Chuuya. I will.”
// Later. //
“At some point, yes. Soon.”
“You keep saying ‘soon’ like it means shit,” the omega says.
“I’m serious, Chuuya. I will.”
// Later. //
He says ‘later’ hoping Chuuya will eventually forget, just like the bandages.
But he doesn’t want to /beg/ Dazai. He wants the alpha to talk to him because he’s ready.
So Chuuya points at the chick plushie, at its black bead-like eyes staring at them from the bed’s end.
But he doesn’t want to /beg/ Dazai. He wants the alpha to talk to him because he’s ready.
So Chuuya points at the chick plushie, at its black bead-like eyes staring at them from the bed’s end.
“Chick emoji level of seriousness?” he asks.
Usually, /that/ lifts Dazai spirit — it makes the stubborn alpha more collaborative, even, at times.
This time, though, Dazai smiles a watered down, subtle smile.
“Of course, Chibi.”
/ Somehow, though—
It doesn’t feel honest. /
Usually, /that/ lifts Dazai spirit — it makes the stubborn alpha more collaborative, even, at times.
This time, though, Dazai smiles a watered down, subtle smile.
“Of course, Chibi.”
/ Somehow, though—
It doesn’t feel honest. /
“But /when/?”
“Well, surely not /now/.” Dazai replies curtly.
Like everything in the alpha, his voice can hurt. It opens a hundred cuts under Chuuya’s skin.
“Odasaku’s not here, so can we /please/ drop it? We are talking about you. /That’s/ what matters now.”
Chuuya frowns.
“Well, surely not /now/.” Dazai replies curtly.
Like everything in the alpha, his voice can hurt. It opens a hundred cuts under Chuuya’s skin.
“Odasaku’s not here, so can we /please/ drop it? We are talking about you. /That’s/ what matters now.”
Chuuya frowns.
We are talking about me, he wants to say. /You/ are using it as an escape.
It’s not fair.
And what’s even less fair is that the last orgasm is wearing off, making the omega long for /another/ one.
“Fine,” he manages to say, pulling away. “/Ok/. I’ll go grab some snacks. Then—”
It’s not fair.
And what’s even less fair is that the last orgasm is wearing off, making the omega long for /another/ one.
“Fine,” he manages to say, pulling away. “/Ok/. I’ll go grab some snacks. Then—”
With a wolfish grin, Dazai drags him back in his arms. Their mouths clash, and Chuuya can smell /lust/.
He yields under Dazai’s tongue, parts his lips for him.
And even though he is a little pissed at the alpha, Chuuya still feels it /all/.
Love.
Need.
Understanding.
He yields under Dazai’s tongue, parts his lips for him.
And even though he is a little pissed at the alpha, Chuuya still feels it /all/.
Love.
Need.
Understanding.
And a tender kind of /want/ that stems from their recent conversation.
“Then /I/ have some ideas~” Dazai sing-songs.
Chuuya grins against his boyfriend’s mouth.
“You need to eat first, Mackerel.”
“Yes,” Dazai agrees. “I’ll gladly eat /Chuuya/.”
//Smooth bastard.//
“Then /I/ have some ideas~” Dazai sing-songs.
Chuuya grins against his boyfriend’s mouth.
“You need to eat first, Mackerel.”
“Yes,” Dazai agrees. “I’ll gladly eat /Chuuya/.”
//Smooth bastard.//
“I’ll still bring you something to eat. Get rid of those bandages for me in the meantime?” The omega drawls, taking Dazai’s bottom lip in between his teeth. “We can take a bath.”
Dazai’s eyes catches the light, fondant and sweet.
“I’ll run the bath.”
(…See?
It’s not a yes.)
Dazai’s eyes catches the light, fondant and sweet.
“I’ll run the bath.”
(…See?
It’s not a yes.)
—
“You two horny boys didn’t get /one/ thing of the stuff I asked you. Are you trying to jeopardize my big day?”
Chuuya almost jumps out of his skin.
He thought he was /alone/ in the kitchen, rummaging in the cabinets to find anything edible. He only found coffee and protein
“You two horny boys didn’t get /one/ thing of the stuff I asked you. Are you trying to jeopardize my big day?”
Chuuya almost jumps out of his skin.
He thought he was /alone/ in the kitchen, rummaging in the cabinets to find anything edible. He only found coffee and protein
bars, but he’s glad he threw on some clothes and checked he was wearing them right, this time.
“/Christ/,” Chuuya practically shrieks, turning on his heels.
Verlaine tuts, studying his nephew.
Of course it’s him.
Who other would take pleasure in scaring Chuuya like this?
“/Christ/,” Chuuya practically shrieks, turning on his heels.
Verlaine tuts, studying his nephew.
Of course it’s him.
Who other would take pleasure in scaring Chuuya like this?
“Not yet. Try again.”
“You /scared/ me!”
“Clearly,” Verlaine drawls, pushing into the room. “Enjoyed your escapade at the shrine, mon rossignol?”
…And, shit.
The redhead scowls, trying to muster a confused expression.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about, old man.”
“You /scared/ me!”
“Clearly,” Verlaine drawls, pushing into the room. “Enjoyed your escapade at the shrine, mon rossignol?”
…And, shit.
The redhead scowls, trying to muster a confused expression.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about, old man.”
Verlaine’s blond eyebrows rise, a mix of sharp amusement and /pity/ written all over his face.
“Oh /please/,” he says. “Don’t insult me.”
Chuuya presses himself against the cabinets, wishing he could just dig a hole for himself and hide.
He refuses to meet the man’s gaze.
“Oh /please/,” he says. “Don’t insult me.”
Chuuya presses himself against the cabinets, wishing he could just dig a hole for himself and hide.
He refuses to meet the man’s gaze.
He’s a sharp, handsome individual, Paul Verlaine.
He carries himself in a way that is too sophisticated for a small, family-run temple in the middle of the mountains, but his presence is always /graceful/ and never suffocating.
And he /loves/ both his nephews.
He carries himself in a way that is too sophisticated for a small, family-run temple in the middle of the mountains, but his presence is always /graceful/ and never suffocating.
And he /loves/ both his nephews.
That doesn’t mean he’s merciful when Chuuya fucks up.
“Was it that obvious?” Chuuya asks, voice thin.
“What to you think?”
“/Well/, I’m sorry.”
The muttered apology comes from the bottom of his heart. Well, he /is/ sincerely mortified about getting caught.
Again.
“Was it that obvious?” Chuuya asks, voice thin.
“What to you think?”
“/Well/, I’m sorry.”
The muttered apology comes from the bottom of his heart. Well, he /is/ sincerely mortified about getting caught.
Again.
Was it the door of the temple? The backwards clothes?
Did they leave an odor plum of slick and /heat/?
But Verlaine snorts.
And he sounds—
“…Come on. You’re no fun.”
—amused?
Chuuya halts.
His body, his /heart/, it all seems to hang from Verlaine’s silence.
“/Huh/?”
Did they leave an odor plum of slick and /heat/?
But Verlaine snorts.
And he sounds—
“…Come on. You’re no fun.”
—amused?
Chuuya halts.
His body, his /heart/, it all seems to hang from Verlaine’s silence.
“/Huh/?”
“Don’t pout.” His uncle’s lips curl up, gaze shining with amusement. “So you finally discovered the privacy of an empty shrine. Congrats.”
Chuuya’s eyes widen.
Why does it sound like he’s the /last/ one to know?
“I— What!?”
“Do you think you’re the first ass Arahabaki sees?”
Chuuya’s eyes widen.
Why does it sound like he’s the /last/ one to know?
“I— What!?”
“Do you think you’re the first ass Arahabaki sees?”
He’s screaming.
Internally, Chuuya is /fucking/ hollering.
He can’t do this, not after the heavy day he just had. Not after Dazai.
And it makes /sense/ that people would use an isolated building where nobody (supposedly) ever goes, but—
But /what the fuck/ indeed.
Internally, Chuuya is /fucking/ hollering.
He can’t do this, not after the heavy day he just had. Not after Dazai.
And it makes /sense/ that people would use an isolated building where nobody (supposedly) ever goes, but—
But /what the fuck/ indeed.
However, since he can’t slam his head against the wall until he unlearns what he just heard, the omega decides to collect his jaw from the floor and blink at his uncle.
“You /didn’t/.”
Verlaine grins.
“Wrong. And you’re officially the last one to break this place’s rules.”
“You /didn’t/.”
Verlaine grins.
“Wrong. And you’re officially the last one to break this place’s rules.”
“No way.”
Voice trailing off in a wheeze, Chuuya feels waves of warmth crawling up his neck.
His brain is glitching.
It’s not like he ever deluded himself that heats and ruts worked for everybody /but/ his family, but he could never think of them as… /well/.
As people.
Voice trailing off in a wheeze, Chuuya feels waves of warmth crawling up his neck.
His brain is glitching.
It’s not like he ever deluded himself that heats and ruts worked for everybody /but/ his family, but he could never think of them as… /well/.
As people.
Even when he lived with Ane-san, she and Akiko had always been /discreet/.
But this?
Has Chuuya been the most well-behaved person in the whole damn family?
“Sorry, mon rossignol.” Verlaine’s smile is not sorry /at all/. “By the way, if you ever need to hide anything in
But this?
Has Chuuya been the most well-behaved person in the whole damn family?
“Sorry, mon rossignol.” Verlaine’s smile is not sorry /at all/. “By the way, if you ever need to hide anything in
there, the floor wooden boards move.”
“Why would I hide shit in there?!”
Verlaine brushes the question away. “I don’t know, convenience?”
Ok. This is way too much information.
“Did /you/ guys hide anything in the shrine?” Chuuya still asks.
And he doesn’t know why he asks,
“Why would I hide shit in there?!”
Verlaine brushes the question away. “I don’t know, convenience?”
Ok. This is way too much information.
“Did /you/ guys hide anything in the shrine?” Chuuya still asks.
And he doesn’t know why he asks,
because he doesn’t want an answer, but his mouth is just /running/ at this point.
What the hell.
He went to the kitchen to fetch some snacks so he can stay in the tub without risking a pressure drop, not to be traumatized by his uncle.
/This/ must be Arahabaki’s punishment.
What the hell.
He went to the kitchen to fetch some snacks so he can stay in the tub without risking a pressure drop, not to be traumatized by his uncle.
/This/ must be Arahabaki’s punishment.
Verlaine shrugs. “Arthur did. So please don’t go sniffing around.”
/Seriously?/
“Ew!? I want to avoid it.”
Not like he’s setting foot in that place ever again.
And he knows uncle Paul is just /teasing/ him, but still… it’s /so/ weird.
The entire conversation feels surreal.
/Seriously?/
“Ew!? I want to avoid it.”
Not like he’s setting foot in that place ever again.
And he knows uncle Paul is just /teasing/ him, but still… it’s /so/ weird.
The entire conversation feels surreal.
“Good. Because it’s stuff that would traumatize your parents if they find out.”
“What about /me/ being traumatized?”
“So dramatic,” Verlaine drawls. There’s a fondness in him that makes Chuuya /suppose/ that the man is proud of him. “You’re a big city boy now, you’ll survive.”
“What about /me/ being traumatized?”
“So dramatic,” Verlaine drawls. There’s a fondness in him that makes Chuuya /suppose/ that the man is proud of him. “You’re a big city boy now, you’ll survive.”
“But…”
“Chuuya,” Verlaine stops him, one eyebrow arching. “It’s an empty room. What did you think?”
“It’s a /shrine/! Creepy as shit!”
“Dear Arahabaki never complained,” the man says. “You’re not the first person whose rut or heat kicks in uninvited during a family reunion.”
“Chuuya,” Verlaine stops him, one eyebrow arching. “It’s an empty room. What did you think?”
“It’s a /shrine/! Creepy as shit!”
“Dear Arahabaki never complained,” the man says. “You’re not the first person whose rut or heat kicks in uninvited during a family reunion.”
Saying that, Verlaine pushes closer. Chuuua can clearly /smell/ the change in the man’s attitude.
He leans his hip against the table, and the amused act slips off his shoulders.
His voice is softer, lower as he asks:
“Speaking of which. How are you /doing/, mon rossignol?”
He leans his hip against the table, and the amused act slips off his shoulders.
His voice is softer, lower as he asks:
“Speaking of which. How are you /doing/, mon rossignol?”
Moving his weight from one leg to the other, Chuuya hesitates.
“Like you guessed, it started.”
He can’t quite bring himself to push out the word ‘heat’.
Too private, still too deeply woven in pain.
“I can smell it on you, yes,” Verlaine says. “Are you alright?”
“Like you guessed, it started.”
He can’t quite bring himself to push out the word ‘heat’.
Too private, still too deeply woven in pain.
“I can smell it on you, yes,” Verlaine says. “Are you alright?”
He didn’t question why he and Dazai didn’t actually go grocery shopping, too much of a gentleman to pry further.
And Chuuya is /grateful/, because his uncle would rush to Mishima’s house and strangle him if he only /knew/.
He doesn’t want him to worry.
“More or less.”
And Chuuya is /grateful/, because his uncle would rush to Mishima’s house and strangle him if he only /knew/.
He doesn’t want him to worry.
“More or less.”
With a tight-lipped smile, Verlaine scrutinizes Chuuya face.
He can feel his uncle’s eyes roaming over his face, looking for the tiniest trace of discomfort.
“You know you don’t have to do anything, right?”
“I know,” Chuuya murmurs. “Dazai is helping too. He— /understands/.”
He can feel his uncle’s eyes roaming over his face, looking for the tiniest trace of discomfort.
“You know you don’t have to do anything, right?”
“I know,” Chuuya murmurs. “Dazai is helping too. He— /understands/.”
Verlaine gives a small nod. Good lad, he seems to say.
“Your little alpha really meant whatever he rambled at dinner, hm?”
Chuuya doesn’t know if it’s because of the audacity of calling Dazai ‘little’ or for the man’s gentle timbre, but the corners of his lips twitch upwards.
“Your little alpha really meant whatever he rambled at dinner, hm?”
Chuuya doesn’t know if it’s because of the audacity of calling Dazai ‘little’ or for the man’s gentle timbre, but the corners of his lips twitch upwards.
// “I wouldn’t mind being bonded to Chuuya, one day.” //
Gosh, he finds himself thinking, that sappy, overdramatic /Mackerel/.
“Apparently,” he hums.
Even though he tried to hide it, Chuuya realizes that his voice sounds /lovestruck/.
It makes him so /mad/, really.
Gosh, he finds himself thinking, that sappy, overdramatic /Mackerel/.
“Apparently,” he hums.
Even though he tried to hide it, Chuuya realizes that his voice sounds /lovestruck/.
It makes him so /mad/, really.
He’s supposed to still be pissed at Dazai for all the secrets, not to sigh internally like a schoolgirl because the Mummy practically expressed the future desire to marry him.
Verlaine works out the reply — and more importantly Chuuya’s /lilt/ —, head cocking to the side.
Verlaine works out the reply — and more importantly Chuuya’s /lilt/ —, head cocking to the side.
He worries at his bottom lip, eyes buried deep in Chuuya’s for what feels like a lifetime.
“Your mother /dislikes/ Dazai.” He says, eventually. Chuuya flinches. “Arthur likes him. Your dad doesn’t mind him — God knows if he minds anything ever, that man, — but your mama? /Oof/.”
“Your mother /dislikes/ Dazai.” He says, eventually. Chuuya flinches. “Arthur likes him. Your dad doesn’t mind him — God knows if he minds anything ever, that man, — but your mama? /Oof/.”
The redhead scowls, trying not to appear as wounded as he truly feels.
His mother disliking Dazai is no news, but it’s her condescending acceptance that /really/ keeps throwing the omega off.
// Try to keep this one, please? //
‘Dislike’ is really an understatement.
His mother disliking Dazai is no news, but it’s her condescending acceptance that /really/ keeps throwing the omega off.
// Try to keep this one, please? //
‘Dislike’ is really an understatement.
It’s not even the fact that his mum sized Dazai up with a glance.
It’s not that she judged him by a few misplaced words.
What really bothers Chuuya is the fact that his own mother is /blind/.
Blind to the beautiful, shiny facets of a boy that is constantly trying /so/ hard.
It’s not that she judged him by a few misplaced words.
What really bothers Chuuya is the fact that his own mother is /blind/.
Blind to the beautiful, shiny facets of a boy that is constantly trying /so/ hard.
“Yeah,” he says, trying not to sound too rude.
It’s still his mother’s /opinion/, and he ought to respect it even if he doesn’t agree with it.
Chuuya supposes he might have been a tad abrasive, though, because the glint in Verlaine’s eye turns sharp.
It’s still his mother’s /opinion/, and he ought to respect it even if he doesn’t agree with it.
Chuuya supposes he might have been a tad abrasive, though, because the glint in Verlaine’s eye turns sharp.
“She doesn’t like your choice, but will settle for the fact that you finally found someone.”
“Yeah. She made /that/ clear.”
“Frankly, that’s bullshit.”
Chuuya winces, taken aback by the comment.
Its harshness almost /slaps/ the omega in the face.
“What?”
“Yeah. She made /that/ clear.”
“Frankly, that’s bullshit.”
Chuuya winces, taken aback by the comment.
Its harshness almost /slaps/ the omega in the face.
“What?”
“Bullshit,” his uncle repeats. “I like your alpha, mon rossignol. But most importantly, it’s obvious that you like him.”
And God… Chuuya /does/ love Dazai. He seriously loves him every day more.
He likes him despite the simmering, constant tension that separates them recently.
And God… Chuuya /does/ love Dazai. He seriously loves him every day more.
He likes him despite the simmering, constant tension that separates them recently.
Chuuya can’t place if that’s due to his constant state of worry or to a fundamental incompatibility, but he doesn’t even want an answer.
He’d rather talk about Arahabaki’s shitty shrine.
Carefully, the redhead nods. “I like him a lot.”
“You know, that’s all that matters.”
He’d rather talk about Arahabaki’s shitty shrine.
Carefully, the redhead nods. “I like him a lot.”
“You know, that’s all that matters.”
Is it /enough/, though?
“I just want this to work.”
“Don’t we all,” Verlaine hums. A distant smile plays on his lips. “You know, mon rossignol— relationships, the good ones, are a bother. They’re a mess.
Look at me; I /really/ thought I lost Arthur some time ago. I fucked up.”
“I just want this to work.”
“Don’t we all,” Verlaine hums. A distant smile plays on his lips. “You know, mon rossignol— relationships, the good ones, are a bother. They’re a mess.
Look at me; I /really/ thought I lost Arthur some time ago. I fucked up.”
Ah, so they are /really/ renovating their vows after a huge argument. If Chuuya knows his uncles at all, someone ended up calling the police. Gunshots might have been fired, even.
Chuuya offers him an apologetic nod.
“I’m sorry.”
“We’re fine now. Don’t worry,” Verlaine says.
Chuuya offers him an apologetic nod.
“I’m sorry.”
“We’re fine now. Don’t worry,” Verlaine says.
He acts like he’s riffling through meaningless memories, yet his voice falls heavy between them. “But you two— you remind me of me and Arthur. Complicated. Overwhelming. Painful, probably.”
Chuuya rolls his eyes. “Yup.”
Verlaine grins.
“Yet it’s all damn worth it, isn’t it?”
Chuuya rolls his eyes. “Yup.”
Verlaine grins.
“Yet it’s all damn worth it, isn’t it?”
And Chuuya can’t but grin right back.
He runs a hand through his hair, trying to not /vomit/ on his uncle what he already dumped on Dazai. All his fears, and how the alpha is soothing them.
“Yes,” he murmurs. “I’m in good hands. Dazai is helping in any way he can, even now.”
He runs a hand through his hair, trying to not /vomit/ on his uncle what he already dumped on Dazai. All his fears, and how the alpha is soothing them.
“Yes,” he murmurs. “I’m in good hands. Dazai is helping in any way he can, even now.”
And Chuuya’s forehead crinkles as he frowns, mind running to his heat. It’s a throbbing presence in his crotch, in the back of his head. “/Especially/ now.”
// And we both know that’s rotten work, taking care of me. //
Verlaine nods.
His posture relaxes as if he was hoping for
// And we both know that’s rotten work, taking care of me. //
Verlaine nods.
His posture relaxes as if he was hoping for
such an answer.
“I’m glad your Dazai is a good one,” he says, head bobbing down. “But, if you don’t mind me asking… is he alright?”
Chuuya bites his bottom lip.
He hmms, buying time.
Nobody will like his answer, and he can’t even swear by it.
“Honestly? I don’t /know/.”
—
“I’m glad your Dazai is a good one,” he says, head bobbing down. “But, if you don’t mind me asking… is he alright?”
Chuuya bites his bottom lip.
He hmms, buying time.
Nobody will like his answer, and he can’t even swear by it.
“Honestly? I don’t /know/.”
—
Mori always calls when he shouldn’t.
Right now, Dazai should be in the middle of a wedding vows renewal. Chuuya and his family are in the temple’s garden, celebrating his uncles.
/He/ stands in Chuuya’s room, alone, on the phone with the Port Mafia’s surgeon.
Yet…
Right now, Dazai should be in the middle of a wedding vows renewal. Chuuya and his family are in the temple’s garden, celebrating his uncles.
/He/ stands in Chuuya’s room, alone, on the phone with the Port Mafia’s surgeon.
Yet…
He can take advantage of this.
“One last thing,” Dazai drawls, pressing the phone against his ear. “I was wondering if you can take care of something for me, Mori-san.”
On the other end of the line, Mori stalls.
“Maybe,” he says.
“Ever heard of a guy named Yukio Mishima?”
“One last thing,” Dazai drawls, pressing the phone against his ear. “I was wondering if you can take care of something for me, Mori-san.”
On the other end of the line, Mori stalls.
“Maybe,” he says.
“Ever heard of a guy named Yukio Mishima?”
“Hm. It may ring a bell.”
Dazai’s stomach drops, but he tells himself that it doesn’t mean anything.
It doesn’t mean Mishima is dangerous, especially after he crumpled up like wet paper under Dazai’s stare.
/He/ is certainly not the kind of man who runs with the Port Mafia.
Dazai’s stomach drops, but he tells himself that it doesn’t mean anything.
It doesn’t mean Mishima is dangerous, especially after he crumpled up like wet paper under Dazai’s stare.
/He/ is certainly not the kind of man who runs with the Port Mafia.
Padding to the window that overlooks the front yard, Dazai drinks in the information.
He can glimpse at Chuuya from up here — fiery red hair in a bun, a laughter that rings over the courtyard.
/His to protect./
“I guessed so. The guy says he has connections to the mafia.”
He can glimpse at Chuuya from up here — fiery red hair in a bun, a laughter that rings over the courtyard.
/His to protect./
“I guessed so. The guy says he has connections to the mafia.”
Mori lets out a small, almost puerile /oh?/.
“Oh~? Does he, now?”
“It might be just empty talk, but…”
“Why do you ask, Dazai-kun?” Mori nudges him, words rolling sweet and sharp into Dazai’s ear. “Why now? You never interested yourself with the business.”
“Oh~? Does he, now?”
“It might be just empty talk, but…”
“Why do you ask, Dazai-kun?” Mori nudges him, words rolling sweet and sharp into Dazai’s ear. “Why now? You never interested yourself with the business.”
The business, as if his late father was just a businessman like any other.
And Dazai doesn’t appreciate the insinuation, but Mori /did/ teach him something. Dazai always regarded himself as a decent student.
He’s smiling as he glances out the window, yet his voice sounds cold.
And Dazai doesn’t appreciate the insinuation, but Mori /did/ teach him something. Dazai always regarded himself as a decent student.
He’s smiling as he glances out the window, yet his voice sounds cold.
“I’m not interested in the Port Mafia, Mori-san. I just need to keep Mishima away.”
“That’s more than you asked of me in years, and you surely understand how this is different than demanding a blank cheque.” A pause. “/Why/?”
It’s certainly an odd request, he’ll admit. He has
“That’s more than you asked of me in years, and you surely understand how this is different than demanding a blank cheque.” A pause. “/Why/?”
It’s certainly an odd request, he’ll admit. He has
to give Mori something back — an explanation, at least.
“This guy is bothering my boyfriend,” he says.
Dazai can hear the stunned surprise in Mori’s silence.
He said it.
He has a /boyfriend/.
In a kinder world, that shouldn’t come as a surprise to his own damn guardian.
“This guy is bothering my boyfriend,” he says.
Dazai can hear the stunned surprise in Mori’s silence.
He said it.
He has a /boyfriend/.
In a kinder world, that shouldn’t come as a surprise to his own damn guardian.
He and Chuuya have been together for a while; not much, really, but enough time for a parent to /know/.
He’s been introduced to Chuuya’s family — he can see Kouyou from the window, ruffling her younger brother’s hair.
Chuuya’s uncles.
His /parents/.
However, when Chuuya
He’s been introduced to Chuuya’s family — he can see Kouyou from the window, ruffling her younger brother’s hair.
Chuuya’s uncles.
His /parents/.
However, when Chuuya
moved in, Mori didn’t ask about Dazai’s new roommate and the alpha didn’t feel the urge to clarify.
‘I’m splitting the rent,’ he said, and that was it.
“That’s where you are now? With your boyfriend?”
“Will you /do/ what I asked or not?” Dazai rumbles, ignoring the question.
‘I’m splitting the rent,’ he said, and that was it.
“That’s where you are now? With your boyfriend?”
“Will you /do/ what I asked or not?” Dazai rumbles, ignoring the question.
He’ll shield Chuuya from Mori and any connection with the Port Mafia for as long as he can — forever, possibly.
It’s one of those things Chuuya doesn’t need to know.
Dazai doesn’t have any connection to the mafia apart from a thick alpha blood and an murky legacy, anyway.
It’s one of those things Chuuya doesn’t need to know.
Dazai doesn’t have any connection to the mafia apart from a thick alpha blood and an murky legacy, anyway.
“I’ll see what I can do.”
He’s been around enough to discern the threat behind the vague reply.
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” Mori drawls. “I’m glad you came to me, Dazai-kun.”
At that, the alpha can barely contain a snort.
So he cares, now. Guardian of the year, really.
He’s been around enough to discern the threat behind the vague reply.
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” Mori drawls. “I’m glad you came to me, Dazai-kun.”
At that, the alpha can barely contain a snort.
So he cares, now. Guardian of the year, really.
“Just make sure to not overdo it.” Oh, he’d want Mishima dead. He’d want him hurt. But— “The guy has a small child and I’m not a monster.”
He’s not like Mori. He remembers nothing of his father, but he likes to think he’s nothing like him either.
He might be a child who bloomed
He’s not like Mori. He remembers nothing of his father, but he likes to think he’s nothing like him either.
He might be a child who bloomed
from the pitch darkness, but he grew into an adult who lives a good, honest life.
Even though his blood sings with violence at times, Dazai is /trying/.
And that—
That /must/ account for something.
“Of course not,” Mori agrees.
Dazai can picture the man nodding to himself.
Even though his blood sings with violence at times, Dazai is /trying/.
And that—
That /must/ account for something.
“Of course not,” Mori agrees.
Dazai can picture the man nodding to himself.
/I’m not a monster/.
Gosh, he /hopes/ that’s true.
He hopes that’s not something coward monsters tell themselves so they can sleep at night.
But…
He’s not doing anything bad per say, right?
Dazai tells himself that as he hangs up on Mori and quickly dials Odasaku’s number.
Gosh, he /hopes/ that’s true.
He hopes that’s not something coward monsters tell themselves so they can sleep at night.
But…
He’s not doing anything bad per say, right?
Dazai tells himself that as he hangs up on Mori and quickly dials Odasaku’s number.
He’s just looking out for Chuuya — that’s the only thought that lives in his mind as he waits for his friend to pick up.
Because Mishima looks like the kind of person who never met more than a lowly thug in his life, but what /if/.
Dazai will make sure Mishima lives because he
Because Mishima looks like the kind of person who never met more than a lowly thug in his life, but what /if/.
Dazai will make sure Mishima lives because he
doesn’t deserve such an easy way out.
He is not a murderer, but he’s not merciful either.
And the image of Chuuya on the verge of crying — vulnerable, so scared, so /broken/ — remained carved in his mind.
Mishima did that to him.
Partially, yes, but he /contributed/.
He is not a murderer, but he’s not merciful either.
And the image of Chuuya on the verge of crying — vulnerable, so scared, so /broken/ — remained carved in his mind.
Mishima did that to him.
Partially, yes, but he /contributed/.
But the son—
Orphan himself, Dazai would rather avoid condemning someone else to his same fate.
*The phone rings out*
He just wants the man he loves to be happy.
*Two.*
He’s not a bad person. He’s protecting /his/ omega.
*Three.*
“Damn,” he whispers, “pick up. /Please/.”
Orphan himself, Dazai would rather avoid condemning someone else to his same fate.
*The phone rings out*
He just wants the man he loves to be happy.
*Two.*
He’s not a bad person. He’s protecting /his/ omega.
*Three.*
“Damn,” he whispers, “pick up. /Please/.”
Even if Dazai can’t /face/ Chuuya now, overcame by a shame born from something he can’t change.
That’s why he needs Oda: to be reassured.
*Four.*
Because he’s not a killer, but…
/But/, if Mori will interpret his request in more /creative/ ways, Dazai won’t complain.
That’s why he needs Oda: to be reassured.
*Four.*
Because he’s not a killer, but…
/But/, if Mori will interpret his request in more /creative/ ways, Dazai won’t complain.
“Dazai?” Oda’s voice reaches him from the other end of the line. He sounds so /close/. “Is everything ok? Aren’t you with Chuuya-kun?”
Dazai’s shoulders sag, releasing the tension that had trapped him until that moment.
The well-known voice brings a smile to the alpha’s face.
Dazai’s shoulders sag, releasing the tension that had trapped him until that moment.
The well-known voice brings a smile to the alpha’s face.
It so /soft/, so relieved, that smile.
Because that voice always meant ‘I’m home, now.’
With a soft inhale, Dazai pulls away from the window. Chuuya and his family disappear from his sight as he turns his back to the window pane.
“Hi, Odasaku.”
Because that voice always meant ‘I’m home, now.’
With a soft inhale, Dazai pulls away from the window. Chuuya and his family disappear from his sight as he turns his back to the window pane.
“Hi, Odasaku.”
Because the truth is, Dazai loves Chuuya more than he loves himself.
Everything he did, the half-truths and all the lies, however /wrong/, have been for him.
His savior.
His mate.
His lover.
Nakahara Chuuya is everything Dazai wants, everything he /has/.
Everything he did, the half-truths and all the lies, however /wrong/, have been for him.
His savior.
His mate.
His lover.
Nakahara Chuuya is everything Dazai wants, everything he /has/.
However, in this horrible world that hates him so much, everything the alpha owns is lost already.
It’s all going to slip between his fingers, leaving him grasping nothing.
// “If it becomes too much, leave.”//
He should have known that Chuuya was going to leave first.
—
It’s all going to slip between his fingers, leaving him grasping nothing.
// “If it becomes too much, leave.”//
He should have known that Chuuya was going to leave first.
—
Part 3
// “I told you I was serious, Chuuya. That you’re the only person I could trust, that you saved my life.
And you—
I /thought/ you knew.” //
!! TW for angst, mentions of suicide, mentions of cheating (past), mental illness, depression
// “I told you I was serious, Chuuya. That you’re the only person I could trust, that you saved my life.
And you—
I /thought/ you knew.” //
!! TW for angst, mentions of suicide, mentions of cheating (past), mental illness, depression
From: Chibi
> [load picture]
> 🐥
Dazai hates his fucking life.
One hand twitches around the pencil, the other gripping the phone /harder/.
He swallows — well, tries to.
And, as he drinks in every detail of the picture his heartless boyfriend just sent him, the alpha is
> [load picture]
> 🐥
Dazai hates his fucking life.
One hand twitches around the pencil, the other gripping the phone /harder/.
He swallows — well, tries to.
And, as he drinks in every detail of the picture his heartless boyfriend just sent him, the alpha is
way too aware of how his heart started racing. How it /throbs/.
Suddenly, the whole library seems to know that a knot — ah, the irony — has closed Dazai’s windpipe.
Now, there should be a law that takes omegas’ phones away while they are on heat and their partners have /exams/.
Suddenly, the whole library seems to know that a knot — ah, the irony — has closed Dazai’s windpipe.
Now, there should be a law that takes omegas’ phones away while they are on heat and their partners have /exams/.
When Dazai left Chuuya sleep that morning, kissing the autumn-red head peeking out from the blankets, he didn’t think Chuuya would be texting him— /this/?
And so damn /soon/?
It’s been three hours.
Dazai has barely even started studying for real, and Ranpo is /judging/ him.
And so damn /soon/?
It’s been three hours.
Dazai has barely even started studying for real, and Ranpo is /judging/ him.
Plus Chuuya seemed exhausted after the journey back from his family /and/ a night spent watching movies and soothing his wearing-off-heat with orgasms and greedy touches.
Dazai thought he would need /rest/ during the day.
But—
But he’s only human, and not even a decent one.
Dazai thought he would need /rest/ during the day.
But—
But he’s only human, and not even a decent one.
Something in Dazai’s stomach /roars/ at the sight of Chuuya’s bare thighs peeking from /his/ shirt, kissed by the gentle light of the early afternoon.
The pic is not dirty, but it’s allusive. And it’s so much /worse/.
The light caressing Chuuya’s bare skin, the vague red
The pic is not dirty, but it’s allusive. And it’s so much /worse/.
The light caressing Chuuya’s bare skin, the vague red
signs from the night before, Dazai’s scent on him. Chuuya, looking ever so /delicate/ in his clothes.
Ignoring Ranpo’s piercing green eyes staring daggers from the seat in front of him, Dazai quickly types up:
From: Mackerel
> Coming back home. Wait for me.
From: Chibi
> Hm…
Ignoring Ranpo’s piercing green eyes staring daggers from the seat in front of him, Dazai quickly types up:
From: Mackerel
> Coming back home. Wait for me.
From: Chibi
> Hm…
> Read that again as a command 💯
From: Chibi
> didn’t work 🧡
God. When did Chuuya become so /cheeky/?
He wasn’t like that before. He /definitely/ wasn’t so confident at the beginning of the heat /or/ the relationship.
(Is he getting better?
Are /they/ getting better?)
From: Chibi
> didn’t work 🧡
God. When did Chuuya become so /cheeky/?
He wasn’t like that before. He /definitely/ wasn’t so confident at the beginning of the heat /or/ the relationship.
(Is he getting better?
Are /they/ getting better?)
Before he can shut up, Dazai hears himself cursing — earning a few shushes across the room in return.
> C H I B I
From: Chibi
> I might wait.
> it depends on how fast you are, I suppose.
/Damn/.
Chuuya might not be /comfortable/ with his body enough to send more pictures,
> C H I B I
From: Chibi
> I might wait.
> it depends on how fast you are, I suppose.
/Damn/.
Chuuya might not be /comfortable/ with his body enough to send more pictures,
but Dazai doesn’t need them to know what the omega’s doing.
How he’s taking care of himself.
Despite the redhead’s claims of “controlling it” (absurd) and “dealing with it alone” (/even/ more absurd), Chuuya’s heat proved to be intense.
In a good way, sure, but still intense.
How he’s taking care of himself.
Despite the redhead’s claims of “controlling it” (absurd) and “dealing with it alone” (/even/ more absurd), Chuuya’s heat proved to be intense.
In a good way, sure, but still intense.
They returned to Yokohama the day after Paul and Arthur’s ceremony — a ceremony Dazai missed almost /entirely/.
It gained him a grim expression from Chuuya once he joined the group and a passive-aggressive silence later, but Dazai didn’t apologize.
He needed to sort out the
It gained him a grim expression from Chuuya once he joined the group and a passive-aggressive silence later, but Dazai didn’t apologize.
He needed to sort out the
problem with Mishima. He needed to hear Odasaku’s voice. He needed to /ground/ himself.
(Sometimes, he just needs his best friend more than he needs Chuuya.
And he keeps telling himself it’s /normal/.)
The train journey had been nice, too.
Uneventful, as all train journeys
(Sometimes, he just needs his best friend more than he needs Chuuya.
And he keeps telling himself it’s /normal/.)
The train journey had been nice, too.
Uneventful, as all train journeys
should be, with mountains and forests and lakes flashing from the windows in a blend of blue and green.
Despite the light heat suppressants, and to make sure the heat wouldn’t be too painful during the journey, they stayed awake for most of the night.
The few moans that
Despite the light heat suppressants, and to make sure the heat wouldn’t be too painful during the journey, they stayed awake for most of the night.
The few moans that
the omega couldn’t keep in echoed in the silence of the house.
Dutifully, the morning after, the redhead got on the train wearing Dazai’s sweater /and/ coat.
The soft cocoon made his low body temperature less uncomfortable, /surrounding him with Dazai’s scent and weight.
Dutifully, the morning after, the redhead got on the train wearing Dazai’s sweater /and/ coat.
The soft cocoon made his low body temperature less uncomfortable, /surrounding him with Dazai’s scent and weight.
Chuuya fell asleep with his head on Dazai’s shoulder, a tiny river of drool on the side of his parted lips and eyelashes flickering every time the train bounced.
He was snoring softly when Dazai’s phone pinged.
From: Mori
> Something has been taken care of.
He didn’t reply.
He was snoring softly when Dazai’s phone pinged.
From: Mori
> Something has been taken care of.
He didn’t reply.
He didn’t need to know.
He didn’t care about Mishima, or if Mori had respected his will to trade lightly.
Instead, he ran his fingers through Chuuya’s hair. The omega mumbled something in his sleep, nuzzling into the touch.
A kitten, Dazai thought, curled by a monster’s side.
He didn’t care about Mishima, or if Mori had respected his will to trade lightly.
Instead, he ran his fingers through Chuuya’s hair. The omega mumbled something in his sleep, nuzzling into the touch.
A kitten, Dazai thought, curled by a monster’s side.
Dazai found it so cute that he didn’t move Chuuya even after his arm went numb and the redhead started drooling.
And now— now Chuuya is back at tempting him.
Because Dazai never wanted someone quite as fiercely, so /painfully/, as he wants Chuuya.
He’s gone. A madman. Lost.
And now— now Chuuya is back at tempting him.
Because Dazai never wanted someone quite as fiercely, so /painfully/, as he wants Chuuya.
He’s gone. A madman. Lost.
The alpha glances at the phone, biting the inside of his cheek. Then, he looks at the mock exam in front of him — a series of dry, obvious questions.
One last question, he tells himself.
(But, Chuuya—)
Just /one/.
“Please, go. Your scent now is disgusting /and/ distracting.”
One last question, he tells himself.
(But, Chuuya—)
Just /one/.
“Please, go. Your scent now is disgusting /and/ distracting.”
Dazai grins.
“Jealous, Ranpo-San?”
With a shrug, the man circles one answer on the paper like it’s the easiest thing on earth.
He answered A.
Dazai went for B.
He guesses they’ll see in class who was right — and, yet, Dazai can’t bring himself to care.
“Jealous, Ranpo-San?”
With a shrug, the man circles one answer on the paper like it’s the easiest thing on earth.
He answered A.
Dazai went for B.
He guesses they’ll see in class who was right — and, yet, Dazai can’t bring himself to care.
“I told you,” Ranpo says, doodling on the paper. “You’re distracted. It’s boring.”
Dazai shrugs. “And yet I’m still better.”
“You failed the last test.”
/Ah/. Yeah.
That, Dazai wasn’t exactly feeling— himself, that day. He couldn’t even get out of bed.
Sometimes it happens.
Dazai shrugs. “And yet I’m still better.”
“You failed the last test.”
/Ah/. Yeah.
That, Dazai wasn’t exactly feeling— himself, that day. He couldn’t even get out of bed.
Sometimes it happens.
But he can’t really tell Ranpo /that/, right?
“I wonder how this one will go,” he says, as calmly as he can.
“If you show up at all.”
“I /will/.”
“Can you lower your voice?” Ranpo volleys back, unfazed. His gaze is sharp as he carelessly doodles patterns on one corner of
“I wonder how this one will go,” he says, as calmly as he can.
“If you show up at all.”
“I /will/.”
“Can you lower your voice?” Ranpo volleys back, unfazed. His gaze is sharp as he carelessly doodles patterns on one corner of
the sheet. “People are staring.”
“Like you care, Ranpo-san.”
For a second, they both grin. No, they don’t care. The only reason Dazai didn’t drop out of this stupid university is this rivalry and his pride.
“Go,” Ranpo says, waving him off. “By the way, A’s the right answer.”
“Like you care, Ranpo-san.”
For a second, they both grin. No, they don’t care. The only reason Dazai didn’t drop out of this stupid university is this rivalry and his pride.
“Go,” Ranpo says, waving him off. “By the way, A’s the right answer.”
Dazai doubts that. The question referred to a clear concept and the answer seemed straightforward — obvious, even.
But Dazai is not really good at finding right answers for obvious questions, is he?
Maybe, he supposes, the only /right/ answer is the omega who opens the door,
But Dazai is not really good at finding right answers for obvious questions, is he?
Maybe, he supposes, the only /right/ answer is the omega who opens the door,
wearing nothing but a white shirt and flushed cheeks.
The moment Dazai steps inside the apartment Chuuya is already /on/ him, throwing his arms around the alpha’s neck and dragging him down.
It’s /enthusiastic/, eager, a little shy of ‘I-really-couldn’t-wait-any-longer’.
The moment Dazai steps inside the apartment Chuuya is already /on/ him, throwing his arms around the alpha’s neck and dragging him down.
It’s /enthusiastic/, eager, a little shy of ‘I-really-couldn’t-wait-any-longer’.
The scent of slick hits the alpha’s nostrils, strong and sweet and enveloping.
It coaxes a rumbling sound from Dazai’s chest.
“You took /way/ too long.”
Ah, right: the heat also makes Chuuya bratty.
He’d like to answer, but it doesn’t matter when Chuuya’s mouth covers his.
It coaxes a rumbling sound from Dazai’s chest.
“You took /way/ too long.”
Ah, right: the heat also makes Chuuya bratty.
He’d like to answer, but it doesn’t matter when Chuuya’s mouth covers his.
Gently, Dazai takes the omega’s bottom lip in between his teeth and sucks at it.
Chuuya purrs in delight.
“I literally /ran/ all the way from the station, doll.”
And they both know Dazai doesn’t run.
He doesn’t even begin to understand the meaning of physical exercise.
Chuuya purrs in delight.
“I literally /ran/ all the way from the station, doll.”
And they both know Dazai doesn’t run.
He doesn’t even begin to understand the meaning of physical exercise.
They know it.
That’s why the grin that stretches Chuuya’s lips appears so full of amusement.
That lush, /unruffled/ glee that turns Dazai’s brain into jelly and his stomach into a sky full of butterflies.
“How magnanimous.”
“Chibi called,” he drawls.
“I was missing you.”
That’s why the grin that stretches Chuuya’s lips appears so full of amusement.
That lush, /unruffled/ glee that turns Dazai’s brain into jelly and his stomach into a sky full of butterflies.
“How magnanimous.”
“Chibi called,” he drawls.
“I was missing you.”
God, Dazai thinks, me /too/.
He doesn’t reply, though.
Instead, the alpha takes the chance to kick his shoes away, simultaneously slipping the oversized grey coat off his shoulders in sloppy, swift movements.
The omega whines, robbed of his precious contact and source
He doesn’t reply, though.
Instead, the alpha takes the chance to kick his shoes away, simultaneously slipping the oversized grey coat off his shoulders in sloppy, swift movements.
The omega whines, robbed of his precious contact and source
of /warmth/, but at least he lets Dazai undress.
However, the moment shoes and coat are dropped on the floor and out of the way, Chuuya’s hands are on the alpha again.
Searching, fondling, unbuttoning his shirt — needy, /hungry/.
And maybe Ranpo’s right, and Dazai is a fool.
However, the moment shoes and coat are dropped on the floor and out of the way, Chuuya’s hands are on the alpha again.
Searching, fondling, unbuttoning his shirt — needy, /hungry/.
And maybe Ranpo’s right, and Dazai is a fool.
Maybe he shouldn’t ignore the exams looming over him, because Ranpo /will/ get a better score if Dazai doesn’t make any effort.
But he doesn’t want to.
If he really doesn’t have much to live — and his hunches are rarely wrong —, Dazai wants to live /Chuuya/ as much as he can.
But he doesn’t want to.
If he really doesn’t have much to live — and his hunches are rarely wrong —, Dazai wants to live /Chuuya/ as much as he can.
We wants to make the omega /his/, spend every meaningful moment with him.
Because the thing is, there’s something in this person that /stops/ Dazai’s overworked brain.
It soothes his pain, lets it rest.
And, all his life, Dazai has been searching for a place to just /rest/.
Because the thing is, there’s something in this person that /stops/ Dazai’s overworked brain.
It soothes his pain, lets it rest.
And, all his life, Dazai has been searching for a place to just /rest/.
And just like that, Dazai lifts Chuuya in his arms. He just /hopes/ his spine won’t snap.
The omega yelps softly, clinging to Dazai’s shoulders as he lets himself be hefted.
Dazai’s hands hold on strong and true on Chuuya’s hips, his lips soft on the omega’s.
And if Dazai
The omega yelps softly, clinging to Dazai’s shoulders as he lets himself be hefted.
Dazai’s hands hold on strong and true on Chuuya’s hips, his lips soft on the omega’s.
And if Dazai
is sure that his muscles will be sore after (he even ran, for Christ’s sake! He tells himself every time that he needs to exercise), it’ll be worth it.
Because there’s something addictive in Chuuya’s kisses, in the way his bare thighs wrap around Dazai’s middle.
In the way he
Because there’s something addictive in Chuuya’s kisses, in the way his bare thighs wrap around Dazai’s middle.
In the way he
feels Chuuya hard and /ready/ against his body.
“I didn’t realize you exercised,” Chuuya grins, knowing perfectly Dazai /doesn’t/.
See? Cheeky.
He’s lucky mirth looks /hot/ on him.
“And you,” Dazai whispers, leaving a peck on Chuuya’s nose, “are a /menace/.”
“I didn’t realize you exercised,” Chuuya grins, knowing perfectly Dazai /doesn’t/.
See? Cheeky.
He’s lucky mirth looks /hot/ on him.
“And you,” Dazai whispers, leaving a peck on Chuuya’s nose, “are a /menace/.”
But Chuuya giggles as if it’s a praise, arms loosely laced around Dazai’s neck.
His hands sink in Dazai’s dark, unkempt curls, combing through them.
“Thanks,” the omega says, triumphant and bold and /alluring/. “Y’know, I like the view from up here.”
Dazai grins, looking up.
His hands sink in Dazai’s dark, unkempt curls, combing through them.
“Thanks,” the omega says, triumphant and bold and /alluring/. “Y’know, I like the view from up here.”
Dazai grins, looking up.
Adrenaline and lust and love all rush through the alpha, making his body /sing/.
They turn his eyes clearer.
“Is Chuuya admitting that he’s short?”
“Hah. In your dreams.” That’s what he tries to say, but it gets lost into a kiss with too much teeth, too much /need/.
They turn his eyes clearer.
“Is Chuuya admitting that he’s short?”
“Hah. In your dreams.” That’s what he tries to say, but it gets lost into a kiss with too much teeth, too much /need/.
And they’re still kissing as Dazai carries Chuuya to his nest, hitting some corners along the way and knocking off a cheap lamp nobody bothers to pick up, dropping the omega on the bed and tumbling over him.
The sweet ghost of Chuuya’s slick in the air makes Dazai’s head /spin/.
The sweet ghost of Chuuya’s slick in the air makes Dazai’s head /spin/.
The tension rises with every kiss, with their grinding bodies and hungry hands.
The alpha is drunk on the sound of the mattress’ springs, on the way he crawls above Chuuya and sucks a hickey on his neck, coaxing moans and feeling the redhead’s spine arches under him.
The alpha is drunk on the sound of the mattress’ springs, on the way he crawls above Chuuya and sucks a hickey on his neck, coaxing moans and feeling the redhead’s spine arches under him.
Dazai gets rid of his shirt, slips out of his trousers and underwear and socks, remaining in bandages only. His shirt no, though; that stays on Chuuya.
The sight of his lover — no, no, the love of his /life/ — in his shirt, smiling, blue eyes sparkling from under long, dark
The sight of his lover — no, no, the love of his /life/ — in his shirt, smiling, blue eyes sparkling from under long, dark
eyelashes is enough to make him stupid with want.
Every touch sets fire to his body.
Having Chuuya sprawled on his bed, lying belly up, almost naked and smiling under him—
“Sorry for destroying your day at the library,” Chuuya drawls, sly.
He doesn’t sound sorry at all.
Every touch sets fire to his body.
Having Chuuya sprawled on his bed, lying belly up, almost naked and smiling under him—
“Sorry for destroying your day at the library,” Chuuya drawls, sly.
He doesn’t sound sorry at all.
With a smirk, lips touching the omega’s neck and hovering over his pulse point, Dazai shakes his head.
“/Sure/.”
“Hm.” Chuuya’s hands tumble over the bandages, covering Dazai’s broad shoulders. They’re /teasing/. “Right. No, I’m not sorry for shit.”
“/Sure/.”
“Hm.” Chuuya’s hands tumble over the bandages, covering Dazai’s broad shoulders. They’re /teasing/. “Right. No, I’m not sorry for shit.”
And Dazai can’t help but think that maybe, /maybe/, they both have to be proud if Chuuya can joke and play around like this during a heat.
It’s /their/ win.
But then, the moment Dazai is about to rest his hands on Chuuya with the intention to spin the omega around, to sink his
It’s /their/ win.
But then, the moment Dazai is about to rest his hands on Chuuya with the intention to spin the omega around, to sink his
nose and mouth in Chuuya’s ass, eager to lick /every/ drop of the luscious slick, Chuuya retreats.
“No,” he says, straightening up his back.
Dazai blinks.
“…No?”
He stares back. “I have a request.”
“You’re getting too bratty, love,” Dazai drawls with a half-lidded smile.
“No,” he says, straightening up his back.
Dazai blinks.
“…No?”
He stares back. “I have a request.”
“You’re getting too bratty, love,” Dazai drawls with a half-lidded smile.
He /sees/ immediately it was the wrong choice.
Chuuya’s expression hardens.
“I’m serious.”
Dazai halts, still bent over Chuuya, looking at him from above.
He tries to read the redhead, to predict the request, but he can't say that he /likes/ any of the plausible answers.
Chuuya’s expression hardens.
“I’m serious.”
Dazai halts, still bent over Chuuya, looking at him from above.
He tries to read the redhead, to predict the request, but he can't say that he /likes/ any of the plausible answers.
“Of course, sweetheart,” he amends, voice soft. “Ask away.”
/Please, don’t ask what I think you’ll ask/, he thinks.
He’s never been a good gambler, though.
“Can I unwrap your bandages?”
/Shit/.
/Please, don’t ask what I think you’ll ask/, he thinks.
He’s never been a good gambler, though.
“Can I unwrap your bandages?”
/Shit/.
Again.
Dazai didn’t /forget/ about the first time Chuuya asked — how hesitant he seemed to let the matter go.
He definitely doesn’t miss the disappointed looks Chuuya always throws him whenever he steps under the shower or into the tub with his neck and arms fully bandaged.
Dazai didn’t /forget/ about the first time Chuuya asked — how hesitant he seemed to let the matter go.
He definitely doesn’t miss the disappointed looks Chuuya always throws him whenever he steps under the shower or into the tub with his neck and arms fully bandaged.
But /now/—
He looks back at Chuuya, eyes burrowing in the omega’s ocean-blue gaze.
It’s /hard/ to describe Chuuya’s eyes, but he can definitely spot one steady emotion in there: expectation.
The kind that doesn’t really leave space for a discussion.
He looks back at Chuuya, eyes burrowing in the omega’s ocean-blue gaze.
It’s /hard/ to describe Chuuya’s eyes, but he can definitely spot one steady emotion in there: expectation.
The kind that doesn’t really leave space for a discussion.
“I don’t know,” he says.
It’s meant as a warning, but the hurt flashing across Chuuya’s face tells him the redhead heard an excuse.
“/Dazai/.”
He licks his lips. “It’ll end up ruining the mood.”
Sighing, Chuuya lifts one hand to cup Dazai’s cheek.
“It won’t. I promise.”
It’s meant as a warning, but the hurt flashing across Chuuya’s face tells him the redhead heard an excuse.
“/Dazai/.”
He licks his lips. “It’ll end up ruining the mood.”
Sighing, Chuuya lifts one hand to cup Dazai’s cheek.
“It won’t. I promise.”
“Are you /sure/?”
“Yes.” He swallows, eyes roaming over Dazai’s face. “Let me see you. /Please/.”
It’s a plea, though not a tender one.
As he retreats and the omega sits up, Dazai hears a string in Chuuya’s voice — a thin, frail thread about to snap.
So he can’t but nod.
“Yes.” He swallows, eyes roaming over Dazai’s face. “Let me see you. /Please/.”
It’s a plea, though not a tender one.
As he retreats and the omega sits up, Dazai hears a string in Chuuya’s voice — a thin, frail thread about to snap.
So he can’t but nod.
He doesn’t want to, truth be told, but he feels that he /has/ to.
He’s bargaining on too much, he’s already buying time for Odasaku.
So he pushes away and offers Chuuya his hand —palm up, fingers stretched.
“You’re really a masochistic Chibi,” he murmurs. “Go for it.”
He’s bargaining on too much, he’s already buying time for Odasaku.
So he pushes away and offers Chuuya his hand —palm up, fingers stretched.
“You’re really a masochistic Chibi,” he murmurs. “Go for it.”
His voice sounds a little dead, colorless, but he still nods quietly when Chuuya’s eyebrows jump up in a mute question.
/Are you sure?/, he’s asking.
No, Dazai’s not sure.
Yes, he’ll let Chuuya do it anyway.
He’s /compromising/.
/Are you sure?/, he’s asking.
No, Dazai’s not sure.
Yes, he’ll let Chuuya do it anyway.
He’s /compromising/.
However, once his boyfriend touches the bandages, unclipping the first on his palm with something akin to silent /awe/, Dazai’s shoulders relax a little.
Chuuya’s fingers work the bandages gently, uncovering skin with the utmost delicacy.
He never breaks eye contact, though.
Chuuya’s fingers work the bandages gently, uncovering skin with the utmost delicacy.
He never breaks eye contact, though.
The right arm gets freed first.
With every inch of gauze unraveled, the alpha holds his breath.
He waits for a sign of discomfort, of hatred, that never arrives.
Then, the left arm.
Dazai unravels the bandages around his neck himself, not quite ready for anyone to touch his
With every inch of gauze unraveled, the alpha holds his breath.
He waits for a sign of discomfort, of hatred, that never arrives.
Then, the left arm.
Dazai unravels the bandages around his neck himself, not quite ready for anyone to touch his
throat without the reliable shelter of white fabric that always accompanied him.
Chuuya waits, sitting crossed-legged in front of Dazai; patient, enthralled by a process that feels more like a /ritual/.
His blue eyes follow every movement, lips curled in a reassuring smile.
Chuuya waits, sitting crossed-legged in front of Dazai; patient, enthralled by a process that feels more like a /ritual/.
His blue eyes follow every movement, lips curled in a reassuring smile.
After barely a few minutes of heavy silence, the white gauze rests on the floor. Shedded and abandoned like a snake’s skin.
“Here,” Dazai says.
/Here/.
This is me; broken, underwhelming me.
The me you should never see, that I never wanted you to see.
Disgusting, human /me/.
“Here,” Dazai says.
/Here/.
This is me; broken, underwhelming me.
The me you should never see, that I never wanted you to see.
Disgusting, human /me/.
Chuuya stares at him in respectful silence for a moment, eyes wide and overspilling with questions Dazai won’t answer.
Then, he slides closer. His hand rests on Dazai’s knuckles.
“I—“ The rest of Chuuya’s sentence gets swallowed with a mouthful of spit. “I don’t understand.”
Then, he slides closer. His hand rests on Dazai’s knuckles.
“I—“ The rest of Chuuya’s sentence gets swallowed with a mouthful of spit. “I don’t understand.”
Dazai can’t blame him, truly.
No wound is concealed under the bandages. No bruise, not even a cut.
There’s only perfect skin in front of him, and Chuuya can’t make up a reason for that.
It doesn’t have the healthy glow of a body that sees much sunlight, and red spots mark the
No wound is concealed under the bandages. No bruise, not even a cut.
There’s only perfect skin in front of him, and Chuuya can’t make up a reason for that.
It doesn’t have the healthy glow of a body that sees much sunlight, and red spots mark the
places where the gauze’s edges bit into the skin a little too tight, but it’s nothing gruesome or out of the ordinary.
Just a vast, normal, /horrible/ expanse of human flesh.
Only veins, purple and blue, and some old scars —like white moons, thick and with ragged edges.
Just a vast, normal, /horrible/ expanse of human flesh.
Only veins, purple and blue, and some old scars —like white moons, thick and with ragged edges.
Dazai can’t name the day he got them, nor the cause.
They say that bodies talk, that scars tell stories, but his are mute and blind.
He could never listen to his body, Dazai.
They don’t speak the same language. That body never belonged to him.
So he hated it. He covered it.
They say that bodies talk, that scars tell stories, but his are mute and blind.
He could never listen to his body, Dazai.
They don’t speak the same language. That body never belonged to him.
So he hated it. He covered it.
Most of those scars, those badges of a humanity he never knew how to apprecciate, he acquired while drunk.
Chuuya’s eyes narrow in search of /answers/, but the brunet shrugs.
“It’s horrible.”
It’s a vague explanation, yet it took him a lot to push it past his lips.
Chuuya’s eyes narrow in search of /answers/, but the brunet shrugs.
“It’s horrible.”
It’s a vague explanation, yet it took him a lot to push it past his lips.
“It’s /not/. God, ‘Samu, it’s not. But I don’t see what you see, clearly,” Chuuya pushes on, glaring at the freed skin. Untouched, uncovered human skin. “That’s why I say I don’t understand.”
“And I am not sure I can explain,” the alpha says.
It’s just the way it is.
“And I am not sure I can explain,” the alpha says.
It’s just the way it is.
But Chuuya knows the feeling. His head bobs up and down slowly.
He raises his arm to touch Dazai’s bare shoulder and, from the way his eyes widen oh so slightly, Dazai realizes that the omega expected him to come undone under the touch.
Frankly, he’s surprised himself.
He raises his arm to touch Dazai’s bare shoulder and, from the way his eyes widen oh so slightly, Dazai realizes that the omega expected him to come undone under the touch.
Frankly, he’s surprised himself.
“I just don’t see why you cover yourself in that stuff.”
“It makes me feel safe.”
“Ok, but /why/?”
“It just does,” he murmurs.
He hates his body.
It’s not rational, it’s just— the way it is. Simple as that.
But, not understanding pain for pain’s sake, he never dared /harm/
“It makes me feel safe.”
“Ok, but /why/?”
“It just does,” he murmurs.
He hates his body.
It’s not rational, it’s just— the way it is. Simple as that.
But, not understanding pain for pain’s sake, he never dared /harm/
this prison he hates so much.
A cursed temple he can’t taint with blood, but loathes nevertheless.
Well, actually he dislocated his arm when jumping from too high, once, but that wasn’t /intentional/.
But this silence now? It’s suffocating.
“Chuuya—”
“/You’re beautiful./”
A cursed temple he can’t taint with blood, but loathes nevertheless.
Well, actually he dislocated his arm when jumping from too high, once, but that wasn’t /intentional/.
But this silence now? It’s suffocating.
“Chuuya—”
“/You’re beautiful./”
“What?” Dazai wheezes.
“You’re beautiful,” Chuuya repeats.
It also means a hundred other things: it’s ok, you’re safe, I won’t ask anymore.
/I don’t need to understand to know how you feel, and to respect it./
“You are beautiful, ‘Samu. Of course you are.” His fingers waltz
“You’re beautiful,” Chuuya repeats.
It also means a hundred other things: it’s ok, you’re safe, I won’t ask anymore.
/I don’t need to understand to know how you feel, and to respect it./
“You are beautiful, ‘Samu. Of course you are.” His fingers waltz
along Dazai’s collarbone, tracing his edges as if he’s painting — or writing poetry.
“Can I ask about this?” Chuuya murmurs after a while. “It’s ok if you don’t want to answer.”
As he speaks, voice hushed, his hand brushes over a scratch-like scar on Dazai’s right bicep.
“Can I ask about this?” Chuuya murmurs after a while. “It’s ok if you don’t want to answer.”
As he speaks, voice hushed, his hand brushes over a scratch-like scar on Dazai’s right bicep.
Ah, Dazai thinks. That.
Odasaku saved him from that one.
He was eleven.
To a civilian eye, it might look like a sharp claw dug in the flesh. An animal attack or a bad fall.
“I fell,” he murmurs.
That’s not true, but it’s also /easier/ than explaining that someone in the
Odasaku saved him from that one.
He was eleven.
To a civilian eye, it might look like a sharp claw dug in the flesh. An animal attack or a bad fall.
“I fell,” he murmurs.
That’s not true, but it’s also /easier/ than explaining that someone in the
Triad got wind that the only son of the previous Port Mafia boss was a child, alive, and /possibly/ in the care of Ougai Mori.
Dazai never knew what the sniper wanted — if to /kill/ him or to hurt him enough for a kidnapping.
All he remembers is the air hissing.
Dazai never knew what the sniper wanted — if to /kill/ him or to hurt him enough for a kidnapping.
All he remembers is the air hissing.
The sound of his school uniform and bandages ripping.
And then the crimson pain of a bullet grazing his arm. Odasaku’s voice calling his name, and his friend’s hands /pushing/ him out of the line of fire.
It was the first and last time someone attempted to kill him.
And then the crimson pain of a bullet grazing his arm. Odasaku’s voice calling his name, and his friend’s hands /pushing/ him out of the line of fire.
It was the first and last time someone attempted to kill him.
Faceless people handling precise, painless weapons, and Dazai— to this day, Dazai can’t help but think that they /let him down/.
Chuuya tuts.
He can guess that it’s not the truth, but he’s satisfied with the answer he got.
“Well, it’s beautiful,” he says again, louder.
Chuuya tuts.
He can guess that it’s not the truth, but he’s satisfied with the answer he got.
“Well, it’s beautiful,” he says again, louder.
Dazai’s stomach sinks.
He’s been called beautiful by others, but never while showing the parts he hates. He’s not fond of himself in general, but his skin?
That’s plain disgusting, yet Chuuya is touching and looking and calling him beautiful.
He can’t grasp any sense in it.
He’s been called beautiful by others, but never while showing the parts he hates. He’s not fond of himself in general, but his skin?
That’s plain disgusting, yet Chuuya is touching and looking and calling him beautiful.
He can’t grasp any sense in it.
He’s been so afraid of catching himself in a mirror, he’s been so /disgusted/, he hates it, hates /him/, and—
“You said this to me before,” Chuuya says, “but you’re perfect.”
His fingers dance on Dazai’s skin, mapping its surface but that sentence resonates in him like an oath.
“You said this to me before,” Chuuya says, “but you’re perfect.”
His fingers dance on Dazai’s skin, mapping its surface but that sentence resonates in him like an oath.
“I thought you were /impatient/,” Dazai murmurs, choked up.
Mainly, it’s an attempt to derail Chuuya’s attention into something known.
The omega’s fingers stop on Dazai’s chest, right above the heart.
The warm pressure of Chuuya’s palm replaces the butterfly-light fingertips.
Mainly, it’s an attempt to derail Chuuya’s attention into something known.
The omega’s fingers stop on Dazai’s chest, right above the heart.
The warm pressure of Chuuya’s palm replaces the butterfly-light fingertips.
“I am,” Chuuya says, with a small pout. “But I also—“
His voice trails off.
He seems to be distracted, /lost/ in Dazai’s body — captured by his skin, his heaving chest, the gentle curve of his navel. The omega gulps down some air and blinks as if to remind himself that he
His voice trails off.
He seems to be distracted, /lost/ in Dazai’s body — captured by his skin, his heaving chest, the gentle curve of his navel. The omega gulps down some air and blinks as if to remind himself that he
still has a sentence he left hanging, and Dazai with it.
“But also, I’ve been waiting to see you for a while.”
Dazai swallows. “I didn’t know.”
He did.
God, he’s lying.
Chuuya’s smile is somber, sharp enough to make hearts bleed. He doesn’t call out the lie.
“But also, I’ve been waiting to see you for a while.”
Dazai swallows. “I didn’t know.”
He did.
God, he’s lying.
Chuuya’s smile is somber, sharp enough to make hearts bleed. He doesn’t call out the lie.
“It’s fine. Thank you for trusting me.”
And how /desperately/ Chuuya must have wanted him, if it can halt even a heat.
Yet his touch is not rushed.
It falls on Dazai like rain. A drizzle, unexpected but not unkind.
His gaze though, so blue, so focused, sinks under the skin.
And how /desperately/ Chuuya must have wanted him, if it can halt even a heat.
Yet his touch is not rushed.
It falls on Dazai like rain. A drizzle, unexpected but not unkind.
His gaze though, so blue, so focused, sinks under the skin.
Dazai remains still, letting Chuuya trace new roads on his skin — the veins, the muscles, the old scars and the truths Dazai hides.
Then, the redhead stops.
“Can I kiss you?” he asks, almost as if Dazai needs a moment to adjust to the idea of somebody touching his bare skin.
Then, the redhead stops.
“Can I kiss you?” he asks, almost as if Dazai needs a moment to adjust to the idea of somebody touching his bare skin.
However, Dazai leans in first, capturing Chuuya’s lips and circling his hips.
He pushes Chuuya back onto the bed, enjoying the warmth of skin against skin. Letting eager hands explore him.
Breaking him.
Finding him like a truth, and keeping him like a secret.
—
He pushes Chuuya back onto the bed, enjoying the warmth of skin against skin. Letting eager hands explore him.
Breaking him.
Finding him like a truth, and keeping him like a secret.
—
Many hours later, as the sun bleeds out into the horizon, crimson red fading into purple and blue and black, Chuuya thinks he’s lucky.
Dazai is reading Chekhov by his side, softly trading his fingers through the omega’s hair.
The scent of peace is a welcome ghost in the room.
Dazai is reading Chekhov by his side, softly trading his fingers through the omega’s hair.
The scent of peace is a welcome ghost in the room.
Dazai’s distracted, almost /lazy/ touches make Chuuya drowsy, but he’s certainly not complaining.
He had his alpha’s full attention for the longest time, and the now satiated needs of his heat made him quiet. Sleepy.
The latest orgams turned his brain into a content mush.
He had his alpha’s full attention for the longest time, and the now satiated needs of his heat made him quiet. Sleepy.
The latest orgams turned his brain into a content mush.
He’s purring, though he tried his best not to. Dazai’s soft crooning covers Chuuya’s senses like a hot, cuddly blanket.
And for the first time in a while, the redhead feels truly loved and trusted.
Now, he just has to decide if he wants a warm bath or more sex or /both/.
And for the first time in a while, the redhead feels truly loved and trusted.
Now, he just has to decide if he wants a warm bath or more sex or /both/.
“I bet you’re glad you skipped the library,” he hums. “That must’ve been boring.”
Dazai chuckles.
“Would Chuuya still love me if I get kicked out of uni for absenteeism?”
Chuuya doesn’t even think it over.
He just /smiles/, stretching under Dazai’s caresses.
“Of course.”
Dazai chuckles.
“Would Chuuya still love me if I get kicked out of uni for absenteeism?”
Chuuya doesn’t even think it over.
He just /smiles/, stretching under Dazai’s caresses.
“Of course.”
He’s in a good mood, Chuuya, happy with how the day went.
Because he and Dazai have many issues, and miscommunication is surely one of them, but—
// “It’s all damn worth it, isn’t it?”//
Paul is right: it is.
They’re on the right track; fucking finally.
Even though Dazai
Because he and Dazai have many issues, and miscommunication is surely one of them, but—
// “It’s all damn worth it, isn’t it?”//
Paul is right: it is.
They’re on the right track; fucking finally.
Even though Dazai
covered himself in bandages again, it’s progress.
Things are good.
Or so Chuuya thought.
Because it’s never that easy.
And he doesn’t know how love is not /enough/, but it isn’t.
Because it was supposed to be worth it and, in hindsight—
Why wasn’t /he/ worth it?
—
Things are good.
Or so Chuuya thought.
Because it’s never that easy.
And he doesn’t know how love is not /enough/, but it isn’t.
Because it was supposed to be worth it and, in hindsight—
Why wasn’t /he/ worth it?
—
Their lives derail during dinner.
It’s a week evening like most of others — rain tapping against the windows, wind carrying the salty ocean air across the city.
‘The perfect evening for a dinner with the Vampire’, Dazai said.
Ryuu threatened to stab him with a steak knife.
It’s a week evening like most of others — rain tapping against the windows, wind carrying the salty ocean air across the city.
‘The perfect evening for a dinner with the Vampire’, Dazai said.
Ryuu threatened to stab him with a steak knife.
Now, Chuuya doesn’t /agree/ with the vampire statement, but he certainly agrees that it’s a good night for a dinner with his best friends.
His heat has almost worn off completely, and he /missed/ spending time with his friends.
Part of the reason, though, is that it’s getting
His heat has almost worn off completely, and he /missed/ spending time with his friends.
Part of the reason, though, is that it’s getting
harder and harder to be alone with Dazai without asking questions.
The omega doesn’t understand why the alpha needs the bandages, yet he can’t quite forget the perfect skin underneath.
He imagined anything but. He imagined scars, /wounds/— but can someone hate himself so much?
The omega doesn’t understand why the alpha needs the bandages, yet he can’t quite forget the perfect skin underneath.
He imagined anything but. He imagined scars, /wounds/— but can someone hate himself so much?
/Anyway/, he’s also trying to respect Dazai’s boundaries.
And for tonight, Chuuya promised himself he’d try not to think about it.
He wants to have fun
Atsushi’s on the couch, playing Mario Kart with Dazai. Ryuunosuke is helping him, and he—
“I think Sushi won again.”
And for tonight, Chuuya promised himself he’d try not to think about it.
He wants to have fun
Atsushi’s on the couch, playing Mario Kart with Dazai. Ryuunosuke is helping him, and he—
“I think Sushi won again.”
Chuuya blinks, accepting the plate his friend hands him and sticking it in the dishwasher.
“Again? It’s, like, the twentieth time.”
Ryuunosuke shrugs. “And I hope he loses again.”
“Of course you do.”
As if to agree with the omega, another screech rises from the couch. Dazai
“Again? It’s, like, the twentieth time.”
Ryuunosuke shrugs. “And I hope he loses again.”
“Of course you do.”
As if to agree with the omega, another screech rises from the couch. Dazai
cusses in the background.
“I’m just saying, it’s karma,” Ryuunosuke hums. It makes Chuuya bark a laughter.
“It sure is.”
As Ryuunosuke passes him more plates, gloating, Chuuya almost considers defending the Mackerel’s honor. Almost.
He would, if he didn’t know Dazai cheats.
“I’m just saying, it’s karma,” Ryuunosuke hums. It makes Chuuya bark a laughter.
“It sure is.”
As Ryuunosuke passes him more plates, gloating, Chuuya almost considers defending the Mackerel’s honor. Almost.
He would, if he didn’t know Dazai cheats.
They just need to finish off with the kitchen and then he and Ryuu can go take a video of the biggest defeat in modern history.
Chuuya /hates/ it, but it’s his turn to clean up and Dazai and Atsushi dashed to the TV first.
Just a few more plates.
Just—
The doorbell rings.
Chuuya /hates/ it, but it’s his turn to clean up and Dazai and Atsushi dashed to the TV first.
Just a few more plates.
Just—
The doorbell rings.
Chuuya flinches, exchanging a puzzled glance with Ryuunosuke.
It’s past ten. On a week night.
And Chuuya is in a food coma, which means nobody should piss him off.
So what the hell.
“You—“
“Don’t look at me,” the omega interrupts him. “It’s your house.”
/ Ok, fair enough./
It’s past ten. On a week night.
And Chuuya is in a food coma, which means nobody should piss him off.
So what the hell.
“You—“
“Don’t look at me,” the omega interrupts him. “It’s your house.”
/ Ok, fair enough./
“Are you guys expecting someone?” Chuuya cries towards the living room, then, talk over the game’s music as he goes for the door.
A stunned silence answers him.
Atsushi shakes his head and Ryuu stares, waiting; Dazai seems cautious, but Chuuya was never a patient person.
A stunned silence answers him.
Atsushi shakes his head and Ryuu stares, waiting; Dazai seems cautious, but Chuuya was never a patient person.
“Did you fucking order canned crab in bulk again?”
He can hear the alpha getting on his feet a that, all pouty and finally padding to the door of what technically is /his/ apartment.
“I— don’t think so?” he says.
Obviously.
The fucker is guilty as charged.
“How convenient.”
He can hear the alpha getting on his feet a that, all pouty and finally padding to the door of what technically is /his/ apartment.
“I— don’t think so?” he says.
Obviously.
The fucker is guilty as charged.
“How convenient.”
“I’m serious, chiiibi~”
Chuuya scoffs, swinging the door open knowing already that he’ll have to live with crab for days.
“Seriously, tell me you d—”
But there is no crab. No delivery guy.
Just—
“Is Dazai at home?”
Just /blue/ eyes.
And an omega with Dazai’s scent on him.
Chuuya scoffs, swinging the door open knowing already that he’ll have to live with crab for days.
“Seriously, tell me you d—”
But there is no crab. No delivery guy.
Just—
“Is Dazai at home?”
Just /blue/ eyes.
And an omega with Dazai’s scent on him.
Chuuya freezes.
He /stares/, silently fighting the instinct to close the door at the man’s face.
He feels /small/ in front of this person — in more ways than just the sheer height difference.
He feels /ignorant/. Young.
In competition, somehow, with someone he can’t beat.
He /stares/, silently fighting the instinct to close the door at the man’s face.
He feels /small/ in front of this person — in more ways than just the sheer height difference.
He feels /ignorant/. Young.
In competition, somehow, with someone he can’t beat.
And the realization just /hits/ him with the strength of a hurricane, that this man—
“Odasaku?” Comes a voice behind him. /Dazai/. “Ango?”
Chuuya winces in silence.
For the first time, he realizes there’s another man behind the tall omega with the dark blue eyes.
“Odasaku?” Comes a voice behind him. /Dazai/. “Ango?”
Chuuya winces in silence.
For the first time, he realizes there’s another man behind the tall omega with the dark blue eyes.
Glasses, dark hair, a serious expression and a beauty mark at the corner of his mouth.
He seems less remarkable than Odasaku.
Oda shoots him a worried glance. “I’m sorry for the intrusion, Chuuya-kun.” Oh. He calls him by /name/. “Can we come in?”
“Of course,” Dazai says.
He seems less remarkable than Odasaku.
Oda shoots him a worried glance. “I’m sorry for the intrusion, Chuuya-kun.” Oh. He calls him by /name/. “Can we come in?”
“Of course,” Dazai says.
No hesitation. No ‘Chuuya, is that ok? It’s your house too’.
(“Sorry, we have some friends over.”)
No explanation.
(“Oh! We’ll be quick.”)
Oda called him by name.
(“No! You guys stay~”)
And—
Dazai hasn’t glanced at him once.
Once he opened the door, Chuuya disappeared.
(“Sorry, we have some friends over.”)
No explanation.
(“Oh! We’ll be quick.”)
Oda called him by name.
(“No! You guys stay~”)
And—
Dazai hasn’t glanced at him once.
Once he opened the door, Chuuya disappeared.
Without much say in the matter, Chuuya presses himself against the door to let the two men in. It’s not like he can say no.
For the first time, he /regrets/ accepting living with Dazai.
Because this doesn’t feel like his house when Dazai’s friends are in it.
For the first time, he /regrets/ accepting living with Dazai.
Because this doesn’t feel like his house when Dazai’s friends are in it.
The only thing Chuuya can do is reach Ryuunosuke and Atsushi, pressing himself against his best friend’s side as if it could protect him from another heartbreak.
“That’s the guy from the shop,” Atsushi murmurs, glaring at the newcomers as they push into the room.
Chuuya nods.
“That’s the guy from the shop,” Atsushi murmurs, glaring at the newcomers as they push into the room.
Chuuya nods.
“Dazai’s Odasaku, yeah.”
“Are they ok? It seems serious,” Atsushi says.
“Who cares. Had you ever met Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum?” Ryuunosuke asks, loud enough to be heard by everybody. Ango snorts, but the joke washes over Chuuya like oil on water.
“No,” he says, “never.”
“Are they ok? It seems serious,” Atsushi says.
“Who cares. Had you ever met Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum?” Ryuunosuke asks, loud enough to be heard by everybody. Ango snorts, but the joke washes over Chuuya like oil on water.
“No,” he says, “never.”
He can’t tear his gaze off the other omega.
He can’t ignore Dazai’s scent on him. He can’t.
And though nobody bothered to introduce them, Chuuya’s not hurt because of the lack of manners; he wants to understand.
So he steps closer to Dazai, frowning, hoping in an explanation.
He can’t ignore Dazai’s scent on him. He can’t.
And though nobody bothered to introduce them, Chuuya’s not hurt because of the lack of manners; he wants to understand.
So he steps closer to Dazai, frowning, hoping in an explanation.
“‘Samu,” he calls. “Care to explain what’s going on?”
Dazai doesn’t turn.
He doesn’t even /fucking/ turn to look at him.
“Oi—”
“I don’t know, Chuuya.”
Curt. Devoid of any kind of /interest/, now that his friends — ah, one friend — are around.
/It sounds like ‘shut up’./
Dazai doesn’t turn.
He doesn’t even /fucking/ turn to look at him.
“Oi—”
“I don’t know, Chuuya.”
Curt. Devoid of any kind of /interest/, now that his friends — ah, one friend — are around.
/It sounds like ‘shut up’./
But Chuuya swallows it down.
“I’m just saying, it’s late for a surprise visit.”
Odasaku nods. “We’re sorry.”
Chuuya shakes his head. “No, no! It’s alright. Just… is everything ok?”
He realizes it’s a question more out of curiosity than worry, but he can’t help himself.
“I’m just saying, it’s late for a surprise visit.”
Odasaku nods. “We’re sorry.”
Chuuya shakes his head. “No, no! It’s alright. Just… is everything ok?”
He realizes it’s a question more out of curiosity than worry, but he can’t help himself.
Dazai shrugs.
“I don’t know,” he says again, eyes wandering to his friends. “Is it?”
Ango bows from the head. His round glasses slide down his nose a little with the movement, but he’s quick to settle them up again.
“We’re sorry for the hour, but it’s a matter or importance.”
“I don’t know,” he says again, eyes wandering to his friends. “Is it?”
Ango bows from the head. His round glasses slide down his nose a little with the movement, but he’s quick to settle them up again.
“We’re sorry for the hour, but it’s a matter or importance.”
“Ango!” Dazai chirps. “Did I do something wrong~”
Ango’s lips twitch.
“Did you? Why don’t you ask Mo—“
“Actually, Dazai, can I speak with you for a moment?” Oda interrupts him, softly.
It’s protective — and Chuuya, despite it all, finds himself thinking he’s /glad/ Dazai,
Ango’s lips twitch.
“Did you? Why don’t you ask Mo—“
“Actually, Dazai, can I speak with you for a moment?” Oda interrupts him, softly.
It’s protective — and Chuuya, despite it all, finds himself thinking he’s /glad/ Dazai,
a person so set on being /alone/, has someone who speaks to him like this.
Dazai nods. His expression hardens, too.
“Of course,” he says. “We can talk in my room.”
And for once, Chuuya feels worried for something else; not Dazai cheating on him, but Dazai being /safe/.
Dazai nods. His expression hardens, too.
“Of course,” he says. “We can talk in my room.”
And for once, Chuuya feels worried for something else; not Dazai cheating on him, but Dazai being /safe/.
Because this feels wrong. It feels like the beginning of a movie.
And he hates, hates, /hates/ that Dazai is still keeping secrets. He hates the insecurity blooming in his stomach.
He hates this one-way competition.
Ango tilts his head, saying, “I’ll join you in a second.”
And he hates, hates, /hates/ that Dazai is still keeping secrets. He hates the insecurity blooming in his stomach.
He hates this one-way competition.
Ango tilts his head, saying, “I’ll join you in a second.”
“No need,” Dazai volleys back — but he’s /laughing/. “You stay with Baby Vampire. I’m sure you’ll be good friends.” A smile. “And Chibi, but don’t steal him; he’s mine.”
Called into the discussion, Chuuya looks up. Dazai nods at him ever so briefly, and disappears with Oda.
Called into the discussion, Chuuya looks up. Dazai nods at him ever so briefly, and disappears with Oda.
And it’s a nod that says /everything/.
/I’ll be back./
/It’s ok./
Part of Chuuya screams that Dazai shouldn’t go with someone else; not /Oda/. It’s an ancient, insecure, part of him.
And then there’s another one— a different gut feeling.
It’s not ok.
/Something’s wrong./
/I’ll be back./
/It’s ok./
Part of Chuuya screams that Dazai shouldn’t go with someone else; not /Oda/. It’s an ancient, insecure, part of him.
And then there’s another one— a different gut feeling.
It’s not ok.
/Something’s wrong./
“I’m sorry, hm…” the omega starts, voice trailing off as he turns to Ango. He realizes that he /shouldn’t/ know Ango’s name. Dazai never told him.
It seems impolite to just pretend they know each other.
“I’m Sakaguchi Ango,” the man offers, a shy smile playing on his
It seems impolite to just pretend they know each other.
“I’m Sakaguchi Ango,” the man offers, a shy smile playing on his
lips. “Dazai-kun never introduced us.”
“No, he didn’t.”
“I’m sorry if this is unexpected.”
“Not at all. It just sounded— weirdly official.”
Ango sighs.
“Why don’t you call your friends and sit down, Chuuya-kun?” He gestures to a chair. “You know Yukio Mishima, I suppose.”
“No, he didn’t.”
“I’m sorry if this is unexpected.”
“Not at all. It just sounded— weirdly official.”
Ango sighs.
“Why don’t you call your friends and sit down, Chuuya-kun?” He gestures to a chair. “You know Yukio Mishima, I suppose.”
/Mishima/.
The name and the sentence are more than enough to focus Chuuya’s attention and draw Atsushi and Ryuunosuke to the table.
They all sit down with Ango, the dust-heavy silence almost suffocating.
Chuuya clears his voice, feeling the table’s gaze on him.
The name and the sentence are more than enough to focus Chuuya’s attention and draw Atsushi and Ryuunosuke to the table.
They all sit down with Ango, the dust-heavy silence almost suffocating.
Chuuya clears his voice, feeling the table’s gaze on him.
“I… did something happen?”
Ango tilts his head. He seems to hesitate.
/ Hell, it definitely feels too official to be normal./
“There was an accident,” he says. His voice rings diplomatic, colorless — the kind of voice you’d want to hear in a hospital, not in your own house.
Ango tilts his head. He seems to hesitate.
/ Hell, it definitely feels too official to be normal./
“There was an accident,” he says. His voice rings diplomatic, colorless — the kind of voice you’d want to hear in a hospital, not in your own house.
The kind of voice that makes /accidents/ appear like perfectly manageable bumps in the road.
Chuuya’s jaw drops.
He straightens up, ready to ask for more, but Ango shakes his head: “We’re just here because Dazai-kun’s adoptive father had business in common with Mishima.”
Chuuya’s jaw drops.
He straightens up, ready to ask for more, but Ango shakes his head: “We’re just here because Dazai-kun’s adoptive father had business in common with Mishima.”
Chuuya tries to /visualize/ what Ango is saying. Make it make sense.
Yeah, karma is a bitch, but the timing?
And Mishima has a /child/.
In that second of stunned silence, Chuuya realizes that he was right to be worried for Dazai.
He might be accused of something, can’t he?
Yeah, karma is a bitch, but the timing?
And Mishima has a /child/.
In that second of stunned silence, Chuuya realizes that he was right to be worried for Dazai.
He might be accused of something, can’t he?
He and Mishima had that bad fight, and that might bring some accusations.
The omega feels painfully awake, now. Alert.
“Wait. What does Dazai’s family do again?” Atsushi asks, turning to Chuuya.
The omega shakes his head, trying to wave off the question.
“It’s complicated.”
The omega feels painfully awake, now. Alert.
“Wait. What does Dazai’s family do again?” Atsushi asks, turning to Chuuya.
The omega shakes his head, trying to wave off the question.
“It’s complicated.”
‘The person who raised him is a surgeon, but Dazai doesn’t really have a family,’ would be the correct answer.
That’s all Chuuya knows, which is admittedly not much at all.
However, it’s not something he’s comfortable sharing without Dazai around. It’s /his/ story to tell.
That’s all Chuuya knows, which is admittedly not much at all.
However, it’s not something he’s comfortable sharing without Dazai around. It’s /his/ story to tell.
Dazai strongly dislikes Mori, he made that clear on multiple occasions, and Chuuya won’t interfere with that.
After all, that’s how secretive Dazai Osamu is: he never tells people anything.
He has his life, /his/ plans.
A boy in a house too big, navigating a life too empty.
After all, that’s how secretive Dazai Osamu is: he never tells people anything.
He has his life, /his/ plans.
A boy in a house too big, navigating a life too empty.
Chuuya somehow filled the alpha’s apartment, his bed and his heart, but he never reached that open wound in Dazai’s soul.
Because Dazai still acts like people will figure him out on their own, if they need to.
Like he’s better off alone, safe from loss and heartbreak.
Because Dazai still acts like people will figure him out on their own, if they need to.
Like he’s better off alone, safe from loss and heartbreak.
And Dazai, who found him like a truth he never thought he’d wangle… Chuuya has a horrible feeling he’s /losing/ him.
The hundreds of things he doesn’t understand still choke the omega as he stares at Ango.
Dazai’s empty eyes when he thinks nobody’s paying him any mind.
The hundreds of things he doesn’t understand still choke the omega as he stares at Ango.
Dazai’s empty eyes when he thinks nobody’s paying him any mind.
His perfect skin under white bandages.
His loving hands and sad smile.
It all makes Chuuya wonder if he shouldn’t have asked more. If he did everything right.
Because one shouldn’t be allowed to fall so hard and so damn fast.
Because, maybe, that’s exactly their problem.
His loving hands and sad smile.
It all makes Chuuya wonder if he shouldn’t have asked more. If he did everything right.
Because one shouldn’t be allowed to fall so hard and so damn fast.
Because, maybe, that’s exactly their problem.
And he shouldn’t be silent while Ryuu bombards Ango with questions in his stead
(‘So, doc glasses, spill the tea. What happened?’
‘We don’t know exactly. We’re just here to check on Dazai-kun.’
‘How do you know?’
‘I work closely with the police, sometimes.’
‘Why?’
(‘So, doc glasses, spill the tea. What happened?’
‘We don’t know exactly. We’re just here to check on Dazai-kun.’
‘How do you know?’
‘I work closely with the police, sometimes.’
‘Why?’
‘It’s just an office job like any other, I suppose.’)
but Chuuya’s tongue is glued to the roof of his mouth.
Deep down, he’s afraid to ask.
He’s just grateful to have his friends around.
He’s grateful for Ryuu’s brash protectiveness, for Atsushi’s eyes that linger on him
but Chuuya’s tongue is glued to the roof of his mouth.
Deep down, he’s afraid to ask.
He’s just grateful to have his friends around.
He’s grateful for Ryuu’s brash protectiveness, for Atsushi’s eyes that linger on him
to gauge if he needs a hug or a hot tea or to be dragged out of the house.
Still, Chuuya loathes how the attention shifts on him when he asks: “Is Mishima ok?”
“He’s not dead,” Ango replies, as if that was even an /option/.
“Bit of a pity, if you ask me,” Ryuunosuke growls.
Still, Chuuya loathes how the attention shifts on him when he asks: “Is Mishima ok?”
“He’s not dead,” Ango replies, as if that was even an /option/.
“Bit of a pity, if you ask me,” Ryuunosuke growls.
Though he’s deadpan, Chuuya recognizes the comment as half serious and half an attempt to make him laugh.
It doesn’t steal more than a quick smirk, but the redhead plenty appreciates the effort.
“That’s good, I guess,” he says.
“You don’t have to worry about it, Chuuya-kun.”
It doesn’t steal more than a quick smirk, but the redhead plenty appreciates the effort.
“That’s good, I guess,” he says.
“You don’t have to worry about it, Chuuya-kun.”
“Oh, I’m not worried,” he assures. “Though, I didn’t know the asshole worked with doctors.”
He’s pretty sure Mishima’s parents would have bragged about it forever to the neighbors, in that case, but Ango shakes his head.
“He had business in common with Mori-san, occasionally.”
He’s pretty sure Mishima’s parents would have bragged about it forever to the neighbors, in that case, but Ango shakes his head.
“He had business in common with Mori-san, occasionally.”
Which is vague enough to mean that it’s none of /their/ business.
Which, ok, fair.
Not like Chuuya overly cares about Mishima’s life, anyway.
“And it’s all very dramatic and useless, but—” Ryuunosuke’s voice halts, eyes wandering to the corridor. “What’s happening /there/?”
Which, ok, fair.
Not like Chuuya overly cares about Mishima’s life, anyway.
“And it’s all very dramatic and useless, but—” Ryuunosuke’s voice halts, eyes wandering to the corridor. “What’s happening /there/?”
Chuuya grimaces.
Hell, he /forgot/ about that for a moment.
And the fact that everybody is calling him by first name, though he doesn’t know any of these people.
He /also/ forgot about Oda’s scent. That /fucking/ scent.
His fists clench.
“Right,” he says. “That.”
Hell, he /forgot/ about that for a moment.
And the fact that everybody is calling him by first name, though he doesn’t know any of these people.
He /also/ forgot about Oda’s scent. That /fucking/ scent.
His fists clench.
“Right,” he says. “That.”
“Chuuya-kun, please, don’t get the wrong impression,” Ango murmurs, gaze trailing to the corridor. Chuuya wonders if this person is picturing his friends in Dazai’s room, if he’s seeing the things /Chuuya/ is seeing. “I know what you’re thinking.”
Ah.
Is it /that/ obvious?
Ah.
Is it /that/ obvious?
Instead, he clicks his tongue.
If he learnt something going through several betrayals, is how to take one gracefully.
“And what should I be thinking?”
“You noticed Odasaku’s scent.”
Chuuya scoffs. “No shit.”
“But I’m not sure you noticed that it’s slightly /different/.”
If he learnt something going through several betrayals, is how to take one gracefully.
“And what should I be thinking?”
“You noticed Odasaku’s scent.”
Chuuya scoffs. “No shit.”
“But I’m not sure you noticed that it’s slightly /different/.”
As a matter of fact, Chuuya /did/ notice it.
It feels older, almost ancient, as if it’s been there forever.
Which is also not necessarily a good thing, because Oda and Dazai’s scents are intertwined.
Chuuya never had the chance to be around Oda.
He doesn’t know the omega’s
It feels older, almost ancient, as if it’s been there forever.
Which is also not necessarily a good thing, because Oda and Dazai’s scents are intertwined.
Chuuya never had the chance to be around Oda.
He doesn’t know the omega’s
scent, but he wonders how much of that he’d find on Dazai, too.
“Maybe I did,” Chuuya says.
“Those two share a long friendship.”
/I don’t want to hear/.
“That’s rich,” he murmurs, irony bleeding through the cracks of his voice.
“…But it was never a romantic relationship.”
“Maybe I did,” Chuuya says.
“Those two share a long friendship.”
/I don’t want to hear/.
“That’s rich,” he murmurs, irony bleeding through the cracks of his voice.
“…But it was never a romantic relationship.”
Chuuya’s chest hurts. He pretends it doesn’t.
“Says who?”
“I do,” Ango says without a heartbeat of /doubt/, strong enough to silence Chuuya. “It’s a natural bond. So, not what you think.”
The words sink in Chuuya’s bones, nullifying the snarky reply he had already loaded.
“Says who?”
“I do,” Ango says without a heartbeat of /doubt/, strong enough to silence Chuuya. “It’s a natural bond. So, not what you think.”
The words sink in Chuuya’s bones, nullifying the snarky reply he had already loaded.
A natural, non-romantic, marrow-deep bond. One that needs no marks but the constant, unwavering presence of an omega close to an alpha.
And—
/It makes sense/.
Because people often say that he and Kouyou bear remarkably similar scents, even though they’re polar opposites in
And—
/It makes sense/.
Because people often say that he and Kouyou bear remarkably similar scents, even though they’re polar opposites in
attitude and second gender.
Because Chuuya could always perceive a tiny hint of /himself/ on uncle Paul, even though they’re not related.
/When the blood doesn’t sing, the scent can./
Scenting /can/ be platonic, and on rare occasions it can last for a long, long time.
Because Chuuya could always perceive a tiny hint of /himself/ on uncle Paul, even though they’re not related.
/When the blood doesn’t sing, the scent can./
Scenting /can/ be platonic, and on rare occasions it can last for a long, long time.
Because an omega’s scent is a result of who they are, but also of the loved ones who /made/ them.
And apparently, Oda took Dazai in as one takes in a stray cat. A cat found under a constant rain, too.
“But it’s so /strong/,” Atsushi murmurs, as if he’d rather not talk at all.
And apparently, Oda took Dazai in as one takes in a stray cat. A cat found under a constant rain, too.
“But it’s so /strong/,” Atsushi murmurs, as if he’d rather not talk at all.
“I don’t think it’s my place to explain why,” Ango says. “That’s Dazai-kun’s business. But I guess a simplified explanation could be that Odasaku helped Dazai-kun to live. That leaves a mark on people.”
Atsushi blinks, puzzled. “So they are—”
“Chosen family. That is one of the
Atsushi blinks, puzzled. “So they are—”
“Chosen family. That is one of the
reasons Odasaku has always been good at /calming/ Dazai-kun.” Ango glances at the corridor. “That’s the reason I’m here, while /he/ is talking to him.”
The comment squeezes Chuuya’s heart.
Now he sees why Dazai wanted so desperately to make things perfect between him and Oda.
The comment squeezes Chuuya’s heart.
Now he sees why Dazai wanted so desperately to make things perfect between him and Oda.
Now it makes sense why he cared so much, since their friendship is so special.
But, then, why is Chuuya in the kitchen and not with them?
Where does this whole thing leave… him?
“‘Samu said Oda saved him,” Chuuya says.
Even from behind his apparent tranquility, as he relaxes
But, then, why is Chuuya in the kitchen and not with them?
Where does this whole thing leave… him?
“‘Samu said Oda saved him,” Chuuya says.
Even from behind his apparent tranquility, as he relaxes
against the chair’s back and lets his gaze study Chuuya’s face, Ango’s expression seems nostalgic.
“He did. Countless times.”
“He never told me any of this.”
“I—“ A sigh. “I suspect Dazai-kun didn’t know how to explain without making you feel insecure about your relationship.”
“He did. Countless times.”
“He never told me any of this.”
“I—“ A sigh. “I suspect Dazai-kun didn’t know how to explain without making you feel insecure about your relationship.”
In that, at least, Chuuya can see a reasonable explanation.
Not a good answer, not a reassuring one, but… a /honest/ one.
And he can work with honesty, after a lifetime of poorly concocted lies. He’ll admit that it’s an odd bond, the one Ango is talking about.
A rare one.
Not a good answer, not a reassuring one, but… a /honest/ one.
And he can work with honesty, after a lifetime of poorly concocted lies. He’ll admit that it’s an odd bond, the one Ango is talking about.
A rare one.
And something pulls at Chuuya’s stomach because—
Because he never fucking /knew/.
It’s clearer than ever that Dazai and his dear best friend might have been lovers, in another life.
They surely damn love each other, or the alpha’s scent wouldn’t be engraved so deeply in Oda.
Because he never fucking /knew/.
It’s clearer than ever that Dazai and his dear best friend might have been lovers, in another life.
They surely damn love each other, or the alpha’s scent wouldn’t be engraved so deeply in Oda.
In another universe, if such a thing exists, Chuuya might have lost him to Odasaku.
But the way it played /now/— it /does/ make Chuuya feel a little mortified.
/Angry/, too, because Dazai never cared to explain. He would have understood.
God.
He would have /understood/.
But the way it played /now/— it /does/ make Chuuya feel a little mortified.
/Angry/, too, because Dazai never cared to explain. He would have understood.
God.
He would have /understood/.
Instead, he got it all backwards, he got it all wrong.
So much distrust and jealousy for a /mistake/.
“I thought they—”
Ango smiles, somehow soft. His eyes seem to get warmer, less impersonal. “Of /course/ you did.”
“But it’s not like that?”
“Not even close, I assure you.”
So much distrust and jealousy for a /mistake/.
“I thought they—”
Ango smiles, somehow soft. His eyes seem to get warmer, less impersonal. “Of /course/ you did.”
“But it’s not like that?”
“Not even close, I assure you.”
Atsushi blinks — big, glowing eyes overflowing with interest.
He reaches for Chuuya’s arm, brushing it gently.
“To be honest, Chuuya— that /is/ a rare bond to explain.”
“Bear in mind that Dazai-kun lived a rarely gruesome life,” Ango adds, with a kind timbre.
He reaches for Chuuya’s arm, brushing it gently.
“To be honest, Chuuya— that /is/ a rare bond to explain.”
“Bear in mind that Dazai-kun lived a rarely gruesome life,” Ango adds, with a kind timbre.
Rare doesn’t mean impossible; like two omegas loving each other, he seems to imply, looking at Atsushi.
Ryuunosuke brushes it away. “So, say we believe the whole circus. What about you?”
His voice rings rude, and he’s baring tiny fangs at Ango, but his interest is /sincere/.
Ryuunosuke brushes it away. “So, say we believe the whole circus. What about you?”
His voice rings rude, and he’s baring tiny fangs at Ango, but his interest is /sincere/.
“Me?” Ango grins. “Oh. He never trusted me. I was— assigned to him.”
He shakes his head and, for the first time, Chuuya sees something he recognizes: the mix of affection and exhaustion that people fond of Dazai use when talking about him.
He knows; he’s one of them, too.
He shakes his head and, for the first time, Chuuya sees something he recognizes: the mix of affection and exhaustion that people fond of Dazai use when talking about him.
He knows; he’s one of them, too.
“I’m his underpaid babysitter. Obviously, with Dazai-kun’s family and its influence…”
Chuuya frowns.
“Hah? Isn’t Dazai’s guardian a shitty doctor?”
Ango adjusts his glasses on the bridge of his nose. “Not Mori-san. The Tsushima family.”
The—
“The /who the fuck/ now?”
Chuuya frowns.
“Hah? Isn’t Dazai’s guardian a shitty doctor?”
Ango adjusts his glasses on the bridge of his nose. “Not Mori-san. The Tsushima family.”
The—
“The /who the fuck/ now?”
He’s— lost, here.
Confused, though Ango looks at him with a tad of impatience and repeats:
“The Tsushima family.”
Akutagawa’s eyes narrow.
“You’re talking Port Mafia,” he hisses.
Chuuya flinches.
Of course, Akutagawa and Atsushi know. They both grew up in the city.
Confused, though Ango looks at him with a tad of impatience and repeats:
“The Tsushima family.”
Akutagawa’s eyes narrow.
“You’re talking Port Mafia,” he hisses.
Chuuya flinches.
Of course, Akutagawa and Atsushi know. They both grew up in the city.
The Port Mafia, in Yokohama, used to be quite a big thing.
Having moved in Chuuya never really cared, but he did hear stories about the Port Mafia and how it still runs some sumo gyms, gambling dens and hostess clubs in Minato Mirai.
He’s heard local legends, mostly.
Having moved in Chuuya never really cared, but he did hear stories about the Port Mafia and how it still runs some sumo gyms, gambling dens and hostess clubs in Minato Mirai.
He’s heard local legends, mostly.
Stories about a mad boss.
(But it’s not possible.)
“Correct,” Ango says, tilting his head.
He appears detached, as if this is all work. Everyday shit.
(—Is it?)
Atsushi gulps.
“But /Dazai/—“
“For security reasons, I’m afraid his name wasn’t always the one you know.”
(But it’s not possible.)
“Correct,” Ango says, tilting his head.
He appears detached, as if this is all work. Everyday shit.
(—Is it?)
Atsushi gulps.
“But /Dazai/—“
“For security reasons, I’m afraid his name wasn’t always the one you know.”
Isn’t—
Wow.
What the fuck. At this point, Chuuya’s head is spinning. He might throw up, too.
Ango’s dark eyes — steady, penetrating — make the omega feel weirdly pressured, urging him to catch up.
He has the elements. He /can/ put them together.
Does he want to, though?
Wow.
What the fuck. At this point, Chuuya’s head is spinning. He might throw up, too.
Ango’s dark eyes — steady, penetrating — make the omega feel weirdly pressured, urging him to catch up.
He has the elements. He /can/ put them together.
Does he want to, though?
As if challenging the man to prove him wrong, Chuuya hears himself say: “You’re joking.”
/Tell me you’re joking./
“Dazai-kun never wanted anything to do with the mafia.” Ango’s eyes rest on him. “Until he returned from a small town in the mountains.”
Until Mishima.
Great.
/Tell me you’re joking./
“Dazai-kun never wanted anything to do with the mafia.” Ango’s eyes rest on him. “Until he returned from a small town in the mountains.”
Until Mishima.
Great.
So that’s how Dazai commanded Mishima easily.
That’s why he seems to /hate/ himself, his parents, their loss and their their shadow looming over him.
That’s why he was so /casual/ in commanding a beta.
Chuuya’s stomach falls as all the pieces click together.
That’s why he seems to /hate/ himself, his parents, their loss and their their shadow looming over him.
That’s why he was so /casual/ in commanding a beta.
Chuuya’s stomach falls as all the pieces click together.
“So, Dazai is not even his name,” he murmurs. It’s not a question.
Uncertainty flashes across Ango’s face.
“It /is/ his name, Chuuya-kun. It’s just not the name he was born with.” A pause, dragged in the eerie silence of the kitchen. “Don’t hold it against him.”
No, he won’t
Uncertainty flashes across Ango’s face.
“It /is/ his name, Chuuya-kun. It’s just not the name he was born with.” A pause, dragged in the eerie silence of the kitchen. “Don’t hold it against him.”
No, he won’t
He’s not that petty — he’s not cruel. And he does love Dazai, no matter the name; no matter his past.
But—
To Chuuya, on top of everything else, it changes /everything/.
He’s still trying to digest that his asshole ex had a child and was in a so-called accident. He’s still
But—
To Chuuya, on top of everything else, it changes /everything/.
He’s still trying to digest that his asshole ex had a child and was in a so-called accident. He’s still
trying to wrap his head around the fact that his boyfriend hates himself to the point of covering himself in bandages, and now what?
The damn mafia.
Hell.
This /is/ a movie.
“I need the bathroom,” Chuuya declares, getting up.
In truth, he needs space. He needs to hear
The damn mafia.
Hell.
This /is/ a movie.
“I need the bathroom,” Chuuya declares, getting up.
In truth, he needs space. He needs to hear
himself think, not Ango’s voice.
No one can blame him for that, can they?
Ryuu looks at him but Chuuya shakes his head, asking his friend if he can please prepare some strong coffee for everybody. Or wine.
It’s so surreal.
He’s not walking down that corridor, he’s floating.
No one can blame him for that, can they?
Ryuu looks at him but Chuuya shakes his head, asking his friend if he can please prepare some strong coffee for everybody. Or wine.
It’s so surreal.
He’s not walking down that corridor, he’s floating.
Or crawling. Or not moving at all, since his body feels so damn heavy.
Anyway, Chuuya’s feet don’t bring him to the bathroom. Of course they don’t.
He finds himself in front of Dazai’s door.
He hears the voices first.
/Dazai’s/ voice. It grabs his heart and twists it.
Anyway, Chuuya’s feet don’t bring him to the bathroom. Of course they don’t.
He finds himself in front of Dazai’s door.
He hears the voices first.
/Dazai’s/ voice. It grabs his heart and twists it.
Pain and longing and love all burst in him together; he wants to scream and cry and hug Dazai and ask him if this — all this — is true.
Because he promised Chuuya he could never hurt anybody.
Because this can’t be true.
Because he said—
/ “I just asked Mori for a favor!” /
Because he promised Chuuya he could never hurt anybody.
Because this can’t be true.
Because he said—
/ “I just asked Mori for a favor!” /
“Osamu, are you serious?”
Oda’s voice is gentle, though it /rumbles/. Chuuya steps closer to the door, hand ghosting over the handle.
“Why!? Mishima started it.”
“And your boyfriend didn’t sound happy about being protected, last you told me.”
“I /need/ to look after Chuuya.”
Oda’s voice is gentle, though it /rumbles/. Chuuya steps closer to the door, hand ghosting over the handle.
“Why!? Mishima started it.”
“And your boyfriend didn’t sound happy about being protected, last you told me.”
“I /need/ to look after Chuuya.”
“Not if he asked you not to.”
“He’s /my/ omega.”
Though the sentence resonates in his heart, warm, Chuuya can hear a snort.
“Oh, my bad. I didn’t realize omegas were objects now.”
There’s a beat of silence before Dazai says, quieter: “That’s not what I meant. And Chuuya—”
“He’s /my/ omega.”
Though the sentence resonates in his heart, warm, Chuuya can hear a snort.
“Oh, my bad. I didn’t realize omegas were objects now.”
There’s a beat of silence before Dazai says, quieter: “That’s not what I meant. And Chuuya—”
“Chuuya-kun is fine. This Mishima person has been assaulted by the Black Lizard under /Mori/’s request. No matter how bad a person can be, this is not who you are.”
“And what do you know about who I am, Odasaku?”
It sounds childish, though. Bratty.
Chuuya grits his teeth.
“And what do you know about who I am, Odasaku?”
It sounds childish, though. Bratty.
Chuuya grits his teeth.
“I /know/ you, and you are a good person. You might not believe it, but you /are/.”
“…”
“But I worry about what you’re doing to yourself by asking the Port Mafia for favors that almost got somebody killed.”
/Killed/.
That’s when Chuuya can’t take it anymore.
“…”
“But I worry about what you’re doing to yourself by asking the Port Mafia for favors that almost got somebody killed.”
/Killed/.
That’s when Chuuya can’t take it anymore.
He holds the handle until his palm hurts before swinging the door open.
The omega doesn’t storm inside, though. He could, but part of him is scared.
He lingers on the threshold, eyes fixed on his boyfriend.
He doesn’t really /know/ Dazai, he realizes. He wonders if knowing
The omega doesn’t storm inside, though. He could, but part of him is scared.
He lingers on the threshold, eyes fixed on his boyfriend.
He doesn’t really /know/ Dazai, he realizes. He wonders if knowing
how his kisses taste is worth anything at all, at this point.
It /hurts/, how Dazai turns grey-ish seeing him — body suddenly going rigid, skin paler than his bandages.
How his eyes widen and his lips part.
“‘Samu.” Chuuya inhales, breath shaking. “What the fuck did you do?”
It /hurts/, how Dazai turns grey-ish seeing him — body suddenly going rigid, skin paler than his bandages.
How his eyes widen and his lips part.
“‘Samu.” Chuuya inhales, breath shaking. “What the fuck did you do?”
It’s such a /mundane/ question.
He asked Dazai that when the alpha couldn’t sleep and ordered crab meat in bulk.
He asked that when he bought Chuuya flowers for no reason at all.
He asked Dazai that same damn question when he scooped Chuuya up in his arms and threw him on the
He asked Dazai that when the alpha couldn’t sleep and ordered crab meat in bulk.
He asked that when he bought Chuuya flowers for no reason at all.
He asked Dazai that same damn question when he scooped Chuuya up in his arms and threw him on the
bed, peppering Chuuya’s face with kisses.
They were happy. Something shiny, something pure.
Now—
Now Dazai looks at him, unblinking, almost trying to figure out what exactly Chuuya is asking.
“Chuuya-kun.” Oda sighs, quietly. He bobs his head. “I’ll leave you some space.”
They were happy. Something shiny, something pure.
Now—
Now Dazai looks at him, unblinking, almost trying to figure out what exactly Chuuya is asking.
“Chuuya-kun.” Oda sighs, quietly. He bobs his head. “I’ll leave you some space.”
As Chuuya looks at the omega, another question dances on his tongue: /Who are you exactly?
Why is your scent on my boyfriend?
Should I thank you, or should I hate you?
And why— why are you looking at me like you’re sorry? Why are you kind to me?
I’ve hated you so much./
Why is your scent on my boyfriend?
Should I thank you, or should I hate you?
And why— why are you looking at me like you’re sorry? Why are you kind to me?
I’ve hated you so much./
But, after all Ango told him, he’d ask all that just to add unnecessary details to a situation he’s not understanding. It seems /beyond/ the point now.
Instead, he shows Oda his open palm.
“No, it’s ok,” he says. “It’s Dazai’s house. You don’t have to go because of me.”
Instead, he shows Oda his open palm.
“No, it’s ok,” he says. “It’s Dazai’s house. You don’t have to go because of me.”
Dazai tilts his head, looking hurt by the comment.
“It’s your house too, Chibi.”
With a tight-lipped pout, Chuuya looks at the alpha.
/Is it? It doesn’t feel like my damn house at all/.
The idea of vocalizing that thought out crosses his mind but, again, he’s really
“It’s your house too, Chibi.”
With a tight-lipped pout, Chuuya looks at the alpha.
/Is it? It doesn’t feel like my damn house at all/.
The idea of vocalizing that thought out crosses his mind but, again, he’s really
not going to let Dazai manipulate and derail the conversation.
Not this time.
“I asked you something. You heard me.”
Dazai stares back at him; /studying/ him. “I’m guessing we can’t talk later, alone?”
/Fantastic/.
He’s trying to dodge the question.
Is he for /real/?
Not this time.
“I asked you something. You heard me.”
Dazai stares back at him; /studying/ him. “I’m guessing we can’t talk later, alone?”
/Fantastic/.
He’s trying to dodge the question.
Is he for /real/?
At that, Chuuya barks out a laughter.
He’s laughing knowing the people in the kitchen are hearing it all.
He laughs without a drop of amusement because he can’t /think/ of a better reaction. And it’s a laugh that dies abruptly, too.
“Fuck no, we talk now. What did you /do/?”
He’s laughing knowing the people in the kitchen are hearing it all.
He laughs without a drop of amusement because he can’t /think/ of a better reaction. And it’s a laugh that dies abruptly, too.
“Fuck no, we talk now. What did you /do/?”
They say ‘third time is a charm’, but Chuuya can’t vouch for that. In fact, he can only vouch for the fact that the third time hurts just like the first two times.
He’s begging his boyfriend for the truth, and all he’s getting back is silence.
Dragged, molasses-thick silence.
He’s begging his boyfriend for the truth, and all he’s getting back is silence.
Dragged, molasses-thick silence.
For what feels like a lifetime, Dazai just looks at him. A sad, quiet gaze.
Deep, honey-warm irises that seem to hide a pinch of vermillion; and it feels just like the calm before a storm, leaving Chuuya uneasy.
Raking a hand through his hair, he steps into the room.
Deep, honey-warm irises that seem to hide a pinch of vermillion; and it feels just like the calm before a storm, leaving Chuuya uneasy.
Raking a hand through his hair, he steps into the room.
“Look. I’m tired of your lies and of the things I need to /beg/ you to share and—”
And that—
That makes Dazai snap.
“I know!” The alpha interrupts him, voice thundering. “I told you I’m trying, but you keep pushing me.”
Chuuya gawks. He didn’t expect Dazai to /explode/.
And that—
That makes Dazai snap.
“I know!” The alpha interrupts him, voice thundering. “I told you I’m trying, but you keep pushing me.”
Chuuya gawks. He didn’t expect Dazai to /explode/.
Dazai Osamu is a mellow, patient person. One might say the alpha is nonchalant, cheerful, disinterested.
His anger ignites cold, at times, sharp as a blade.
But Chuuya can see that composure burn, now — he can see /Dazai/.
Under the masks lures a wounded, cornered animal.
His anger ignites cold, at times, sharp as a blade.
But Chuuya can see that composure burn, now — he can see /Dazai/.
Under the masks lures a wounded, cornered animal.
“I’m just asking you to talk to me,” he roars back, standing his ground.
“And then what?!”
“I don’t know! Fucking be honest for once and start being a normal person from there.”
A /normal/ person.
Dazai’s eyes shine with irritation — blood-red, narrow. His scent peaks, sour
“And then what?!”
“I don’t know! Fucking be honest for once and start being a normal person from there.”
A /normal/ person.
Dazai’s eyes shine with irritation — blood-red, narrow. His scent peaks, sour
with anger and something akin to shame.
“And what do you want to know, Chuuya?
That I’m not /sorry/ about making sure Mishima would pay for what he did to you? That I don’t care about being a bad person, as long as I have you?
Would /that/ make you feel better?”
“And what do you want to know, Chuuya?
That I’m not /sorry/ about making sure Mishima would pay for what he did to you? That I don’t care about being a bad person, as long as I have you?
Would /that/ make you feel better?”
Chuuya rolls his eyes.
“So we’re back at the protection bullshit? From Mishima?”
Dazai’s traits soften. Some of the anger in his scent wears off, barely lingering in the air at all.
A ghost of a fleeting emotion. He takes a step towards Chuuya, eyes burrowed in blue ones.
“So we’re back at the protection bullshit? From Mishima?”
Dazai’s traits soften. Some of the anger in his scent wears off, barely lingering in the air at all.
A ghost of a fleeting emotion. He takes a step towards Chuuya, eyes burrowed in blue ones.
“From Mishima, yes. And Mori. But—” Dazai moves closer, and Chuuya realizes he doesn’t want to step back. “I tried to protect you from myself, too.”
The alpha takes another step forward without breaking eye contact.
For a crazy, crazy moment, Chuuya hopes Dazai will hug him.
The alpha takes another step forward without breaking eye contact.
For a crazy, crazy moment, Chuuya hopes Dazai will hug him.
Dazai will hug him, and they’ll heal and it’ll all be simple like in the movies. Happily ever after, credits, and fuck everybody else.
Because this pain blocking his throat is too much, because it hurts to breathe.
But whatever movie he ended up into, it’s not an easy one.
Because this pain blocking his throat is too much, because it hurts to breathe.
But whatever movie he ended up into, it’s not an easy one.
“Why?” he murmurs.
Dazai swallows.
“If you could only just trust me for a /moment/—”
“That’s not how it fucking works.” Chuuya’s shoulders tremble from the effort of keeping his voice down. He just /can’t/ get into a yelling match now. “I talked to you. /I/ trusted you.”
Dazai swallows.
“If you could only just trust me for a /moment/—”
“That’s not how it fucking works.” Chuuya’s shoulders tremble from the effort of keeping his voice down. He just /can’t/ get into a yelling match now. “I talked to you. /I/ trusted you.”
“You don’t want me to do the same, trust me.”
“That’s a bullshit excuse, and you know that.”
As he side-eyes Odasaku, for the first time Dazai seems frustrated. Not at the situation, but at /Chuuya/.
“You don’t understand,” he says, voice leveled, as if commanding a
“That’s a bullshit excuse, and you know that.”
As he side-eyes Odasaku, for the first time Dazai seems frustrated. Not at the situation, but at /Chuuya/.
“You don’t understand,” he says, voice leveled, as if commanding a
dog. Like it’s supposed to end the matter.
Chuuya snorts, waving the words away.
“Oh, stop. I just learned that /Dazai/ is not even your name, so I think I /do/ understand.”
Dazai’s face drops.
In that moment, as the taut line of the alpha’s shoulders turns even more
Chuuya snorts, waving the words away.
“Oh, stop. I just learned that /Dazai/ is not even your name, so I think I /do/ understand.”
Dazai’s face drops.
In that moment, as the taut line of the alpha’s shoulders turns even more
rigid, Chuuya realizes he dealt a low blow.
Maybe he should have given Dazai the chance to explain /that/ part.
And yet, it also feels too little too late. Because Chuuya is not sure anything will patch them up, now.
“…Ango.”
“Yeah, when it should have been you,” he says.
Maybe he should have given Dazai the chance to explain /that/ part.
And yet, it also feels too little too late. Because Chuuya is not sure anything will patch them up, now.
“…Ango.”
“Yeah, when it should have been you,” he says.
Because it should have been Dazai.
But it wasn’t, and now Chuuya is looking up at him with tingling eyes.
He refuses to let himself cry, though.
“Anything, ‘Samu. I’m not asking for the entire story, just—” his voice drops, the murmur turning into a broken sound as Dazai steps
But it wasn’t, and now Chuuya is looking up at him with tingling eyes.
He refuses to let himself cry, though.
“Anything, ‘Samu. I’m not asking for the entire story, just—” his voice drops, the murmur turning into a broken sound as Dazai steps
even closer. Again, he seems about to wrap Chuuya in a hug. He doesn’t. “Just something. Anything.”
“I can’t.”
“You /promised/ you weren’t keeping me out.”
“And I’m not,” he says, but looks away. “But how could I tell you?”
Chuuya’s points to Oda, gesturing in his direction.
“I can’t.”
“You /promised/ you weren’t keeping me out.”
“And I’m not,” he says, but looks away. “But how could I tell you?”
Chuuya’s points to Oda, gesturing in his direction.
Chuuya is grateful for the respect the man is showing, and he’s happy he didn’t leave.
He’s sure Dazai would fall apart without the man. Without that support.
/Chuuya/ himself is not sure what he’d say, if they were alone.
If he’d allow cruelty and anger to take the reins.
He’s sure Dazai would fall apart without the man. Without that support.
/Chuuya/ himself is not sure what he’d say, if they were alone.
If he’d allow cruelty and anger to take the reins.
Oda’s presence is grounding. But—
“Well, clearly you trusted someone with it. Which is good. Just— when were you going to tell me?”
Dazai’s lips twitch. He stares at Chuuya.
And stares.
And stares.
“…”
Oh.
/Oh/. Wow.
“‘Samu,” he murmurs. “/Were/ you going to tell me?”
“Well, clearly you trusted someone with it. Which is good. Just— when were you going to tell me?”
Dazai’s lips twitch. He stares at Chuuya.
And stares.
And stares.
“…”
Oh.
/Oh/. Wow.
“‘Samu,” he murmurs. “/Were/ you going to tell me?”
No reply.
As he looks at him, hopes withering like flowers in winter, Chuuya remembers Dazai doesn’t exist.
What seemed to him as a /soft/ alpha is not soft at all; he’s scared and in shambles.
And somehow Chuuya still wouldn’t care… /if/.
If only Dazai had told him.
As he looks at him, hopes withering like flowers in winter, Chuuya remembers Dazai doesn’t exist.
What seemed to him as a /soft/ alpha is not soft at all; he’s scared and in shambles.
And somehow Chuuya still wouldn’t care… /if/.
If only Dazai had told him.
If only he trusted Chuuya. He promised he was making an effort.
Dazai bites his bottom lip. “I’m sorry.”
“You promised.”
“I hoped—”
“What, that I would get tired of asking?” he snarls.
Dazai’s eyes are dark, lightless; his voice is hollow. “No. I hoped you’d understand.”
Dazai bites his bottom lip. “I’m sorry.”
“You promised.”
“I hoped—”
“What, that I would get tired of asking?” he snarls.
Dazai’s eyes are dark, lightless; his voice is hollow. “No. I hoped you’d understand.”
Chuuya shakes his head.
He tried to understand. He tried for a while.
But, between truth and loneliness, Dazai seems dead set on picking the latter.
And what hurts so fucking /much/ is that he rested all his ugly truths at Dazai’s feet and never got the same in return.
He tried to understand. He tried for a while.
But, between truth and loneliness, Dazai seems dead set on picking the latter.
And what hurts so fucking /much/ is that he rested all his ugly truths at Dazai’s feet and never got the same in return.
But what they don’t show in the movies, what is not sang in love songs, is that good intentions can break a heart.
Love alone doesn’t make a relationship.
A relationship, a good one, is balanced. A relationship is trust.
And this—
“This is not right,” Chuuya whispers.
Love alone doesn’t make a relationship.
A relationship, a good one, is balanced. A relationship is trust.
And this—
“This is not right,” Chuuya whispers.
As he breathes in, taking a step away from the person he’s now /sure/ he loves more than he thought possible, the omega realizes he doesn’t even have the energy to be /mad/ anymore.
He’s just spent.
“I’m… I can’t go on like this, ‘Samu. I can’t. I’m done.”
He’s just spent.
“I’m… I can’t go on like this, ‘Samu. I can’t. I’m done.”
He regrets those words as soon as they leave his mouth.
It’s the right thing to do, but—
/Shit/, why is the look on Dazai’s face so crushed?
“So you’re going,” Dazai says.
/Everything he has is already lost/.
Slowly, Chuuya nods. “Yeah.”
“How can I make you stay?”
It’s the right thing to do, but—
/Shit/, why is the look on Dazai’s face so crushed?
“So you’re going,” Dazai says.
/Everything he has is already lost/.
Slowly, Chuuya nods. “Yeah.”
“How can I make you stay?”
As if they didn’t turn into strangers, separated by lies.
He can’t blame Dazai for asking, but he can hate himself a little for the answer he’ll give.
“I— you can’t. I need a /pause/.” The omega tries to a shake his head, but his shoulders fall heavy. “And you need to figure
He can’t blame Dazai for asking, but he can hate himself a little for the answer he’ll give.
“I— you can’t. I need a /pause/.” The omega tries to a shake his head, but his shoulders fall heavy. “And you need to figure
out yourself. So I’m getting out of here.”
“Of course, Chibi,” Dazai murmurs.
Voice so empty, shoulders hunched as if he always prepared for this outcome.
/If it becomes too much, just leave./
How ironic that Chuuya’s old words perfectly represent the current situation.
“Of course, Chibi,” Dazai murmurs.
Voice so empty, shoulders hunched as if he always prepared for this outcome.
/If it becomes too much, just leave./
How ironic that Chuuya’s old words perfectly represent the current situation.
But they need to reset this mess they’ve become.
Because they rushed things too much, bloomed and died too fast.
“I’m sorry ‘Samu,” is all Chuuya whispers, stepping to the door. He doesn’t turn, though.
I love you, he thinks of adding, but he’s not sure that’d help now.
Because they rushed things too much, bloomed and died too fast.
“I’m sorry ‘Samu,” is all Chuuya whispers, stepping to the door. He doesn’t turn, though.
I love you, he thinks of adding, but he’s not sure that’d help now.
/I love you, ‘Samu.
I still do.
And I’m sorry it had to end like this, for now. I’m sorry I can’t trust you anymore. /
Though— why can’t he call him ‘Dazai’ anymore? Because it’s not his real name?
I still do.
And I’m sorry it had to end like this, for now. I’m sorry I can’t trust you anymore. /
Though— why can’t he call him ‘Dazai’ anymore? Because it’s not his real name?
No, no. That’s not it, Chuuya realizes.
Shitty Dazai sounds weird, too. Mackerel. Idiot. Bandages. Crab-eating machine.
All those nicknames spat with a tinge of irritation and a sea of affection.
Now he’ll have to re-learn to use them all, because he just let /his/ Dazai go.
Shitty Dazai sounds weird, too. Mackerel. Idiot. Bandages. Crab-eating machine.
All those nicknames spat with a tinge of irritation and a sea of affection.
Now he’ll have to re-learn to use them all, because he just let /his/ Dazai go.
He let him go because of Mishima, of the Port Mafia, of Ango, because of the half-truths and the things they gave for granted.
But if there is /one/ person Chuuya can’t blame, though he’d /like/ to, is—
/Dazai’s Odasaku./
Before marching out of the room (he’ll change his
But if there is /one/ person Chuuya can’t blame, though he’d /like/ to, is—
/Dazai’s Odasaku./
Before marching out of the room (he’ll change his
mind, if he stays, or panic because he and Dazai are still technically sharing a damn house), Chuuya shoots a glance at Oda.
The man who stayed because Chuuya asked him.
The omega who wears Dazai’s scent so casually.
The person that became a rival and a ghost in his mind.
The man who stayed because Chuuya asked him.
The omega who wears Dazai’s scent so casually.
The person that became a rival and a ghost in his mind.
The person he’s leaving behind with Dazai, covered in /his/ alpha’s scent, knowing they share a bond.
Yet, strangely — especially for /him/ — Chuuya is not anxious. He’s not jealous.
He’s sad, and confused, and determined.
Because he’s /seriously/ in love with Dazai.
Yet, strangely — especially for /him/ — Chuuya is not anxious. He’s not jealous.
He’s sad, and confused, and determined.
Because he’s /seriously/ in love with Dazai.
He’s in love, and Paul is right, or it wouldn’t hurt so fucking much.
/Keep an eye on him for me,/ Chuuya’s glare means, though no words are exchanged with Oda. /I’ll make this fucking thing work.
I can’t right now, but I will. So stay with him until then/.
Oda seems to nod.
/Keep an eye on him for me,/ Chuuya’s glare means, though no words are exchanged with Oda. /I’ll make this fucking thing work.
I can’t right now, but I will. So stay with him until then/.
Oda seems to nod.
Later, Chuuya quickly puts together a bag to spend the night at Kouyou’s.
Atsushi offered their spare room, but he couldn’t burden them.
Despite the frustrated tears, the throbbing migraine and the anger, the first thing he packs is still the chick plushie Dazai got him.
—
Atsushi offered their spare room, but he couldn’t burden them.
Despite the frustrated tears, the throbbing migraine and the anger, the first thing he packs is still the chick plushie Dazai got him.
—
It takes Dazai one hour to realize what happened. Odasaku could not leave his kids alone, but Ango offered to sleep on the couch.
The door slamming shakes the alpha from his trance, though he doesn’t leave his room to check who closed it.
Odasaku?
Atsushi and Baby Vampire?
The door slamming shakes the alpha from his trance, though he doesn’t leave his room to check who closed it.
Odasaku?
Atsushi and Baby Vampire?
Chuuya, leaving?
Chuuya. /Chuuya/.
As he stares at the book he pretends to be reading, feeling a sadness he pretends to ignore in a house he pretends is not /empty/, Dazai tells himself it won’t end like this.
It can’t end like this.
He tiptoes in Chuuya’s room, lingering
Chuuya. /Chuuya/.
As he stares at the book he pretends to be reading, feeling a sadness he pretends to ignore in a house he pretends is not /empty/, Dazai tells himself it won’t end like this.
It can’t end like this.
He tiptoes in Chuuya’s room, lingering
where the omega’s scent is stronger.
Silly Chibi left the door open.
Part of him wants to curl in Chuuya’s nest, but it seems /wrong/ after their fight.
So Dazai grabs his shirt — the one Chuuya declared was his, now, soaked in sweet pheromones — and goes back to his room.
Silly Chibi left the door open.
Part of him wants to curl in Chuuya’s nest, but it seems /wrong/ after their fight.
So Dazai grabs his shirt — the one Chuuya declared was his, now, soaked in sweet pheromones — and goes back to his room.
As he presses his face between the pillow and the shirt, Dazai ponders that Chuuya is really something else.
The omega made him feel human.
He says he can’t function, that he’s not worthy of love, yet he /forced/ emotions out of Dazai.
And the alpha is grateful for it.
The omega made him feel human.
He says he can’t function, that he’s not worthy of love, yet he /forced/ emotions out of Dazai.
And the alpha is grateful for it.
He never felt this wetness on his cheeks, the sobs, the trembling lip he can’t control.
As he presses the shirt to his nose, nostrils filling with the scent of caramelized apples and snow, Dazai lets out a weak chuckle.
/So this is it, huh?
As he presses the shirt to his nose, nostrils filling with the scent of caramelized apples and snow, Dazai lets out a weak chuckle.
/So this is it, huh?
What it feels to be human. To be left and fuck up and realize your mistake.
This is what it feels to risk, to be stupid.
To feel *something*, anything.
To long to be better for someone./
Because, you see—
Dazai Osamu never cried himself to sleep before.
—
This is what it feels to risk, to be stupid.
To feel *something*, anything.
To long to be better for someone./
Because, you see—
Dazai Osamu never cried himself to sleep before.
—
And just like that, Chuuya’s relatively new housemate, the person he introduced to his family and whom he thought would become his /mate/, becomes his ex.
Which is… less than ideal.
And it straight-up sucks whenever Chuuya remembers they broke up in front of the respective
Which is… less than ideal.
And it straight-up sucks whenever Chuuya remembers they broke up in front of the respective
friends, like a shit-hits-the-fan show nobody paid a damn ticket for.
When Kouyou opened the front door, Akiko peeking out from behind her, Chuuya found himself holding back a sniffle.
He feels so /alone/.
He’s cold, that coldness that has nothing to do with the temperature.
When Kouyou opened the front door, Akiko peeking out from behind her, Chuuya found himself holding back a sniffle.
He feels so /alone/.
He’s cold, that coldness that has nothing to do with the temperature.
As Kouyou’s gaze lands on him, he’s suddenly /very/ aware that he took the last train of the evening in a pj and a hoodie that feels suffocating now that he’s used to Dazai’s clothes, with a gym bag and a plushie.
He must look ridiculous.
And for a second, there, Chuuya
He must look ridiculous.
And for a second, there, Chuuya
expects his sister to cover him in questions.
He half-expects her to already know what happened, too, because he’s only ever been good at holding back his emotions until faced with his /sister/.
Kouyou always possessed this capacity to read right through him.
He half-expects her to already know what happened, too, because he’s only ever been good at holding back his emotions until faced with his /sister/.
Kouyou always possessed this capacity to read right through him.
But Chuuya holds onto the toy in his arms, almost /burying/ his face in it, and pads past his sister and into the apartment.
Akiko gives him a wave and a warm smile that Chuuya tries — and fails— to reciprocate.
The house is bathed in the elegant, fresh scent of his sister and
Akiko gives him a wave and a warm smile that Chuuya tries — and fails— to reciprocate.
The house is bathed in the elegant, fresh scent of his sister and
her mate, but the yellow plush in his arms smells like Dazai.
That scent that is oddly calming and frustratingly hurtful at the same time. It hurts his pride /and/ his heart, but he can’t stop.
Because Chuuya is missing the alpha knowing he can’t do anything about it anymore.
That scent that is oddly calming and frustratingly hurtful at the same time. It hurts his pride /and/ his heart, but he can’t stop.
Because Chuuya is missing the alpha knowing he can’t do anything about it anymore.
When asked what happened, though, the omega just shrugs and explains that he and Dazai had a discussion, waving it off like a small thing.
Things that ‘happen’.
What an understatement.
As if anybody should ever learn that their boyfriend’s legacy is the entire /mafia/.
Things that ‘happen’.
What an understatement.
As if anybody should ever learn that their boyfriend’s legacy is the entire /mafia/.
And let’s not even start with Mishima.
But, when Kouyou studies him for a moment, worried eyes firm on her brother, Chuuya shakes his head.
He says he’s ok, though he’s obviously not.
‘/Sure/. You smell of tears, lad,’ Kouyou says, instead, crossing her arms.
But, when Kouyou studies him for a moment, worried eyes firm on her brother, Chuuya shakes his head.
He says he’s ok, though he’s obviously not.
‘/Sure/. You smell of tears, lad,’ Kouyou says, instead, crossing her arms.
‘I know.’ He shrugs it off, flopping on the bed in the guest room. ‘Can we get some popcorns and watch a movie or something, /please/?’
Kouyou shoots him a glance before wrapping him in a wordless hug.
Then, she pulls out a bottle of wine and three glasses from the kitchen.
Kouyou shoots him a glance before wrapping him in a wordless hug.
Then, she pulls out a bottle of wine and three glasses from the kitchen.
Whatever she wanted to ask, Chuuya makes clear that he doesn’t want to talk about what happened.
Not yet, at least.
He’ll tell Kouyou, just… not /now/.
He doesn’t even want to think about Dazai; what he didn’t say, how guilty he looked. And he doesn’t want to think about
Not yet, at least.
He’ll tell Kouyou, just… not /now/.
He doesn’t even want to think about Dazai; what he didn’t say, how guilty he looked. And he doesn’t want to think about
how lonely Dazai must have been, keeping all those secrets inside. Suffering alone. Hiding.
That thought is enough to tamp some of the anger down, at least for a moment, as shame churns in his stomach.
Most of all, Chuuya doesn’t want to think about the relationship with Oda.
That thought is enough to tamp some of the anger down, at least for a moment, as shame churns in his stomach.
Most of all, Chuuya doesn’t want to think about the relationship with Oda.
A bond, and a lifetime of friendship.
And Chuuya’s can’t but wonder, what if he were less anxious? What if Dazai didn’t have to tiptoe around his feelings?
Would Dazai have trusted him to not get insecure if Chuuya wasn’t… well, Chuuya?
Is this on him?
Is this his /fault/?
And Chuuya’s can’t but wonder, what if he were less anxious? What if Dazai didn’t have to tiptoe around his feelings?
Would Dazai have trusted him to not get insecure if Chuuya wasn’t… well, Chuuya?
Is this on him?
Is this his /fault/?
It’s not rational, yet Chuuya can’t close that door once opened.
He hates how his brain feasts on images of Dazai moving on — deciding Chuuya was never worth it, that he might be better off with someone else.
And it’s then that, treacherous, Chuuya’s hand slips to his phone.
He hates how his brain feasts on images of Dazai moving on — deciding Chuuya was never worth it, that he might be better off with someone else.
And it’s then that, treacherous, Chuuya’s hand slips to his phone.
He scrolls through the pictures.
Dazai sleeping on the couch, the selfies, the memories. He tries to steady his breath, to calm his maddened imagination.
And he wonders if Dazai is getting any sleep at all.
He wonders how is his boyfriend, if—
Ah, /right/.
Ex boyfriend.
Dazai sleeping on the couch, the selfies, the memories. He tries to steady his breath, to calm his maddened imagination.
And he wonders if Dazai is getting any sleep at all.
He wonders how is his boyfriend, if—
Ah, /right/.
Ex boyfriend.
Hell, it is /wild/ to think about Dazai as his… ex boyfriend.
Someone in past tense, when the hurt and the love are still so present.
They’re still present a few days after, when Chuuya’s working double-shifts just to indulge in the mental exercise of ignoring what happened.
Someone in past tense, when the hurt and the love are still so present.
They’re still present a few days after, when Chuuya’s working double-shifts just to indulge in the mental exercise of ignoring what happened.
The day is quiet, though, which leaves plenty of room for chatting with Ryuunosuke (which is a hazard in itself when the omega is in a bad mood) and thinking.
The coffeeshop is empty — much to Francis’ disappointment, the omega guesses, but the owner certainly isn’t /there/ to
The coffeeshop is empty — much to Francis’ disappointment, the omega guesses, but the owner certainly isn’t /there/ to
help them — and there’s not much to do but to wipe perfectly pristine tables to kill time.
Or they could talk about Dazai. Of course.
It’s not like Chuuya has been avoiding the matter ever since that night, after all.
“Has the clown texted you, yet?” Ryuunosuke asks, deadpan.
Or they could talk about Dazai. Of course.
It’s not like Chuuya has been avoiding the matter ever since that night, after all.
“Has the clown texted you, yet?” Ryuunosuke asks, deadpan.
Chuuya sighs, absently playing with an espresso tamper.
He’s glad Ryuu didn’t ask him how he felt, or he’d been forced to lie; lying to his friends it’s not something he normally does.
/Unlike a certain someone,/ his brain provides, petty, before Chuuya can shut it down.
He’s glad Ryuu didn’t ask him how he felt, or he’d been forced to lie; lying to his friends it’s not something he normally does.
/Unlike a certain someone,/ his brain provides, petty, before Chuuya can shut it down.
“Not exactly,” he says. “But we live together. I /had/ to talk to him.”
Ryuunosuke stops, eyes widening a little — darker than an ink stain, just like his total black t-shirt. He seems on the verge of murdering Dazai.
“So he didn’t write to you first? Not even an apology?”
Ryuunosuke stops, eyes widening a little — darker than an ink stain, just like his total black t-shirt. He seems on the verge of murdering Dazai.
“So he didn’t write to you first? Not even an apology?”
Chuuya shrugs. “To be fair, I didn’t expect him to. I asked him for space, after all.”
Even though he says that, he still wonders if Dazai’s notes are full of ‘I miss you’ and long ‘why did you have to be such an asshole? Do you love me?’ drafts, just like Chuuya’s phone.
Even though he says that, he still wonders if Dazai’s notes are full of ‘I miss you’ and long ‘why did you have to be such an asshole? Do you love me?’ drafts, just like Chuuya’s phone.
He wonders if Dazai ever types up a message and deletes it before pressing send.
When Chuuya finally ended up writing something, it was definitely /not/ romantic.
“So yeah, I texted him,” he carries on, feeling Ryuunosuke waiting for a clarification on /what/, exactly, he
When Chuuya finally ended up writing something, it was definitely /not/ romantic.
“So yeah, I texted him,” he carries on, feeling Ryuunosuke waiting for a clarification on /what/, exactly, he
should send Dazai other than a wall of insults. “About rent.”
Because obviously rent day had to fall right in between of a break up. That’s just his luck.
“Ah. You told him he can shove his money up his ass?”
Chuuya grimaces. “Classy, Ryuu.”
“Not my fault if he deserves it.”
Because obviously rent day had to fall right in between of a break up. That’s just his luck.
“Ah. You told him he can shove his money up his ass?”
Chuuya grimaces. “Classy, Ryuu.”
“Not my fault if he deserves it.”
“Well, sorry to disappoint. I just told him that I payed the rent and this month’s utilities, and I’m staying at Kouyou for a few days.”
What Chuuya is not admitting is how his heart jumped reading the old conversations.
The last text was dated the day before the break up:
What Chuuya is not admitting is how his heart jumped reading the old conversations.
The last text was dated the day before the break up:
// ‘hey, will be closing late tonight. I made you some korokke so, please, eat something 🐟
Love you 🐥’ //
Dazai never replied to that text; he called instead.
He whined about how Chuuya spoiled him, in that sing-song voice that always stole a smile out of the omega.
Love you 🐥’ //
Dazai never replied to that text; he called instead.
He whined about how Chuuya spoiled him, in that sing-song voice that always stole a smile out of the omega.
How odd to send that same number a message about rent, wondering if Dazai would even reply.
He did; ‘Sure, don’t worry’.
No feelings at all.
Only after that reply Chuuya realized he’d been hoping against hope.
Maybe Dazai would’ve asked him to come back home. /Maybe/.
He did; ‘Sure, don’t worry’.
No feelings at all.
Only after that reply Chuuya realized he’d been hoping against hope.
Maybe Dazai would’ve asked him to come back home. /Maybe/.
Ryuunosuke lets out a weak hmm from the back of his throat, wiping the counter from the chocolate powder a clumsy customer had dusted over the surface.
“Just that?” he asks.
/Well—/
“And a passive-aggressive smile emoji,” Chuuya says, lowering his head to avoid eye contact.
“Just that?” he asks.
/Well—/
“And a passive-aggressive smile emoji,” Chuuya says, lowering his head to avoid eye contact.
No, he’s not proud of that emoji. He cringes every time he sees it, actually.
Can he take it back now, though? No.
Ryuunosuke straightens up just to stare at him.
“…An emoji,” he echoes.
“Y’know, the one that’s all smiley and looks about to fucking snap? That one.”
Can he take it back now, though? No.
Ryuunosuke straightens up just to stare at him.
“…An emoji,” he echoes.
“Y’know, the one that’s all smiley and looks about to fucking snap? That one.”
Ryuunosuke’s expression doesn’t change, though his lips twitch imperceptibly. Chuuya waves the espresso tamper in his direction.
“Don’t say anything. I know it was bad.”
“Damn,” the omega says, rolling his eyes to the ceiling. “The passive aggressive smile. You’re a bad guy.”
“Don’t say anything. I know it was bad.”
“Damn,” the omega says, rolling his eyes to the ceiling. “The passive aggressive smile. You’re a bad guy.”
Chuuya grins — a weak smile that still leaves a fuzzy feeling at the pit of his stomach.
“I guess /someone’s/ mafia influence is showing,” he snarls.
The jab is so /sharp/, it makes Ryuunosuke halt and look at him as if he just grew a second head.
Now, Chuuya is glad that
“I guess /someone’s/ mafia influence is showing,” he snarls.
The jab is so /sharp/, it makes Ryuunosuke halt and look at him as if he just grew a second head.
Now, Chuuya is glad that
the conversation didn’t turn into a therapy session. He really is. He’s actually relieved he can blow off some steam by being an asshole.
The only thing he /knows/ how to do is put up a strong façade and deal with his feelings… later.
Not at work.
Never, possibly.
The only thing he /knows/ how to do is put up a strong façade and deal with his feelings… later.
Not at work.
Never, possibly.
But—
One moment he feels /fine/, and then comments like this push their way out of his mouth, unguarded, making clear that he is not fine at all.
“/Chuuya/,” Ryuunosuke says, emphasis on the name as if he’s addressing a child. “Are you sure you don’t want to talk about it?”
One moment he feels /fine/, and then comments like this push their way out of his mouth, unguarded, making clear that he is not fine at all.
“/Chuuya/,” Ryuunosuke says, emphasis on the name as if he’s addressing a child. “Are you sure you don’t want to talk about it?”
He snorts. “You were there. What the hell should we talk about?”
“How are you doing?”
As he says that, Ryuunosuke crunches in front of the fridge to rearrange the milk, letting out a satisfying sound as he realizes it’s fully stocked.
Pondering over a reply, Chuuya wonders
“How are you doing?”
As he says that, Ryuunosuke crunches in front of the fridge to rearrange the milk, letting out a satisfying sound as he realizes it’s fully stocked.
Pondering over a reply, Chuuya wonders
if Ryuu realizes he’s the only one bothering to act like he’s working.
“Well.” He inhales deeply. “Everything sucks. And there’s nothing to unpack here, just that ’S— /Dazai/ lied. A whole fucking lot.” He’s quick to turn his attention back to the tamper before any feeling at
“Well.” He inhales deeply. “Everything sucks. And there’s nothing to unpack here, just that ’S— /Dazai/ lied. A whole fucking lot.” He’s quick to turn his attention back to the tamper before any feeling at
all can show on his face. “I don’t want to talk about it. I want to hide my head under the sand for a day or two more.”
“And then what? You go back, ask pretty please and expect things to change?”
Yes. /Yes/. Part of Chuuya would like just that.
But another part, the one
“And then what? You go back, ask pretty please and expect things to change?”
Yes. /Yes/. Part of Chuuya would like just that.
But another part, the one
that makes Chuuya sigh and shrug, reminds him that it’s pretty fucking unlikely.
“Then I’ll figure out what do to.”
“Like, finally take a day off?”
“I’m ok,” he growls. “I can work, get wasted on wine and run a damn marathon if you ask me.”
“…Why would I ask you /that/?”
“Then I’ll figure out what do to.”
“Like, finally take a day off?”
“I’m ok,” he growls. “I can work, get wasted on wine and run a damn marathon if you ask me.”
“…Why would I ask you /that/?”
“I don’t know, surprise me.”
“The only reason I would ask you to run a marathon is to put space between you and that clown.” Ryuunosuke stops, a frown painting a wrinkle on his forehead. “Actually, he should run. And pray I don’t find him /ever/.”
/That clown/.
“The only reason I would ask you to run a marathon is to put space between you and that clown.” Ryuunosuke stops, a frown painting a wrinkle on his forehead. “Actually, he should run. And pray I don’t find him /ever/.”
/That clown/.
To be honest, Ryuunosuke has been hinting at sending mercenaries after Dazai and Chuuya is not sure he minds too much.
It’s oddly stress-relieving.
He /grins/, though, knowing fully well what to say to embarrass his friend.
“And that’s why I love and appreciate you, Ryuu.”
It’s oddly stress-relieving.
He /grins/, though, knowing fully well what to say to embarrass his friend.
“And that’s why I love and appreciate you, Ryuu.”
“Disgusting,” the omega says, though the faintest shade of red /does/ cross his pale cheeks.“Please, take your gross affection and your Taurus-sun passive aggressiveness with you to the staff room and bring me some glue? The menu board is about to fall off again.”
Chuuya chuckles, shaking his head.
It has been a minute since Ryuunosuke insulted him like this, yet the omega /does/ realize that he’s been spending most of his time with Dazai.
“Wow,” he says, brushing away the memory of the alpha. “That’s a lot of words for you, Ryuu.”
It has been a minute since Ryuunosuke insulted him like this, yet the omega /does/ realize that he’s been spending most of his time with Dazai.
“Wow,” he says, brushing away the memory of the alpha. “That’s a lot of words for you, Ryuu.”
Ryuunosuke pouts. “I asked for the glue, not a commentary?”
“Why? The menu board has been about to fall off for ages.”
“I was waiting for it to fall on the clown’s head, and now it seems unlikely.”
Chuuya bites his bottom lip, catching himself before he can defend Dazai.
“Why? The menu board has been about to fall off for ages.”
“I was waiting for it to fall on the clown’s head, and now it seems unlikely.”
Chuuya bites his bottom lip, catching himself before he can defend Dazai.
The alpha is not here, after all.
Chuuya doesn’t /have/ to defend him.
As he disappears inside the staff room and makes a beeline for the desk, Chuuya wonders if a board falling on that stubborn head of his wouldn’t be exactly what Dazai needs.
Karmic retribution, right?
Chuuya doesn’t /have/ to defend him.
As he disappears inside the staff room and makes a beeline for the desk, Chuuya wonders if a board falling on that stubborn head of his wouldn’t be exactly what Dazai needs.
Karmic retribution, right?
Yet—
Chuuya stops in front of the desk abruptly, gutted by a sudden sense of void.
/‘So he hasn’t texted you?’/
He shudders, finding the world foggy all of a sudden.
His heart beats around a pain that wasn’t there a moment before — a traitorous feeling bloomed from silence.
Chuuya stops in front of the desk abruptly, gutted by a sudden sense of void.
/‘So he hasn’t texted you?’/
He shudders, finding the world foggy all of a sudden.
His heart beats around a pain that wasn’t there a moment before — a traitorous feeling bloomed from silence.
In the empty room, alone with his head, Chuuya is suddenly crushed by a dormant ache that turned red and /burning/ the moment he crossed the door and didn’t need to pretend anymore.
Lifting his head to the ceiling, the omega takes a deep, deep breath.
He blinks away tears.
Lifting his head to the ceiling, the omega takes a deep, deep breath.
He blinks away tears.
‘Shit,’ he murmurs, pressing one hand on his stomach as he tries to breathe. ‘Not now.’
Why, /now/?
Why does his chest hurt so much, though he’s fine?
He’s laughing. He’s smiling. He’s working.
He’s /fine/.
But then, why do the most gut-wrenching feelings and flashbacks
Why, /now/?
Why does his chest hurt so much, though he’s fine?
He’s laughing. He’s smiling. He’s working.
He’s /fine/.
But then, why do the most gut-wrenching feelings and flashbacks
crush on him like icy waves when he doesn’t /want/ them?
He hates this tender and unmerciful sense of nostalgia, of /longing/, that crawls up his arms and clenches his stomach.
The loneliness, the sense of loss.
Wanting Dazai, missing him still—
/It’s so annoying./
He hates this tender and unmerciful sense of nostalgia, of /longing/, that crawls up his arms and clenches his stomach.
The loneliness, the sense of loss.
Wanting Dazai, missing him still—
/It’s so annoying./
Because, in these moments of painful lucidity when his attempt at normality just falls apart and he remembers what happened— it’s /then/ that Chuuya remembers that he loves Dazai /despite/ everything.
Despite the lies, the anger, the missed truths and the hurtful memories.
Despite the lies, the anger, the missed truths and the hurtful memories.
And despite the argument, despite Mishima, despite the damn mafia, Chuuya is stuck remembering the good moments.
The happy ones.
Despite, despite, /despite/.
All those little ‘in spite ofs’ keep swelling in his chest, pushing a wad of cotton up his throat.
The happy ones.
Despite, despite, /despite/.
All those little ‘in spite ofs’ keep swelling in his chest, pushing a wad of cotton up his throat.
It hurts.
But that’s the thing with good memories; they are the first to come back and haunt you when you lose someone.
They make Chuuya’s eyes burn no matter how fast he blinks.
And, suddenly, all those sobs he choked down while facing Ryuu are fighting their way /up/.
But that’s the thing with good memories; they are the first to come back and haunt you when you lose someone.
They make Chuuya’s eyes burn no matter how fast he blinks.
And, suddenly, all those sobs he choked down while facing Ryuu are fighting their way /up/.
And it’s just /clear/, so simple and stupidly unfair: he is in love with that complicated, lonely, hurtful menace that is Dazai Osamu.
He loves the vulnerable person he first met in the coffeeshop.
He loves the person he saw crawling drunk on the living room floor.
He loves the vulnerable person he first met in the coffeeshop.
He loves the person he saw crawling drunk on the living room floor.
He loves the broken boy under the bandages, the one who smiles for real only when no one’s looking.
He loves the ‘Chibi, I’m cold’ and the ‘you’re short~’
He loves the boy who said, ‘I’ll stay.’
(God, he meant it.)
Chuuya loves all of them.
What a pity he lost them all, too.
He loves the ‘Chibi, I’m cold’ and the ‘you’re short~’
He loves the boy who said, ‘I’ll stay.’
(God, he meant it.)
Chuuya loves all of them.
What a pity he lost them all, too.
And, of course, his brain thought that the middle of a ten-hour shift would be a wonderful time to remind him of that, huh?
Mumbling a curse under his breath, Chuuya rubs a hand over his face.
He just needs the stupid glue, not to flirt with an emotional breakdown.
Mumbling a curse under his breath, Chuuya rubs a hand over his face.
He just needs the stupid glue, not to flirt with an emotional breakdown.
So the omega focuses on rummaging inside the desk’s drawer where he /knows/ the glue should be.
His fingers trip over nothing but markers, pens and post-it papers.
Irritation bubbles in Chuuya’s stomach, because— this is ridiculous.
The glue is supposed to be in the drawer.
His fingers trip over nothing but markers, pens and post-it papers.
Irritation bubbles in Chuuya’s stomach, because— this is ridiculous.
The glue is supposed to be in the drawer.
He’s in charge of the damn place, he doesn’t need another shitty sign in his life to prove him wrong and make him feel stupid.
The glue is there.
He saw it earlier.
He knows it’s fucking there.
Then /why/ the goddamn glue is not. Where. It’s. Supposed. To. /Fucking/. Be?
The glue is there.
He saw it earlier.
He knows it’s fucking there.
Then /why/ the goddamn glue is not. Where. It’s. Supposed. To. /Fucking/. Be?
Slamming both hands on the desk, /loudly/, Chuuya barks a cuss.
He damns the shitty glue, his temper, all that happened and how it left him tiptoeing on a dangerous emotional ledge.
He damns all the things he’s feeling.
The ones he can’t let out, though they suffocate him.
He damns the shitty glue, his temper, all that happened and how it left him tiptoeing on a dangerous emotional ledge.
He damns all the things he’s feeling.
The ones he can’t let out, though they suffocate him.
Chuuya is /irrationally/ angry. His shoulders quiver.
The damn glue is really not the problem, it’s just frustration building up.
He’s not on the verge of tears and he didn’t just embarrass himself crying a loud ‘fuck you’ to an object because he can’t find something.
The damn glue is really not the problem, it’s just frustration building up.
He’s not on the verge of tears and he didn’t just embarrass himself crying a loud ‘fuck you’ to an object because he can’t find something.
He knows it. He tries to remember it.
But—
“Ah,” Chuuya murmurs. His gaze lands on a red tube of glue.
It rests on the table, right on top of a pile of filled-in inventory forms.
It seems to laugh at him.
He didn’t even /try/ to look at what is sitting right under his nose.
But—
“Ah,” Chuuya murmurs. His gaze lands on a red tube of glue.
It rests on the table, right on top of a pile of filled-in inventory forms.
It seems to laugh at him.
He didn’t even /try/ to look at what is sitting right under his nose.
So now he’s an idiot, too.
“Get a grip,” Chuuya mumbles to himself, under his breath. “It’s not like you can go home and bury yourself in sad songs.”
Though, god, he wishes he could.
Instead he breathes in, runs a hand through his hair and tells himself he’s fine. Again.
“Get a grip,” Chuuya mumbles to himself, under his breath. “It’s not like you can go home and bury yourself in sad songs.”
Though, god, he wishes he could.
Instead he breathes in, runs a hand through his hair and tells himself he’s fine. Again.
It doesn’t matter if nobody believes it — doesn’t even matter if it’s true — as long as /he/ believes it.
Then, Chuuya grabs the glue with a grimace, forcing one last, deep exhale and pushing away from the desk.
Maybe /he/ is the one who needs a menu board on the head.
Then, Chuuya grabs the glue with a grimace, forcing one last, deep exhale and pushing away from the desk.
Maybe /he/ is the one who needs a menu board on the head.
Glue in hand, the omega walks back behind counter.
He finds Ryuunosuke serving a young man in a suit — the only noises are the espresso machine and the man’s shoe clicking on the floor.
A white collar, maybe.
Someone with a short lunch break, surely. He’s drumming his
He finds Ryuunosuke serving a young man in a suit — the only noises are the espresso machine and the man’s shoe clicking on the floor.
A white collar, maybe.
Someone with a short lunch break, surely. He’s drumming his
fingers on the counter, impatiently waiting for his order. The only scent he’s wearing is the one of an expensive cologne.
Now, Chuuya used to care about customers.
He liked to chat.
In this moment, still shook, the omega just hopes this guys will go away /soon/.
Now, Chuuya used to care about customers.
He liked to chat.
In this moment, still shook, the omega just hopes this guys will go away /soon/.
He doesn’t care to learn if the person in front of him got a black coffee because he woke up at dawn to hop on an already busy train or if he just thinks it’s a manly order.
He doesn’t feel like chatting.
He just places himself in front of the till, relishing for once in the
He doesn’t feel like chatting.
He just places himself in front of the till, relishing for once in the
lack of small talk, and inputs the order into the system.
Next to him, Ryuunosuke moves securely as he prepares the man’s coffee.
There’s the shadow of a big cat, in Ryuu, that Chuuya always liked.
A loyal feral cat.
Akutagawa Ryuunosuke can be abrasive and scary, at times,
Next to him, Ryuunosuke moves securely as he prepares the man’s coffee.
There’s the shadow of a big cat, in Ryuu, that Chuuya always liked.
A loyal feral cat.
Akutagawa Ryuunosuke can be abrasive and scary, at times,
but, when comfortable, his apparent awkwardness blooms into elegance.
However, from the glare the omega throws at him, Chuuya realizes that both his friend and the customer heard his little outburst in the staff room.
Chuuya shrugs it away.
It’s not great but— /hey/. He’s ok.
However, from the glare the omega throws at him, Chuuya realizes that both his friend and the customer heard his little outburst in the staff room.
Chuuya shrugs it away.
It’s not great but— /hey/. He’s ok.
He’s fine.
He’s not going to break down, because he’s an adult.
Handing him the receipt, Chuuya smiles at the customer.
The man barely raises an eyebrow in return, though — which is a pity, because Chuuya might have flirted with him just to drive the ‘I’m ok’ point at home.
He’s not going to break down, because he’s an adult.
Handing him the receipt, Chuuya smiles at the customer.
The man barely raises an eyebrow in return, though — which is a pity, because Chuuya might have flirted with him just to drive the ‘I’m ok’ point at home.
But, no: Chuuya is not going to apologize for that loud cuss or for slamming his hands on a table like a capricious child.
He’s not going to address the fact that every mouthful of air hurts, that he misses Dazai like he misses a piece of his /soul/.
He will ignore the
He’s not going to address the fact that every mouthful of air hurts, that he misses Dazai like he misses a piece of his /soul/.
He will ignore the
Heartbreak woven in his own scent.
He won’t explain his flushed cheeks and reddened eyes.
He’s not going to take time off or hide in the staff room to bawl his lungs out, because—
“I’m fine.”
It rolls out of Chuuya’s mouth the moment he catches Ryuunosuke staring at him.
He won’t explain his flushed cheeks and reddened eyes.
He’s not going to take time off or hide in the staff room to bawl his lungs out, because—
“I’m fine.”
It rolls out of Chuuya’s mouth the moment he catches Ryuunosuke staring at him.
He states it firmly though Ryuunosuke didn’t ask.
He even holds his friend’s black, darker-than-ink gaze when the omega scowls, silently calling bullshit.
“You look like shit.”
“Well, thanks.”
“Seriously—“
Chuuya scoffs. “Just give me a second, yeah? I got your stupid glue.”
He even holds his friend’s black, darker-than-ink gaze when the omega scowls, silently calling bullshit.
“You look like shit.”
“Well, thanks.”
“Seriously—“
Chuuya scoffs. “Just give me a second, yeah? I got your stupid glue.”
Ryuunosuke looks at him for a long moment. Then, he lets out a tiny, somewhat encouraging smile.
“Thanks,” he says.
Chuuya nods.
Because he’s still in control — of his surroundings, of his life, of his heart.
He’s still in control even without Dazai around.
He /is/ fine.
“Thanks,” he says.
Chuuya nods.
Because he’s still in control — of his surroundings, of his life, of his heart.
He’s still in control even without Dazai around.
He /is/ fine.
He just needs to say it out loud. Maybe, if he says it enough, it’ll become true.
“You’re welcome.” The redhead smiles back, and feels like dying. “And, really… I’m absolutely fine.”
—
“Odasaku, stop~ I’m fine! Really!”
Oda frowns, throwing a glance behind his shoulder.
“You’re welcome.” The redhead smiles back, and feels like dying. “And, really… I’m absolutely fine.”
—
“Odasaku, stop~ I’m fine! Really!”
Oda frowns, throwing a glance behind his shoulder.
“You haven’t touched food in days,” the man volleys back as he flips an omelette in the pan. “You have to eat.”
Dazai’s smile drops as he slumps onto the kitchen table.
“But I’m not hungry,” he whines.
He /did/ drink, though. Saké. Whisky.
Something else— he forgets, now.
Dazai’s smile drops as he slumps onto the kitchen table.
“But I’m not hungry,” he whines.
He /did/ drink, though. Saké. Whisky.
Something else— he forgets, now.
It’s all in his system, really — making the alpha’s world a little less lonely and his brain a little less sharp.
He vaguely remember falling asleep on the table, but that might have been a dream.
He’s pretty sure he /needs/ to change his bandages and clothes, too.
He vaguely remember falling asleep on the table, but that might have been a dream.
He’s pretty sure he /needs/ to change his bandages and clothes, too.
He doesn’t even remember when Odasaku let himself in with the absurd mission of cooking him lunch — did he ever mention to Chuuya that Oda /has/ spare keys to their house?
Did he really never say it?
Did he really just assume that Chuuya would be /ok/ with it?
But anyway.
Did he really never say it?
Did he really just assume that Chuuya would be /ok/ with it?
But anyway.
He’s drunk and with a grumbling stomach and a shattered heart, but he still blesses the alcohol in his body.
Thanks to it, he can tune out of this constant, bottomless /emptiness/.
He thought he was empty before, Dazai Osamu — he was sure of it.
He was born an empty shell.
Thanks to it, he can tune out of this constant, bottomless /emptiness/.
He thought he was empty before, Dazai Osamu — he was sure of it.
He was born an empty shell.
For the longest time, he thought he had nothing to live for.
And he watched his life roll in front of his eyes from the high edge of a bridge, he saw his existence flow in the dark waters under him.
He watched it from afar. It was brave, or so he through.
And he watched his life roll in front of his eyes from the high edge of a bridge, he saw his existence flow in the dark waters under him.
He watched it from afar. It was brave, or so he through.
He knew no fear, because he only knew pain and tiredness.
And that exercise in futility, that display of shamelessness that is /surviving/— he despised it.
He didn’t /understand/ it.
He needed to rectify it, though the concept of pain scared him away.
And that exercise in futility, that display of shamelessness that is /surviving/— he despised it.
He didn’t /understand/ it.
He needed to rectify it, though the concept of pain scared him away.
One day, he almost finally acted on it. He dangled on that ledge and almost gathered enough courage.
He threw his phone and wallet and, looking at the water, he almost /did/ it—
/And then he met Chuuya./
He threw his phone and wallet and, looking at the water, he almost /did/ it—
/And then he met Chuuya./
That morning might not have moved mountains, it might not have made history, it might have been a day like any other, but it /did/ change his life.
If he thought he knew every kind of pain, turns out he didn’t.
Now he sees how loss amplifies it.
He’s not used to it anymore.
If he thought he knew every kind of pain, turns out he didn’t.
Now he sees how loss amplifies it.
He’s not used to it anymore.
Because life gave him something and took it away crudely the moment Dazai let himself hope it was /really/ going to last.
The truth is, with every heartbeat, Dazai can feel himself breathe around a /void/.
Alcohol helps.
The truth is, with every heartbeat, Dazai can feel himself breathe around a /void/.
Alcohol helps.
Without it, with every pump of his heart, he could think of a different way he might have done things differently.
He would torture himself with a mental labyrinth with no end, just because he deserves is.
So he doesn’t eat or sleep or bothers himself with anything of the
He would torture himself with a mental labyrinth with no end, just because he deserves is.
So he doesn’t eat or sleep or bothers himself with anything of the
sort, really, for the simple reason that he sees no point in that — but he /does/ keep a bottle close.
Maybe, if he drowns in it, he’ll even forget Chuuya’s face. His scent. His hands, his k—
“/Dazai/.”
Oda’s voice drags him back, abruptly. Dazai shudders.
Maybe, if he drowns in it, he’ll even forget Chuuya’s face. His scent. His hands, his k—
“/Dazai/.”
Oda’s voice drags him back, abruptly. Dazai shudders.
Considering from the slight edge in the man’s timbre, it’s not the first time he calls.
Dazai beams, though, wearing his most innocent mask.
“Yes? I’m listening~”
“You were /staring/,” Oda says.
Dazai chuckles, though there’s something in the other’s voice that makes him
Dazai beams, though, wearing his most innocent mask.
“Yes? I’m listening~”
“You were /staring/,” Oda says.
Dazai chuckles, though there’s something in the other’s voice that makes him
realize he shouldn’t. It sounds weird, anyway.
“Did I scare you?”
Odasaku lifts an eyebrow, giving a firm movement of the wrist to turn the omelet again.
You always scare me a little, he seems to say — or at least, that’s what Dazai reads into the silence.
“Did I scare you?”
Odasaku lifts an eyebrow, giving a firm movement of the wrist to turn the omelet again.
You always scare me a little, he seems to say — or at least, that’s what Dazai reads into the silence.
What Oda /actually/ does, however, is trying to keep the conversation going.
How cute, Dazai thinks, Odasaku is trying to keep him distracted.
Maybe that’s what he does with the orphans he looks after, too.
The idea makes him chuckle again and, again, Oda glances at him.
How cute, Dazai thinks, Odasaku is trying to keep him distracted.
Maybe that’s what he does with the orphans he looks after, too.
The idea makes him chuckle again and, again, Oda glances at him.
“What are you laughing about?”
“It’s funny.” Dazai shrugs. “How much you worry when I don’t feel a damn thing.”
He’s still beaming, but he doesn’t really mean to — his face just hurts.
“You’re just hangover,” Oda says. “It’ll pass soon.”
“Well, damn, I hope it doesn’t.”
“It’s funny.” Dazai shrugs. “How much you worry when I don’t feel a damn thing.”
He’s still beaming, but he doesn’t really mean to — his face just hurts.
“You’re just hangover,” Oda says. “It’ll pass soon.”
“Well, damn, I hope it doesn’t.”
“You know you can’t drown yourself in saké, right?”
“Want to bet?” Dazai volleys back.
That’s something Chuuya would say — the alpha is pretty sure he didn’t say it before being with the redhead.
He’s not the type to bet, even, but Chibi’s angry face whenever he lost a bet
“Want to bet?” Dazai volleys back.
That’s something Chuuya would say — the alpha is pretty sure he didn’t say it before being with the redhead.
He’s not the type to bet, even, but Chibi’s angry face whenever he lost a bet
was /so/ cute.
That’s why Dazai is going to stay royally, magnificently, /tragically/ drunk: because everything is so depressing.
/He/ is pretty fucking depressing.
“No, I don’t want to bet,” Oda says, with a deep sigh. “I’d just rather you didn’t hurt yourself like this.”
That’s why Dazai is going to stay royally, magnificently, /tragically/ drunk: because everything is so depressing.
/He/ is pretty fucking depressing.
“No, I don’t want to bet,” Oda says, with a deep sigh. “I’d just rather you didn’t hurt yourself like this.”
“I’m not hurting myself.”
“Good. Then prove me wrong and eat.”
As he says that, Oda places the plate in front of Dazai.
The alpha twists his nose at the dish, because the ketchup on the omelet is smiling at him (literally, it’s a /smile/) and he feels— well, weirdly judged.
“Good. Then prove me wrong and eat.”
As he says that, Oda places the plate in front of Dazai.
The alpha twists his nose at the dish, because the ketchup on the omelet is smiling at him (literally, it’s a /smile/) and he feels— well, weirdly judged.
Even an egg is better at smiling than him.
He pushes the plate away.
“Sorry, though, I don’t like happy food,” he says, cheerfully.
/Too/ cheerfully.
He hopes it’ll just end the conversation, that he won’t have to argue or smash the plate to the ground, like a part of him
He pushes the plate away.
“Sorry, though, I don’t like happy food,” he says, cheerfully.
/Too/ cheerfully.
He hopes it’ll just end the conversation, that he won’t have to argue or smash the plate to the ground, like a part of him
would want to do, but Oda is stubborn.
He is staring at him now — blue eyes peeking into Dazai’s very soul. He places a hand on the alpha’s shoulder.
It’s firm; /kind/.
“Osamu,” he says, “/stop/.”
“Stop what?”
“Waiting for Chuuya-kun.” Dazai’s eyes widen. “Give him time.”
He is staring at him now — blue eyes peeking into Dazai’s very soul. He places a hand on the alpha’s shoulder.
It’s firm; /kind/.
“Osamu,” he says, “/stop/.”
“Stop what?”
“Waiting for Chuuya-kun.” Dazai’s eyes widen. “Give him time.”
He curls into the chair, bringing up his legs to press his knees against his chest.
He knows Oda will read right through the defensive gesture, through the shivers that shake his body.
In some ways, Dazai hates it. He hates how well Oda knows him, how gentle he is with him.
He knows Oda will read right through the defensive gesture, through the shivers that shake his body.
In some ways, Dazai hates it. He hates how well Oda knows him, how gentle he is with him.
“Chibi hates me.”
Pensively, the omega squeezes Dazai’s shoulder.
“He’s hurt. But you can’t destroy yourself for it.”
“Ah, actually~”
“So this is the response? Punishing yourself?” Oda scowls, lips pressed taut. “Dazai— you’re smart. Do you really think he wants you /hurt/?”
Pensively, the omega squeezes Dazai’s shoulder.
“He’s hurt. But you can’t destroy yourself for it.”
“Ah, actually~”
“So this is the response? Punishing yourself?” Oda scowls, lips pressed taut. “Dazai— you’re smart. Do you really think he wants you /hurt/?”
Dazai’s bottom lip trembles as he tries to keep down a sob.
…No.
Chuuya would probably yell at him.
Hell, Chuuya is the kind of person who would yell at him for being a self-destructive bastard even while they are /not/ on speaking terms.
Because Chuuya is selfless, and—
…No.
Chuuya would probably yell at him.
Hell, Chuuya is the kind of person who would yell at him for being a self-destructive bastard even while they are /not/ on speaking terms.
Because Chuuya is selfless, and—
And he was the only person Dazai wanted.
Chuuya was /his/. He was his /future/.
The first snivel threatens to break him.
/Ah, shit./
He didn’t want to remember that he hurt Chuuya, and now he has to face that his coping mechanism is wrong?
Why? Is his friend a /sadist/?
Chuuya was /his/. He was his /future/.
The first snivel threatens to break him.
/Ah, shit./
He didn’t want to remember that he hurt Chuuya, and now he has to face that his coping mechanism is wrong?
Why? Is his friend a /sadist/?
Exactly when the alcohol had helped him forget.
Dazai supposes he might as well cry on the food and ruin that stupid ketchup smile, because he feels like destroying anything /happy/ right now.
Even worse, he let the first tear run down his cheek and now they won’t /stop/.
Dazai supposes he might as well cry on the food and ruin that stupid ketchup smile, because he feels like destroying anything /happy/ right now.
Even worse, he let the first tear run down his cheek and now they won’t /stop/.
Quietly, Oda hunches over Dazai.
He hugs him, chin resting on the top of Dazai’s head.
He rubs relaxing circles over the scent glands under Dazai’s jaw, infusing a timid sense of calm in the alpha’s shivering body.
Dazai tries to take a deep breath into the sweet scent.
He hugs him, chin resting on the top of Dazai’s head.
He rubs relaxing circles over the scent glands under Dazai’s jaw, infusing a timid sense of calm in the alpha’s shivering body.
Dazai tries to take a deep breath into the sweet scent.
He’s familiar with this feeling of having his friend in his corner.
He’s familiar with Oda shushing him gently as he’s shaken by spams, it just never happened for /love/ before.
He used to break down a lot but—
To be honest, Dazai’s can’t remember the last time it happened.
He’s familiar with Oda shushing him gently as he’s shaken by spams, it just never happened for /love/ before.
He used to break down a lot but—
To be honest, Dazai’s can’t remember the last time it happened.
Growing up the crisis diluted, but— ah.
The episodes actually stopped with Chuuya, if he thinks about it.
He didn’t really needed Odasaku to calm him, to prevent him from breaking down.
And the scenting might be completely platonic, but the sense of /calmness/ has always
The episodes actually stopped with Chuuya, if he thinks about it.
He didn’t really needed Odasaku to calm him, to prevent him from breaking down.
And the scenting might be completely platonic, but the sense of /calmness/ has always
been deep and real. It’s pure.
It helped during Dazai’s occasional rut, too.
In those scary moments when his body and mind go into overdrive and he tiptoes on a fine line between life and death, Oda’s scent /grounds/ him.
Of his very scarce and sudden rut episodes, however,
It helped during Dazai’s occasional rut, too.
In those scary moments when his body and mind go into overdrive and he tiptoes on a fine line between life and death, Oda’s scent /grounds/ him.
Of his very scarce and sudden rut episodes, however,
Dazai never spent /one/ with Oda.
He had other partners, meaningless ones, for the sex.
But he /did/ crawl into bed with the omega, exhausted and with a foggy mind infested with scary thoughts, just to fall asleep to his best friend’s scent.
The only person who loves him.
He had other partners, meaningless ones, for the sex.
But he /did/ crawl into bed with the omega, exhausted and with a foggy mind infested with scary thoughts, just to fall asleep to his best friend’s scent.
The only person who loves him.
That scent, that hug— they remind Dazai that he’s not alone. He’s not the waste of space his mind insists he is.
That some things have value and there’s light in this dark, dark world
It was never sexual.
It’s never even too physical, but it was Dazai’s lifeline nevertheless.
That some things have value and there’s light in this dark, dark world
It was never sexual.
It’s never even too physical, but it was Dazai’s lifeline nevertheless.
It’s the closest thing to intimacy Dazai ever knew, and it’s still /peaceful/, but— but, somehow it’s not enough to stop the crisis souring in him.
Not now.
“You’re a good person, Osamu,” Oda murmurs, rocking him gently in his arms. “Chuuya-kun knows that too. You’ll see.”
Not now.
“You’re a good person, Osamu,” Oda murmurs, rocking him gently in his arms. “Chuuya-kun knows that too. You’ll see.”
Dazai curls tighter on himself, tasting salt on his lips.
He won’t learn.
He won’t, because he’s a smart person who sucks at learning.
“But he left—“
No. No. He let Chuuya leave. It’s his fault, and it hurts.
Somebody should have warned him that it would be so painful.
He won’t learn.
He won’t, because he’s a smart person who sucks at learning.
“But he left—“
No. No. He let Chuuya leave. It’s his fault, and it hurts.
Somebody should have warned him that it would be so painful.
He let the only good, whole, real thing he ever knew walk out on him.
He betrayed his person even though he promised he’d never do that.
The thought only makes him sob harder.
Oda doesn’t reply — just a quiet, solid presence rocking Dazai gently, shrouding him in his scent.
He betrayed his person even though he promised he’d never do that.
The thought only makes him sob harder.
Oda doesn’t reply — just a quiet, solid presence rocking Dazai gently, shrouding him in his scent.
And the only thing the alpha manages to do is /cry/ harder, louder, body limp in his friend’s arms.
He thought he shed all the tears he had in himself the first night he spent without Chuuya — turns out he’s wrong.
Because Chuuya’s absence opened a /laceration/ that Dazai
He thought he shed all the tears he had in himself the first night he spent without Chuuya — turns out he’s wrong.
Because Chuuya’s absence opened a /laceration/ that Dazai
has no idea how to stitch back together.
Maybe that’s how he’ll finally die.
He wonders if this pain is going to strangle him, eventually.
If the things he kept to himself will make him so miserable that they’ll end up crushing him — forever silent. Forever /sorry/.
Maybe that’s how he’ll finally die.
He wonders if this pain is going to strangle him, eventually.
If the things he kept to himself will make him so miserable that they’ll end up crushing him — forever silent. Forever /sorry/.
Because Chuuya has no idea how absolutely and painfully Tsushima Shuuji, the only son of a man who almost burned the Port Mafia to the ground, loves him.
He has no idea, because Dazai never told him.
…God, where would they be now if Dazai /had/ told him?
He has no idea, because Dazai never told him.
…God, where would they be now if Dazai /had/ told him?
Doing the right thing seems so easy, now that the chance to ever tell he truth has slipped away.
// ‘The name I was assigned at birth is not Dazai Osamu, though that’s all I’ve been most of my life.
My suicidal dead parents and my guardian are elbow-deep in mafia affairs.
// ‘The name I was assigned at birth is not Dazai Osamu, though that’s all I’ve been most of my life.
My suicidal dead parents and my guardian are elbow-deep in mafia affairs.
One of my closest friends is also my government-assigned protector.
My other best friend grew up in the shadow of the Port Mafia, and kept me out of it.
I know nothing of trust.
I hate myself, but I love /you/. It’s always been you.
And that’s all that matters.’ //
My other best friend grew up in the shadow of the Port Mafia, and kept me out of it.
I know nothing of trust.
I hate myself, but I love /you/. It’s always been you.
And that’s all that matters.’ //
If Dazai thinks over it now, it seems… not his fault. He’d almost feel sorry for himself.
But then, /why/ could he swear that Chuuya would surely leave him if he ever revealed that part of him?
Why did he convince himself that Chuuya wouldn’t need to know?
But then, /why/ could he swear that Chuuya would surely leave him if he ever revealed that part of him?
Why did he convince himself that Chuuya wouldn’t need to know?
He thought over it before, and it made /sense/ not to tell Chuuya.
It made sense to let the omega think of him as a university student like any other — a loaded one, but still normal.
Then /why/ does he feel like he blindsided Chuuya?
All he wanted to do was protect him.
It made sense to let the omega think of him as a university student like any other — a loaded one, but still normal.
Then /why/ does he feel like he blindsided Chuuya?
All he wanted to do was protect him.
As Dazai shakes quietly, his skin cold even though the anger the alpha feels towards himself is /boiling/, Oda’s palm strokes the scent glands under his jaw.
He keeps the boy close, letting the loud weeps turn into a quiet, subdued crying.
And, in the silence that took over,
He keeps the boy close, letting the loud weeps turn into a quiet, subdued crying.
And, in the silence that took over,
Dazai just wants to ask /how/.
How is he supposed to word out all these hate and fear that roil in him?
How can he explain?
He never fully stepped into the shoes of Mori’s adopted pupil.
He was never Tsushima Shuuji of the Port Mafia, either.
He’s just… nothing.
How is he supposed to word out all these hate and fear that roil in him?
How can he explain?
He never fully stepped into the shoes of Mori’s adopted pupil.
He was never Tsushima Shuuji of the Port Mafia, either.
He’s just… nothing.
And Dazai knows he’s not perfect.
He /knows/.
Yet, more often than not, he suspected that his imperfections fell in love with Chuuya first.
His lack of empathy sang with the redhead’s kindness.
His apathy warmed up with how the omega always reacted with his full self.
He /knows/.
Yet, more often than not, he suspected that his imperfections fell in love with Chuuya first.
His lack of empathy sang with the redhead’s kindness.
His apathy warmed up with how the omega always reacted with his full self.
All his ragged edges seemed to soften with the Chibi around.
Even his /body/ seemed a little less disgusting, if Chuuya traced gentle patterns over the bandages.
Chuuya offered him a small gesture of empathy when he had no hope left — no /life/ left — and Dazai was /saved/.
Even his /body/ seemed a little less disgusting, if Chuuya traced gentle patterns over the bandages.
Chuuya offered him a small gesture of empathy when he had no hope left — no /life/ left — and Dazai was /saved/.
And… look at him now.
Dazai Osamu, who thought himself above salvation, bawling like a child on a kitchen chair.
Curled on himself with a sore throat and a heart full of despair.
At least, he supposes, he can still count on Oda.
His best friend has always been a healer.
Dazai Osamu, who thought himself above salvation, bawling like a child on a kitchen chair.
Curled on himself with a sore throat and a heart full of despair.
At least, he supposes, he can still count on Oda.
His best friend has always been a healer.
Back when they were both younger and much more stupid, Odasaku — a kid himself, only a handful of years older — had to grow up faster to take care of Dazai: a lanky, weirdly smart, traumatized alpha who would rather die than take care of himself.
But Oda never gave up on him.
But Oda never gave up on him.
Because Oda is a nurturer. That’s just who he is.
He’s a quintessentially good person and maybe Dazai is leaning on him too much, but—
But he can’t stop crying.
He can’t cope with so much pain, he doesn’t know /how/.
“I miss him,” Dazai finally murmurs, voice broken.
He’s a quintessentially good person and maybe Dazai is leaning on him too much, but—
But he can’t stop crying.
He can’t cope with so much pain, he doesn’t know /how/.
“I miss him,” Dazai finally murmurs, voice broken.
“I know.” Oda’s voice rings soothing in the alpha’s ears, like balm over a wound.
“/How/ did I fuck it up?”
“People fuck up all the time.”
Weakly, Dazai sniffles. “/I/ don’t.”
“You aren’t different than other people,” the man reminds him gently, treading through the alpha’s
“/How/ did I fuck it up?”
“People fuck up all the time.”
Weakly, Dazai sniffles. “/I/ don’t.”
“You aren’t different than other people,” the man reminds him gently, treading through the alpha’s
dark hair while his other hand still presses on Dazai’s neck. “Stop doing this to yourself. You are a /person/.”
He’s not — he’s a mistake, an outsider. He walks the borders of society, perplexed and in awe and mildly amused, and observes.
But he won’t argue with Odasaku now.
He’s not — he’s a mistake, an outsider. He walks the borders of society, perplexed and in awe and mildly amused, and observes.
But he won’t argue with Odasaku now.
“I want Chuuya,” he says, instead.
It sounds so childish — as if anyone in the room has /any/ power over it. As if Chuuya cares.
Oda snorts softly.
“I know, Osamu. I know.”
“I don’t understand,” he whispers, every word scraping his windpipe as he tries to speak clearly.
It sounds so childish — as if anyone in the room has /any/ power over it. As if Chuuya cares.
Oda snorts softly.
“I know, Osamu. I know.”
“I don’t understand,” he whispers, every word scraping his windpipe as he tries to speak clearly.
“Don’t think now. Just let it all out.”
“I hate crying,” he growls. “It’s messy. /And/ there’s snot on your shirt.”
Oda inhales. “Hm. Whose fault do you think it is?”
Dazai quivers.
The comment reminds him that he’s been trying to find a foe in his narrative for /so/ long.
“I hate crying,” he growls. “It’s messy. /And/ there’s snot on your shirt.”
Oda inhales. “Hm. Whose fault do you think it is?”
Dazai quivers.
The comment reminds him that he’s been trying to find a foe in his narrative for /so/ long.
Mishima, for being an asshole.
Mori, for helping him out.
Ango, for sharing with Chuuya secrets Dazai would have kept for himself forever.
But in the end—
“What should I do, Odasaku?”
In the end, whenever he searched for a villain, Dazai only ever saw his own face.
Mori, for helping him out.
Ango, for sharing with Chuuya secrets Dazai would have kept for himself forever.
But in the end—
“What should I do, Odasaku?”
In the end, whenever he searched for a villain, Dazai only ever saw his own face.
“Take care of yourself, for a start. And you can try being honest when Chuuya-kun comes back,” the omega suggests. Dazai whines loudly, softly hitting his head against his friend’s stomach in lieu of a protest. “No, /listen/. It’s important that you let him understand and help.”
“Help /me/?”
The alpha chuckles as he says that, though it sounds hysterical. Maybe he’s crazy. Gone. Cuckoo.
Sure, some children’s author used to write that the best people are crazy, but he never met /Dazai/.
Quietly, Oda tilts his head.
“Is it really so hard to accept?”
The alpha chuckles as he says that, though it sounds hysterical. Maybe he’s crazy. Gone. Cuckoo.
Sure, some children’s author used to write that the best people are crazy, but he never met /Dazai/.
Quietly, Oda tilts his head.
“Is it really so hard to accept?”
“Just— No one should waste their time like that.”
He’s not worth knowing.
Some parts of him, at least, are better off locked away.
If Oda squeezes him a little harder, Dazai pretends not to notice “That’s for Chuuya-kun to decide.”
“Chibi will make a horrible decision.”
He’s not worth knowing.
Some parts of him, at least, are better off locked away.
If Oda squeezes him a little harder, Dazai pretends not to notice “That’s for Chuuya-kun to decide.”
“Chibi will make a horrible decision.”
“It’s not up to /you/, Osamu.”
“But—“
“At least try to trust him,” Oda cuts him off, voice firm. “He’s asking for an effort, and you— maybe /you/ will finally accept yourself, too.”
Dazai lets out a guttural sound.
He doubts it, but also finds himself too tired to protest.
“But—“
“At least try to trust him,” Oda cuts him off, voice firm. “He’s asking for an effort, and you— maybe /you/ will finally accept yourself, too.”
Dazai lets out a guttural sound.
He doubts it, but also finds himself too tired to protest.
He can try to be more open with Chuuya, sure.
He /will/.
However, forgiving himself would require energy the alpha doesn’t have — and he hopes Odasaku won’t try to convince him to go back to therapy /now/.
Mori wouldn’t allow it anyway, not unless /he/ picks the therapist.
He /will/.
However, forgiving himself would require energy the alpha doesn’t have — and he hopes Odasaku won’t try to convince him to go back to therapy /now/.
Mori wouldn’t allow it anyway, not unless /he/ picks the therapist.
Security reasons, he’d say. Dazai begs to differ.
Mori is always scrambling for absolute control, and manipulation is the doctor’s favorite coin.
Not that Dazai cares now. He just wants to be left alone.
He wants to sweat the whisky off and drink again.
He wants to sleep.
Mori is always scrambling for absolute control, and manipulation is the doctor’s favorite coin.
Not that Dazai cares now. He just wants to be left alone.
He wants to sweat the whisky off and drink again.
He wants to sleep.
Sleep, and dream of Chuuya.
He leans fully against Odasaku; breathing in his familiar scent, letting it fill his lungs.
“‘M tired,” he mumbles.
Dazai barely tunes in with Oda’s reply, already drifting away.
When he sleeps, Chuuya is with him. In dreams, nothing ever changed.
He leans fully against Odasaku; breathing in his familiar scent, letting it fill his lungs.
“‘M tired,” he mumbles.
Dazai barely tunes in with Oda’s reply, already drifting away.
When he sleeps, Chuuya is with him. In dreams, nothing ever changed.
Crying tired the hell out of him and, anyway, the alpha would happily spend his days sleeping.
Sleeping is way better than reality.
It hurts less than staring at the wall, knowing that Chuuya’s room is empty and silent on the other side.
“Come on,” Oda says, though the sound
Sleeping is way better than reality.
It hurts less than staring at the wall, knowing that Chuuya’s room is empty and silent on the other side.
“Come on,” Oda says, though the sound
comes from the periphery of Dazai’s mind. “Let’s get you to bed. You can always eat later.”
Dazai is not sure he manages to lodge in a protest, or if he simply dreamt about insulting the ketchup face. /That stupid smile./
It’s just— so weird.
Why is Odasaku so loving to him?
Dazai is not sure he manages to lodge in a protest, or if he simply dreamt about insulting the ketchup face. /That stupid smile./
It’s just— so weird.
Why is Odasaku so loving to him?
Why is he so kind, when even Chuuya left?
He doesn’t understand.
/He just wants Chuuya./
—
The messages start filling Chuuya’s phone on the second week.
// You have *ONE* message in your inbox:
Hi, Chibi. It’s me. I— I just wanted to say that I love you.
I’m sorry. //
He doesn’t understand.
/He just wants Chuuya./
—
The messages start filling Chuuya’s phone on the second week.
// You have *ONE* message in your inbox:
Hi, Chibi. It’s me. I— I just wanted to say that I love you.
I’m sorry. //
Chuuya tries to ignore the first calls for the first few days, he really puts every effort in it.
But both he and Dazai know that, ultimately, it’s an exercise in futility.
// You have *SEVEN* messages in your inbox:
Hi Chuuya. It’s me. Dazai.
I mean, of course you know it.
But both he and Dazai know that, ultimately, it’s an exercise in futility.
// You have *SEVEN* messages in your inbox:
Hi Chuuya. It’s me. Dazai.
I mean, of course you know it.
I wanted to hear how you w— ah, shit. Can you believe it? Saké keeps running out in this house. I can’t find anything in here anymore.
Not even a damn bottle.
But, anyway. I digress.
I’m sorry. I miss you less when I’m drunk, but I—
I /miss/ you. Call me back? //
Not even a damn bottle.
But, anyway. I digress.
I’m sorry. I miss you less when I’m drunk, but I—
I /miss/ you. Call me back? //
He’s not ready to talk /yet/.
He needs time.
But, even if Chuuya could erase Dazai’s drunken ramblings (he never does)—
// You have *TWELVE* messages in your inbox:
I love you, Chuuya.
Please. /Please/, come home. //
—He can’t ignore his broken heart forever.
He needs time.
But, even if Chuuya could erase Dazai’s drunken ramblings (he never does)—
// You have *TWELVE* messages in your inbox:
I love you, Chuuya.
Please. /Please/, come home. //
—He can’t ignore his broken heart forever.
Now, the omega promised Ryuu that he won’t text Dazai anything embarrassing, and he won’t.
He won’t even reply to any of the half-slurred voicemails populating his phone.
But there is /one/ thing he can do.
As he types in the code for the door, Chuuya tries to tell himself
He won’t even reply to any of the half-slurred voicemails populating his phone.
But there is /one/ thing he can do.
As he types in the code for the door, Chuuya tries to tell himself
that going home — the house he /learned/ to call home, at least — doesn’t mean surrender.
It’s not like he’s getting back with Dazai just by walking in.
He’s paying rent. He /can/ live there.
And he needs clothes anyway, because he’s tired of running on the same two shirts.
It’s not like he’s getting back with Dazai just by walking in.
He’s paying rent. He /can/ live there.
And he needs clothes anyway, because he’s tired of running on the same two shirts.
Still, his heart throbs as he walks in.
“Hey. I’m—“ As he slips out of his shoes in the genkan, he clears his voice. “I’m back.”
It’s weird to find Dazai alone when Chuuya expected Oda to be there.
The alpha even looks like shit, numb and reeking of a mix of despair and saké.
“Hey. I’m—“ As he slips out of his shoes in the genkan, he clears his voice. “I’m back.”
It’s weird to find Dazai alone when Chuuya expected Oda to be there.
The alpha even looks like shit, numb and reeking of a mix of despair and saké.
Chuuya can barely take in his ex’s appearance — the old grey hoodie, circles around his eyes and feet kicked on the couch — without feeling a pang in his chest.
But Dazai’s gaze shines of a warm honey-gold when he looks at Chuuya.
His lips twitch — /relieved/.
“Hi, Chibi.”
But Dazai’s gaze shines of a warm honey-gold when he looks at Chuuya.
His lips twitch — /relieved/.
“Hi, Chibi.”
• • •
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