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.”
“You look like shit.”
It rolls out of Chuuya’s mouth before he can stop himself. He also immediately kicks himself for it, because he can’t say stuff like this anymore.
It was sheer force of habit, since he was always /honest/ with Dazai.
Dazai blinks.
“Ah,” is all he says.
It rolls out of Chuuya’s mouth before he can stop himself. He also immediately kicks himself for it, because he can’t say stuff like this anymore.
It was sheer force of habit, since he was always /honest/ with Dazai.
Dazai blinks.
“Ah,” is all he says.
“Shit. No offence, but…” Chuuya’s voice trails off before he can spit another indelicate comment.
This is not a /great/ start, for sure.
He’s didn’t come back to be an ass to Dazai. Tsushima. Whoever.
“I’m having a rough time,” the alpha cuts him off, raising a hand before
This is not a /great/ start, for sure.
He’s didn’t come back to be an ass to Dazai. Tsushima. Whoever.
“I’m having a rough time,” the alpha cuts him off, raising a hand before
the redhead can bury himself under a mountain of embarrassed mumblings.
Dazai also curls up into a ball, folding his long legs under his body on the couch; he’s smiling, but not with his eyes.
And Chuuya is /no/ therapist, but he can see that Dazai is indeed not faring well.
Dazai also curls up into a ball, folding his long legs under his body on the couch; he’s smiling, but not with his eyes.
And Chuuya is /no/ therapist, but he can see that Dazai is indeed not faring well.
‘Looking like shit’ may be a generous understatement, even.
Make no mistake, Chuuya is not having a ball either.
He lost count of the times he fell asleep crying. He hates every minute of his life.
But, maybe, for once, he is the one who learned how to conceal his feelings.
Make no mistake, Chuuya is not having a ball either.
He lost count of the times he fell asleep crying. He hates every minute of his life.
But, maybe, for once, he is the one who learned how to conceal his feelings.
Maybe he’s just used to breaking up with people, and for once he’s not the dumped one.
Still, the idea of being the one to introduce Dazai to the hardships of a true break-up roils in Chuuya’s stomach, making him feel a little nauseated.
(This is not what he wanted for them.)
Still, the idea of being the one to introduce Dazai to the hardships of a true break-up roils in Chuuya’s stomach, making him feel a little nauseated.
(This is not what he wanted for them.)
“Yeah,” the omega murmurs. “I’m not great either.”
The smile that Dazai gives him is /sorrowful/.
“But you’re here,” he states. Relief, again, taints his voice; Chuuya doesn’t know what to do with it, to be honest. “Also— I’m afraid I have neglected the house chores a little.”
The smile that Dazai gives him is /sorrowful/.
“But you’re here,” he states. Relief, again, taints his voice; Chuuya doesn’t know what to do with it, to be honest. “Also— I’m afraid I have neglected the house chores a little.”
/Right/.
It takes a moment for Chuuya to realize what Dazai is saying — but, when he does, he finds himself smiling.
“I simply left, so I guess we can both take the blame if the house went to shit.”
Dazai scrunches his nose. “Not ‘to shit’. I sent Ango grocery shopping.”
It takes a moment for Chuuya to realize what Dazai is saying — but, when he does, he finds himself smiling.
“I simply left, so I guess we can both take the blame if the house went to shit.”
Dazai scrunches his nose. “Not ‘to shit’. I sent Ango grocery shopping.”
“A true modern hero.”
“And I paid the bills.”
Chuuya smirks. Last time, Dazai procrastinated the task for so long that their provider threatened them with a power cut.
“Ah, cool. I was already preparing for a candlelight dinner.”
…And /two/.
Two indelicate comments in ten
“And I paid the bills.”
Chuuya smirks. Last time, Dazai procrastinated the task for so long that their provider threatened them with a power cut.
“Ah, cool. I was already preparing for a candlelight dinner.”
…And /two/.
Two indelicate comments in ten
minutes; it must be a new shitty record in the awkward post-break up conversations annals.
Chuuya almost bangs his head against a wall out of sheer frustration. And he almost does, but Dazai’s voice saves him:
“I didn’t open your room, by the way.”
Chuuya inhales curtly.
Chuuya almost bangs his head against a wall out of sheer frustration. And he almost does, but Dazai’s voice saves him:
“I didn’t open your room, by the way.”
Chuuya inhales curtly.
/Their/ room, that’s how he always saw it.
Their corner of sappy, blissful domesticity.
Dazai put so much effort in making it feel like /home/, like a real nest, that Chuuya fears it’ll always feel empty without the alpha.
But, of course, he can’t invite Dazai in /now/.
Their corner of sappy, blissful domesticity.
Dazai put so much effort in making it feel like /home/, like a real nest, that Chuuya fears it’ll always feel empty without the alpha.
But, of course, he can’t invite Dazai in /now/.
They won’t sleep in Chuuya’s nest anymore. They won’t cuddle.
And the redhead will have to return all the clothes he ‘borrowed’ from Dazai.
He’ll have to give the alpha his shampoo back, because they can’t smell exactly the same anymore.
He’s not really sure he wants to
And the redhead will have to return all the clothes he ‘borrowed’ from Dazai.
He’ll have to give the alpha his shampoo back, because they can’t smell exactly the same anymore.
He’s not really sure he wants to
return Dazai’s shirts. His oversized t-shirts that became Chuuya’s PJs and Chuuya’s colorful scrunchies that Dazai used when his fringe became too long.
God, Chuuya is already mourning his possibility to walk around in Dazai’s /boxers/.
They are comfortable and feel like
God, Chuuya is already mourning his possibility to walk around in Dazai’s /boxers/.
They are comfortable and feel like
shorts, and Chuuya adored the caress of cotton on his thighs — it felt like Dazai was /hugging/ him.
Suddenly, he wants to cry a little over all the boyfriend privileges he loves and gave for granted.
“Thanks,” he murmurs, though the word seems to sear a bruise in his tongue.
Suddenly, he wants to cry a little over all the boyfriend privileges he loves and gave for granted.
“Thanks,” he murmurs, though the word seems to sear a bruise in his tongue.
Dazai shrugs it off. “It’s okay. I didn’t want to intrude, but there’s probably dust in there.”
“Ah, I can survive,” Chuuya says, hiding his hands in the pockets of his military green jacket. “Actually, I was thinking of coming back to sleep tonight? If it’s not too awkward…”
“Ah, I can survive,” Chuuya says, hiding his hands in the pockets of his military green jacket. “Actually, I was thinking of coming back to sleep tonight? If it’s not too awkward…”
The couch creaks when the alpha squirms on it, lips pulled in a thin line.
“It’s still your house, Chibi. You can come back anytime you want.”
“You sure? With some time, I can find another apartment.”
Dazai’s eyes turn lightless, and hurt flashes across his face.
“It’s still your house, Chibi. You can come back anytime you want.”
“You sure? With some time, I can find another apartment.”
Dazai’s eyes turn lightless, and hurt flashes across his face.
“Don’t be silly. I told you, you’re the only person I could live with. That’s still true.”
“I just don’t want to, y’know… make you uncomfortable because we used to date.”
Dazai /shudders/ at the sentence, and Chuuya realizes it’s the first time they mentioned what happened.
“I just don’t want to, y’know… make you uncomfortable because we used to date.”
Dazai /shudders/ at the sentence, and Chuuya realizes it’s the first time they mentioned what happened.
It still feels unreal.
The redhead didn’t enjoy saying that, every word leaving an invisible cut under the skin, but somebody had to address the elephant in the room.
Hell, there are /so many/ elephants in this house. It’s like a zoo.
A shitty zoo full of shitty elephants.
The redhead didn’t enjoy saying that, every word leaving an invisible cut under the skin, but somebody had to address the elephant in the room.
Hell, there are /so many/ elephants in this house. It’s like a zoo.
A shitty zoo full of shitty elephants.
Dazai’s eyes turn into slits. “I know I didn’t give you the best example lately, but I /can/ respect your boundaries. Unless you /want/ to move out.”
Chuuya can barely suppress the ‘no’ climbing up his throat.
It’d be smart to find another apartment probably, but
Chuuya can barely suppress the ‘no’ climbing up his throat.
It’d be smart to find another apartment probably, but
he’s still clinging to the idea that they can fix this; that they’ll heal over time.
Leaving now would mean that he’s giving up on Dazai when all he really wants is to mend their relationship.
“No.” He inhales shakily. “No, I was asking what /you/ wanted. /I/ want to— stay.”
Leaving now would mean that he’s giving up on Dazai when all he really wants is to mend their relationship.
“No.” He inhales shakily. “No, I was asking what /you/ wanted. /I/ want to— stay.”
Dazai’s face softens. “Then I’m glad.”
/I want to stay./ Such a mundane little sentence. Yet, it holds so much power as it settles between them.
And Dazai wants him too, and Chuuya finally feels /lighter/.
“I kinda missed you,” Chuuya whispers, gruffly, staring at the floor.
/I want to stay./ Such a mundane little sentence. Yet, it holds so much power as it settles between them.
And Dazai wants him too, and Chuuya finally feels /lighter/.
“I kinda missed you,” Chuuya whispers, gruffly, staring at the floor.
It’s definitely safer than looking at Dazai, right now.
Yet he’s glad he allowed himself that small sign of surrender, because Dazai rewards him with a twitch of his lips.
Chuuya can’t see it, but he can feel it in his voice; he learned to hear Dazai’s smile in his sentences.
Yet he’s glad he allowed himself that small sign of surrender, because Dazai rewards him with a twitch of his lips.
Chuuya can’t see it, but he can feel it in his voice; he learned to hear Dazai’s smile in his sentences.
“I missed you too.”
“And I really would like to hug you right now, but I’m still mad as fuck so you get nothing.”
Dazai barks out a timid chuckle. “Fair enough.”
If he has to be honest, Chuuya didn’t think he’d allow himself to fall into a familiar rhythm with Dazai so soon.
“And I really would like to hug you right now, but I’m still mad as fuck so you get nothing.”
Dazai barks out a timid chuckle. “Fair enough.”
If he has to be honest, Chuuya didn’t think he’d allow himself to fall into a familiar rhythm with Dazai so soon.
But— falling back into the old pace seems just /effortless/.
As he dares to throw a glance at Dazai, Chuuya wonders if it would be a good idea to reassure him that his feelings didn’t change.
Would they just go back to where they were before?
To the silences, the secrets?
As he dares to throw a glance at Dazai, Chuuya wonders if it would be a good idea to reassure him that his feelings didn’t change.
Would they just go back to where they were before?
To the silences, the secrets?
Should he let things go organically, and not bring feelings into it too soon?
It’s surely hard to think, when Dazai is just looking at him like a ghost of a close past that is /just/ out of his grasp.
He tries to swallow, deciding to give Dazai at least /something/.
It’s surely hard to think, when Dazai is just looking at him like a ghost of a close past that is /just/ out of his grasp.
He tries to swallow, deciding to give Dazai at least /something/.
“‘Samu, about the voicemails. I— I need time to process.” He runs a hand through his hair, uneasy. “A lot happened.”
“Of course. I’m /so/ sorry.”
“And I’m sorry for pushing you. If I cornered you— that wasn’t my intention.”
Dazai licks his bottom lip, but doesn’t answer.
“Of course. I’m /so/ sorry.”
“And I’m sorry for pushing you. If I cornered you— that wasn’t my intention.”
Dazai licks his bottom lip, but doesn’t answer.
Chuuya doesn’t even /suppose/ that there’s much to say, either.
He wanted to learn more about Dazai, and Dazai didn’t want him to.
Simple as that.
Plus, the omega is not prepared for a serious conversation — he just wanted to grab spare shirts for dinner, for Christ’s sake.
He wanted to learn more about Dazai, and Dazai didn’t want him to.
Simple as that.
Plus, the omega is not prepared for a serious conversation — he just wanted to grab spare shirts for dinner, for Christ’s sake.
“So— I’ll go to my room, I guess.” Chuuya says, breaking the silence — though it’s not uneasy, just /thick/ with feelings. He throws a thumb over his shoulder, pointing at the corridor. “I have dinner with a friend and need a change of clothes, but I’ll be home tonight.”
He can read curiosity in Dazai’s silence, maybe jealousy, but the alpha doesn’t ask who is the friend or how Chuuya knows them.
It might be a date, for all the alpha knows.
A petty, sneaky part of Chuuya feels weirdly vindicated in letting Dazai stew in that possibility.
It might be a date, for all the alpha knows.
A petty, sneaky part of Chuuya feels weirdly vindicated in letting Dazai stew in that possibility.
Truth is, Tsujimura is just an old schoolmate visiting for a few days. /She/ has been a good friend for years.
Yet, he is sure Dazai’s mind promptly manifested a /male/ friend.
Once again, Chuuya doesn’t feel the need to clarify.
Serves the Mackerel right for not /asking/.
Yet, he is sure Dazai’s mind promptly manifested a /male/ friend.
Once again, Chuuya doesn’t feel the need to clarify.
Serves the Mackerel right for not /asking/.
Pleased with himself, Chuuya turns on his heels.
He is almost at the door when Dazai’s whisper physically /blocks/ him.
Two words that seem to push the omega off imaginary stairs.
They cause his stomach to drop to his feet.
// “…Tsushima Shuuji.” //
He is almost at the door when Dazai’s whisper physically /blocks/ him.
Two words that seem to push the omega off imaginary stairs.
They cause his stomach to drop to his feet.
// “…Tsushima Shuuji.” //
Chuuya halts, tears already welling up in his lashes.
Even if his brain doesn’t understand exactly what that name means, his heart knows.
“/What/?”
His voice comes out strangled, almost refusing to believe what Dazai is whispering.
“My mother named me Shuuji.”
Even if his brain doesn’t understand exactly what that name means, his heart knows.
“/What/?”
His voice comes out strangled, almost refusing to believe what Dazai is whispering.
“My mother named me Shuuji.”
Dazai’s voice is thin — the kind of whisper that rumbles, shattering the silence.
Chuuya’s heart stutters.
He has to breath around the lump in his throat and actively stifle back tears pooling at the corners of his eyes.
“‘Samu…” Chuuya murmurs, turning to face him.
Chuuya’s heart stutters.
He has to breath around the lump in his throat and actively stifle back tears pooling at the corners of his eyes.
“‘Samu…” Chuuya murmurs, turning to face him.
The name drops off his lips /unguarded/, blooming from all the affection Chuuya still harbours for /his/ person.
For /his/ Osamu.
Dazai is looking at his hands, fidgeting with the worn-out edge of his grey sweatshirt.
He looks so /young/. It breaks Chuuya’s heart.
For /his/ Osamu.
Dazai is looking at his hands, fidgeting with the worn-out edge of his grey sweatshirt.
He looks so /young/. It breaks Chuuya’s heart.
“At least, Mori told me my mother chose the name. If she ever told me, I forgot.
Who wants the name of parents who killed themselves in front of your eyes, anyway?
Is it supposed to mean /anything/?
So I’ve been Dazai Osamu all my life: Mori’s genius pupil. A disappointment.
Who wants the name of parents who killed themselves in front of your eyes, anyway?
Is it supposed to mean /anything/?
So I’ve been Dazai Osamu all my life: Mori’s genius pupil. A disappointment.
A stray puppy, and a useless dog. All my life I’ve been running away from that name, from that unknown.”
And then the brunet looks up, big eyes overflowing with a fear that Chuuya never saw before.
A crushing ocean of ache.
“But I swear I never meant to lie to you, Chuuya.”
And then the brunet looks up, big eyes overflowing with a fear that Chuuya never saw before.
A crushing ocean of ache.
“But I swear I never meant to lie to you, Chuuya.”
And— Chuuya is still mad. He’s still burned. Of course he is.
However, he can’t stop himself from marching right /back/ to the couch.
The omega can hear Dazai suck in a surprised gulp when strong arms circle his neck, and Chuuya firmly pushes the alpha against his body.
However, he can’t stop himself from marching right /back/ to the couch.
The omega can hear Dazai suck in a surprised gulp when strong arms circle his neck, and Chuuya firmly pushes the alpha against his body.
He can taste salty tears on his own tongue.
“You’re not a stray,” he says. “/I’m/ here.”
Dazai’s gasps tickles the crook of Chuuya’s neck, his shaky breath heavy and uneven in the omega’s ear.
He doesn’t return the hug, frozen in it — an old doll on the verge of breaking.
“You’re not a stray,” he says. “/I’m/ here.”
Dazai’s gasps tickles the crook of Chuuya’s neck, his shaky breath heavy and uneven in the omega’s ear.
He doesn’t return the hug, frozen in it — an old doll on the verge of breaking.
And once again, not for the first time, Chuuya thinks that Dazai appears /small/.
Quintessentially frail and on the verge of disappearing.
Perhaps he finally knows part of the reason; with an identity so fragmented and no one to lean on, it’s a miracle Dazai grew up at all.
Quintessentially frail and on the verge of disappearing.
Perhaps he finally knows part of the reason; with an identity so fragmented and no one to lean on, it’s a miracle Dazai grew up at all.
His lips ghost over Dazai’s skin — his cheek, his /mouth/, though he can’t muster enough courage to kiss the alpha.
It’s alright, he whispers in Dazai’s hair, purring out his name like a lullaby.
/It’s alright. I understand, now.
I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere./
It’s alright, he whispers in Dazai’s hair, purring out his name like a lullaby.
/It’s alright. I understand, now.
I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere./
Chuuya purrs with his whole chest, hoping it’ll soothe Dazai — hoping it can dissipate some of this terrible fear.
“I’m sorry,” he says, holding him even though Dazai remains moveless in his arms — he doesn’t even /flinch/. “For all the things you went through. I’m so sorry.”
“I’m sorry,” he says, holding him even though Dazai remains moveless in his arms — he doesn’t even /flinch/. “For all the things you went through. I’m so sorry.”
It’s an apology that the world owes to Dazai, or so Chuuya thinks.
And they were both dealt shitty cards but, at least—
At least they have each other.
Maybe not like they /used/ to, maybe not /completely/, but they are not alone anymore.
They will never be alone again.
And they were both dealt shitty cards but, at least—
At least they have each other.
Maybe not like they /used/ to, maybe not /completely/, but they are not alone anymore.
They will never be alone again.
“Thank you,” Dazai murmurs, buried into the hug. His voice is detached.
Chuuya hesitates, wondering if he has the right to pry before asking: “Is your guardian the boss?”
Dazai shudders.
“I think it might be a council of executives, now, with Mori among them. I never asked.”
Chuuya hesitates, wondering if he has the right to pry before asking: “Is your guardian the boss?”
Dazai shudders.
“I think it might be a council of executives, now, with Mori among them. I never asked.”
“No wonder you avoid him.”
“You have no idea.” Dazai snorts. “Mishima was the first time I openly acknowledged the Port Mafia.”
The alpha sighs, pushing his cheek against Chuuya’s shoulder.
It’s dry, though the gesture is an obvious request for comfort— one that has Chuuya
“You have no idea.” Dazai snorts. “Mishima was the first time I openly acknowledged the Port Mafia.”
The alpha sighs, pushing his cheek against Chuuya’s shoulder.
It’s dry, though the gesture is an obvious request for comfort— one that has Chuuya
squeezing Dazai harder in his arms. “Ah, I was asked to take that seat. Mori tried. And the government pressed for a… amicable boss and a peaceful coexistence, I think. They wouldn’t have bothered offering Ango as a babysitter, otherwise.”
“But you…?”
“No. I always said no.”
“But you…?”
“No. I always said no.”
Not a tinge of hesitation rings in Dazai’s words — and, although Chuuya realized he may not read the alpha as well as he thought, he’s pretty sure Dazai doesn’t /want/ to join the Port Mafia.
Oh, he’d be a good leader. Chuuya can see it.
But would he /survive/ that role?
Oh, he’d be a good leader. Chuuya can see it.
But would he /survive/ that role?
“Is that a job you just get to refuse?” Chuuya asks, rubbing soothing circles in Dazai’s scalp. “Can you just say no?”
“As far as I know, yes,” the alpha allows, weakly. “I suspect nobody is /that/ eager to shove their power on /me/.”
“Well, that’s good.”
“As far as I know, yes,” the alpha allows, weakly. “I suspect nobody is /that/ eager to shove their power on /me/.”
“Well, that’s good.”
“/You/ will never have to worry about it,” Dazai adds — almost hurriedly, and much louder than before. “I will never let this… predicament touch you.”
Reluctantly, Chuuya lets go of the alpha.
He pushes back, putting some safe, /much needed/ distance between him and Dazai.
Reluctantly, Chuuya lets go of the alpha.
He pushes back, putting some safe, /much needed/ distance between him and Dazai.
For the first time, he can see how much /responsibility/ rests on the boy’s shoulders. A powerful alpha bloodline, an innate leadership attitude, and a bottomless/darkness/.
And the idiot is worried for him.
/God/.
“Are you stupid?” He blurts out, staring at the other.
And the idiot is worried for him.
/God/.
“Are you stupid?” He blurts out, staring at the other.
Dazai blinks, taken aback.
“Eh?”
“Do you think that’s what I’m worried about?”
“…I suppose?”
“Oh my /god/, you /Mackerel/,” Chuuya says, rolling his eyes to the ceiling. “Who cares if I meet any of these assholes. But what about you? What if anybody comes looking for /you/—“
“Eh?”
“Do you think that’s what I’m worried about?”
“…I suppose?”
“Oh my /god/, you /Mackerel/,” Chuuya says, rolling his eyes to the ceiling. “Who cares if I meet any of these assholes. But what about you? What if anybody comes looking for /you/—“
“That’s what Ango and Odasaku are for. But— I used to think I didn’t care.” Dazai halts, eyes so devoid of light that for a second the omega doesn’t even recognize the boy he /loves/, and Chuuya’s heart /stutters/.
“Don’t say that.”
He moves closer, but Dazai shakes his head.
“Don’t say that.”
He moves closer, but Dazai shakes his head.
He seems to keep Chuuya at distance — not to avoid him, but to make sure the redhead listens.
“It’s /true/, Chuuya. But now, most of the time, I want to live.” He stares, and the knot in Chuuya’s throat tightens. He leans forward. “I want to live thanks to you.”
“It’s /true/, Chuuya. But now, most of the time, I want to live.” He stares, and the knot in Chuuya’s throat tightens. He leans forward. “I want to live thanks to you.”
/I want to live thanks to you./
It’s a daunting responsibility, to have someone’s life on your shoulders. To have /Dazai’s/ life on your shoulders.
And, especially while they are not even together, Chuuya is not sure how much he can /accept/ those words.
Not when there’s
It’s a daunting responsibility, to have someone’s life on your shoulders. To have /Dazai’s/ life on your shoulders.
And, especially while they are not even together, Chuuya is not sure how much he can /accept/ those words.
Not when there’s
someone else in the picture who kept Dazai alive just as much as him. /More/ than him.
“What about the bond with Oda? Ango said…”
Immediately, Dazai seems to shut down. He retreats against the couch’s back as if the question bit him, all grey fabric and white bandages and even
“What about the bond with Oda? Ango said…”
Immediately, Dazai seems to shut down. He retreats against the couch’s back as if the question bit him, all grey fabric and white bandages and even
paler cheeks.
He appears /slapped/ by Chuuya’s voice even though it was barely a whisper.
“Ango should learn to shut up.”
“Dazai—“
“It’s just—” He drags a deep breath, sinking a little more in his clothes. “There is no easy way to say that; I spent some ruts with Odasaku.”
He appears /slapped/ by Chuuya’s voice even though it was barely a whisper.
“Ango should learn to shut up.”
“Dazai—“
“It’s just—” He drags a deep breath, sinking a little more in his clothes. “There is no easy way to say that; I spent some ruts with Odasaku.”
Chuuya flinches, letting the realization sink /in/, nausea grasping his stomach.
It’s not possible.
/It’s not—/
But Dazai shakes his head immediately.
“Not the /physical/ part of them,” he explains, scanning every word with unnatural quietness. “I am not going to lie, I
It’s not possible.
/It’s not—/
But Dazai shakes his head immediately.
“Not the /physical/ part of them,” he explains, scanning every word with unnatural quietness. “I am not going to lie, I
wouldn’t have minded back then, but he was never interested in escalating our friendship.
And I love Odasaku, but I was never /in love/ with him. It just— never developed that way.”
Chuuya swallows.
“Ok,” he whispers, just to remind himself that he still has a voice.
And I love Odasaku, but I was never /in love/ with him. It just— never developed that way.”
Chuuya swallows.
“Ok,” he whispers, just to remind himself that he still has a voice.
/It just never happened/.
How ironic and cruel life can be, though. How fast can things change.
A familiar sense of loss crawls up the omega’s spine, reminding him how /easy/ it would have been for things to develop differently.
It’s difficult, to share Dazai’s heart with
How ironic and cruel life can be, though. How fast can things change.
A familiar sense of loss crawls up the omega’s spine, reminding him how /easy/ it would have been for things to develop differently.
It’s difficult, to share Dazai’s heart with
someone else. It’s painful.
Chuuya closed his hands around that heart and claimed that little, lonely muscle for himself, never knowing Odasaku always owned some of it.
That he’ll /always/ own some of it.
And /that’s/ the part Chuuya — used to betrayal — struggles to accept.
Chuuya closed his hands around that heart and claimed that little, lonely muscle for himself, never knowing Odasaku always owned some of it.
That he’ll /always/ own some of it.
And /that’s/ the part Chuuya — used to betrayal — struggles to accept.
He can work with Oda for Dazai’s sake, showing two very different kinds of support to the man they both love. He can /trust/ him, and Dazai.
But he can’t stifle the jealousy completely.
He can’t shut out that voice that tells him he’s sharing something he shouldn’t share.
But he can’t stifle the jealousy completely.
He can’t shut out that voice that tells him he’s sharing something he shouldn’t share.
He can’t silence that whisper hissing that Dazai will inevitably see that Oda is— better. Kinder.
That his best friend is there, and an omega and fully functioning.
But Dazai seems to notice all the emotions tossing and stirring in the redhead, because his expression softens.
That his best friend is there, and an omega and fully functioning.
But Dazai seems to notice all the emotions tossing and stirring in the redhead, because his expression softens.
“You know, Chibi… the irony of it is that I knew I was never in love with Odasaku when I met you,” the alpha adds, eyes searching for Chuuya’s blue gaze. His lips curl subtly up. “I couldn’t be sure before.
I /learned/ that difference when I realized I was falling for you.”
I /learned/ that difference when I realized I was falling for you.”
When Chuuya tries to swallow — swallow down the emotions and everything said so far, and all the information suddenly dumped on him — he finds his tongue heavy, his spit like sandpaper down his throat.
The conversation is starting to be /overwhelming/.
Tsujimura is waiting.
The conversation is starting to be /overwhelming/.
Tsujimura is waiting.
And yet he can’t /move/, glued to the floor and hungry for /reasons/. For reassurances that are not his to take, because /Dazai/ is not his anymore.
(And he keeps forgetting.
God, he needs to /stop/ forgetting that.)
Seeing that the omega won’t reply, Dazai shrugs.
(And he keeps forgetting.
God, he needs to /stop/ forgetting that.)
Seeing that the omega won’t reply, Dazai shrugs.
He hides his fingers into the sleeves of the hoodie, toying with his hands as if to exorcise another demon of his past.
Another monster he could never slay.
“Still, my ruts are a stark business. They work as an amplifier for emotions. And if I feel destructive—I /try/ things.“
Another monster he could never slay.
“Still, my ruts are a stark business. They work as an amplifier for emotions. And if I feel destructive—I /try/ things.“
/So what? Everybody tries kinky stuff during ruts/.
That’s what Chuuya is about to say. That’s what he /almost/ says.
Then he looks at Dazai, though, and /sees/ him.
It all clicks, like scattered pieces of a dark puzzle: Oda calming Dazai, saving him when he tried to—
/Oh/.
That’s what Chuuya is about to say. That’s what he /almost/ says.
Then he looks at Dazai, though, and /sees/ him.
It all clicks, like scattered pieces of a dark puzzle: Oda calming Dazai, saving him when he tried to—
/Oh/.
“Did you…?” Chuuya hesitates mid-way, unable to finish the sentence.
He knows the answer already, but it’s time to hear it out loud. It’s time Dazai /admits/ it.
Yet, asking that— it sounds so /wrong/. There is no way to go about it delicately, really.
He knows the answer already, but it’s time to hear it out loud. It’s time Dazai /admits/ it.
Yet, asking that— it sounds so /wrong/. There is no way to go about it delicately, really.
TW // mention of suicide
/ Did you try to end your life? /
But the tiny hope — the assumption Dazai would never /act/ on his impulse, that he’d prepare and /prepare/ and never act — winks out when the alpha nods.
A nod; that’s all it takes.
A silly movement of the head.
/ Did you try to end your life? /
But the tiny hope — the assumption Dazai would never /act/ on his impulse, that he’d prepare and /prepare/ and never act — winks out when the alpha nods.
A nod; that’s all it takes.
A silly movement of the head.
That overflowing bathtub; money and phone thrown in the river; hating himself; all the things he knew are just /confirmed/.
“Ruts are about impulses,” Dazai says. “Not only sex. So you see my issue.”
Ruts are not only about sex, just like bonds are not always about /romance/.
“Ruts are about impulses,” Dazai says. “Not only sex. So you see my issue.”
Ruts are not only about sex, just like bonds are not always about /romance/.
Most ruts are about letting go, losing control.
And if some /things/ crawl free…
“Does it only happen during ruts?” Chuuya asks, though he’s not sure he wants to know.
“I—“ Dazai shakes his head, dark strands covering his eyes. “I think it’s always lurking, but during
And if some /things/ crawl free…
“Does it only happen during ruts?” Chuuya asks, though he’s not sure he wants to know.
“I—“ Dazai shakes his head, dark strands covering his eyes. “I think it’s always lurking, but during
ruts I have less control over myself. Odasaku is the only omega I trusted for a long time.”
Ruts are about /instinct/.
“I didn’t know.”
Bonds are about control. Support. /Trust/.
“I didn’t want you to know. I didn’t want you to be burdened by it yet.”
Mutual. Fucking. Trust.
Ruts are about /instinct/.
“I didn’t know.”
Bonds are about control. Support. /Trust/.
“I didn’t want you to know. I didn’t want you to be burdened by it yet.”
Mutual. Fucking. Trust.
“So that’s /Oda’s/ burden?” Chuuya snaps, a little harsher than he intended to. He can see Dazai flinch — it’s then that the redhead’s shoulders flop, and forces himself to keep /calm/. “Look, I shared all my problems and secrets with you. That’s what a /partner/ is for.”
“...”
“...”
A partner Dazai obviously never had before. Right.
“Let’s start again,” Chuuya says, counting Dazai’s demons on the tip of his fingers. They are a little less scary if they face them together. “You thought I would leave because of /what/? Your parents? Your ruts? Your shadows?”
“Let’s start again,” Chuuya says, counting Dazai’s demons on the tip of his fingers. They are a little less scary if they face them together. “You thought I would leave because of /what/? Your parents? Your ruts? Your shadows?”
“All that, yes.”
“Dazai,” he calls, softly, “I still care, and you’re telling me /now/.”
“…Yes?”
Chuuya’s lips curl into a pout, the heat spreading across his cheeks telling him he /blushed/ a little.
“And do I look like I’m going to leave anytime soon? Because I’m not.”
“Dazai,” he calls, softly, “I still care, and you’re telling me /now/.”
“…Yes?”
Chuuya’s lips curl into a pout, the heat spreading across his cheeks telling him he /blushed/ a little.
“And do I look like I’m going to leave anytime soon? Because I’m not.”
How could he believe Chuuya would leave? After what /he/ shared?
The truth is, Chuuya just doesn’t understand Dazai. The double standards in the alpha’s head are unbelievable.
Chuuya’s worth saving.
Chuuya is—
(“Chuuya is /my/ omega,” Dazai said.)
Chuuya is worth loving,
The truth is, Chuuya just doesn’t understand Dazai. The double standards in the alpha’s head are unbelievable.
Chuuya’s worth saving.
Chuuya is—
(“Chuuya is /my/ omega,” Dazai said.)
Chuuya is worth loving,
listening and protecting. Dazai, in his own eyes, is just… a lost cause.
Because of that self-hatred and destructive attitude their fall out was gradual, then sudden. And, now, Chuuya just can’t find an answer anymore.
He’d gladly shake the alpha up and shout and /slap/ him.
Because of that self-hatred and destructive attitude their fall out was gradual, then sudden. And, now, Chuuya just can’t find an answer anymore.
He’d gladly shake the alpha up and shout and /slap/ him.
Because, for someone who says he’s empty, Daza feels so /much/— it’s just all negative.
It’s all darkness.
And Chuuya would like to be surprised and shocked and horrified, but he’s not.
He always knew about Dazai’s suicidal thoughts and irregular ruts, he just never
It’s all darkness.
And Chuuya would like to be surprised and shocked and horrified, but he’s not.
He always knew about Dazai’s suicidal thoughts and irregular ruts, he just never
Connected them.
A connection long in the making that is way more rooted in trauma, solitude and abandonment than Chuuya ever imagined.
And no, it’s not surprising—
—but it /hurts/ all the same.
“Look. I’m not saying you can’t need Oda,” Chuuya mutters, taking advantage of
A connection long in the making that is way more rooted in trauma, solitude and abandonment than Chuuya ever imagined.
And no, it’s not surprising—
—but it /hurts/ all the same.
“Look. I’m not saying you can’t need Oda,” Chuuya mutters, taking advantage of
the uneasy silence to search for the right wording to express what’s actually nagging him. “Obviously you guys have history. It’s /ok/. All I’m saying is, this is exactly the kind of thing you explain.
These are the things you /share/.”
Dazai barely looks at him at all and
These are the things you /share/.”
Dazai barely looks at him at all and
when he speaks, his voice is almost /shy/ as he explains.
“I wanted you to meet Odasaku first; I wanted you to see why and /how/ I care about him.”
Chuuya snorts.
So that’s what Dazai meant when he said that he wanted Chuuya and Oda to get along.
“I wanted you to meet Odasaku first; I wanted you to see why and /how/ I care about him.”
Chuuya snorts.
So that’s what Dazai meant when he said that he wanted Chuuya and Oda to get along.
How Dazai-esque of the dumb Mackerel to expect Chuuya to fall in love with Odasaku’s personality enough to ignore everything else.
The end that justifies the mean, right?
And Chuuya might accuse the alpha of being dense and self-centered, but he crosses his arms instead.
The end that justifies the mean, right?
And Chuuya might accuse the alpha of being dense and self-centered, but he crosses his arms instead.
He can sense an impeding migraine closing like an iron crown around his temples.
“Some mental preparation might have been nice.”
Dazai nods.
“Call that an error of evaluation.”
Chuuya clicks his tongue. He’s late already, and Tsujimura will smack him for it, yet he can’t
“Some mental preparation might have been nice.”
Dazai nods.
“Call that an error of evaluation.”
Chuuya clicks his tongue. He’s late already, and Tsujimura will smack him for it, yet he can’t
tear his gaze away.
He’s glued in place, fearing they’ll talk now or never.
Plus, whoever said commutation was /relaxing/ never met Dazai.
This is not a heart-to-heart, Chuuya thinks; this is a marathon.
A marathon where he crawls upwind and Dazai punches him at every turn.
He’s glued in place, fearing they’ll talk now or never.
Plus, whoever said commutation was /relaxing/ never met Dazai.
This is not a heart-to-heart, Chuuya thinks; this is a marathon.
A marathon where he crawls upwind and Dazai punches him at every turn.
“Was it really never—“
“No,” Dazai says, eyes widening as he almost /cries/ the word out. Urgency is a new shade on the alpha’s face, one Chuuya never saw before. “Like I said, it was never sexual.”
“But it was intimate,” Chuuya points out.
“Yes.”
“And you share a /bond/.”
“No,” Dazai says, eyes widening as he almost /cries/ the word out. Urgency is a new shade on the alpha’s face, one Chuuya never saw before. “Like I said, it was never sexual.”
“But it was intimate,” Chuuya points out.
“Yes.”
“And you share a /bond/.”
/A real bond.
One more real than the one we (not) share now./
Dazai tilts his head. “Now you know the reason.”
“He saved your life.”
(Naturally formed bonds between an alpha and an omega can — and often are — stronger than bond marks.)
“Yes.”
(They may last longer.)
One more real than the one we (not) share now./
Dazai tilts his head. “Now you know the reason.”
“He saved your life.”
(Naturally formed bonds between an alpha and an omega can — and often are — stronger than bond marks.)
“Yes.”
(They may last longer.)
“He seems a… nice person.”
(Some friendships are so deep, so structured, that love pales in comparison)
“He /is/. Chuuya— I said he is my family, and I stand by it.”
The omega stalls, moving his weight from one foot to the other.
“Just friends, huh,” he murmurs to himself.
(Some friendships are so deep, so structured, that love pales in comparison)
“He /is/. Chuuya— I said he is my family, and I stand by it.”
The omega stalls, moving his weight from one foot to the other.
“Just friends, huh,” he murmurs to himself.
He has to admit that there is a sense of catharsis in finally knowing the truth — /Dazai’s/ truth.
What seemed so scary just a few weeks before is slowly morphing into a story of its own.
He wants to believe the words and truths woven into this tale of a sad, sad life.
What seemed so scary just a few weeks before is slowly morphing into a story of its own.
He wants to believe the words and truths woven into this tale of a sad, sad life.
Even if he’ll need time to heal and mend his pride, Chuuya is /eager/ to return that foolish, stupid believer he was when Dazai first told him they would be something beautiful.
That they could be /seriously/ forever.
“Chuuya, I /promise/, you have nothing to worry about.”
That they could be /seriously/ forever.
“Chuuya, I /promise/, you have nothing to worry about.”
But forever ended like it always does.
“I’m not—“ Chuuya stops himself before he can downright lie. That’s bullshit. He is worried and in love. But he also has no jurisdiction over Dazai’s choices. “Look, I’m already late and it’s none of my business. You’re a single alpha now.”
“I’m not—“ Chuuya stops himself before he can downright lie. That’s bullshit. He is worried and in love. But he also has no jurisdiction over Dazai’s choices. “Look, I’m already late and it’s none of my business. You’re a single alpha now.”
Dazai flashes him a grin that should have been cocky once, but that looks like a pale imitation of the boy Chuuya knows.
“A very patient alpha,” he corrects.
…Ah. He forgot how charming and stubborn Dazai can be.
“Look, ‘Samu, I’m not ready to try again just now.”
“A very patient alpha,” he corrects.
…Ah. He forgot how charming and stubborn Dazai can be.
“Look, ‘Samu, I’m not ready to try again just now.”
They /can’t/.
What if it doesn’t work /again/? What if it turns out they are just incompatible?
No, no.
Chuuya needs a time out. He needs to go out with Tsujimura, eat, get drunk.
He needs to be a friend to Dazai until they find a way to make this work— to make this /last/.
What if it doesn’t work /again/? What if it turns out they are just incompatible?
No, no.
Chuuya needs a time out. He needs to go out with Tsujimura, eat, get drunk.
He needs to be a friend to Dazai until they find a way to make this work— to make this /last/.
Until then…
“I understand that. But— I will wait. A year, a decade, I don’t care.” As he says that, Dazai stares right into Chuuya’s soul. His eyes /glimmer/, ripples of gold in the hazelnut of his irises, and a jolt rushes down the omega’s spine. “However long it takes.”
“I understand that. But— I will wait. A year, a decade, I don’t care.” As he says that, Dazai stares right into Chuuya’s soul. His eyes /glimmer/, ripples of gold in the hazelnut of his irises, and a jolt rushes down the omega’s spine. “However long it takes.”
Now, let’s be honest… it definitely didn’t take a decade.
It didn’t even take a month.
Because Chuuya is only human, and Dazai is handsome and frustrating and lovely and stupid. And a mackerel.
And with such soft lips and irritating habits and—
/But let’s go in order./
—
It didn’t even take a month.
Because Chuuya is only human, and Dazai is handsome and frustrating and lovely and stupid. And a mackerel.
And with such soft lips and irritating habits and—
/But let’s go in order./
—
Just like he imagined, the gargantuan amount of information still crushes Chuuya’s chest while he’s out.
Tsujimura is talking and filling his glass but, under the surface, everything Dazai said is sinking slowly into the omega’s marrow.
He’s unsettled.
But—
//I’ll wait.//
Tsujimura is talking and filling his glass but, under the surface, everything Dazai said is sinking slowly into the omega’s marrow.
He’s unsettled.
But—
//I’ll wait.//
But he’s also hopeful.
//However long it takes.//
That night, even though he’s alone in his nest, Chuuya can finally sleep without exhausting himself with crying.
When he comes home, the light in Dazai’s bedroom is on.
Promising to himself that he’ll say hi to Dazai in the
//However long it takes.//
That night, even though he’s alone in his nest, Chuuya can finally sleep without exhausting himself with crying.
When he comes home, the light in Dazai’s bedroom is on.
Promising to himself that he’ll say hi to Dazai in the
morning, Chuuya tiptoes to his room. He plops on the bed with a relieved sigh.
/He’ll go back to Kouyou’s to get his plushie/, he thinks as he rolls onto the mattress and tugs himself under the freshly changed covers.
He can’t sleep well without holding on to Dazai’s present,
/He’ll go back to Kouyou’s to get his plushie/, he thinks as he rolls onto the mattress and tugs himself under the freshly changed covers.
He can’t sleep well without holding on to Dazai’s present,
normally, but the bed — /their/ bed — still smells like the alpha.
Like whisky and crisp paper and rain.
So Chuuya sleeps.
And, as he sleeps, the omega has the strangest dream.
It starts with Dazai as a mafia boss, and himself by his side; his lover, his second-in-command.
Like whisky and crisp paper and rain.
So Chuuya sleeps.
And, as he sleeps, the omega has the strangest dream.
It starts with Dazai as a mafia boss, and himself by his side; his lover, his second-in-command.
Of course, that’s just /stupid/.
Chuuya can barely manage a coffeeshop, what damages would he do to the /mafia/?
And the redhead can’t remember much after, but he vaguely reckons the dream featured a /very/… alluring Dazai.
Not that he needs unwanted nocturnal hints to be
Chuuya can barely manage a coffeeshop, what damages would he do to the /mafia/?
And the redhead can’t remember much after, but he vaguely reckons the dream featured a /very/… alluring Dazai.
Not that he needs unwanted nocturnal hints to be
reminded that he’s still fully, utterly and stupidly pining for the alpha.
/Anyway/. There were also superpowers, Oda and… weretigers?
Akutagawa with a /sassy shadow/ that darts out of a coat?
It’s obviously all Tsujimura’s fault. He must have been seriously drunk.
/Anyway/. There were also superpowers, Oda and… weretigers?
Akutagawa with a /sassy shadow/ that darts out of a coat?
It’s obviously all Tsujimura’s fault. He must have been seriously drunk.
But the dream vanishes with the first rays of a new day, leaving Chuuya to deal with the matter at hand: how to survive a Shitty MackerelTM without giving in to the temptation of kissing him.
As it turns out, Chuuya is not exactly a /champion/ of self control.
As it turns out, Chuuya is not exactly a /champion/ of self control.
It’s difficult not to give in to the need to touch Dazai.
It’s especially hard not to wrap his hands around the alpha’s lanky body in the morning — when Dazai pads into the kitchen, yawning and stretching.
His bed hair is a disgrace, as it always is when the alpha actually
It’s especially hard not to wrap his hands around the alpha’s lanky body in the morning — when Dazai pads into the kitchen, yawning and stretching.
His bed hair is a disgrace, as it always is when the alpha actually
sleeps, and he’s wearing a navy blue PJs peppered with tiny red crabs.
Obviously, he looks terrible, Chuuya’s mind lies.
/He’s adorable/, his heart whispers.
It’s purely out of interest (he swears!) that Chuuya finds himself staring at every detail in the alpha’s figure.
Obviously, he looks terrible, Chuuya’s mind lies.
/He’s adorable/, his heart whispers.
It’s purely out of interest (he swears!) that Chuuya finds himself staring at every detail in the alpha’s figure.
He drinks them in greedily, searching for changes — even the tiny ones.
He wishes he could smooth the wrinkles in the fabric and run his hands through the messy strands.
He wishes Dazai could lean on him and whine that he’s /sleepy/, that he doesn’t feel like studying today.
He wishes he could smooth the wrinkles in the fabric and run his hands through the messy strands.
He wishes Dazai could lean on him and whine that he’s /sleepy/, that he doesn’t feel like studying today.
(When does he /ever/?)
He wishes he could unwrap the bandages peeking out from Dazai’s collar.
And, as it turns out, it’s hard to say ‘good morning’ without a kiss, or ‘goodbye’ without leaving a peck on Dazai’s cheek.
Chuuya is used to their routine, by now.
He /misses/ it.
He wishes he could unwrap the bandages peeking out from Dazai’s collar.
And, as it turns out, it’s hard to say ‘good morning’ without a kiss, or ‘goodbye’ without leaving a peck on Dazai’s cheek.
Chuuya is used to their routine, by now.
He /misses/ it.
Chuuya is mulling over how /much/ he gave those kisses for granted when Dazai interrupts his thoughts.
He has the audacity to even offer him a drowsy smile before closing the fridge.
It’s absurd.
He basically holds milk in one hand and Chuuya’s /dignity/ in the other.
He has the audacity to even offer him a drowsy smile before closing the fridge.
It’s absurd.
He basically holds milk in one hand and Chuuya’s /dignity/ in the other.
“Did you have fun with your friend?” Dazai asks, gently, /politely/.
There’s a certain delicateness in Dazai engaging in polite conversation — he’s relaxed, but also detached. He’s /elegant/.
And Chuuya, being the absolute champion he is, is so taken aback that almost chokes
There’s a certain delicateness in Dazai engaging in polite conversation — he’s relaxed, but also detached. He’s /elegant/.
And Chuuya, being the absolute champion he is, is so taken aback that almost chokes
on his latte. Some of it dribbles past his bottom lip, dirtying his t-shirt with a lukewarm, light brown stain.
And— /great/.
He just burbled like a fucking baby.
Which is pretty fucking ridiculous, because all Dazai did was trying to make conversation like a /human being/.
And— /great/.
He just burbled like a fucking baby.
Which is pretty fucking ridiculous, because all Dazai did was trying to make conversation like a /human being/.
Dazai chuckles, pouring milk in a tall glass. “Bad morning?”
“Bad life,” Chuuya growls, grabbing a napkin to rub the stain on his t-shirt. “But it was fun. Tsujimura is great.”
“Hm.”
“And I’m still drunk; that’s why I just spit coffee on myself. That was for your information.”
“Bad life,” Chuuya growls, grabbing a napkin to rub the stain on his t-shirt. “But it was fun. Tsujimura is great.”
“Hm.”
“And I’m still drunk; that’s why I just spit coffee on myself. That was for your information.”
Dazai lifts an eyebrow.
“/Clearly/.”
“Don’t talk to me.”
“Or you’ll spit more coffee on yourself?”
“/Definitely/ don’t talk to me,” the omega repeats, though without any actual bite, drowning in his mug.
You see? It’s torture, being back in this stupid house.
“/Clearly/.”
“Don’t talk to me.”
“Or you’ll spit more coffee on yourself?”
“/Definitely/ don’t talk to me,” the omega repeats, though without any actual bite, drowning in his mug.
You see? It’s torture, being back in this stupid house.
He’s pretty fucking sure Dazai’s ancestors weaponized their charms — either they never shut up, or made their enemies miserable with their stupidly handsome faces and long limbs.
“Chuuya…?”
“I’m trying to focus,” the redhead mumbles.
“On what?”
“/Existing/.”
Since Dazai
“Chuuya…?”
“I’m trying to focus,” the redhead mumbles.
“On what?”
“/Existing/.”
Since Dazai
asked so nicely, the omega thinks about saying something about Tsujimura.
He could tell Dazai how she dyed her hair mint blue in school and got suspended.
She never changed that color, though.
How they met. He could say she’s studying law in Europe. How she wanted to
He could tell Dazai how she dyed her hair mint blue in school and got suspended.
She never changed that color, though.
How they met. He could say she’s studying law in Europe. How she wanted to
become /someone/, change the world.
But Chuuya doesn’t give in to Dazai’s curious side-glances.
In fact, he acknowledges Dazai as little as he can.
Otherwise he’ll remember how it was to kiss him in the morning, warm lips and lazy hands resting on the small of Dazai’s back.
But Chuuya doesn’t give in to Dazai’s curious side-glances.
In fact, he acknowledges Dazai as little as he can.
Otherwise he’ll remember how it was to kiss him in the morning, warm lips and lazy hands resting on the small of Dazai’s back.
Still, Chuuya manages to stay away. He has no idea how.
It’s unfair.
How is he supposed to live laugh love under the sight of Dazai being… well, his usual handsome self? With his tiny crabs, too.
In a fair world, he supposes, Dazai should have gotten /ugly/ when he turned
It’s unfair.
How is he supposed to live laugh love under the sight of Dazai being… well, his usual handsome self? With his tiny crabs, too.
In a fair world, he supposes, Dazai should have gotten /ugly/ when he turned
into an ex. He shouldn’t be a goddamn temptation.
(To be fair, not even Mishima became ugly after they broke up. He remained rotten as fuck, though.
Dazai, instead, unveiled a fragility Chuuya could only peek at before.)
/Anyway/.
Breakfast goes as badly as Chuuya expected.
(To be fair, not even Mishima became ugly after they broke up. He remained rotten as fuck, though.
Dazai, instead, unveiled a fragility Chuuya could only peek at before.)
/Anyway/.
Breakfast goes as badly as Chuuya expected.
Since he has time before his shift — and an annoying post-hangover headache surging in his nape — the omega forces himself not to rush.
He remains perched on his favorite stool, petting his latte and occasionally taking a sip.
Dazai practically /inhales/ his sweetened milk.
He remains perched on his favorite stool, petting his latte and occasionally taking a sip.
Dazai practically /inhales/ his sweetened milk.
Which is to say, four tablespoons of sugar in a glass of fridge-cold milk.
At eight in the morning.
Chuuya supposes that there is absolutely nothing wrong with that, aside from the fact that it’s disgusting, overly sweet and a /very/ good way to flirt with a stomachache.
At eight in the morning.
Chuuya supposes that there is absolutely nothing wrong with that, aside from the fact that it’s disgusting, overly sweet and a /very/ good way to flirt with a stomachache.
(And yet, would he still kiss the idiot even if he tasted like disgustingly sweet milk?
Of course.)
“I’m late,” Dazai hums almost to himself, sitting the empty glass in the sink.
Chuuya nods.
He /remembers/.
Dazai always has an early class on Wednesday.
He would also
Of course.)
“I’m late,” Dazai hums almost to himself, sitting the empty glass in the sink.
Chuuya nods.
He /remembers/.
Dazai always has an early class on Wednesday.
He would also
always finish around four to stop by the café, though.
Not that Dazai going to do that today, of course. He has no reason to, since they are not together anymore.
Plus, Ryuu might stab him with the panini tongs.
“Get moving then, /genius/,” Chuuya replies.
Not that Dazai going to do that today, of course. He has no reason to, since they are not together anymore.
Plus, Ryuu might stab him with the panini tongs.
“Get moving then, /genius/,” Chuuya replies.
It’s drawled out with all the calmness of someone who doesn’t have to show up at work before a couple of hours, and Dazai /pouts/.
“I could skip today~”
“Oh? Are you going to prove Ranpo right?”
Dazai stops to ponder over it, and his scowl deepens.
He squints, as if
“I could skip today~”
“Oh? Are you going to prove Ranpo right?”
Dazai stops to ponder over it, and his scowl deepens.
He squints, as if
Deciding how much power he should give to an academic rivalry — and if it’s worth a day of rest.
“I’m not sure…”
“Because he /is/ a bit smarter than you, you know?” Chuuya presses on, knowing exactly where to aim and how to load his words.
Dazai’s eyes widen.
“/Chibi/!”
“I’m not sure…”
“Because he /is/ a bit smarter than you, you know?” Chuuya presses on, knowing exactly where to aim and how to load his words.
Dazai’s eyes widen.
“/Chibi/!”
The omega waves him away without lifting his gaze from his mug.
“Then chop chop, so you can prove /me/ wrong too.”
/So I’ll stop daydreaming about combing your stupid hair/.
“Do I get something in return?” Dazai sing-songs.
Chuuya’s hand freezes. The idiot it /teasing/ and
“Then chop chop, so you can prove /me/ wrong too.”
/So I’ll stop daydreaming about combing your stupid hair/.
“Do I get something in return?” Dazai sing-songs.
Chuuya’s hand freezes. The idiot it /teasing/ and
Chuuya knows /exactly/ where this is going. He scrunches his nose, though, pretending to ignore the subtext.
“Academic recognition?”
“I meant—“
Chuuya shrugs. “I can call you a good boy, I guess? Like a dog.”
Dazai’s chest deflates, his shoulders sag.
“Boo! I hate dogs!”
“Academic recognition?”
“I meant—“
Chuuya shrugs. “I can call you a good boy, I guess? Like a dog.”
Dazai’s chest deflates, his shoulders sag.
“Boo! I hate dogs!”
That’s what makes Chuuya smile — remembering /this/ Dazai.
He knows something about the alpha, still.
Something that will never belong to Oda, or Mori, or Ango or the mafia.
How to make /his/ alpha react, how to make him pout and croon.
“I /know/,” he drawls trough a smirk.
He knows something about the alpha, still.
Something that will never belong to Oda, or Mori, or Ango or the mafia.
How to make /his/ alpha react, how to make him pout and croon.
“I /know/,” he drawls trough a smirk.
It’s reassuring to know that — somewhere, buried under the recent revelations — survives a scrap of domestic life that it /theirs/.
Dazai sighs but silently disappears into his room to change, defeated and a pouting like a misbehaved puppy.
If he heard Chuuya
Dazai sighs but silently disappears into his room to change, defeated and a pouting like a misbehaved puppy.
If he heard Chuuya
mumbling “spoiled brat” under his breath, he doesn’t comment.
He drags his feet like the drama queen that he is, though, and Chuuya /snorts/.
/He’s such a baby/, he thinks — fondness roiling in him, even if it’s tainted by the now familiar ache.
When Dazai walks back in the
He drags his feet like the drama queen that he is, though, and Chuuya /snorts/.
/He’s such a baby/, he thinks — fondness roiling in him, even if it’s tainted by the now familiar ache.
When Dazai walks back in the
kitchen, less than ten minutes later and /still/ looking like he’d rather choke than be a productive member of society, the omega hasn’t moved from his spot.
He actually has no intention to—
until he /sees/ Dazai.
He sucks in a breath.
First, the dark blue pants. It would
He actually has no intention to—
until he /sees/ Dazai.
He sucks in a breath.
First, the dark blue pants. It would
be a /cool/ choice of clothing, if it didn’t highlight the alpha’s stupidly long and well-shaped legs. It’s a shameless hit at Chuuya’s sanity.
Then, there’s a pink metallic hair pin that keeps one strand of Dazai’s hair secured to the side.
That one is weirdly cute.
Then, there’s a pink metallic hair pin that keeps one strand of Dazai’s hair secured to the side.
That one is weirdly cute.
But he’s also wearing one of Chuuya’s favorite shirts; light blue, striped.
The one he was wearing during the end of his heat, the omega realizes with a pang at his chest.
His scent still lingers on the cotton like a ghost embrace.
And the collar is an absolute /mess/.
The one he was wearing during the end of his heat, the omega realizes with a pang at his chest.
His scent still lingers on the cotton like a ghost embrace.
And the collar is an absolute /mess/.
“You’re going out like that?” Chuuya asks, hoping he’ll sound casual when he actually feels desperate.
There’s a pull that tugs him to the alpha, and it’s /strong/.
Dazai blinks.
“Yeah? Why?”
“God, you’re unbelievable,” the redhead mutters, walking to the alpha.
There’s a pull that tugs him to the alpha, and it’s /strong/.
Dazai blinks.
“Yeah? Why?”
“God, you’re unbelievable,” the redhead mutters, walking to the alpha.
Dazai bends down, obediently letting Chuuya uncurl the collar.
He did it a thousand times before, never caring much, but it feels different now.
The air seems electric, the silence thick.
Chuuya’s fingers are swift, but Dazai’s breath lingers over the back of his hands.
He did it a thousand times before, never caring much, but it feels different now.
The air seems electric, the silence thick.
Chuuya’s fingers are swift, but Dazai’s breath lingers over the back of his hands.
“Ah. That.”
Chuuya squints, focusing on smoothing the front of Dazai’s collar.
The flowery, intense notes of his heat linger even after a couple of washes, mixed with Dazai’s scent.
He can recognize speckles of Oda’s scent in there, now, but he can also sense /himself/.
Chuuya squints, focusing on smoothing the front of Dazai’s collar.
The flowery, intense notes of his heat linger even after a couple of washes, mixed with Dazai’s scent.
He can recognize speckles of Oda’s scent in there, now, but he can also sense /himself/.
And he doesn’t know why he’s whispering as he says: “Just because you’re handsome it doesn’t mean you can put zero effort into details, y’know.”
“Hm.”
“You’re lucky I’m back to save your ass.”
“Yes. Thank you, Chibi,” the alpha whispers, voice hoarse. /Dazed/.
“Hm.”
“You’re lucky I’m back to save your ass.”
“Yes. Thank you, Chibi,” the alpha whispers, voice hoarse. /Dazed/.
A subtle grin curls Chuuya’s lips.
“You’re such a shitty baby.”
“And Chuuya’s short.”
/Yet you always get down to my level./
“Ugh. Shut up and don’t move,” the omega says, instead.
He gently frees some of Dazai’s strands from the collar, mentally thinking the brunet should
“You’re such a shitty baby.”
“And Chuuya’s short.”
/Yet you always get down to my level./
“Ugh. Shut up and don’t move,” the omega says, instead.
He gently frees some of Dazai’s strands from the collar, mentally thinking the brunet should
cut his hair soon.
It’s soft, and only lightly curly, but long enough to be tied in a bun again.
And he /missed/ the domesticity. The tenderness of the little gestures. Taking care of each other.
It’s a reminder that it wasn’t /only/ lies.
Chuuya steps closer.
It’s soft, and only lightly curly, but long enough to be tied in a bun again.
And he /missed/ the domesticity. The tenderness of the little gestures. Taking care of each other.
It’s a reminder that it wasn’t /only/ lies.
Chuuya steps closer.
He lifts his head, peeling his gaze off Dazai’s shirt to look at him in the face. Lips parted, hands frozen.
No sound but the deep, drumming crooning from the bottom of Dazai’s chest.
And—
He raises on the tip of his toes, his lips /close/ to Dazai’s in an almost-kiss.
No sound but the deep, drumming crooning from the bottom of Dazai’s chest.
And—
He raises on the tip of his toes, his lips /close/ to Dazai’s in an almost-kiss.
The alpha doesn’t move, only raising a hand to lightly touch his fingers to Chuuya’s hip.
The omega holds his breath.
His body shudders, and a gentle purring leaves his mouth as Dazai lifts his arm to brush Chuuya’s cheek.
The pads of his fingers are featherlight on
The omega holds his breath.
His body shudders, and a gentle purring leaves his mouth as Dazai lifts his arm to brush Chuuya’s cheek.
The pads of his fingers are featherlight on
Chuuya’s burning skin, almost scared to ruin the moment — to shatter it like a dream.
A dream that makes Chuuya /quiver/.
Dazai seems to /know/ that moving now would mean returning to reality, or letting go completely.
The caress is barely there, but it speaks volumes.
A dream that makes Chuuya /quiver/.
Dazai seems to /know/ that moving now would mean returning to reality, or letting go completely.
The caress is barely there, but it speaks volumes.
The omega leans /in/ a little more, his brain high with the hangover and Dazai’s scent.
He stares at the alpha’s mouth, mesmerized, head cocked to lean into the touch of his fingertips.
His eyelashes almost flutter close.
It would be /so/ easy now.
Let go. Forget.
He stares at the alpha’s mouth, mesmerized, head cocked to lean into the touch of his fingertips.
His eyelashes almost flutter close.
It would be /so/ easy now.
Let go. Forget.
And— /God/, Chuuya wants to let go.
He wants to stop comparing himself to others, fighting against things he can’t change.
But then he realizes what he’s doing.
And he feels /stupid/.
He pulls back, cheeks ablaze while Dazai’s eyes leave invisible bruises on his skin.
He wants to stop comparing himself to others, fighting against things he can’t change.
But then he realizes what he’s doing.
And he feels /stupid/.
He pulls back, cheeks ablaze while Dazai’s eyes leave invisible bruises on his skin.
The alpha’s hand drops, too.
He can still feel Dazai’s skin under his fingertips — his shirt, the light vibration of his crooning.
The /warmth/ of his body.
/Shit./
“Chuuya—“
“Sorry,” the omega mutters, tripping over his words /and/ his maddened heartbeat. “All done now.”
He can still feel Dazai’s skin under his fingertips — his shirt, the light vibration of his crooning.
The /warmth/ of his body.
/Shit./
“Chuuya—“
“Sorry,” the omega mutters, tripping over his words /and/ his maddened heartbeat. “All done now.”
He barely wishes the alpha a good day after that, blushing furiously, and Dazai— /he/ smiles before leaving.
It’s a mellow, almost content smirk before he closes the door behind him.
And Chuuya would like to headbutt the wall and knock himself out of this fucking misery.
It’s a mellow, almost content smirk before he closes the door behind him.
And Chuuya would like to headbutt the wall and knock himself out of this fucking misery.
Even if he misses Dazai, doesn’t he love himself even a little fucking bit?
Can Dazai hurt him only for Chuuya to be right back in his arms?
The images of the fight flicker behind his lids as butterflies explode in his stomach.
He is /so/ hurt.
Yet he can’t stay away.
—
Can Dazai hurt him only for Chuuya to be right back in his arms?
The images of the fight flicker behind his lids as butterflies explode in his stomach.
He is /so/ hurt.
Yet he can’t stay away.
—
The moment he steps out of the house, Dazai’s entire world crushes on him.
Chuuya’s scent fills him still, leaving him /full/ and terribly empty at the same time.
It hurts, Dazai realizes, to know that you are not enough to make somebody stay.
That you don’t have the
Chuuya’s scent fills him still, leaving him /full/ and terribly empty at the same time.
It hurts, Dazai realizes, to know that you are not enough to make somebody stay.
That you don’t have the
power to make that person you love more than anything else in the world change their mind. That you have no choice but to /wait/.
He never prayed, Dazai, but he’s learning to.
He swallows, trying to slow down the tangled mess of his thoughts and feelings.
He /has/ a way out.
He never prayed, Dazai, but he’s learning to.
He swallows, trying to slow down the tangled mess of his thoughts and feelings.
He /has/ a way out.
Out of this situation with Chuuya, out of university, out of any connection with the mafia.
There’s always a door left ajar in the corner of his mind — it’s there to be taken, if he dares.
He mulls it over like he’s thought it over a thousand times.
He toys with the idea.
There’s always a door left ajar in the corner of his mind — it’s there to be taken, if he dares.
He mulls it over like he’s thought it over a thousand times.
He toys with the idea.
He wishes he could find the courage to crush the idea away or finally act on it.
(‘Do you only feel like that with your rut?’
‘No. It’s always lurking.’)
But Chuuya’s scent calms him. It grounds him.
So Dazai steps away from the idea and breathes with his full lungs.
—
(‘Do you only feel like that with your rut?’
‘No. It’s always lurking.’)
But Chuuya’s scent calms him. It grounds him.
So Dazai steps away from the idea and breathes with his full lungs.
—
When he comes home, Chuuya finds the door unlocked.
Which is /not/ normal.
It’s early afternoon on a weekend, therefore not a time he is usually home.
Dazai just sent him a picture of Ranpo from the library too, so—
A rustle from the kitchen turns Chuuya’s blood into ice.
Which is /not/ normal.
It’s early afternoon on a weekend, therefore not a time he is usually home.
Dazai just sent him a picture of Ranpo from the library too, so—
A rustle from the kitchen turns Chuuya’s blood into ice.
He leaves his shoes and backpack in the genkan, holding his breath and damming the muffled howling of his stomach.
He hates it. For some reason, his belly always decides to be loud when he’s anxious — and when there’s utter silence.
And if he dies, what will the headlines be?
He hates it. For some reason, his belly always decides to be loud when he’s anxious — and when there’s utter silence.
And if he dies, what will the headlines be?
‘Handsome redhead with a brilliant future found by killers because his stomach growled’?
/It’d be so—/
Suddenly, the noises from the kitchen stop. Chuuya halts too, fight-or-flight instinct kicking in.
/—embarrassing./
A pause.
Then, noise again. Steps. Someone humming.
/It’d be so—/
Suddenly, the noises from the kitchen stop. Chuuya halts too, fight-or-flight instinct kicking in.
/—embarrassing./
A pause.
Then, noise again. Steps. Someone humming.
Biting his lips, Chuuya moves cautiously across the room. He heads for the kitchen, although he tells himself he is an absolute /idiot/ for it.
/Is it the mafia?/
Because— there is obviously someone rummaging in the drawers.
They’re not even trying to be silent.
/A burglar?/
/Is it the mafia?/
Because— there is obviously someone rummaging in the drawers.
They’re not even trying to be silent.
/A burglar?/
Oh lord, Chuuya thinks, heart beating in his throat.
/It must be Mishima.
He’s back with a vendetta like a Bond Villain./
And Chuuya wishes he could use anything as a weapon, but he only has a bunch of unsold cookies and his useless phone.
So— yeah, it’s kinda game over.
/It must be Mishima.
He’s back with a vendetta like a Bond Villain./
And Chuuya wishes he could use anything as a weapon, but he only has a bunch of unsold cookies and his useless phone.
So— yeah, it’s kinda game over.
Mishima in full Kill Bill gear (or the Port Mafia, he still has to decide which option he likes less) 1, Nakahara Chuuya 0.
And the thing is: he’s too fucking nice to be murdered like this. But what can he do, throw stale cookies at a trained assassin?
He saw those yakuza
And the thing is: he’s too fucking nice to be murdered like this. But what can he do, throw stale cookies at a trained assassin?
He saw those yakuza
in the movies, they’re /scary/.
Dazai is quite damn scary, at times, and he didn’t even grow in the Port Mafia!
He’ll die helpless, young and single.
Holding in a shaky breath, the omega peeks into the kitchen.
Oh, he’s /so/ going to die—
“…You’re back soon, Chuuya-kun.”
Dazai is quite damn scary, at times, and he didn’t even grow in the Port Mafia!
He’ll die helpless, young and single.
Holding in a shaky breath, the omega peeks into the kitchen.
Oh, he’s /so/ going to die—
“…You’re back soon, Chuuya-kun.”
The omega almost jumps out of his skin.
There’s a /man/ in his kitchen.
A tall silhouette standing in backlight — broad shoulders, short hair and a known voice.
And a familiar scent.
/Dazai’s/ scent.
“What the /fuck/!?” Chuuya bellows, choked-up and taking a step back.
There’s a /man/ in his kitchen.
A tall silhouette standing in backlight — broad shoulders, short hair and a known voice.
And a familiar scent.
/Dazai’s/ scent.
“What the /fuck/!?” Chuuya bellows, choked-up and taking a step back.
Oda blinks at him, adjusting his sleeves; he rolled them up to his elbows ever so casually as if he /owns/ the kitchen.
“…Are you alright?”
So. Hm.
This is embarrassing but—
Well. It seems that Chuuya may /not/ be going to be murdered by the Port Mafia today, after all.
“…Are you alright?”
So. Hm.
This is embarrassing but—
Well. It seems that Chuuya may /not/ be going to be murdered by the Port Mafia today, after all.
“No!? You have—“ The omega stutters and stops mid-way, placing a hand on his heart. “/Shit/.”
He sucks in a mouthful of air, greedily, /fully/.
He’ll survive, which is cool.
But the door was unlocked, which means Oda has a set of keys. Great.
After a second, Chuuya decides
He sucks in a mouthful of air, greedily, /fully/.
He’ll survive, which is cool.
But the door was unlocked, which means Oda has a set of keys. Great.
After a second, Chuuya decides
that’s something to discuss with Dazai. It’s not Oda’s fault if the /idiot/ never mentioned it.
Even if he can understand why Oda has spare keys, Dazai should have told him anyway.
“You /scared/ me!”
Odasaku smiles — the perfect balance between apologetic and /amused/.
Even if he can understand why Oda has spare keys, Dazai should have told him anyway.
“You /scared/ me!”
Odasaku smiles — the perfect balance between apologetic and /amused/.
It manages to pass as polite, but the redhead isn’t sure he’s comfortable with Oda looking at him like he’s /funny/. Or cute.
“I’m sorry.”
“I didn’t know you could just let yourself in,” Chuuya clarifies, still a little short of breath.
Immediately, Oda’s smile drops.
“I’m sorry.”
“I didn’t know you could just let yourself in,” Chuuya clarifies, still a little short of breath.
Immediately, Oda’s smile drops.
“Oh,” he says, realization passing through his face. It’s just a flash, though. “Of course. I apologize, Mori gave me the keys a long time ago.”
Chuuya tugs his hands into his jeans’ backpockets — defensively. He’s an afterthought /again/.
“Yeah, and Dazai forgot to mention.”
Chuuya tugs his hands into his jeans’ backpockets — defensively. He’s an afterthought /again/.
“Yeah, and Dazai forgot to mention.”
“I’ll talk to him, if you want.”
Chuuya shakes his head.
“I can do that. And I promise you I will roast the /idiot/ but— please, keep those keys.”
Chuuya stares at his feet, not allowing himself to say that they might come in handy, one day.
That Dazai might need—
/Help./
Chuuya shakes his head.
“I can do that. And I promise you I will roast the /idiot/ but— please, keep those keys.”
Chuuya stares at his feet, not allowing himself to say that they might come in handy, one day.
That Dazai might need—
/Help./
Because he will /try/ to be there for Dazai, but what if he’ll be at work one day when the alpha is feeling /badly/?
No. /No./
He won’t risk Dazai’s life because of jealousy.
With a serious expression on his face, blue eyes as dark as a storm-tossed sea, Oda nods.
No. /No./
He won’t risk Dazai’s life because of jealousy.
With a serious expression on his face, blue eyes as dark as a storm-tossed sea, Oda nods.
Just like he nodded the night of the fight, understanding exactly what Chuuya means.
Cautious, Chuuya pushes into the kitchen.
“What are you doing, anyway?”
“I was bringing Dazai some food.” The omega pauses, eyes scanning Chuuya’s face. He squints. “You do like curry, right?”
Cautious, Chuuya pushes into the kitchen.
“What are you doing, anyway?”
“I was bringing Dazai some food.” The omega pauses, eyes scanning Chuuya’s face. He squints. “You do like curry, right?”
/I was bringing Dazai some food./
Chuuya runs a hand through his hair, pondering over an answer. Insecurity crawls down his spine at the implications of that question.
This man is free to take care of Dazai, but… but /he/ doesn’t want to /owe/ anything to Oda.
Chuuya runs a hand through his hair, pondering over an answer. Insecurity crawls down his spine at the implications of that question.
This man is free to take care of Dazai, but… but /he/ doesn’t want to /owe/ anything to Oda.
He doesn’t want to be adopted by him just because he’s around while another omega mends Dazai’s heart.
“I… yeah, I like curry.”
“Good,” Oda says — he also lets out a ‘hmm’ from the back of his throat, almost appreciative.
“But I /really/ don’t need you to be polite with me.”
“I… yeah, I like curry.”
“Good,” Oda says — he also lets out a ‘hmm’ from the back of his throat, almost appreciative.
“But I /really/ don’t need you to be polite with me.”
Blue eyes stare at him, leaving invisible brands under Chuuya’s skin.
Dazai’s Odasaku, he realizes, is like the ocean.
Tranquil on the surface, but intense.
“Chuuya-kun,” he starts, with a small sigh. “We started off on the wrong foot, but I hope I’ll get to know you.”
Dazai’s Odasaku, he realizes, is like the ocean.
Tranquil on the surface, but intense.
“Chuuya-kun,” he starts, with a small sigh. “We started off on the wrong foot, but I hope I’ll get to know you.”
“Why?”
“Because you took the edges off him,” the man says. “Because he sees a future with you, as he let us know over and over again.”
Chuuya worries at his bottom lip, uneasy.
“A future,” he echoes.
Oda’s head bobs up and down — he lets the word sink in, politely.
“Because you took the edges off him,” the man says. “Because he sees a future with you, as he let us know over and over again.”
Chuuya worries at his bottom lip, uneasy.
“A future,” he echoes.
Oda’s head bobs up and down — he lets the word sink in, politely.
“You know Osamu. Future wasn’t a word he foresaw before /you/.”
No, it /surely/ wasn’t.
But now—
“He’s still so /lost/,” Chuuya says, instead.
“Sometimes. But he’s doing better with you and— Ango and I, we /both/ are grateful for that.”
“Well. I care about Dazai,” he hums.
No, it /surely/ wasn’t.
But now—
“He’s still so /lost/,” Chuuya says, instead.
“Sometimes. But he’s doing better with you and— Ango and I, we /both/ are grateful for that.”
“Well. I care about Dazai,” he hums.
How strange; his heart is drumming in his chest as hard as it did when he thought he was going to die. “I think that much is clear.”
Oda offers him a smile, though it explodes into a /beam/ in his eyes.
He talks a lot with his eyes, Odasaku.
“And he cares about you.”
Oda offers him a smile, though it explodes into a /beam/ in his eyes.
He talks a lot with his eyes, Odasaku.
“And he cares about you.”
Well, so he says.
But Chuuya is still not sure it’s enough — he desperately wants to think things changed, but then Dazai does something that brings them back to the starting point.
So Chuuya decides to not answer at all. He derails the conversation instead, directing it to a
But Chuuya is still not sure it’s enough — he desperately wants to think things changed, but then Dazai does something that brings them back to the starting point.
So Chuuya decides to not answer at all. He derails the conversation instead, directing it to a
much safer ground.
He sits on a stool, making himself comfortable.
“Dazai never said how you two met.”
A light frown paints itself on Oda’s forehead.
He shrugs, but a hint of nostalgia seeps through the cracks of his silence.
“I was born in Osaka,” he says, eventually.
He sits on a stool, making himself comfortable.
“Dazai never said how you two met.”
A light frown paints itself on Oda’s forehead.
He shrugs, but a hint of nostalgia seeps through the cracks of his silence.
“I was born in Osaka,” he says, eventually.
“The Port Mafia had work there, sumo rings and casino business. My family worked for them — mercenaries, if you will.”
Chuuya’s shoulders stiffens as he finds himself sucked into Oda’s words.
“Your family was in the mafia?” he asks, realizing too late he might sound a little
Chuuya’s shoulders stiffens as he finds himself sucked into Oda’s words.
“Your family was in the mafia?” he asks, realizing too late he might sound a little
/too/ interested.
But the man is painting another universe — the /underbelly/ of the world — Chuuya never thought actually existed.
A universe soaked in gunpowder and blood that belongs to thriller and movies.
As he speaks, Oda leans with one hip against the kitchen counter.
But the man is painting another universe — the /underbelly/ of the world — Chuuya never thought actually existed.
A universe soaked in gunpowder and blood that belongs to thriller and movies.
As he speaks, Oda leans with one hip against the kitchen counter.
It’s a casual gesture, and he looks at Chuuya without really /seeing/ him.
He wonders what is Odasaku facing, right now.
“Yes.” Oda nods. “We were direct subordinates of the executive that takes care of the gambling dens — an unctuous bastard. Stay away if you ever meet him.”
He wonders what is Odasaku facing, right now.
“Yes.” Oda nods. “We were direct subordinates of the executive that takes care of the gambling dens — an unctuous bastard. Stay away if you ever meet him.”
Now, Chuuya has every intention of avoiding the mafia in general — and thank you very much — but he still bows curtly at the information.
“I hope I’ll never have the pleasure.”
“I hope so,” Oda says. “But living under that shadow was the only reality I knew.”
“That’s shitty.”
“I hope I’ll never have the pleasure.”
“I hope so,” Oda says. “But living under that shadow was the only reality I knew.”
“That’s shitty.”
Oda closes in his shoulders, shaking his head.
“It was. That's when my family was called to Yokohama— then, the mad boss hang himself with his wife. The son found them."
An icy grip clutches Chuuya’s stomach.
"Dazai's parents."
Oda’s jaw locks shut for a long moment.
“It was. That's when my family was called to Yokohama— then, the mad boss hang himself with his wife. The son found them."
An icy grip clutches Chuuya’s stomach.
"Dazai's parents."
Oda’s jaw locks shut for a long moment.
"The old boss was a ticking bomb. I can promise you, I remember how our people celebrated when he died."
Oh.
Oda is fidgeting, Chuuya realizes; staring at his hands, playing with his fingers.
He’s not as tranquil as he wants to appear, and he feels mildly guilty for prying.
Oh.
Oda is fidgeting, Chuuya realizes; staring at his hands, playing with his fingers.
He’s not as tranquil as he wants to appear, and he feels mildly guilty for prying.
"No one cried over him, certainly not the executives. My only regret is that Dazai ultimately paid the price for it."
/I don’t know my family, therefore I don’t know myself/.
Chuuya’s heart stutters.
“I’m sorry,” he says.
He doesn’t /pity/ Oda. He respects him, if anything.
/I don’t know my family, therefore I don’t know myself/.
Chuuya’s heart stutters.
“I’m sorry,” he says.
He doesn’t /pity/ Oda. He respects him, if anything.
But part of the omega — the idealistic, spoiled part that grew up in a loving family — still wishes he could do… something. Anything.
Even if he can’t.
Even if it’s too late and the tiniest, most encouraging smile is crossing Oda’s lips.
“Don’t be. Long story short, that’s
Even if he can’t.
Even if it’s too late and the tiniest, most encouraging smile is crossing Oda’s lips.
“Don’t be. Long story short, that’s
how I crossed paths with Dazai. And I became his only friend.”
“His lifeline,” Chuuya murmurs.
His one.
His bonded companion.
“We saved each other,” Oda says; so much /tenderness/ rests in his voice. “Without him, I would be like my parents — murdering people for a living.”
“His lifeline,” Chuuya murmurs.
His one.
His bonded companion.
“We saved each other,” Oda says; so much /tenderness/ rests in his voice. “Without him, I would be like my parents — murdering people for a living.”
Chuuya scurnches his nose. “Wh— You can’t just say that!”
Oda shoots him a confused glance.
“Why? It’s true.”
“But— don’t sound so /unfazed/!”
Oda shrugs. “You seem way too concerned, Chuuya-kun.”
“Hah!? I’m sorry, local O’Ren Ishii, I didn’t think this shit /happened/.”
Oda shoots him a confused glance.
“Why? It’s true.”
“But— don’t sound so /unfazed/!”
Oda shrugs. “You seem way too concerned, Chuuya-kun.”
“Hah!? I’m sorry, local O’Ren Ishii, I didn’t think this shit /happened/.”
Oda grins. “You’d be surprised.”
Well— Can anything surprise him after a mafia heir ex-boyfriend?
Chuuya wrinkles his forehead at the perspective. The bar for the word got seriously, /seriously/ way too high.
“No, thanks. I’ve had enough surprises for a damn lifetime.”
Well— Can anything surprise him after a mafia heir ex-boyfriend?
Chuuya wrinkles his forehead at the perspective. The bar for the word got seriously, /seriously/ way too high.
“No, thanks. I’ve had enough surprises for a damn lifetime.”
Oda throws his head back as he explodes in laughters — heartily, fully.
“Understandable,” he says. “But Dazai tells me /your/ parents own a shinto shrine?”
Oh /no/.
Chuuya rolls his eyes to the ceiling so /strongly/ he’s sure he’ll get an headache from it.
“Understandable,” he says. “But Dazai tells me /your/ parents own a shinto shrine?”
Oh /no/.
Chuuya rolls his eyes to the ceiling so /strongly/ he’s sure he’ll get an headache from it.
“Can the Mackerel shut up?”
“He was very excited about ghosts, apparently.”
“/Of course/ he was.”
“And he said something about a god of chaos…?”
Chuuya clicks his tongue.
Still, he happily launches himself in an explanation about Arahabaki and why it’s absolute /bullshit/.
“He was very excited about ghosts, apparently.”
“/Of course/ he was.”
“And he said something about a god of chaos…?”
Chuuya clicks his tongue.
Still, he happily launches himself in an explanation about Arahabaki and why it’s absolute /bullshit/.
Not because Chuuya likes Oda, or trusts him all of a sudden, but because every person should know Arahabaki is stupid.
Oda takes his leave an hour and a half of talking and a cup of tea later.
Only then Chuuya realizes that he… talked to the omega. Civilly.
Like a /person/.
Oda takes his leave an hour and a half of talking and a cup of tea later.
Only then Chuuya realizes that he… talked to the omega. Civilly.
Like a /person/.
It wasn’t so bad.
Aside from the fact that Chuuya thought he would become past tense because of the Port Mafia.
Ignoring that he /did/ end up accepting the extra curry Oda left for him.
Forgetting about Dazai’s bond—
It /wasn’t/ bad.
He isn’t that bad, Dazai’s Odasaku.
Aside from the fact that Chuuya thought he would become past tense because of the Port Mafia.
Ignoring that he /did/ end up accepting the extra curry Oda left for him.
Forgetting about Dazai’s bond—
It /wasn’t/ bad.
He isn’t that bad, Dazai’s Odasaku.
He and Chuuya aren't friends, and maybe they'll never be, but they aren't total strangers anymore. He isn’t a rival to slay.
He can /see/ how they care for Dazai — deeply, but differently.
And Chuuya feels a little more /sure/ of his place than he did yesterday.
—
He can /see/ how they care for Dazai — deeply, but differently.
And Chuuya feels a little more /sure/ of his place than he did yesterday.
—
The weird thing with break-ups is that they feel like explosions.
They trigger a change. It’s sudden, and /loud/, and it shifts the world from its axis, and then— nothing.
The world is exactly how it was yesterday.
It didn’t /stop/ its rotation, it didn’t explode.
They trigger a change. It’s sudden, and /loud/, and it shifts the world from its axis, and then— nothing.
The world is exactly how it was yesterday.
It didn’t /stop/ its rotation, it didn’t explode.
You’re alive.
Battered and bruised, but alive.
And the only thing that lingers is the loud silence after the screams.
Absolute /normality/.
(Whatever that word meant yesterday, its meaning is lost today.)
A weird peace while your heart learns to beat on its own again.
Battered and bruised, but alive.
And the only thing that lingers is the loud silence after the screams.
Absolute /normality/.
(Whatever that word meant yesterday, its meaning is lost today.)
A weird peace while your heart learns to beat on its own again.
One moment you belong with someone, and suddenly you’re alone.
That weird moment in time between a crisis and its resolution, when everything seems normal but /nothing/ is like it used to be.
And everything is the same, yet different.
Take Dazai, for example.
That weird moment in time between a crisis and its resolution, when everything seems normal but /nothing/ is like it used to be.
And everything is the same, yet different.
Take Dazai, for example.
Chuuya sees him every day, and the alpha lives his life like he always did.
University, complaining about Ranpo, ignoring Mori’s calls; rinse and repeat.
His eyes softened when he noticed the curry, and Chuuya pretended he didn’t notice.
/He pretended it didn’t sting./
University, complaining about Ranpo, ignoring Mori’s calls; rinse and repeat.
His eyes softened when he noticed the curry, and Chuuya pretended he didn’t notice.
/He pretended it didn’t sting./
But Dazai also changed.
Subtle, tiny changes that Chuuya forces himself to ignore daily, but that speak louder than a hundred fights.
How Dazai rarely smiles with his eyes.
How he lowers his gaze from time to time, spacing out.
How he looks out of the window for minutes on
Subtle, tiny changes that Chuuya forces himself to ignore daily, but that speak louder than a hundred fights.
How Dazai rarely smiles with his eyes.
How he lowers his gaze from time to time, spacing out.
How he looks out of the window for minutes on
end, face blank, eyes lightless.
The moments spent staring at the running water, lost in thoughts.
The ‘I’m sorry, Chuuya, you are absolutely right’ Dazai uttered out when the omega confronted him about Oda having a pair of keys.
No bullshit, no jokes, /nothing/.
The moments spent staring at the running water, lost in thoughts.
The ‘I’m sorry, Chuuya, you are absolutely right’ Dazai uttered out when the omega confronted him about Oda having a pair of keys.
No bullshit, no jokes, /nothing/.
And Chuuya thought he would prefer it — he just asked for an apology, a sincere one — but… but it didn’t feel like /Dazai/ at all.
He appreciated the seriousness and the regret, but couldn’t /find/ the alpha he used to know in it.
It seemed— dead.
It weirded Chuuya out.
He appreciated the seriousness and the regret, but couldn’t /find/ the alpha he used to know in it.
It seemed— dead.
It weirded Chuuya out.
Because he /sees/ it.
The alpha always had that dark, cold shadow shrouding his personality — a patina of sadness that Chuuya could never dissipate, no matter how hard he tried to love Dazai — but it became /thicker/ after the break up.
Still, the big change is invisible.
The alpha always had that dark, cold shadow shrouding his personality — a patina of sadness that Chuuya could never dissipate, no matter how hard he tried to love Dazai — but it became /thicker/ after the break up.
Still, the big change is invisible.
The big change is that now, he’s on his own. They both are
And Chuuya—
Chuuya fights his way back into a routine that used to make him happy.
Work. Return home.
Hop on a train, go to Atsushi and Ryuu’s place, have dinner together like they used to.
It’s odd to do this alone.
And Chuuya—
Chuuya fights his way back into a routine that used to make him happy.
Work. Return home.
Hop on a train, go to Atsushi and Ryuu’s place, have dinner together like they used to.
It’s odd to do this alone.
The omega never invites Dazai; he doesn’t even /try/ since Ryuunosuke would gladly turn him into an obituary.
No matter how badly things ended, Chuuya is not sure he’s ready to lose his ex to poison /or/ his best friend to jail.
And he swears he doesn’t /miss/ Dazai, he doesn’t
No matter how badly things ended, Chuuya is not sure he’s ready to lose his ex to poison /or/ his best friend to jail.
And he swears he doesn’t /miss/ Dazai, he doesn’t
miss having the alpha by his side as they all laugh about a customer service nightmare story Ryuu is telling. He swears he’s fine.
He’s lying.
That’s Chuuya’s big little change: a life that seemed tailored for him now doesn’t fit. He outgrew that life.
It’s not /his/ anymore.
He’s lying.
That’s Chuuya’s big little change: a life that seemed tailored for him now doesn’t fit. He outgrew that life.
It’s not /his/ anymore.
But he’s trying to make it work anyway, so he counts his blessings for the things that /didn’t/ change.
Atsushi.
Ryuu.
Their little ball of fur from hell that started running in circles around Chuuya the moment he stepped into the house.
He /loves/ Chuuya, Atsushi swears.
Atsushi.
Ryuu.
Their little ball of fur from hell that started running in circles around Chuuya the moment he stepped into the house.
He /loves/ Chuuya, Atsushi swears.
Ryuu used to jest that he and Dazai traumatized Diablo the day they /almost/ got too handsy in their spare bedroom, but that joke vanished with Dazai.
Now, at dinner, they talk about—
“So I told her, ‘if you want a Frappuccino go to a /goddamn/ Starbucks’,” Ryuunosuke says.
Now, at dinner, they talk about—
“So I told her, ‘if you want a Frappuccino go to a /goddamn/ Starbucks’,” Ryuunosuke says.
“He really said that.” Chuuya looks at Atsushi as he says it, flashing him a smirk from across the table. “The poor girl looked terrified.”
“I don’t blame her,” Atsushi adds. He’s listening with eyes wide and the phantom of a smirk on his face.
From his seat next to him,
“I don’t blame her,” Atsushi adds. He’s listening with eyes wide and the phantom of a smirk on his face.
From his seat next to him,
Ryuunosuke deadpans.
He tenderly rested his hand on Atsushi’s thigh at the beginning of the dinner and never moved it. It’s not possessive, but is /intimate/.
Chuuya is still trying /very/ hard to ignore it.
(It /did/ remind him of Dazai.
Well—
Of his /absence/.)
He tenderly rested his hand on Atsushi’s thigh at the beginning of the dinner and never moved it. It’s not possessive, but is /intimate/.
Chuuya is still trying /very/ hard to ignore it.
(It /did/ remind him of Dazai.
Well—
Of his /absence/.)
“She should think before asking dumb questions to people who have been up since five in the morning.”
Chuuya rolls his eyes to the ceiling. “Ryuu. She was ten.”
Atsushi gapes. “Ten? /Ryuu/!”
The boy raises a hand, turning defensive the moment Atsushi talks.
“I was /tired/!”
Chuuya rolls his eyes to the ceiling. “Ryuu. She was ten.”
Atsushi gapes. “Ten? /Ryuu/!”
The boy raises a hand, turning defensive the moment Atsushi talks.
“I was /tired/!”
Chuuya raises his glass, filled to the brim with red wine, gesturing with it in Akutagawa’s direction.
“Listen to the smart half of the couple, Ryuu.”
“Shut up, shorty.”
“/Never/.”
Chuuya declares it with his full chest, downing his glass and reaching for the bottle again.
“Listen to the smart half of the couple, Ryuu.”
“Shut up, shorty.”
“/Never/.”
Chuuya declares it with his full chest, downing his glass and reaching for the bottle again.
He /is/ drinking a lot, but he’s trying to ignore the empty chair.
There’s him, alone.
Then Ryuu and Atsushi sitting side by side, with their bunny getting the zoomies on the carpet.
And Dazai’s ghost.
The omega can /sense/ how the smile fades from his face.
“/Chuuya/?”
There’s him, alone.
Then Ryuu and Atsushi sitting side by side, with their bunny getting the zoomies on the carpet.
And Dazai’s ghost.
The omega can /sense/ how the smile fades from his face.
“/Chuuya/?”
Atsushi’s voice sounds /gentle/, but Chuuya already has a hunch he won’t like the question.
Atsushi is way too empathetic to not notice how, in between conversations, his gaze keeps wandering to the empty chair.
“Yeah?”
“How are… How are you doing? How is living with Dazai?”
Atsushi is way too empathetic to not notice how, in between conversations, his gaze keeps wandering to the empty chair.
“Yeah?”
“How are… How are you doing? How is living with Dazai?”
The omega shrugs.
See? That’s another little change in his new almost-like-before reality: the questions.
“He’s fine,” Chuuya says, trying to ignore the hundreds of things he’s hiding away with an ever-so-vague ‘fine’.
He says Dazai is fine because he /definitely/ isn’t.
See? That’s another little change in his new almost-like-before reality: the questions.
“He’s fine,” Chuuya says, trying to ignore the hundreds of things he’s hiding away with an ever-so-vague ‘fine’.
He says Dazai is fine because he /definitely/ isn’t.
“Are you two ignoring each other at home?” Atsushi asks, tilting his head to the side.
At that, the redhead would like to /cry/ and laugh at the same time.
If only there was a fucking way to ignore Dazai.
If he only /could/ ignore the alpha. If he could shut his brain.
At that, the redhead would like to /cry/ and laugh at the same time.
If only there was a fucking way to ignore Dazai.
If he only /could/ ignore the alpha. If he could shut his brain.
“Not at all. We are getting along quite civilly, actually. Dazai has exams soon so he’s mostly in the library.”
“Is he moving to the library anytime soon?” Ryuunosuke pipes in, between two sips of wine. “I mean, permanently?”
Chuuya chuckles — it comes out /dry/, almost bitter.
“Is he moving to the library anytime soon?” Ryuunosuke pipes in, between two sips of wine. “I mean, permanently?”
Chuuya chuckles — it comes out /dry/, almost bitter.
Atsushi playfully slaps his boyfriend’s forearm. Ryuu tells him something Chuuya doesn’t quite get, and the two look so /in sync/.
So… perfectly balanced.
It aims a jab right at Chuuya’s stomach — and a little above, to his heart.
“Yeah, no. /Sadly/ I do see him every day.”
So… perfectly balanced.
It aims a jab right at Chuuya’s stomach — and a little above, to his heart.
“Yeah, no. /Sadly/ I do see him every day.”
“And are you…?”
“Ok with it?” Chuuya growls, interrupting Atsushi mid-sentence. “Affected? Sad all the fucking time? No. Yes. I don’t know.”
But after all, what does any of them know?
What does Chuuya know about love at all?
Isn’t he just a heart barely stitched together?
“Ok with it?” Chuuya growls, interrupting Atsushi mid-sentence. “Affected? Sad all the fucking time? No. Yes. I don’t know.”
But after all, what does any of them know?
What does Chuuya know about love at all?
Isn’t he just a heart barely stitched together?
A broken body that discovered for the first time he isn’t unlovable, that he didn’t deserve all the abandonment and deception?
Isn’t he just an empty bottle after a love story that ended too soon? A phase, a mistake?
Is he just a passerby in Dazai’s life, a name in the sand?
Isn’t he just an empty bottle after a love story that ended too soon? A phase, a mistake?
Is he just a passerby in Dazai’s life, a name in the sand?
And what does Dazai know about love?
The kind that closes its eyes and jumps into the void without a second thought.
The love that trusts. That heals.
That longs, and longs, and longs.
The love that is bright, is kind, that fears saying ‘I love you’ to not spoil its essence.
The kind that closes its eyes and jumps into the void without a second thought.
The love that trusts. That heals.
That longs, and longs, and longs.
The love that is bright, is kind, that fears saying ‘I love you’ to not spoil its essence.
And what does anybody know about him, about Dazai, about /them/?
About the precious thing they could have been — that they almost were.
What does anybody know about the feeling of floating and finally being found?
Do they know how it feels to be a piece of paper in the wind?
About the precious thing they could have been — that they almost were.
What does anybody know about the feeling of floating and finally being found?
Do they know how it feels to be a piece of paper in the wind?
“The thing is—“
Chuuya takes a deep breath, trying to put into words the many facets of how Dazai /feels/.
What Dazai is for him.
“—We are alright. We coexist.”
/And it sucks/, Chuuya’s brain adds. His voice quivers.
(Does Dazai’s voice crack every time he remembers, too?)
Chuuya takes a deep breath, trying to put into words the many facets of how Dazai /feels/.
What Dazai is for him.
“—We are alright. We coexist.”
/And it sucks/, Chuuya’s brain adds. His voice quivers.
(Does Dazai’s voice crack every time he remembers, too?)
The lump in his throat forces Chuuya to suck in another breath, avoiding Atsushi’s gaze.
He /understands/, the redhead realizes.
Ryuu may be too focused on hating Dazai, on keeping count of his many mistakes, but Atsushi—
Atsushi is looking at Chuuya’s pain right in the eye.
He /understands/, the redhead realizes.
Ryuu may be too focused on hating Dazai, on keeping count of his many mistakes, but Atsushi—
Atsushi is looking at Chuuya’s pain right in the eye.
It makes him feel oddly vulnerable.
“That’s good to hear,” Atsushi murmurs.
Despite everything, Chuuya finds himself nodding.
It /is/ good that they don’t engage in shouting matches or petty arguments, but also—
How can he explain the misery of this frail almost-normality?
“That’s good to hear,” Atsushi murmurs.
Despite everything, Chuuya finds himself nodding.
It /is/ good that they don’t engage in shouting matches or petty arguments, but also—
How can he explain the misery of this frail almost-normality?
“But every day is also a damn joke,” he says.
Ryuunosuke’s eyes turn into slits — narrow and thunderous and promising a punishment for Dazai.
Chuuya swallows, pushing out a tentative explanation.
Word after word, after word.
(They sound kind of silly, out loud.)
Ryuunosuke’s eyes turn into slits — narrow and thunderous and promising a punishment for Dazai.
Chuuya swallows, pushing out a tentative explanation.
Word after word, after word.
(They sound kind of silly, out loud.)
“Even if Dazai is /there/ all the time, I’m— fucking disoriented.
Do you know that situation when your brain is running circles, and then you finally meet the person who’s like: ‘you can rest. I’m here so you won’t be lost anymore’?”
Ryuunosuke casts a side glance to Atsushi.
Do you know that situation when your brain is running circles, and then you finally meet the person who’s like: ‘you can rest. I’m here so you won’t be lost anymore’?”
Ryuunosuke casts a side glance to Atsushi.
“I…guess?” he echoes.
Chuuya pretends not to notice the light discomfort in his reply, or how Atsushi digs his elbow in his boyfriend’s ribs.
He probably sounds like an idiot anyway.
“Yes,” Atsushi confirms, though, without diverting his attention from Chuuya and still
Chuuya pretends not to notice the light discomfort in his reply, or how Atsushi digs his elbow in his boyfriend’s ribs.
He probably sounds like an idiot anyway.
“Yes,” Atsushi confirms, though, without diverting his attention from Chuuya and still
not-so-discretely stabbing Ryuunosuke. “I know exactly what you mean.”
Which is probably a lie, technically speaking, because Chuuya is not /sure/ he’s making any sense.
He is still grateful to Atsushi for hearing him anyway, and going beyond his terrible communication skills.
Which is probably a lie, technically speaking, because Chuuya is not /sure/ he’s making any sense.
He is still grateful to Atsushi for hearing him anyway, and going beyond his terrible communication skills.
“Yeah—“ Chuuya’s voice trails off for a moment as he tilts his head. “/That/ feeling, that person. To me, Dazai was that.”
Not anymore.
Another invisible change that hurts.
But Dazai will be that again.
Even if he has Odasaku— they /can/ still be /that/ for each other, right?
Not anymore.
Another invisible change that hurts.
But Dazai will be that again.
Even if he has Odasaku— they /can/ still be /that/ for each other, right?
The redhead lowers his eyes on the half-empty glass, tracing its rim with the tip of his finger just to have something to distract himself with.
Atsushi is still looking at him with a softness that Chuuya is not /sure/ how to read — pitiless, deep understanding.
Atsushi is still looking at him with a softness that Chuuya is not /sure/ how to read — pitiless, deep understanding.
He wonders if they ever really fought to the point of tearing each other apart, those two.
Well—
he /knows/ they did, though it’s hard to imagine it when all Chuuya heard were vague comments from a Ryuunosuke who refused to show any emotion.
(He’s so /stubborn/.)
Well—
he /knows/ they did, though it’s hard to imagine it when all Chuuya heard were vague comments from a Ryuunosuke who refused to show any emotion.
(He’s so /stubborn/.)
Right now, though, Chuuya wonders if Atsushi ever felt Ryuu slip through his fingers.
If he fought and held onto him to make him stay.
If his friends, too, tasted the almost-normality that threatens to suffocate him now.
“I’m sorry,” is all Atsushi says, eventually.
If he fought and held onto him to make him stay.
If his friends, too, tasted the almost-normality that threatens to suffocate him now.
“I’m sorry,” is all Atsushi says, eventually.
Chuuya silently shrugs the matter away, a little embarrassed, not sure if the omega is apologizing for the situation or for /asking/.
Maybe both.
Or maybe he’s apologizing because Chuuya is a sentimental idiot who just ruined the mood of a perfectly fine dinner.
Maybe both.
Or maybe he’s apologizing because Chuuya is a sentimental idiot who just ruined the mood of a perfectly fine dinner.
Ryuunosuke’s dark grey eyes are heavy on him, too, even if the boy refuses to spit any comment out loud.
But—
God. He hates to seem so /devastated/ when he is his own, full self with or without Dazai.
Sobriety is /clearly/ his main problem, right now; he’s not drinking enough.
But—
God. He hates to seem so /devastated/ when he is his own, full self with or without Dazai.
Sobriety is /clearly/ his main problem, right now; he’s not drinking enough.
He doesn’t like how the break-up keeps gnawing at him.
He should be having fun with his friends.
When he’ll return home Dazai will be sleeping anyway, so there is no point in wallowing in self-pity now.
It’s not like Chuuya will have a chance to face the shitty alpha and
He should be having fun with his friends.
When he’ll return home Dazai will be sleeping anyway, so there is no point in wallowing in self-pity now.
It’s not like Chuuya will have a chance to face the shitty alpha and
their shared, stupidly loud, disastrously complicated feelings.
“But ignore me,” Chuuya growls, stretching his arm. “Let’s just open another bottle. I /obviously/ need more wine.”
Immediately, Ryuunosuke stands up.
“On it.”
“A good one, Ryuu! Don’t be stingy.”
“But ignore me,” Chuuya growls, stretching his arm. “Let’s just open another bottle. I /obviously/ need more wine.”
Immediately, Ryuunosuke stands up.
“On it.”
“A good one, Ryuu! Don’t be stingy.”
In lieu of an answer, the omega rolls his eyes to the ceiling.
“Yes, /mum/.”
He’ll drink, Chuuya decides, until his brain finally shuts up.
And drink he does.
—
Dazai puts down the book the moment he hears the keys turning in the lock.
He expected to slip in and out of
“Yes, /mum/.”
He’ll drink, Chuuya decides, until his brain finally shuts up.
And drink he does.
—
Dazai puts down the book the moment he hears the keys turning in the lock.
He expected to slip in and out of
sleep on the couch, an old paperback of Chekhov’s Gooseberries on his chest and snuggled under one of the blankets that smell like /Chuuya/.
It would have been a nice night.
But clearly this is /not/ what’s going to happen, because Chuuya will force him to sleep in a /bed/.
It would have been a nice night.
But clearly this is /not/ what’s going to happen, because Chuuya will force him to sleep in a /bed/.
He’ll yap his usual nonsense about back pain and the issues of sleeping on the couch (Dazai would gladly stay on the /floor/, for all he cares), and he’ll go on and on and /on/ until Dazai gives in and crawls to his room.
Although—
/Maybe not/.
Maybe not tonight, at least.
Although—
/Maybe not/.
Maybe not tonight, at least.
Because it takes Dazai /one/ second to realize that Chuuya is drunk. The omega is swaying in place as he takes off his shoes, cussing softly for something Dazai doesn’t quite catch.
A strong scent of wine lingers on his clothes, on his /skin/. Red wine and cigarettes.
A strong scent of wine lingers on his clothes, on his /skin/. Red wine and cigarettes.
“You /smell/.”
Chuuya flinches. His head snaps up.
For what feels like a /lifetime/, he stares at Dazai like a deer caught in headlights, blue eyes trying to focus on the alpha without success.
“Oh,” he slurs, voice ligthly croaky. “You’re still up.”
Dazai tuts.
Chuuya flinches. His head snaps up.
For what feels like a /lifetime/, he stares at Dazai like a deer caught in headlights, blue eyes trying to focus on the alpha without success.
“Oh,” he slurs, voice ligthly croaky. “You’re still up.”
Dazai tuts.
“It not even midnight,” the alpha says, trying not to sound too /indulgent/, though he’s quite sure Chuuya is too drunk to notice.
As if to confirm his suspects, the redhead wobbles and leans against the living room’s wall.
His fiery red strands scream against the white paint.
As if to confirm his suspects, the redhead wobbles and leans against the living room’s wall.
His fiery red strands scream against the white paint.
“Is it? I didn’t realize.”
“Of course. Chibi’s drunk.”
“Yeah. Thank /God/ I’m drunk,” Chuuya says.
It’s a harsh, honest comment that the omega lets out with his full lungs.
But, then, he glances up. He looks at Dazai again, and there’s a veil of blush covering his freckles
“Of course. Chibi’s drunk.”
“Yeah. Thank /God/ I’m drunk,” Chuuya says.
It’s a harsh, honest comment that the omega lets out with his full lungs.
But, then, he glances up. He looks at Dazai again, and there’s a veil of blush covering his freckles
and his eyes shine and— and he looks /so/ vulnerable. So beautiful and feeble and /forthright/. “It’s your fault, by the way.”
/Right/.
Dazai forces out a lopsided grin.
“I wasn’t even there,” he says.
But they are both nursing their broken hearts — and that /is/ his fault.
/Right/.
Dazai forces out a lopsided grin.
“I wasn’t even there,” he says.
But they are both nursing their broken hearts — and that /is/ his fault.
He understood it.
He /regrets/ it.
He’s just too much of a coward to take responsibility.
“I just—“ Chuuya clicks his tongue. Annoyance takes over his scent for a moment — thicker and darker than wine and smoke. “I needed to stop, y’know?”
/I needed to stop/.
He /regrets/ it.
He’s just too much of a coward to take responsibility.
“I just—“ Chuuya clicks his tongue. Annoyance takes over his scent for a moment — thicker and darker than wine and smoke. “I needed to stop, y’know?”
/I needed to stop/.
Too uneasy to stay seated, Dazai stands up.
He needs an outlet for this anxiety, a way of feeling /ground/ under his feet.
When he tries to swallow he finds his throat turned into a desert, his tongue sitting heavily in his mouth.
“You needed to stop doing what?”
He needs an outlet for this anxiety, a way of feeling /ground/ under his feet.
When he tries to swallow he finds his throat turned into a desert, his tongue sitting heavily in his mouth.
“You needed to stop doing what?”
As Chuuya steps closer, slowly padding across the living room using the wall as support, Dazai thinks that he /needs/ to know.
“/You/.”
If it’s definitely over, he needs—
Dazai frowns. “What?”
—to make peace with himself.
“You. I needed to stop thinking about you.”
“/You/.”
If it’s definitely over, he needs—
Dazai frowns. “What?”
—to make peace with himself.
“You. I needed to stop thinking about you.”
“…Why?” he wheezes out.
It seems the safest option, whilst a hundred other questions remain stuck in his throat.
Chuuya stares, and Dazai’s ears keep /ringing/.
Then, the omega steps forward. He almost trips over the coffee table, and loudly cusses against it.
It seems the safest option, whilst a hundred other questions remain stuck in his throat.
Chuuya stares, and Dazai’s ears keep /ringing/.
Then, the omega steps forward. He almost trips over the coffee table, and loudly cusses against it.
He still shoots a murderous glance to Dazai the moment the alpha hurls forward to catch him.
“I’m /fine/,” he snaps. He doesn’t shrug Dazai’s touch away, though — the alpha’s hand lightly covering his arm, sustaining him. Helping him. “I can walk perfectly on my own.”
“I’m /fine/,” he snaps. He doesn’t shrug Dazai’s touch away, though — the alpha’s hand lightly covering his arm, sustaining him. Helping him. “I can walk perfectly on my own.”
/And Chuuya is not Dazai’s to help or protect anymore./
The alpha snickers, strangled.
“/Sure/. You’re a true lightweight.”
/He’s not his to cradle and cuddle after a hangover/.
“Fuck you. I’m not.”
Mechanically, Chuuya shifts closer — in search for warmth, /contact/.
The alpha snickers, strangled.
“/Sure/. You’re a true lightweight.”
/He’s not his to cradle and cuddle after a hangover/.
“Fuck you. I’m not.”
Mechanically, Chuuya shifts closer — in search for warmth, /contact/.
“Are too,” Dazai murmurs, playfully, ever so /tender/.
// But Chuuya is not his to kiss, right now.
No matter how much Dazai needs to.//
“It’s so fucking unfair,” Chuuya whines, a scowl darkening his blue eyes. “Even like this, I can’t—“
He never finishes the sentence.
// But Chuuya is not his to kiss, right now.
No matter how much Dazai needs to.//
“It’s so fucking unfair,” Chuuya whines, a scowl darkening his blue eyes. “Even like this, I can’t—“
He never finishes the sentence.
The omega seems to think against it and moves closer, following a mental process Dazai can’t grasp.
Sheer instinct. Need.
They stand chest against chest, Chuuya completely leaning into Dazai’s space.
His scent envelops the alpha — wine and cigarettes and apples and /blood/.
Sheer instinct. Need.
They stand chest against chest, Chuuya completely leaning into Dazai’s space.
His scent envelops the alpha — wine and cigarettes and apples and /blood/.
No trace of Dazai lingers in Chuuya’s scent anymore.
And he knows he should step back, leave Chuuya space, let him sleep off the wine, but—
But then Chuuya tugs him down and kisses him with the blind, reckless faith that only belongs to drunkards and martyrs, and Dazai /thaws/.
And he knows he should step back, leave Chuuya space, let him sleep off the wine, but—
But then Chuuya tugs him down and kisses him with the blind, reckless faith that only belongs to drunkards and martyrs, and Dazai /thaws/.
Because Chuuya’s mouth is covering his. He’s clenching Dazai’s sweater with one hand and cupping his jaw with the other — a kiss so gentle.
It tastes like wine and stars and /home/.
He parts his lips, arms closing around Chuuya’s shoulders.
Framing them as the omega shivers,
It tastes like wine and stars and /home/.
He parts his lips, arms closing around Chuuya’s shoulders.
Framing them as the omega shivers,
as Dazai presses him closer against his body.
Chuuya moves under him, chest vibrating in a low purr. His fingers thread up through dark curls, now, combing them.
He kisses Dazai almost to savor him — slow and deep and /intense/.
When Dazai presses a peck on Chuuya’s lips and
Chuuya moves under him, chest vibrating in a low purr. His fingers thread up through dark curls, now, combing them.
He kisses Dazai almost to savor him — slow and deep and /intense/.
When Dazai presses a peck on Chuuya’s lips and
moves away just enough to talk, he’s rewarded with a moan.
“‘Samu—“
“Are you /really/ sure?”
Chuuya licks his lips, and Dazai finds himself staring.
“I’m not that drunk,” he says. “Just shut me up before I can embarrass myself saying how /seriously/ I still love you.”
“‘Samu—“
“Are you /really/ sure?”
Chuuya licks his lips, and Dazai finds himself staring.
“I’m not that drunk,” he says. “Just shut me up before I can embarrass myself saying how /seriously/ I still love you.”
Dazai doesn’t need any encouragement after that.
Not after /that/ sentence.
Because even though Chuuya knows him now, his past and his family and his /rotten/ sides—
He stayed.
And the realization blooms in his chest, exploding in a hundred butterflies: he’s whole again.
Not after /that/ sentence.
Because even though Chuuya knows him now, his past and his family and his /rotten/ sides—
He stayed.
And the realization blooms in his chest, exploding in a hundred butterflies: he’s whole again.
He’s saved.
/Again./
Just like that morning.
Only, now, Chuuuya is showing that same unexpected kindness to another Dazai.
Another, deeply wounded side of him.
One that lurked in the shadows.
// He’s showing kindness to the kid that Tsushima Shuuji could never be. //
/Again./
Just like that morning.
Only, now, Chuuuya is showing that same unexpected kindness to another Dazai.
Another, deeply wounded side of him.
One that lurked in the shadows.
// He’s showing kindness to the kid that Tsushima Shuuji could never be. //
And Dazai didn’t realize how /close/ he was to the edge of complete self-destruction until now.
For a second, his lungs refuse to work.
His heart backflips, and he’s not sure if his head is light because of the emotions or because he hasn’t eaten in more than a day, but—
For a second, his lungs refuse to work.
His heart backflips, and he’s not sure if his head is light because of the emotions or because he hasn’t eaten in more than a day, but—
But he just can’t /function/, stunned and amazed and chocked-up.
And maybe it won’t matter tomorrow morning.
Maybe Chuuya is just drunk, maybe it’s nothing but a goodbye kiss, but—
But it saved Dazai all the same.
He hiccups, realizing he can’t /move/. He wants to, though.
And maybe it won’t matter tomorrow morning.
Maybe Chuuya is just drunk, maybe it’s nothing but a goodbye kiss, but—
But it saved Dazai all the same.
He hiccups, realizing he can’t /move/. He wants to, though.
He wants to taste Chuuya and hold him and say that he is /sorry/, but his body is heavy.
He leans his forehead against Chuuya’s, inhaling, wishing his heart would stop throbbing so he can focus back on kissing the omega.
He’s moving through molasses, overwhelmed.
Absolutely,
He leans his forehead against Chuuya’s, inhaling, wishing his heart would stop throbbing so he can focus back on kissing the omega.
He’s moving through molasses, overwhelmed.
Absolutely,
completely frozen. It’s— odd.
He feels feverish.
He never faced his emotions before, and /now/ they decided it’s mutiny time?
“Samu?”
Chuuya pulls back, a little alarmed.
His fingers trip over the curve of Dazai’s cheek — finding damp, boiling skin.
“Are you /crying/?”
He feels feverish.
He never faced his emotions before, and /now/ they decided it’s mutiny time?
“Samu?”
Chuuya pulls back, a little alarmed.
His fingers trip over the curve of Dazai’s cheek — finding damp, boiling skin.
“Are you /crying/?”
Dazai doesn’t reply.
He stares back at Chuuya with wide, lost eyes and glimmering streams of tears falling down his cheeks.
He parts his lips — even just to /downplay/ the emotions roiling in him now — but nothing comes out.
Nothing but a strangled sound, halfway between
He stares back at Chuuya with wide, lost eyes and glimmering streams of tears falling down his cheeks.
He parts his lips — even just to /downplay/ the emotions roiling in him now — but nothing comes out.
Nothing but a strangled sound, halfway between
an “oh” and a wail.
His bottom lip wobbles, and Dazai realizes he never felt so damn /helpless/ in his life.
All his usual masks seem to have shifted out of his grasp. A chaotic storm of his bare, confused emotions is all that remains; everything he can /count on/.
His bottom lip wobbles, and Dazai realizes he never felt so damn /helpless/ in his life.
All his usual masks seem to have shifted out of his grasp. A chaotic storm of his bare, confused emotions is all that remains; everything he can /count on/.
Immediately Chuuya’s hands sink in his hair, rubbing soothing patterns on his scalp.
The alpha bends a little to let the shorter omega reach him comfortably, a soft sob escaping him as Chuuya peppers his wet cheekbones with featherlight kisses.
The alpha bends a little to let the shorter omega reach him comfortably, a soft sob escaping him as Chuuya peppers his wet cheekbones with featherlight kisses.
“Baby, it’s alright,” Chuuya hums against his skin, a purr vibrating in his voice. “Just breathe for me, ok?”
The encouragement makes Dazai want to cry harder — and he /would/ turn the subdued sobs into ugly crying, if he only could.
If only anybody had ever taught him /how/.
The encouragement makes Dazai want to cry harder — and he /would/ turn the subdued sobs into ugly crying, if he only could.
If only anybody had ever taught him /how/.
Honestly? It’s not alright. He can’t fucking breathe and /nothing/ is ok.
Nothing is in damn /order/.
Even worse— tears are falling, but Dazai can’t figure out /why/.
He’s overjoyed, and crying doesn’t seem like the ideal response.
He doesn’t do /crying/ anyway, not in
Nothing is in damn /order/.
Even worse— tears are falling, but Dazai can’t figure out /why/.
He’s overjoyed, and crying doesn’t seem like the ideal response.
He doesn’t do /crying/ anyway, not in
front of Chuuya.
And he feels feverish, light, heavy, broken down and untethered at the same time.
/Safely/ untethered, now that the other half of his soul is back in his arms.
Yet his eyes won’t /stop/ tingling.
“I—“ Dazai mouths, trying to speak around the hiccups. His
And he feels feverish, light, heavy, broken down and untethered at the same time.
/Safely/ untethered, now that the other half of his soul is back in his arms.
Yet his eyes won’t /stop/ tingling.
“I—“ Dazai mouths, trying to speak around the hiccups. His
throat burns, set ablaze by the sobs he can’t keep down nor let out. “I—“
/Why/?
Words were never his enemy before.
“Hey,” Chuuya calls, hands slipping down Dazai’s neck. A moment later, gentle fingers are framing his face. “Look at me; I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”
/Why/?
Words were never his enemy before.
“Hey,” Chuuya calls, hands slipping down Dazai’s neck. A moment later, gentle fingers are framing his face. “Look at me; I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”
“But—“
Dazai’s voice dies off, trembling, and Chuuya kisses the corner of his mouth.
As he squeezes his eyes shut in the hope to regain a minimum of control over himself, shadows dance behind his closed lids.
He senses wine on Chuuya’s lips. Warmth. The ghost of a purr.
Dazai’s voice dies off, trembling, and Chuuya kisses the corner of his mouth.
As he squeezes his eyes shut in the hope to regain a minimum of control over himself, shadows dance behind his closed lids.
He senses wine on Chuuya’s lips. Warmth. The ghost of a purr.
And boiling tears run down his cheeks, still, each caught by Chuuya’s cold thumbs.
Dazai hunches a little on himself, shoulders trembling.
How stupid he must appear—
“‘Samu,” Chuuya calls again, thumb skimming across the alpha’s cheek.
/So tender./
“Look at me, please?”
Dazai hunches a little on himself, shoulders trembling.
How stupid he must appear—
“‘Samu,” Chuuya calls again, thumb skimming across the alpha’s cheek.
/So tender./
“Look at me, please?”
And Dazai has never been on the receiving end of a command — omegas aren’t even able to /command/ people — but his entire body resonates with Chuuya’s voice.
Because it’s not his second gender that reacts to those words, to that firm but gentle invitation.
It’s his /heart/.
Because it’s not his second gender that reacts to those words, to that firm but gentle invitation.
It’s his /heart/.
He can’t look at Chuuya in the eye without a wave of shame and regret and unguarded affection roaring in his body, making it glitch.
Still, Dazai lifts his head.
What he sees is—
/Blue/.
The ocean blue of Chuuya’s eyes scanning his face. The subtle smile of his lips.
Still, Dazai lifts his head.
What he sees is—
/Blue/.
The ocean blue of Chuuya’s eyes scanning his face. The subtle smile of his lips.
And something in Dazai /clicks/ in response, too.
Because Chuuya’s hands are shaky and because he seems on the verge of tears, too. Because he’s so beautiful with his gaze tarnished by a few drinks.
And Dazai is /aware/ that he risked the only good thing he ever knew when he
Because Chuuya’s hands are shaky and because he seems on the verge of tears, too. Because he’s so beautiful with his gaze tarnished by a few drinks.
And Dazai is /aware/ that he risked the only good thing he ever knew when he
let Chuuya walk out that door with a heavy heart and a head full of doubts, but—
Chuuya is here /now/.
When the alpha finally manages to speak, it’s barely a mumble.
“I’m fine, I think,” he says.
Chuuya smiles.
“/Good/. Deep breaths.”
“It’s— I missed you.”
So, so much.
Chuuya is here /now/.
When the alpha finally manages to speak, it’s barely a mumble.
“I’m fine, I think,” he says.
Chuuya smiles.
“/Good/. Deep breaths.”
“It’s— I missed you.”
So, so much.
It’s half a truth, because ‘miss’ doesn’t begin to cover whatever the hell Dazai has been feeling in the past weeks, but it’s /something/.
Chuuya nods, searching for the alpha’s eyes for a long moment — ‘I know. I’ve known all along,’ — before pulling him into another kiss.
Chuuya nods, searching for the alpha’s eyes for a long moment — ‘I know. I’ve known all along,’ — before pulling him into another kiss.
It tastes like tears, this time.
Melting into the contact, Dazai allows himself to calm down a little.
He releases his emotions, and discovers that—
How /unexpected/.
He’s not a slave of his feelings. Actually, they roll right off like storm water if he doesn’t fight them.
Melting into the contact, Dazai allows himself to calm down a little.
He releases his emotions, and discovers that—
How /unexpected/.
He’s not a slave of his feelings. Actually, they roll right off like storm water if he doesn’t fight them.
Silently, Dazai follows Chuuya’s purring as the omega trails kisses down his jaw, wiping away the tears with his lips.
He /obeys/ the vibration like gospel, and the sound seems to be mending his ruined soul.
It’s Chuuya who guides them to his nest, never breaking the kiss.
He /obeys/ the vibration like gospel, and the sound seems to be mending his ruined soul.
It’s Chuuya who guides them to his nest, never breaking the kiss.
Their fingers stumble over clothes, never daring too much. Dazai sighs against Chuuya’s lips when the omega reaches for his hand, pulling at the bandages covering his wrist.
He starts to unroll them, and Dazai /lets/ him.
They never, /ever/ break the kiss.
He starts to unroll them, and Dazai /lets/ him.
They never, /ever/ break the kiss.
Chuuya’s hands wander on Dazai’s body, mapping it as if the omega /knows/ that letting him go might cause Dazai to break down again.
And Dazai devours him with every kiss, with every caress.
Chuuya’s t-shirt lies abandoned in the living room, tossed over the couch’s armrests.
And Dazai devours him with every kiss, with every caress.
Chuuya’s t-shirt lies abandoned in the living room, tossed over the couch’s armrests.
Dazai’s hoodie falls to the floor in the corridor.
His sweatpants, too.
The alpha chuckles, still chocked-up, as Chuuya almost falls while slipping out of his pants.
They are both out of breath when Chuuya pushes him on the bed and straddles him— skin on skin, mouth on mouth.
His sweatpants, too.
The alpha chuckles, still chocked-up, as Chuuya almost falls while slipping out of his pants.
They are both out of breath when Chuuya pushes him on the bed and straddles him— skin on skin, mouth on mouth.
“Chibi—“ Dazai calls.
He’s asking for /permission/
Chuuya grins at him from above.
“Yes,” he says, bending over the brunet — lips brushing over his flickering eyelashes and the dry patterns of tears. Dazai croons at that, hands resting on the omega’s hips. “I missed you too.”
He’s asking for /permission/
Chuuya grins at him from above.
“Yes,” he says, bending over the brunet — lips brushing over his flickering eyelashes and the dry patterns of tears. Dazai croons at that, hands resting on the omega’s hips. “I missed you too.”
Still with a phantom smile on his lips, Chuuya lets Dazai pull him in for a deeper, slower kiss.
He angles his head, nibbling at Chuuya’s bottom lip as the omega cups his face.
His spine arches the moment he feels Chuuya grind against his crotch, hips rocking ever so subtly.
He angles his head, nibbling at Chuuya’s bottom lip as the omega cups his face.
His spine arches the moment he feels Chuuya grind against his crotch, hips rocking ever so subtly.
There’s an alluring shyness in the way Chuuya moves. Dazai inhales, taken aback and /mesmerized/.
And maybe the alcohol turned off Chuuya’s mental switch and all his insecurities for now, but— but he’s so /naturally/ sultry.
And maybe the alcohol turned off Chuuya’s mental switch and all his insecurities for now, but— but he’s so /naturally/ sultry.
The way his hips roll. The way his eyes shine, gauging Dazai’s reaction.
The way he’s in control without even knowing it.
The way he’s holding Dazai’s heart in his hands, and he /knows/ it.
If the wine is making Chuuya more at ease, Dazai mulls, they need to drink more often.
The way he’s in control without even knowing it.
The way he’s holding Dazai’s heart in his hands, and he /knows/ it.
If the wine is making Chuuya more at ease, Dazai mulls, they need to drink more often.
And he’s sure the omega will move away soon, but for now he just enjoys the friction — turning harder under the delicious weight of Chuuya moving on him.
Just like that, the last waves of shame and guilt evaporate with the souring scent of arousal that fills the room.
Just like that, the last waves of shame and guilt evaporate with the souring scent of arousal that fills the room.
The sweet scent of slick mixes with wine on Chuuya’s tongue — blending in with the tempting notes of /want/.
It’s more adult, though, less greedy.
Dazai suffocates the need to sink his teeth in the tender column of Chuuya’s neck, trying to control the need to tell the world
It’s more adult, though, less greedy.
Dazai suffocates the need to sink his teeth in the tender column of Chuuya’s neck, trying to control the need to tell the world
they are /one/.
That they are back to being partners in crime, friends, lovers. Soulmates.
But they don’t need a mark yet. They’ll get there, eventually.
For now, Dazai promises himself he will worship Chuuya.
He will make Chibi forgive him, he thinks.
He’ll make it right.
That they are back to being partners in crime, friends, lovers. Soulmates.
But they don’t need a mark yet. They’ll get there, eventually.
For now, Dazai promises himself he will worship Chuuya.
He will make Chibi forgive him, he thinks.
He’ll make it right.
Every little spot the omega likes, every secret corner in that perfect body of his that Dazai /knows/ will make Chuuya quiver and moan and melt — Dazai will cover them all with attentions, laving them in kisses and caresses.
Because he still can’t believe this is real.
Because he still can’t believe this is real.
Tears push at the corners of his eyes again the moment Dazai allows himself to remember that he’s not drunk — he’s not dreaming.
CW // NSFW
He beats the feeling back, swearing he /won’t/ cry again.
Instead, he will make Chuuya cum to his fingers and tongue in whatever way
CW // NSFW
He beats the feeling back, swearing he /won’t/ cry again.
Instead, he will make Chuuya cum to his fingers and tongue in whatever way
the omega will ask.
He’ll make him cum until Chuuya /begs/, until Dazai’s back will be covered in red scratches and Chuuya’s eyes will be glossy with tears and they’ll be both panting and lost — until the omega forgets his own name.
Until Chuuya forgets everything but /them/.
He’ll make him cum until Chuuya /begs/, until Dazai’s back will be covered in red scratches and Chuuya’s eyes will be glossy with tears and they’ll be both panting and lost — until the omega forgets his own name.
Until Chuuya forgets everything but /them/.
Dazai’s hands slide down the redhead’s body, feeling warm skin under his fingertips.
He seeks friction by arching his spine — rubbing his hardened dick, still constricted in the underwear, against the omega’s ass.
Chuuya’s eyelashes flutter closed.
He tilts his chin up to
He seeks friction by arching his spine — rubbing his hardened dick, still constricted in the underwear, against the omega’s ass.
Chuuya’s eyelashes flutter closed.
He tilts his chin up to
inhale — long auburn hair softly caught between his neck and freckled shoulders, spilling like liquid flames on the omega’s sharp collarbone.
Dazai never saw Chuuya so /free/. So confident.
He’s always been handsome, but self-consciousness was part of that beauty.
Now—
Dazai never saw Chuuya so /free/. So confident.
He’s always been handsome, but self-consciousness was part of that beauty.
Now—
Now Chuuya wears his own lust like a tailored dress, ravenous but unapologetic.
Mesmerized by the vision and incapable to tear his gaze away, Dazai grinds a little more /obviously/ against his lover’s ass.
He’s shamefully hard against Chuuya’s soft buttocks, pre-cum staining
Mesmerized by the vision and incapable to tear his gaze away, Dazai grinds a little more /obviously/ against his lover’s ass.
He’s shamefully hard against Chuuya’s soft buttocks, pre-cum staining
his underwear and mixing with the slick dripping from the omega’s tight boxer briefs.
And just the shape of Chuuya’s hard dick makes Dazai’s mouth /water/, but he forces himself to wait.
The omega’s nails scrape Dazai’s chest in response, his bottom lip /crimson/ and caught
And just the shape of Chuuya’s hard dick makes Dazai’s mouth /water/, but he forces himself to wait.
The omega’s nails scrape Dazai’s chest in response, his bottom lip /crimson/ and caught
in his teeth, and—
/God/.
Dazai could look at him forever.
He always goads Chuuya by calling him /short/, but he would gladly spend his life looking at him from below.
And it’s /nice/ to have Chuuya pinning him down like this, even if Dazai knows it won’t last.
/God/.
Dazai could look at him forever.
He always goads Chuuya by calling him /short/, but he would gladly spend his life looking at him from below.
And it’s /nice/ to have Chuuya pinning him down like this, even if Dazai knows it won’t last.
It never does.
The omega always ends up feeling a little too exposed.
He’s usually /so/ careful about the signals his body gives, Chuuya.
He’s careful to never promising too much; as if he’s carrying the weight of a thousand unsaid, unmeant promises on his shoulders.
The omega always ends up feeling a little too exposed.
He’s usually /so/ careful about the signals his body gives, Chuuya.
He’s careful to never promising too much; as if he’s carrying the weight of a thousand unsaid, unmeant promises on his shoulders.
He acts as if any possible mixed signal will be his fault, and his responsibility.
Because Chuuya is /alone/, in his head, carrying the burden of mistakes that should be shared with a partner.
Dazai tried to tell the omega that he’s not expecting /anything/, ever.
Because Chuuya is /alone/, in his head, carrying the burden of mistakes that should be shared with a partner.
Dazai tried to tell the omega that he’s not expecting /anything/, ever.
He sure as well won’t demand anything that Chuuya won’t give, because he doesn’t /want/ any of that.
He wants Chuuya happy.
He wants him /comfortable/.
Yet, the carefulness is /engrained/ in the omega. It shows during sex especially, but colors every aspect of his life.
He wants Chuuya happy.
He wants him /comfortable/.
Yet, the carefulness is /engrained/ in the omega. It shows during sex especially, but colors every aspect of his life.
That guarded attitude has been seared in Chuuya’s nature by all the past ‘I thought you meant…’, ‘it’s your fault’.
/You seemed willing/.
/You don’t love me enough if we won’t have sex/.
/You said yes to something, and now I expect everything’/.
/You seemed willing/.
/You don’t love me enough if we won’t have sex/.
/You said yes to something, and now I expect everything’/.
Years of gaslighting and manipulation and /expectations/ shaped him.
Tonight, though—
Tonight, the wine seems to cover the droplet of blood that makes the omega’s scent just a tiny bit iron-y.
Tonight Chuuya is drunk and emotional and hungry and /careless/.
Tonight, though—
Tonight, the wine seems to cover the droplet of blood that makes the omega’s scent just a tiny bit iron-y.
Tonight Chuuya is drunk and emotional and hungry and /careless/.
He’s moving on Dazai’s dick deliberately /slowly/, teasing him, coaxing a symphony of sighs and moans out of the alpha.
Dazai loves the teasing.
He /hates/ it.
He needs more of it.
However, the omega playfully /slaps/ his knuckles the moment Dazai dares to reach for
Dazai loves the teasing.
He /hates/ it.
He needs more of it.
However, the omega playfully /slaps/ his knuckles the moment Dazai dares to reach for
Chuuya’s underwear.
Dazai instantly /obeys/. He drops his hand, grasping the sheets under him instead.
“Not /yet/,” Chuuya purrs, slurring his words a little. “I like this.”
Another soft command.
Another instance when Chuuya proves him that no matter the second-gender,
Dazai instantly /obeys/. He drops his hand, grasping the sheets under him instead.
“Not /yet/,” Chuuya purrs, slurring his words a little. “I like this.”
Another soft command.
Another instance when Chuuya proves him that no matter the second-gender,
despite the power imbalance and the ‘strong gender’ bullshit the world likes so much, Dazai will follow that gorgeous purr anywhere.
/Always/.
He can only /listen/ — a slave of how Chuuya’s bare thighs embrace his hips, of the hands palming his chest unhurriedly.
/Always/.
He can only /listen/ — a slave of how Chuuya’s bare thighs embrace his hips, of the hands palming his chest unhurriedly.
In turn, the alpha’s elegant hands slide down the redhead’s body, warm under the pads of his fingers.
Chuuya bends over him, lips curled upwards.
His mouth ghosts over Dazai’s neck, his grinding and teasing /vivid/ despite the cage of the underwear they are both still wearing.
Chuuya bends over him, lips curled upwards.
His mouth ghosts over Dazai’s neck, his grinding and teasing /vivid/ despite the cage of the underwear they are both still wearing.
Such a tiny cage, tempting Dazai so.
He breathes the sugary scent of his slick, he sees and feels Chuuya’s hard cock through the fabric.
The /promise of it/ is enough to send a rush of impatience down the alpha’s spine.
He grips Chuuya’s body harder just before letting go.
He breathes the sugary scent of his slick, he sees and feels Chuuya’s hard cock through the fabric.
The /promise of it/ is enough to send a rush of impatience down the alpha’s spine.
He grips Chuuya’s body harder just before letting go.
Chuuya understands immediately, flashing Dazai a playful grin as he pulls away to /finally/ strip down completely.
Dazai does the same.
He is enjoying that unspoken communication — that silky red thread the alpha risked to snap, but that he still notices in the little things.
Dazai does the same.
He is enjoying that unspoken communication — that silky red thread the alpha risked to snap, but that he still notices in the little things.
In moments like this one, in the omega’s nest, with Chuuya straddling him and an intoxicating scent filling the room, it’s hard to remember that things changed — even for a little, even if the storm has passed.
It’s difficult, painful, to recognize that he almost lost Chuuya.
It’s difficult, painful, to recognize that he almost lost Chuuya.
But it swells Dazai’s heart to realize that he didn’t destroy that connection — it’s /safe/.
The knowledge that Chuuya can still smile and be naked in front of him, that he can be /intimate/ with him, makes Dazai quiver.
It’s not about sexuality, not only.
/ It’s about trust /
The knowledge that Chuuya can still smile and be naked in front of him, that he can be /intimate/ with him, makes Dazai quiver.
It’s not about sexuality, not only.
/ It’s about trust /
It’s with that thought in mind that Dazai drags Chuuya back on his lap and kisses him.
He savors the omega’s lips like he has done on a thousand lazy Sunday mornings — unrushed, deep. Lovingly.
Their bare erections brush together and Dazai lets out a throaty, /hmm/-ing sound.
He savors the omega’s lips like he has done on a thousand lazy Sunday mornings — unrushed, deep. Lovingly.
Their bare erections brush together and Dazai lets out a throaty, /hmm/-ing sound.
It’s hard to think with Chuuya like /this/, hard and nestled comfortably on his lap, draped over him and locked in a kiss and dripping slick.
Naked and beautiful and /real/.
Chuuya shifts on the alpha’s lap, his round, naked ass pressing against Dazai’s hardened dick.
Naked and beautiful and /real/.
Chuuya shifts on the alpha’s lap, his round, naked ass pressing against Dazai’s hardened dick.
His deep blue eyes glimmer with the tiniest hint of surprise as they both realize that Chuuya didn’t wince with the grinding.
He hasn’t moved away yet.
Chuuya opens his mouth, then closes it again. He nibbles at his bottom lip, clearly biting back /words/, and Dazai frowns.
He hasn’t moved away yet.
Chuuya opens his mouth, then closes it again. He nibbles at his bottom lip, clearly biting back /words/, and Dazai frowns.
“Chibi…?”
“Do you want to try?” the omega blurts out.
Dazai halts, eyes widening and body naturally reacting to the proposal with a deep, needy roll of hips.
He knows that timbre — half shy, half /sensual/.
Chuuya doesn’t need to articulate his request further — he would
“Do you want to try?” the omega blurts out.
Dazai halts, eyes widening and body naturally reacting to the proposal with a deep, needy roll of hips.
He knows that timbre — half shy, half /sensual/.
Chuuya doesn’t need to articulate his request further — he would
never explain that he wants to /try/ to take Dazai’s knot, way too sheepish to say it out loud.
Dazai hears him anyway.
(That connection, that understanding, is still here.
They are /one/.)
A wrinkle cuts the alpha’s forehead, and he squeezes Chuuya’s arm.
“Are you sure?”
Dazai hears him anyway.
(That connection, that understanding, is still here.
They are /one/.)
A wrinkle cuts the alpha’s forehead, and he squeezes Chuuya’s arm.
“Are you sure?”
“I—“ Chuuya gnaws at his bottom lip openly this time, searching for Dazai’s face — for his /approval/. “I feel good? I want it. At least I want to /try/.” Chuuya’s eyebrows twitch, almost touching above his nose. “If you are /fine/ with it, of course. If you want me back.”
Dazai mulls over it for a moment.
Chuuya is tipsy enough to not overthink as he normally does, and it’s not even their first try.
They occasionally tried when Chuuya felt well enough, though it always ended with Dazai cradling and cuddling his omega, crooning reassuring words.
Chuuya is tipsy enough to not overthink as he normally does, and it’s not even their first try.
They occasionally tried when Chuuya felt well enough, though it always ended with Dazai cradling and cuddling his omega, crooning reassuring words.
/It’s ok if it didn’t work./
It’s ok if Chuuya could only take a few thrusts before the pain stabbed him. He won’t be loved less.
And Dazai loves him /so/ fucking much.
Still, Chuuya always appears crushed after.
He curls on himself and says ‘sorry’, and Dazai’s heart breaks.
It’s ok if Chuuya could only take a few thrusts before the pain stabbed him. He won’t be loved less.
And Dazai loves him /so/ fucking much.
Still, Chuuya always appears crushed after.
He curls on himself and says ‘sorry’, and Dazai’s heart breaks.
But now, if the wine is numbing the pain and Chuuya feels comfortable enough to /try/ again—
“Of course, sugar,” Dazai says, searching for the omega’s hand and holding it. “If you’re sure.”
/It’s worth a shot, like *always*./
Chuuya gives a small nod. “Yeah— I think it’s ok.”
“Of course, sugar,” Dazai says, searching for the omega’s hand and holding it. “If you’re sure.”
/It’s worth a shot, like *always*./
Chuuya gives a small nod. “Yeah— I think it’s ok.”
Wearing only an encouraging smile, Dazai side-eyes the nightstand.
“The lube is still in the drawer. Can you please…?”
Chuuya obeys, no further instructions needed.
Despite it being Chuuya’s nest, Dazai always took care of the lube, placing it somewhere the redhead could
“The lube is still in the drawer. Can you please…?”
Chuuya obeys, no further instructions needed.
Despite it being Chuuya’s nest, Dazai always took care of the lube, placing it somewhere the redhead could
forget that he is an /omega/ and still needs lube to even get a finger in.
Yet now Chuuya seems /eager/.
He stretches over Dazai and reaches for the nightstand, leaving the drawer open after he fishes for a small tube of slick-based lube.
Yet now Chuuya seems /eager/.
He stretches over Dazai and reaches for the nightstand, leaving the drawer open after he fishes for a small tube of slick-based lube.
They bought it to /experiment/, but never had the occasion to use much of it.
And Chuuya slick is delicious to lap off the omega’s plump ass and smooth thighs, but Dazai agrees that it’s never enough.
It’s certainly not enough /now/, even if Chuuya’s mind is not gripped by
And Chuuya slick is delicious to lap off the omega’s plump ass and smooth thighs, but Dazai agrees that it’s never enough.
It’s certainly not enough /now/, even if Chuuya’s mind is not gripped by
anxiety as it usually is.
“Thanks, baby,” Dazai says.
He drops the pet name /bravely/ and as casually as he can, accepting the plop of lubricant Chuuya squeezes on the alpha’s outstretched fingers.
The faintest trace of redness spreads over Chuuya’s cheeks as he tosses the
“Thanks, baby,” Dazai says.
He drops the pet name /bravely/ and as casually as he can, accepting the plop of lubricant Chuuya squeezes on the alpha’s outstretched fingers.
The faintest trace of redness spreads over Chuuya’s cheeks as he tosses the
bottle on the mattress and out of the way.
“It’s fine,” Chuuya murmurs, like the /perfect/ little tsundere he is, though it’s /clear/ he’s basking in the pet name.
Dazai grins. /So cute/. And it’s /easy/ to get back into a rhythm, but—
“Just, /please/, stop me if it hurts.”
“It’s fine,” Chuuya murmurs, like the /perfect/ little tsundere he is, though it’s /clear/ he’s basking in the pet name.
Dazai grins. /So cute/. And it’s /easy/ to get back into a rhythm, but—
“Just, /please/, stop me if it hurts.”
Chuuya smiles, kissing the top of Dazai’s nose and settling with both elbows on the alpha’s chest.
“I always do,” he says.
Even though /that/ is true and Chuuya communicates his needs openly (ah, Dazai should take notes, shouldn’t he?) the alpha’s heart is drumming in his chest
“I always do,” he says.
Even though /that/ is true and Chuuya communicates his needs openly (ah, Dazai should take notes, shouldn’t he?) the alpha’s heart is drumming in his chest
The friction of Chuuya’s cock against his makes Dazai /hiss/ ever so subtly.
He never pressured Chuuya, but now that they are so close— he wants it. He wants to knot his omega, he wants to make him his.
He wants more.
He wants /all/.
But has he the right to ask for anything,
He never pressured Chuuya, but now that they are so close— he wants it. He wants to knot his omega, he wants to make him his.
He wants more.
He wants /all/.
But has he the right to ask for anything,
to take anything Chuuya is offering? Can he, after everything he held back?
Somehow, it doesn’t feel right.
It feels /selfish/.
Trying to brush away the doubts, Dazai focuses on rubbing his fingers together to warm up the lube. His nostrils flare with the fragrance, mostly
Somehow, it doesn’t feel right.
It feels /selfish/.
Trying to brush away the doubts, Dazai focuses on rubbing his fingers together to warm up the lube. His nostrils flare with the fragrance, mostly
chemicals and artificial sweetness. It’s hard to get used to the smell, but he can’t even begin to imagine how /degrading/ it must be for an omega.
Dazai bites his bottom lip, /expecting/ something to go wrong as he runs a wet index finger over the rim of Chuuya’s opening.
Dazai bites his bottom lip, /expecting/ something to go wrong as he runs a wet index finger over the rim of Chuuya’s opening.
He circles it /delicately/, unhurried movements to let the omega the time to get used to the feeling. It’s /important/ to let Chuuya time to say no.
He can /always/ say no. Anytime.
But the omega says nothing, waiting.
The slick is wet against the pad of Dazai’s finger.
He can /always/ say no. Anytime.
But the omega says nothing, waiting.
The slick is wet against the pad of Dazai’s finger.
Chuuya’s breath ghosts warm over his skin.
And Dazai holds his breath as he dips the tip of his finger in Chuuya’s hole, praying it won’t /hurt/—
Then Chuuya jumps despite the light touch, jerking forward.
Instantly, Dazai halts.
And Dazai holds his breath as he dips the tip of his finger in Chuuya’s hole, praying it won’t /hurt/—
Then Chuuya jumps despite the light touch, jerking forward.
Instantly, Dazai halts.
He stops the moment he senses Chuuya letting out the slightest sign of discomfort, fully responsive and alert.
It’s not fucking easy. And he /wants/ Chuuya; he missed him. He dreamed of the omega.
He wants him /so/ much, but not like this.
It’s not fucking easy. And he /wants/ Chuuya; he missed him. He dreamed of the omega.
He wants him /so/ much, but not like this.
Not if he doesn’t /like/ it, not if it hurts him.
“Chuuya, are you—”
// Are you /ok/? //
Chuuya breathes out. Deeply, steadily. “It’s just colder than the slick. Go on.”
“We don’t have to, love.”
His eyes meet blue irises — honest, beautiful ones. “But I /want/ to,” he says.
“Chuuya, are you—”
// Are you /ok/? //
Chuuya breathes out. Deeply, steadily. “It’s just colder than the slick. Go on.”
“We don’t have to, love.”
His eyes meet blue irises — honest, beautiful ones. “But I /want/ to,” he says.
In front of that gentle yet resolute answer, Dazai can only search for Chuuya’s mouth again.
He swallows Chuuya’s fear, kissing him gently, slowly sliding a full finger in the omega’s ass while he’s lost in the contact.
This time, Chuuya doesn’t flinch.
He swallows Chuuya’s fear, kissing him gently, slowly sliding a full finger in the omega’s ass while he’s lost in the contact.
This time, Chuuya doesn’t flinch.
On the contrary, he /relaxes/ around the finger — it’s a /first/, and Dazai smiles against the omega’s lips.
“Relax, Chibi,” he says, “I’ve got you.”
/He means it/.
God, he /so/ means it.
The anger from the recent separation is wearing off, leaving space to the need.
“Relax, Chibi,” he says, “I’ve got you.”
/He means it/.
God, he /so/ means it.
The anger from the recent separation is wearing off, leaving space to the need.
The nostalgia. The love, which Dazai thought gone.
Dazai presses a kiss on Chuuya’s cheek, and tightens his grip on the omega’s hip while he pushes two careful fingers inside.
When the intrusion is met with a trembling sigh instead of a violent jolt or a cry, Dazai /thaws/.
Dazai presses a kiss on Chuuya’s cheek, and tightens his grip on the omega’s hip while he pushes two careful fingers inside.
When the intrusion is met with a trembling sigh instead of a violent jolt or a cry, Dazai /thaws/.
Dazai smirks against Chuuya’s lips, his dick hard and leaking against his stomach.
It sets off white sparks behind the alpha’s eyelids as it rubs against Chuuya’s cock.
He twists his finger, and Chuuya moans.
Greediness roils in him, that greediness he always tried to kill.
It sets off white sparks behind the alpha’s eyelids as it rubs against Chuuya’s cock.
He twists his finger, and Chuuya moans.
Greediness roils in him, that greediness he always tried to kill.
“You’re doing perfectly,” he says, leaning in to nibble on the Chuuya’s bottom lip, all lips and no teeth.
Chuuya remains draped over his chest, shifting to better accomodate Dazai’s fingers. His nails are sunk in the skin, his knees secured at the sides Dazai’s hips.
“‘Samu?”
Chuuya remains draped over his chest, shifting to better accomodate Dazai’s fingers. His nails are sunk in the skin, his knees secured at the sides Dazai’s hips.
“‘Samu?”
Hesitant. Quivering.
And Dazai might cum to that sound alone, but he forces himself to /calm down/.
The way he quivers, so impatient and greedy around his fingers, only curls Dazai’s lips into a smile.
“Yes, baby?”
“Do you think it’s— I was thinking if I can ride you?”
And Dazai might cum to that sound alone, but he forces himself to /calm down/.
The way he quivers, so impatient and greedy around his fingers, only curls Dazai’s lips into a smile.
“Yes, baby?”
“Do you think it’s— I was thinking if I can ride you?”
Dazai swallows.
He nods. The words escape him. Chuuya straightens up, sitting on the alpha’s belly. He carefully lifts his ass to let Dazai scissor him open for a few moments before sliding his fingers out.
Chuuya inhales as the tip of Dazai’s dick presses against his hole.
He nods. The words escape him. Chuuya straightens up, sitting on the alpha’s belly. He carefully lifts his ass to let Dazai scissor him open for a few moments before sliding his fingers out.
Chuuya inhales as the tip of Dazai’s dick presses against his hole.
Dazai takes his time, again. Again he feels Chuuya quiver when he carefully slips in.
It’s a /slow/ process, as Dazai stiffens every time Chuuya frowns. But the omega’s natural slick and the lube seem to help — even if
It’s a /slow/ process, as Dazai stiffens every time Chuuya frowns. But the omega’s natural slick and the lube seem to help — even if
Chuuya has to breathe around the feeling for a few moments, saying he needs a second.
“We have all the time in the world,” Dazai says. He means it.
He’s not /sure/ he would enjoy this, if it were anybody else but Chuuya. He’s not used to being selfless — he’s not good at it.
“We have all the time in the world,” Dazai says. He means it.
He’s not /sure/ he would enjoy this, if it were anybody else but Chuuya. He’s not used to being selfless — he’s not good at it.
Being so /careful/ when he’s burning inside is an excruciating exercise in patience.
But Dazai’s heart skips beat when Chuuya sits on his cock to push him deeper, moaning, /sighing/.
His knees press against Dazai’s body, the alpha sprawled on the bed and Chuuya /above/ him.
But Dazai’s heart skips beat when Chuuya sits on his cock to push him deeper, moaning, /sighing/.
His knees press against Dazai’s body, the alpha sprawled on the bed and Chuuya /above/ him.
His hands find Dazai’s, lacing their fingers together, and it feels like they accomplished something /big/.
And Chuuya— he’s a work of art.
His eyelashes flutter on his cheeks, eyes closed and glossy lips parted in bliss.
The Adam apple bobs up and down as he swallows deeply.
And Chuuya— he’s a work of art.
His eyelashes flutter on his cheeks, eyes closed and glossy lips parted in bliss.
The Adam apple bobs up and down as he swallows deeply.
The shy rocking of hips — checking if it hurts, deciding it /doesn’t/.
His hair, liquid flame, the color of burning sunsets, glide down his shoulders with the tentative rolls of his hips.
Every time the omega raises a hand to tug a strand away from his face, so /beautifully/
His hair, liquid flame, the color of burning sunsets, glide down his shoulders with the tentative rolls of his hips.
Every time the omega raises a hand to tug a strand away from his face, so /beautifully/
mindless, Dazai’s heart stutters.
And— oh, how he smiles. A free, victorious smile.
How he fucking /moves/.
Every cell in Dazai’s body tunes in with the omega, with his movements, checking for signs of discomfort.
His hips snap upward, and Chuuya’s mouth opens around a moan
And— oh, how he smiles. A free, victorious smile.
How he fucking /moves/.
Every cell in Dazai’s body tunes in with the omega, with his movements, checking for signs of discomfort.
His hips snap upward, and Chuuya’s mouth opens around a moan
He can discern the delighted surprise painted on his lips, shining in his eyes.
/Is this *really* happening?/
It gives Dazai /all/ the answers he need, all the reassurance to pick up the pace.
His thrusts grow faster, less timid, hitting /right/ on the spot that makes the
/Is this *really* happening?/
It gives Dazai /all/ the answers he need, all the reassurance to pick up the pace.
His thrusts grow faster, less timid, hitting /right/ on the spot that makes the
omega squirm and arch and /moan/.
Chuuya is a vision to behold. Nowhere near breaking, head rolled back exposing a perfect jaw and a tensed neck, bouncing in rhythm with Dazai’s sharp yanks.
“Is it good enough—?” Chuuya hums, glancing down from between long, curled lashes.
God
Chuuya is a vision to behold. Nowhere near breaking, head rolled back exposing a perfect jaw and a tensed neck, bouncing in rhythm with Dazai’s sharp yanks.
“Is it good enough—?” Chuuya hums, glancing down from between long, curled lashes.
God
Chuuya really has /no/ idea of how alluring he is.
“/More/ than enough,” Dazai murmurs, in the most reassuring tone he can muster while also fighting with himself to not cum too soon.
Chuuya addresses him a tiny smile, galvanized by the lack of pain. He jerks forward, moving
“/More/ than enough,” Dazai murmurs, in the most reassuring tone he can muster while also fighting with himself to not cum too soon.
Chuuya addresses him a tiny smile, galvanized by the lack of pain. He jerks forward, moving
his middle and making Dazai sink deep inside him — /letting him in/, not holding back.
With every movement, he gets a little less tense.
And Dazai squeezes the omega’s hands, but also dares to thrust a little faster. Because it’s perfect, it’s /more/ than good;
With every movement, he gets a little less tense.
And Dazai squeezes the omega’s hands, but also dares to thrust a little faster. Because it’s perfect, it’s /more/ than good;
because it makes him feel alive—
Chuuya has no idea of how rarely Dazai feels alive.
But Dazai knows. Dazai knows, and he treasures moments like this one.
Special moments when Chuuya and him are fused together, mates in everything but the bonding mark.
Chuuya has no idea of how rarely Dazai feels alive.
But Dazai knows. Dazai knows, and he treasures moments like this one.
Special moments when Chuuya and him are fused together, mates in everything but the bonding mark.
The welcoming warmth of Chuuya’s body, his tight hole and sweet slick only make everything /more/ intimidate.
So intimate it’s almost daunting.
The alpha digs into the lube-slick hole with a push that coaxes a husky, protracted moan out of Chuuya.
So intimate it’s almost daunting.
The alpha digs into the lube-slick hole with a push that coaxes a husky, protracted moan out of Chuuya.
Dazai gnaws at the inside of his cheek as he keeps Chuuya steadily close to him, sinking in the omega with sharp yanks of his pelvis.
He unthreads his fingers from Chuuya’s grip to grab the boy’s middle, guiding his pacing, fingers fondling over the soft curve of his body.
He unthreads his fingers from Chuuya’s grip to grab the boy’s middle, guiding his pacing, fingers fondling over the soft curve of his body.
He’s a fast learner, Chuuya. A natural. He responds to every tiny movement of the alpha’s body, ass cheeks clenching around his dick as Dazai slides in and out of the omega.
‘Chuuya’, Dazai chants, over and over, encouraging the omega — hoping it will make him fill at /ease/.
‘Chuuya’, Dazai chants, over and over, encouraging the omega — hoping it will make him fill at /ease/.
The slapping sound of skin against skin fills his head.
Maybe it’s Chuuya’s scent, so sweet without that tinge of blood to taint it, maybe it’s the overwhelming amount of truth and emotions they shared lately, but Dazai feels dizzy.
It’s suddenly so, so clear.
/This/ is it.
Maybe it’s Chuuya’s scent, so sweet without that tinge of blood to taint it, maybe it’s the overwhelming amount of truth and emotions they shared lately, but Dazai feels dizzy.
It’s suddenly so, so clear.
/This/ is it.
Chuuya is the only one.
He feels the knot at the base of his dick swelling as Chuuya’s free hands runs over his skin — his chest, his shoulders. It counts his ribs, tracing their shape one by one.
“Chuuya,” Dazai calls, voice cracked.
Half a moan, half a /warning/.
He feels the knot at the base of his dick swelling as Chuuya’s free hands runs over his skin — his chest, his shoulders. It counts his ribs, tracing their shape one by one.
“Chuuya,” Dazai calls, voice cracked.
Half a moan, half a /warning/.
The orgasm has been bubbling in him for a while.
The sheer idea of being with Chuuya again, in any way at all, was enough to make Dazai shake with anticipation, but /feeling/ the omega like this is /not/ helping his self control.
It’s /definitely/ not helping that Chuuya
The sheer idea of being with Chuuya again, in any way at all, was enough to make Dazai shake with anticipation, but /feeling/ the omega like this is /not/ helping his self control.
It’s /definitely/ not helping that Chuuya
instinctively knows how to move to make Dazai clench his teeth and lose his mind.
Because Chuuya is touching himself, now, jerking off his own reddened shaft in rhythm with the thrusts — the other hand still wrapped around Dazai’s fingers, holding, clinging to the alpha.
Because Chuuya is touching himself, now, jerking off his own reddened shaft in rhythm with the thrusts — the other hand still wrapped around Dazai’s fingers, holding, clinging to the alpha.
And his voice — so deep, so throaty, a heavy purring rounding the edge of his breaths — is balancing Dazai on the edge of madness, barely keeping him afloat.
So, yes, Dazai wasn’t made to last long. Not tonight.
Not when he still feels stupid with love and lust.
So, yes, Dazai wasn’t made to last long. Not tonight.
Not when he still feels stupid with love and lust.
And the sounds escaping Chuuya’s throat, Dazai’s heavy breaths, the squeaks from the mattress under them — they all blend together in a maddening spiral.
Yes, the orgasm was simmering before; it was lurking under the surface.
It kept mounting slowly.
But it’s souring now.
Yes, the orgasm was simmering before; it was lurking under the surface.
It kept mounting slowly.
But it’s souring now.
Dazai’s knot feels hard and full. The alpha can sense it growing bigger — stretching Chuuya open so /beautifully/, inch after inch.
In response, Chuuya picks up the pace.
He digs his nails in Dazai’s skin, leaving red trails burning like fire, and inhales and moves /faster/.
In response, Chuuya picks up the pace.
He digs his nails in Dazai’s skin, leaving red trails burning like fire, and inhales and moves /faster/.
Dazai’s stomach clenches as he buries himself deeper into the omega, hips snapping harsher as he chases his high. His /redemption/.
And Chuuya is close too. He’s so close that Dazai can taste it on the roof of his mouth.
It’s crazy. It’s /wonderful/.
It slaps the alpha with
And Chuuya is close too. He’s so close that Dazai can taste it on the roof of his mouth.
It’s crazy. It’s /wonderful/.
It slaps the alpha with
the familiar scent of the orgasm — an explosion of sugary, thick fragrances that fill the air.
Some of Chuuya and some of him, mixed as one.
A scent that lingers in the droplets of sweat on their intertwined bodies, in their scent glands, in the slick running down their legs.
Some of Chuuya and some of him, mixed as one.
A scent that lingers in the droplets of sweat on their intertwined bodies, in their scent glands, in the slick running down their legs.
And Dazai can’t believe they are having sex like this, even though he never /needed/ to.
He can’t believe how stretched and warm the omega is for him.
He can’t believe they are /back/, and he has been found again. And this time, he won’t let go.
He won’t hide anymore.
He can’t believe how stretched and warm the omega is for him.
He can’t believe they are /back/, and he has been found again. And this time, he won’t let go.
He won’t hide anymore.
Though it’s easy to make promises and utter oaths and pray to a merciless god when Chuuya is literally /riding/ him. It’s blasphemy, and it’s holy.
But Dazai becomes clay under the omega’s touch.
Chuuya’s entire body is an unspoken command, and Dazai’s souls resonates with it.
But Dazai becomes clay under the omega’s touch.
Chuuya’s entire body is an unspoken command, and Dazai’s souls resonates with it.
Besides… Chuuya’s surprising self-confidence is so alluring, so /god-like/.
Every roll of Chuuya’s hips guides them both on the edge of climax and takes them back again — like waves washing ashore, like a storm rolling in.
It only leaves space for the mad rush of blood
Every roll of Chuuya’s hips guides them both on the edge of climax and takes them back again — like waves washing ashore, like a storm rolling in.
It only leaves space for the mad rush of blood
pumping in Dazai’s ears, for the slapping sound of Chuuya’s ass bouncing on his dick.
A grunt escapes Dazai’s lips and his entire body jerks, the judder of wild emotions painting white starts behind his lids.
Of course, Chuuya notices the reaction. Because Chuuya /owns/ him.
A grunt escapes Dazai’s lips and his entire body jerks, the judder of wild emotions painting white starts behind his lids.
Of course, Chuuya notices the reaction. Because Chuuya /owns/ him.
He’s back at leaving long, raw scratches down Dazai’s body, as if to mark him. To brand him.
And a voice in the back of his head still advises Dazai to be careful, to be aware of Chuuya’s limits, but /how/ can he?
How, when Chuuya is so /greedy/, asking for more?
And a voice in the back of his head still advises Dazai to be careful, to be aware of Chuuya’s limits, but /how/ can he?
How, when Chuuya is so /greedy/, asking for more?
So the alpha only thrusts harder and harsher, angling his hips so every hit on Chuuya’s overstimulated prostate can turn the omega into a mess of moans and relaxed limbs.
“You’re doing so good, love,” Dazai croons. The sound comes straight from his ribcage.
“You’re doing so good, love,” Dazai croons. The sound comes straight from his ribcage.
He’s there, it’s almost there—
Chuuya’s knees close around Dazai’s waist, completely abandoned.
It’s /just/ right—
“God, Chuuya,” Dazai murmurs, clawing at his lover’s hip. “Chuuya, /my/ Chuuya.”
He’s ready to slide out, but Chuuya’s body stiffens as he stays in place.
Chuuya’s knees close around Dazai’s waist, completely abandoned.
It’s /just/ right—
“God, Chuuya,” Dazai murmurs, clawing at his lover’s hip. “Chuuya, /my/ Chuuya.”
He’s ready to slide out, but Chuuya’s body stiffens as he stays in place.
The pressure of his clenched buttocks sends a jolt down Dazai’s spine.
And yet Chuuya’s voice is quivering, almost expecting a refusal, as he calls Dazai’s name:
“‘Samu—”
It’s just a word, just an agglomeration of sounds, but it means everything.
It’s /breathy/ and it’s raw.
And yet Chuuya’s voice is quivering, almost expecting a refusal, as he calls Dazai’s name:
“‘Samu—”
It’s just a word, just an agglomeration of sounds, but it means everything.
It’s /breathy/ and it’s raw.
//Stay inside//, it means.
// Knot me. //
It’s brisk, it’s probably stupid, and it’s irresistible.
In response, Dazai drags Chuuya down into an open-mouthed kiss. The change of angle makes them both hiss, but none of them /stops/.
They’re too close to even think about it.
// Knot me. //
It’s brisk, it’s probably stupid, and it’s irresistible.
In response, Dazai drags Chuuya down into an open-mouthed kiss. The change of angle makes them both hiss, but none of them /stops/.
They’re too close to even think about it.
He should ask if Chuuya is /sure/, but the omega sounds damn sure of what he’s doing.
He seems aware of what he is /requesting/, with or without the wine.
Once again, Dazai /obeys/.
He stays in, mind foggy, lust making him stupid — making him careless.
And he lets go.
He seems aware of what he is /requesting/, with or without the wine.
Once again, Dazai /obeys/.
He stays in, mind foggy, lust making him stupid — making him careless.
And he lets go.
He fucking /forgets/, because all he needs is Chuuya, and Chuuya is right here.
The omega releases a shivering breath, and seems to /squirm/ as the knot locks Dazai inside him.
It’s the first time the alpha notices the tiniest sign of discomfort on Chuuya’s handsome face.
The omega releases a shivering breath, and seems to /squirm/ as the knot locks Dazai inside him.
It’s the first time the alpha notices the tiniest sign of discomfort on Chuuya’s handsome face.
It’s too late, though; Dazai spills inside the redhead with a muffled cry, suffocated against the boy’s lips. Chuuya, too, arches his spine and lets out a deep moan, the orgasm crushing over him like a wave.
And—
What did Dazai say before? it’s stupid. It’s crazy. It’s wild.
And—
What did Dazai say before? it’s stupid. It’s crazy. It’s wild.
It’s all that and more, and yet—
And yet it’s somehow tarnished and cut short by the flash of hurt that passed across the omega’s face.
Even worse, Dazai can’t even pull out immediately. His knot only relaxes as Dazai releases the last gushes of cum inside the omega, filling
And yet it’s somehow tarnished and cut short by the flash of hurt that passed across the omega’s face.
Even worse, Dazai can’t even pull out immediately. His knot only relaxes as Dazai releases the last gushes of cum inside the omega, filling
him to the point that he /sees/ Chuuya’s discomfort.
He gawks at Chuuya, mouth dry, realizing that the omega is /rigid/— not in a good way.
His hands are slightly shaking.
Every second of it makes Dazai’s heart run a little faster.
He gawks at Chuuya, mouth dry, realizing that the omega is /rigid/— not in a good way.
His hands are slightly shaking.
Every second of it makes Dazai’s heart run a little faster.
He sees that Chuuya would /ask/ to be let go, if he didn’t know way too well that Dazai can’t move without hurting him.
It’s just a handful of seconds, but it feels like hours.
“I’m /so/ sorry,” Dazai blurts as soon as he manages to pull out. “Are you alright? I’m /sorry/—“
It’s just a handful of seconds, but it feels like hours.
“I’m /so/ sorry,” Dazai blurts as soon as he manages to pull out. “Are you alright? I’m /sorry/—“
It’ll make a mess — slick and cum and lube everywhere, but who cares.
They can wash the sheets.
They can burn the nest and build a new one.
But he /won’t/ hurt Chuuya anymore.
The omega offers him a tiny smile. His hand still shakes as he holds Dazai’s.
“I’m ok.”
“Baby—“
They can wash the sheets.
They can burn the nest and build a new one.
But he /won’t/ hurt Chuuya anymore.
The omega offers him a tiny smile. His hand still shakes as he holds Dazai’s.
“I’m ok.”
“Baby—“
“Really,” Chuuya murmurs, though the shadow of tears seems to glitter in his eyes. “Everything else was /great/.”
“How do you feel?”
Slowly, holding his ass as high as he can, he pecks Dazai’s lips.
“Weird,” he says, but it’s breathed out with a certain level of approval.
“How do you feel?”
Slowly, holding his ass as high as he can, he pecks Dazai’s lips.
“Weird,” he says, but it’s breathed out with a certain level of approval.
“Do you want me to go..?”
“What!? No. Let’s go take a shower, alright? We can talk tomorrow.”
/Is this a dream?/
“Are you sure?” Dazai asks one last time.
Are you sure I didn’t hurt you? Are you sure you want to take a shower with /me/?
Are you sure we can be… like we were?
“What!? No. Let’s go take a shower, alright? We can talk tomorrow.”
/Is this a dream?/
“Are you sure?” Dazai asks one last time.
Are you sure I didn’t hurt you? Are you sure you want to take a shower with /me/?
Are you sure we can be… like we were?
“I don’t know,” Chuuya says, and he sounds /honest/. “All I know is that being mad at you sucks. So maybe— maybe we can see how it goes.”
Dazai’s heart jumps.
They’re out of the woods, aren’t they?
And when he says ‘I love you’ — a leap of faith that may seem premature but
Dazai’s heart jumps.
They’re out of the woods, aren’t they?
And when he says ‘I love you’ — a leap of faith that may seem premature but
that the alpha can’t keep in — Chuuya smiles and kisses him and drags him out of the nest.
“I love you too.” He grins. “Silly Mackerel.”
And just like that, Dazai’s universe shifts back into place.
(Dazai’s not sure Chuuya still loves him when he begrudgingly admits he hasn’t
“I love you too.” He grins. “Silly Mackerel.”
And just like that, Dazai’s universe shifts back into place.
(Dazai’s not sure Chuuya still loves him when he begrudgingly admits he hasn’t
eaten anything during the day, but…
It’s ok.
It’s fine.
Chuuya loves him.
And the alpha blesses the shower and the steam of the bathroom and the water, because tears are quietly running down his cheeks again.
Again Dazai can’t seem to stop them but— it’s ok.
/He’s ok/.)
—
It’s ok.
It’s fine.
Chuuya loves him.
And the alpha blesses the shower and the steam of the bathroom and the water, because tears are quietly running down his cheeks again.
Again Dazai can’t seem to stop them but— it’s ok.
/He’s ok/.)
—
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