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It's the early two thousands, MTV is hot shit, people wear baggy jeans that drag on the ground and Dazai turned fifteen at the start of term. He seldom attends school, though his attendance is clean. Who knew it pays off to learn how to pick locks? (It helps that the security in the faculty’s office is a joke.) He passes exams easily enough, no studying required and his teachers are so sick of him they don’t question how in the hell he hasn’t been kicked out yet. Thankfully, Dazai and his teachers have come upon a tacit understanding that if they don’t bother him, he won’t bother them. However that's as far as he's willing to go where effort is concerned, only putting enough energy to pass, though he's sure if he put some extra time he'd be top of his class.
As it stands, studying holds his attention as well as most things do. Or, in other words, it does not.
The days pass painfully slowly. On the rare times he deigns to show up to class he’s always dozing off, if he’s not in school then he's often on a filthy alley scoring weed. He has tried other harder shit but 'shrooms have a kickback like a cannon not to mention that it's too expensive for someone that only has coupons in his wallet.
(The day after he tried some so-called special 'shrooms he'd gotten real close and personal with the toilet.)
(Harsh lesson learned.)
He has a guardian—his uncle only by a thin technicality.
The story isn’t exciting, just a little bit of a downer. Dazai's aunt married his uncle five years ago, and they enjoyed each other’s company all of those years… until his mom and dad’s untimely death. Her aunt and mom had been close, and so having such a close part of her life be ripped away, it caused his aunt to overdose on pills, killing herself out of grief. On his dad's side there are no uncles or aunts to speak of, meaning that after the funeral, when he was ten, there was only one next of kin willing to take him in. Someone suitable enough to take on the responsibility, with the resources and connections.
Mori checked all those little boxes.
On paper they may be family. But in practice they’re closer to strangers. They don't get along, him and his uncle. Personally, Dazai thinks it’s got something to do with Mori’s misplaced guilt, as well as his general dislike for kids. And maybe Dazai’s unmedicated clinical depression doesn’t score them any favors.
Add it all together in a pot and you’ve got an unmitigated disaster.
Frankly, Mori and him? They're not cut from the same cloth. If anything, it's like they're the least compatible elements in the periodic table. Once they come into contact, they can't help but be nuclear. They're both on different wavelengths, fated to never coincide, forever in dissonance.
His bad decisions could be blamed on his parents' death, or maybe even their actual, initial, involvement in his upbringing. It could also be his uncle’s crazy work hours, the endless periods of time he’s not home, leaving a self-destructive teenager to his own devices. It could be Dazai’s broken brain that doesn’t work as it should, it could be just the way he is. Either way, Dazai is screwed to a life of wasted potential. Not like he cares enough to give it a second thought. And so, he's not entirely concerned when his dealer and two other strangers crowd him into a deserted alley next to a small convenience store.
"Ladies, ladies," he cajoles. "There's enough of me to go around, no need to get antsy." He gets a swift kick to the gut for his smartass comment, causing him to double over. The pain makes him laugh a bit, adrenaline coursing through his veins and warming his cold machine of a heart for a fight.
It's this rush of euphoria that he lives for.
His aggressor doesn't share the amusement, and neither does the posse he brought along. "Now is not the time to be cute, Dazai." His dealer is in his early twenties, way past the sensible ‘roughing-up-fifteen-year-olds’ age range. That thought makes him grin.
"You think I'm cute? Wow, is this a dear diary moment?"
One of the guys in the back growls, restless. "Hold him down. Bet he won't be so talkative when we're done with him." The sound his knuckles make when he cracks them strike Dazai as a foreboding teaser of what's to come.
Please forgive me, bones. I promise I’ll drink a lot of milk after this.
They get closer and alright, maybe it's time for some damage control. "Hey, hey, hey! Wait one second," he holds his hands up placatingly, they falter but only just. "I'm sure we can come to an understanding, no? You seem like reasonable men."
"Do you have the money you owe us?" asks the big one from the back, the one with the bone breaking knuckles that crack like thunder.
"Uh… no."
"Then understand that this is not personal."
"Wait! One more thing!"
"What," another one snaps.
"Open wide!" His pointer finger presses down on the nuzzle of his pepper spray, setting forth a healthy layer of eye burning spritz on his dealer's eyes.
"UGH! Fuck!"
Dazai brings a leg up and slams it on his dealer’s chest, causing him to topple backwards into his friends. He doesn't stay long enough to see them fall like dominoes. And though he'd pay to see their expressions, the colorful cursing gives him enough of an idea. He sprints down the alley and rounds the corner, already huffing from overexertion. Nervous sweat drips into his eyes—damn this hot weather—and blurs the world around him. Enough so that he ends up colliding painfully into someone.
“Shit!”
They both topple to the ground. Dazai takes the moment to wipe the sweat from his eyes.
Oh. It's a boy. A boy whose glare is surprisingly intimidating for someone that was thrown on their ass.
‘Cute too,’ his mind decides to supply oh, so helpfully.
Another quick swipe of his forearm over his eyes and Dazai sees things more clearly. Namely the familiar emblem of his school stitched on the chest of the boy's football jersey. The yelling from behind him gets louder so Dazai does what comes to mind first. He grips the guy's wrist and yanks him to his feet and down the street. The momentum forces the strange boy to run alongside him, lest he eat shit on the pavement.
"What the flying fuck-"
The boy's protest is cut off when Dazai takes a sharp left and crosses the street, almost getting run over by a car and tripping down short stairs that lead to a dingy basement bar. When he yanks on the door he finds it locked, a sign reading 'We are Closed' mockingly sways in on the other side of the small window.
FuckFuckFuck-
Of all days, they decide to close today?
The boy behind him wrenches his hand free and roughly grabs Dazai’s shoulders to swivel him around and face him. “What the hell is your problem, dickhead?”
Forcefully faced with the poor victim he dragged into this Dazai comes to the dizzying realization that he knows this person.
Upon recognizing the boy all of his sympathy dissipates.
“Oh, it’s you,” he says disinterestedly.
“Are you fucking serious?!”
Chuuya is the new transfer student in his school. He does surprisingly well in class, he’s on the football team—already on the roster and invaluable to the team. He is also friends with unsavory people Dazai cannot stand, the bane of his existence, the loud, obnoxious jocks and their gaggle of ever changing girlfriends. He has wasted too many brain cells on that lot, not to mention their general lack of common decency constantly grating on his patience.
Dazai always complains about them to his cousin Yosano, the one good thing to come from Mori’s side of the family, and his best friend who now goes to an all-girls high school. The response is always the same.
‘Suck it up, loser.’
He doesn’t know why he still hangs out with Yosano.
In any case, even though Dazai hasn’t personally gotten to know Chuuya, he knows enough by the company he keeps. Such a clean-cut boy—with his perfect grades, athleticism and nice face—is so painfully out of his usual orbit by hanging out with Dazai of all people. This is so not his scene and Dazai has enough decency to see that. He decides to cut him some slack.
“Scram, shorty. This doesn’t concern you anymore.” Maybe if Chuuya leaves now he won’t get caught up in Dazai’s shit. As much as he hates the dude, Dazai is not deluded enough to think Chuuya deserves to get his ass beat alongside him. No matter how shitty his friends are. It’d be a shame to bring harm to such a nice face.
“You literally dragged me here, dipshit!” His brow ticks up in irritation. “And who’re you calling short, bastard!”
“Wow, is your vast vocabulary reserved for curse words?”
“You bring that side out of me."
Just as a rebuttal springs to life, it dies in his mouth. One of the men has spotted them from across the street. “They’re here!” he hollers.
“Shit,” Dazai says. “Shit, shit, shit.”
His hands don’t shake as he takes out his lock picks from his back pocket, they are steady while working on the closed bar door. By some grace of god it thankfully clicks open just as the guy stomps down the stairs. Chuuya, to his credit, reacts quickly and dodges the swipe for his face, pressing the palms of his hands on Dazai’s back and shoving him inside the bar. They quickly sprint past tables with their chairs stacked up.
The dust that floats could be mistaken for a light drizzle and as pretty as it is, it makes Dazai sneeze which causes him to crash shoulder first into the ‘employees only’ door, which causes him to stumble into the storage room. A back exit is in their sights, freedom is within their reach! Just his fucking luck that when Chuuya tries to push it open, it doesn’t budge. The small window at Dazai’s eye level shows him how screwed they are. On the other side of the door is a huge dumpster, keeping the door from opening to the alleyway.
Boy, what a safety violation.
“Shit,” he says finally, the door behind them slams open once more. The three dudes are fuming, almost frothing at the mouth. At the front is Dazai’s dealer, looking most pissed of all, red blisters across his eyes like an ugly domino mask.
“Wait! Time out, there’s an innocent bystander here!” Let it never be said that Dazai has no manners. “He literally just ran into me, he has nothing to do with this.”
A tick of the clock.
Then another.
His dealer clicks his tongue. “Get outta here, kid.”
Dazai sighs in relief, seeing the three men part, leaving a Chuuya-spaced hole in between them for the boy to pass.
Chuuya rolls his eyes. “You are so right, this is so not my business. Please carry on.”
Despite it being his own input that has granted Chuuya a safe exit from his shit show, Dazai still can't resist getting one last shot in. “Oh wow, that was surprisingly easy!” he laughs, a sound edging on nervous to his own ears. “And here I thought you’d be my knight in shining armor.”
That stops Chuuya in his tracks, turning a scary glare on him. “Fucking excuse me?”
Before he can think better of it, before his conscience can pull the brakes on the oncoming trainwreck, Dazai opens his big mouth one more fucking time.
“I'm not judging. I completely understand. You see it's very common for people to stand idly by as injustice prevails in front of them. The bystander effect is the real deal. I don't fault you for being too scared to step in. As it stands people tend to lack a spine in these situations.”
He expects Chuuya to leave, cursing him and his entire bloodline to hell. What actually happens is much more surprising.
“As I see it, justice is being served right now, bitch.” Chuuya fully turns to face him. “Don't insult my intelligence by insinuating this is all unwarranted.”
“Such big words from a dumb brute like yourself.” The killing intent is palpable. And like an adrenaline junkie, Dazai spreads his arms in a ‘look around‘ gesture, egging on his possible undoing. “Three of them and one of me, is that by any means fair? If so, you may go. Leave a poor unfortunate victim like myself in this situation and live with the consequences.”
To his astonished delight, this response is just as good as the last one.
Chuuya punctuates each point with one finger. “One, you're not in any way poor. Two, you're not a victim. And three, the only unfortunate thing about you is your awful, no-good personality.”
“Harsh,” he grins, more genuine this time, spirits slowly being amped up. “However, I have noticed you're not addressing the disproportionate numbers here. Let’s count again, hm? One, two, three… Ah.” From the corner of his eye he detects the thugs shuffling, a bead of sweat rolls down his back. “Against one. What is that if not unjust?”
“Divine retribution fits. By the way, appealing to my compassion is a bold move, considering you wouldn’t do shit if our roles were reversed.”
“And how, pray tell, would you know that?”
Chuuya shrugs. “People talk, I listen. From what I’ve gathered it’s not in your nature to help, Demon Prodigy.” His unofficial nickname is spat out with derision.
Ah. That nickname. There’s only a select few who call him that, as it happens they’re the same people Chuuya keeps around as his friends. Admittedly they do call him that behind his back. Chuuya has the balls to say it to his face at least, something Dazai is willing to kind of respect.
He smiles mockingly. “Your perception of me has been tainted by Oliver and his company I see.”
“What?”
“Your jock friends, the pack of dogs you surround yourself with. They call themselves The Sheep, don’t they? Sometimes they make it too easy, you know?”
“Is that bitterness in your tone? Whose perception of others is tainted now?”
Dazai scoffs. “Fact is fact, puppy. They’re a bad crowd.”
“As opposed to you?”
“I never said that.”
“What are you saying then?”
“Okay, that is it!” his dealer interrupts suddenly. “I’m done with this soap opera bullshit. Get both of ‘em and let’s get this over with.”
“I'm saying,” Dazai ignores the interruption. One of the guys shoves Chuuya to the side and grabs Dazai’s arm painfully tight, pulling the other to charge a punch that will be felt by his entire bloodline. “Help me out? Unless you're too delicate to get your hands dirty.”
Hook, line and sinker. Anger blazes behind brown eyes. “I’ll show you fucking delicate.”
Dazai wishes he had a camera, his phone is beyond repair after that little dip in the river. (To be fair, he didn’t mean to waterlog the thing! He completely forgot it was in his pocket at the time.) He’s paying for it now, he thinks to himself. Chuuya dominates- No. He decimates the three men easily, attacking with his entire being.
‘How can such a pretty package pack such a punch?’ he asks himself.
‘Why is this so hot?’ he continues.
‘Wait a minute, am I into dudes?!’ is the nail in the coffin.
The three thugs try their best to keep Chuuya collared, but he wriggles out of reach and pushes back ten times harder. He also fights dirty, something that delights Dazai to no end. Chuuya kicks his dealer in the balls so hard Dazai is sure he saw his eyes fly out of their socket before pooping back in like a cartoon. His dealer is out for the count, rolling around on the floor while cupping his bruised balls.
The other two men corner a breathless Chuuya, capitalizing on the other boy’s momentary waned energy. One of them wraps a meaty arm around Chuuya’s middle, gluing his arms to his side. The other one lands a handful of very heavy punches to his stomach.
Everyone has forgotten Dazai is still there.
He could leave right now, he could leave Chuuya to clean up his mess. He could totally let this be a lesson for the kid. ‘Stick your neck out for someone else and don't be surprised by the guillotine.’ He could get off scot-free. No muss, no fuss.
What he does instead is even crazier and he can’t for the life of him explain how it happened.
One moment he was contemplating leaving, and the next Chuuya was gasping a breathless, pained, gasp and Dazai was moving on autopilot.
Instead of doing the smart thing, taking the easy way out as he has his whole life, Dazai full on body-checks the guy that was punching Chuuya. They both fall into a painful heap to the floor. Dazai makes sure to land on top, straddling the other. In a desperate move, the guy under him tries to take out his switchblade, but Dazai is quicker. With one hand he pins the guy’s knife wielding arm to the floor, utilizing his entire body weight. With the other hand he takes out his pepper spray, emptying the can directly into the dude’s eyes.
While the guy screams and rolls around on the ground Dazai quickly gets to his feet. Somehow Chuuya took care of the last one and he now breathes heavily while hunched over the unconscious body. There’s a piece of two by four in his hand. Dazai has no idea where he got that. Chuuya inspects it lazily and lets it fall with a clatter. He sighs and rolls his shoulders, using his wrist to wipe the new trail of blood that leaks from his nose.
Before either can say anything a voice deep inside the bar rings out. “If someone is here to rob me, let me tell you there’s literally nothing good to steal.”
Dazai wilts.
Fuck.
Next to him, Chuuya’s face pales remarkably fast. He sways a bit, stumbling over to Dazai. “Who is that?” he whispers harshly. After getting an ass-whooping on his behalf, Dazai wonders how the hell Chuuya is okay with being anywhere near him. Yet here he is, close enough that he can smell the other’s cologne.
Dazai rubs a hand over his face. “It’s fine.”
Oda appears by the door, stopping short at the sight of one unconscious body, and two moaning messes crying into the floor. “Dazai,” he sighs tiredly. “Again?”
“Again?!” Chuuya shrieks.
Dazai smiles shyly.
In the end Oda leads them to the new backdoor he installed, telling them to scram before the police get there. Dazai is afraid he finally made his friend mad enough to hate him, but Oda ruffles his head before they leave.
“I’ll see you tomorrow, and I want the entire story.”
Dazai had smiled and nodded.
On the way back he takes the lead, guiding Chuuya back to the alleyway he was in earlier, the place they bumped into each other. During the entire walk neither talks, Dazai sometimes takes a quick glance over his shoulder to make sure the other is following but other than that, nothing truly happens. Dazai stops at the mouth of the alley, turning on his heels. Chuuya startles back a step, the grip he’d had on his shirt to keep it bunched up around his middle loosens and falls. It appears Chuuya was inspecting the new bruises forming on his stomach while Dazai’s back was turned. In an embarrassed huff Chuuya adjusts his shirt roughly. It’s too late though, Dazai got a full view of the damage.
“Wow.” He steps closer, grabbing the edge of Chuuya’s jersey and lifting it up. He leans down to look closer. “How hard did that guy hit you?”
The fight was a few minutes ago, how is it that he’s bruising so fast? And the colors too, they’re so vivid. It could be because Chuuya is surprisingly pale, possibly the contrast between the purpling bruises against fair skin adds to the shock. Purples and pinks and reds against a white canvas. White and formerly unblemished, Dazai’s imagination runs away from him, pondering if Chuuya’s skin will darken in the same way were one to, say, grab too hard at his wrist, or his waist, or maybe his neck-
Okay, he’s getting sidetracked.
Dazai is suddenly brought back down to earth by a harsh slap on his hand. “Don't touch me,” Chuuya snaps. Ah, he was so wrapped up in his head he almost went and touched another dude’s stomach.
Dazai rubs his stinging hand and leans back on his heels. “Stingy,” he frowns. “I’m not pointing it out like it’s a bad thing. I’m just saying, it looks sick. Your skin is suddenly a watercolor painting.” Dazai tries again to lift the shirt but is, again, slapped.
“Oh my fucking god,” Chuuya steps back defensively. “What is with you?”
An idea pops inside his head. “Hey! Can I try something?”
“No.”
“Gimme your arm!” He doesn't wait for an answer, grabbing Chuuya’s arm and bringing it up to his face. Chuuya inadvertently stumbles closer to him, bumping into his chest, but Dazai is way too busy watching the veins clearly marked against pale skin. “Cool. I can see your veins super clearly.”
Chuuya takes his arm back. “Yeah, so what asshole?”
Dazai crosses his arms. “Nothing. Like I said, it’s cool.”
“So you've been saying.”
“It's true,” he rolls his eyes. “Learn to take a compliment.”
Chuuya rubs his arm absentmindedly, retreating his piercing eyes away from Dazai and looking off to the side. Dazai watches this with all the attention in the world, a little mesmerized still by what he saw on Chuuya’s stomach. He’s so busy daydreaming he almost doesn't notice the blood. “Oh shit!”
“What?” Chuuya asks wearily.
“You're bleeding,” Dazai says, coming closer again.
Chuuya is not amused, stepping back again. “Nothing gets past you, detective.” His arms cross over his chest, doing a very bad job of hiding the growing blood stain on his jersey. “One of the guys had a knife, he just nicked my side.”
“You know, you're like a grumpy old man trapped in a little kid's body. I haven’t heard this much grouching since my grandpa was still alive.”
“You motherfucking-”
“Wait here, I'll be back.” Dazai turns to run to the store but halts a short distance away. He jogs back, placing his hands on Chuuya’s shoulders and leading him into the alley. “Sit your ass down unless you wanna pass out.”
It’s only once Chuuya does as he’s told and Dazai is sure he won’t bolt that he runs to the store. He’s quick to gather a bunch of medical supplies he’s way too acquainted with. A water bottle, some bandages, petroleum jelly and hand sanitizer. If it were his wound he’d play a little more fast and loose with the cut, only barely stopping to clean it with water and let his body do the rest. But this isn’t his wound, and this wasn’t Chuuya’s fault in any way. In truth, Dazai pretty much owes Chuuya big time for what he did. (Ie. save his ass from vengeful men that wanted to kick his ass.)
The cashier gives him a look that is curious but doesn’t get paid enough to ask. She's cute, the type of girl that would be unwittingly on the business end of his flirting any other day. Today, however, he just smiles pleasantly and runs all the way back to Chuuya, plastic bag in hand.
Dazai is pleasantly surprised to find that Chuuya has not moved, sitting where he was left. Like a dog. He muffles a laugh against his hand, which alerts Chuuya to his presence. He sits up a bit more, trying to scrounge up the last shreds of his pride by not appearing so pathetic all hunched over. Dazai decides to cut him some slack. Just once.
Twice now.
Whatever.
Kneeling in front of him, Dazai takes out the water bottle to clean the wound and bandages for after the fact, cleaning his hands quickly with the hand sanitizer so that he can begin. Meanwhile, Chuuya brings his jersey up to his teeth and bites down. Dazai tries to convince himself that it’s not hot at all, nope, not even a little bit. (Failing spectacularly in the privacy of his own mind.) The cleaning process goes better than anticipated, horny antics aside. Though, he amends, there is the little problem that he gets distracted easily by the bruises that spread so beautifully. More than once Chuuya has to snap his fingers two inches from his face to get him to focus. It’s a little embarrassing. He hides it well though.
The affair comes to an end once bandages are wrapped tightly around Chuuya’s slim, grabbable waist-
Oh good grief, focus!
Five minutes later and he’s done, Chuuya’s stomach thankfully hidden under his shirt once again. Dazai quickly puts the rest of the supplies inside the plastic bag, he’ll probably use it later on himself. “All done!” he smiles. His heart leaps into his throat after looking up, not having noticed how close he got during the entire procedure. Chuuya flinches, the back of his head thumping against the wall and red coloring his face beautifully.
He has freckles.
Ever the greatest performer, Dazai stands up with a flourish and presents his hand to Chuuya. He’s secretly pleased that Chuuya takes it, pulling himself up. Their hands separate too soon, but those precious seconds of contact. God. That spike of a certain something could rival a lightning strike.
Chuuya clears his throat. “Thanks.” He hesitates, shuffling a bit. Dazai gets the hint, stepping to the side enough to give Chuuya the space to leave the alley without touching him again.
“Sure.”
There’s a couple of tense seconds where neither have the balls to say anything. But then…
“Well… Later, loser,” Chuuya says to the ground and leaves quickly after that.
Dazai is left alone with his thoughts for approximately five seconds.
He slaps a hand over his thundering heart.
“So now you want to work properly?” he whispers to himself. “Honestly.”
It’s way too embarrassing how often he catches himself thinking of Chuuya.
They don’t share classes. Despite being the same age Dazai was accelerated and is in the grade above. Even a whole year above what is recommended for his age range, the material they study is painfully boring, and Mori refuses to let him get his GED. Something about socializing or something? He stopped listening instantly. Yosano was of no help when he went to complain. Ever since she transferred schools she's been lost in her own world of girls, girls, girls. Apparently there’s a new student at her school too, and she has a crush.
Ugh. Lesbians.
In any case, whenever he gets together with Yosano they mostly just talk about their same old problems without ever reaching a solution. There’s no true point to it but it makes him feel better that she’s suffering as much as him. Speaking of, he should mark a date to discuss his new inclination towards the same sex. That will certainly get her attention for a while.
Ah, well. Problems for later.
Now, maybe it’s because he is suddenly so attuned to the new exchange student, or maybe it’s just a coincidence, whatever the case may have been, Dazai stumbles across some gossip.
He’d been skipping class one afternoon, meandering around the halls to pass the time, when he passed by the girl’s bathroom. The door was slightly ajar, the door handle had been broken for years by that point, so their chatter reached his ears easily enough. That much Dazai can claim was pure luck and happenstance. If he were to go on trial he’d say, ‘I was just passing by and heard them talking!’
He would have kept walking, if it weren’t for that magic two syllable word.
“-Chuuya?” one of them says.
Like a spell cast on him, Dazai stops walking. And, most damnable of all, he leans closer to the bathroom door to listen more closely.
‘Case closed, this guy is guilty,’ he thinks sardonically.
“Poor guy,” the other girl says. “I heard the entire football team iced him out for two days.”
“Oh my god, why?”
“Something stupid. Chuuya was meant to go buy food for the entire team. A hazing thing, you know? And, well, he went out to buy snacks and I guess he took too long or something.”
“So what if he took too long? Maybe he got lost.”
“Yeah, but he also came back without the snacks, so the captain of the team got super mad and the rest of the team followed his lead.”
“That sucks. Do you know why he came back without the food?”
“No one knows. Yuan told me he refused to say.”
“Oh! Speaking of Yuan! Did you know-”
Dazai left quickly after that.
So Chuuya didn’t tell anyone about their little spat? What the hell? Was he worried they’d kick Dazai out for getting into fights? He shouldn’t have worried, Dazai is never being kicked out. He tried. But then Mori threw money at the school as an incentive to keep him and that was that.
Silly, stupid, loyal Chuuya.
Whatever.
It's two weeks later that he gets a chance to talk to Chuuya again and it happens organically, strangely enough.
It’s Friday afternoon and Dazai had waited roughly twenty minutes after the last bell to leave for home. The after school rush of students is hell on his senses so he often chooses to wait out the crowd. A step past the gate up front and he decides to loiter for a few seconds, palming around his pockets for a lighter. A blunt is lit and a nice puff of marijuana fills his lungs. The effects won’t hit him until later, but for now he is rest assured a little respite was on the horizon. A nice little treat for the boring walk home.
In his haste to find a lighter, however, he had all but ignored the entire world. While distracted someone else had left the school, walking past him and strolling down the road. A very familiar silhouette. With their school’s football jersey, short in stature, and very conspicuous hair.
“Yo! Shortstack!” he calls. Chuuya swivels around, red in the face. From anger, not timidness. It’s a very subtle distinction. Dazai can tell the difference though. He’s observant like that. In any case, Dazai is in hysterics, laughter causing him to bend at the waist. “You answer to shortstack!” he cackles.
Chuuya bristles in anger, turns around in a huff and keeps walking.
Now that won’t do. Dazai takes another drag, and with a hand in his pocket, pushes himself off the wall, following at a leisurely pace. Chuuya lasts half a block before stopping and turning.
(Dazai’s heart sings. The blasted thing even goes as far as to beat erratically, rejoicing at having Chuuya’s entire, undivided attention.)
(Traitor, he chastises it.)
“What the hell do you want?”
Dazai shrugs with a stupid smile.
It only angers Chuuya further. He begins to walk away again.
Dazai continues to follow.
Another two blocks in silence and then…
“You know,” Chuuya says loudly. “If you keep following me like this, people will get the wrong idea.”
Dazai fakes a swoon. “Oh heavens! How shall my reputation recover!” It’s not like he cares all that much about being perceived. “Spell it out for me, shorty. What would people think?”
“That you wanna take me out.”
“In a way, ever tried to bite a curb?”
“Not recently, wanna show me how you do it?”
“A maiden’s first time is always such a momentous occasion,” he declares. “Don’t worry, I’ll be gentle.”
This entire time Chuuya hasn’t looked over his shoulder or even tried slowing his pace down. Dazai has been following after him like a lost dog, which is no good for his pride. As it stands, all inconsequential worries are promptly sent into orbit at Chuuya’s next words.
“Now it really seems like you're flirting with me,” he grumbles.
“In your dreams,” Dazai shoots back automatically. Lies, lies, lies.
Chuuya stops walking altogether then. Dazai is sure he’ll get a warranted tongue lashing for his admittedly tame comeback. Instead, Chuuya goes against his expectations by groaning into his hands. He turns around, flashing those beautiful brown eyes of his and eliminates the space between them to grab Dazai by the wrist. He’s helpless to the tugging and soon they’re walking side by side.
“It’s uncomfortable talking to you when you’re behind me,” he explains. “Don’t read into it.”
He should talk back, maybe insult him a bit. However, Dazai is too busy screaming in his head, heartstrings being pulled like a damn banjo. “Ah,” he says, like an idiot.
Chuuya realizes he still has Dazai’s wrist in his hand, dropping it like it burns.
They don’t mention it.
“So, uh, where are you headed to?” Dazai asks, grasping at straws. This is a new development for him, the helpless way his brain blanks completely. Dazai is constantly thinking, train of thought going full throttle around and around. But whenever Chuuya is concerned his brain leaves the reservation all together. The train derails and explodes.
“The store,” Chuuya says.
They continue in awkward silence. Dazai is itching to speak, but no words come to mind. Well, many words come to mind, they’re just not the right ones. It’s not in good form to tell a near stranger, ‘hey, you’re hot. Wanna make out?’
Yeah. No way.
He is so out of his comfort zone that Dazai sighs, irritated and picking on the smallest of annoyances just to maintain his sanity. “Can you walk faster you damn snail? It's bad enough that you are so far down I can barely pick up your voice. You know… ‘cause you're short.”
Chuuya groans. “Would it kill you to not be an asshole for five minutes?”
“Haven’t tried it,” he says conversationally. Just to be difficult again Dazai picks up the pace, talking in the meantime and forcing Chuuya to keep up. Hoping he’ll try to keep up. “Hopefully it will, or else it’s just a waste of my great material.”
Chuuya picks up the pace. Irritated, he snaps. “You could slow down, asshole.”
“I know,” he says easily. “But I knew you'd follow my lead, like a nice doggy that follows instructions.”
What the fuck is wrong with him? Why the hell would he say that?!
“Shut your bitch ass mouth!” Chuuya screams, swiping at his arm which Dazai dodges at the last second.
(He thanks any deity listening that Chuuya is too incensed to notice his too-warm face.)
They continue their trek, Chuuya fuming and Dazai thumbing the blunt in his hand, sweaty hands dampening the paper. “I have a question,” he announces.
Chuuya scoffs. “I literally don’t care.”
“I want to know,” he continues, undeterred. “Why your-” ugh. “Friends aren’t going on this daily pilgrimage for snacks with you. Do they not have functional legs?”
“How did you know I was-”
“Getting snacks? I guessed. Anyway, did you get shit from them last time? For not getting the snacks, I mean,” Dazai says, like he is completely clueless and doesn't want the truth from Chuuya’s mouth.
Subtle.
“I did,” Chuuya says sullenly.
Dazai hums. “Why didn’t you tell them the truth?”
Why didn’t you throw me under the bus?
The other takes his time answering, glaring at the ground like it owes him money. “I’m not a dick, and I’m not stupid. If I’d told them what actually held me up they would have immediately let the principal know and then you’d be expelled.”
“That doesn't answer me why you didn’t just tell them.”
“Are you seriously asking me that?” he asks incredulously.
Dazai shrugs.
A shake. His ponytail moves along with his head and a strand of hair falls from behind his ear, caressing his cheek. “Idiot…”
“You should have told them the truth.”
Bzzt! Wrong response!
Chuuya’s face crumbles, a literal stormy cloud visible atop his head. “What? Are you fucking serious? I stick my neck out for you and all you have to say is I shouldn’t have bothered?! You’re a real piece of shit you know that?”
“I know that,” he says calmly. “The Sheep know it. The whole student body knows it. As far as I can tell you’re the only one that seems explicitly adamant on ignoring my red flags.”
“What do you mean red flags? You may be an asshole but you’re not as bad as they say you are.”
An uncomfortable feeling settles in his stomach. Something new with a name he doesn't know. Dazai clears his throat and looks away, watching cars pass by. “So, uh… Have you gone to get snacks? After that first time?”
Chuuya, for what it’s worth, isn’t all that cowed by the sudden change in topic. “Uh, yeah.”
“Like, how many times?”
“I dunno… like, three times.”
That does not surprise him. The Sheep are a bad breed. It’s not his business though, so he can’t say that. For once he chooses to be a little more subtle. “Shouldn't it be… someone else's turn?”
That also gets on Chuuya’s nerves, weirdly enough. “What's it to you?”
“Just doesn't seem fair!”
“I do this ‘cause they're my friends, I like doing nice things for them.”
“So this was your idea?” he presses without meaning to. “You volunteered to get shit for them and make the trip alone?”
A pause. Petulant, Chuuya shrugs. “It's not like that, you're making it seem worse than it is.”
“Are they chipping in to pay or is this coming from your wallet alone?” No response. That is answer enough. “Then I rest my case.”
Chuuya huffs, glaring down at the ground. “I don’t know what your deal is with them. Did they do something to you or something?”
Dazai’s mood plummets. “Or something,” he mutters.
“You know, you are one cryptic fuck.”
Dazai’s hands itch for something to do. He fingers the length of his blunt. “Mind if I smoke?”
“Yes.”
“Too bad.” Dazai takes his blunt, then his lighter. He inhales deeply after igniting the end, hating the scent that clings to his skin and clothes, but loving the aftereffects that linger far longer. He blows the smoke directly into Chuuya’s face.
The boy coughs into his elbow, turning away. “Jesus, that's not a regular cigarette.”
“Nothing gets past you detective.” Dazai rolls his eyes. “It's a blunt, you goddamned amoeba. Do you not smell the distinct aroma of marijuana?”
Chuuya frowns, then looks away. “Whatever.”
Interesting.
They finally, god fucking finally, reach the store. Because Dazai is still smoking he chooses to wait by the alley where they met. The cashier will definitely kick him out if he sets off the sprinklers. Again. Chuuya doesn’t question him much, leaving to buy the shit he has to buy.
His patience runs thin when ten minutes pass and Chuuya still isn’t back.
He groans, frowns longingly at his perfectly good smoke, takes one last drag, and lets the burning end slowly extinguish.
A cheery jingle announces his arrival. The cashier doesn’t even look at him, so maybe he would have been able to walk in and still smoked to his heart’s content. What are the chances they fixed the sprinklers after the last time he set them off. A gamble for next time then. He finds Chuuya kneeling by the aisle of chips and salty snacks. His attention is solely on searching his options; he doesn't even notice when Dazai stops half a step away from him.
This irritates him for some reason.
Nudging Chuuya’s side with his shoe alleviates the annoyance the tiniest bit, brown eyes finally back on him.
“Got bored waiting. Now, would you hurry up? A slug is faster than you.”
Chuuya rolls his eyes and goes back to looking. “You don't have to wait for me.”
“I do not,” he agrees and leaves it at that.
“Don't call me a slug, dumbass.” Absentmindedly Chuuya worries his bottom lip. It distracts Dazai like nothing else has. “You're the slimy bastard here.”
“Like calls to like,” he replies. Thank god for autopilot.
“So you accept you're a slimy bastard?”
“No comment.”
Chuuya finally decides on what to buy, gathering all the snacks into his arms and setting them in front of the cashier. She makes a face at the cloud of weed she no doubt smells on Dazai, glares at him halfheartedly and scans the items. Chuuya glares at him too. Dazai is weirdly happy at being glared at by him.
They leave the store with Chuuya’s arms full of plastic bags, filled with food and drink. Dazai doesn’t help in any way, being as annoying as possible so the other’s eyes stay on him.
“You're an irritatingly slow slug,” he says, just to watch color paint Chuuya’s cheeks.
“And your forehead is too big for your face.”
He frowns. “That was cheap.”
Chuuya grins.
After reaching the school grounds once more they separate without another word.
Dazai acts as if he’s super busy lighting his blunt, when in reality his head is spinning with thoughts of red hair and brown eyes and god fucking dammit there he goes again.
This little routine of theirs continues for weeks.
It gets to the point that Chuuya actually waits for him by the gate if Dazai is late. And the times Chuuya can’t carry all the bags by himself—The Sheep have begun saddling him with a grocery list of all things, those fucking cunts— Dazai helps carry the load back to school. Out of the goodness of his heart of course. And also because he likes surprising Chuuya with uncharacteristic generosity.
They talk about a lot of inane shit on the walk to and from the store, topics Dazai has no recollection of once they’re over. According to Chuuya, they once got into a heated debate over adventurous ice cream flavors. Another time Dazai bet Chuuya he couldn’t do a handstand and lost the last of his pocket change. (Totally worth it though, he got to see Chuuya’s midriff.) Another time Chuuya tried to steal his cigarette. That had been one hell of an eventful evening. It’d been late into the first semester, spring became summer and exams were fast approaching.
“Again with the cigarette?” Chuuya had complained.
“Blunt,” he corrected.
“Whatever.” They walked their preferred route to the store and after a very brief silence, Chuuya asked, “Is it really that good?”
“It makes my brain slow so yes. Even though I hate the smell.” At the confused expression, Dazai explained. “Makes me gag.”
“Doesn't seem worth it.”
“How would you know, before meeting me you didn't even know the smell of it, much less tried it.”
“I could,” Chuuya said earnestly, always up for a challenge. “Give it here.”
Dazai held it over his head. “Nuh-uh, go leech off of someone else.”
“And yet you take offense to being called cheap.”
In reality Dazai hadn’t wanted to bring Chuuya into his self-destructive spiral. Weed, while largely harmless, tended to be stitched together with comfort. In times of stress Dazai sometimes felt that without a bit of weed in his system he would surely explode from stress. It became a habit which then became a codependency. The way it would slow down his rapid thought process felt sweet in his tongue, negating the acrid smell of marijuana. But it also let time slip through his fingers like sand. Out of nowhere he’d find himself slowly rotting in his bed, chain-smoking his brain into oblivion.
He didn’t want that for Chuuya.
“Fine,” Chuuya said. “If you don’t wanna share I’ll just buy my own.”
Dazai laughed. “Buy your own weed? I’d like to see that! ‘Hello, I’d like some marijuana please.’” He cackled again.
Chuuya huffed in irritation. “I could, and I will. Just to spite you.”
“Why do you wanna try so much? It’s not even that good.” He said that but then took a long drag which on second thought probably went against the point he was trying to make.
Chuuya shrugged, unconcerned. “You like it. I wanna see what’s so good about it.”
Dazai rolled the thought in his head. “Why?”
“Did it ever occur to you that I might want to make my brain slow down too?”
That threw him for a loop. Chuuya, such a picture perfect person. It’d been inconceivable to picture him struggling the same way Dazai constantly does. His imagination ran wild with the thought, and it brought down his mood.
“I don’t recommend it. My answer is no.”
Chuuya kicked a pebble with his shoe. “Can you at least describe it for me?”
“Well… I’m pretty sure it’s a bit different for everyone but me personally, it’s like everything is in slow motion.” Dazai looked from the corner of his eye, finding Chuuya’s attention on him. He continued. “Like, if I move too quickly I feel like my body takes a second to catch up. Like, if I move my arm like this-” He moved it up quickly. “It feels like afterimages are following it. You know what I mean?”
“Pfft,” Chuuya smiled. “Not at all, but you definitely have the stoner lingo down pat.”
Dazai smiled as well. “Now that is something you can try out.”
“The pothead lexicon?”
“Sure! I can teach you.”
“Hard pass,” Chuuya said, but he was laughing a bit. Dazai was pretty sure he was laughing at him but whatever made those dimples show was good in his book. “Tell me more.”
“I uh, well… I get kinda forgetful. Like, my train of thought is derailed and I have to constantly think back to what I was just saying. And then, after the fact, when I’m sober, I don’t really remember what the hell I was talking about.”
“Does that mean that our conversations—you forget them?”
Dazai pressed his mouth into a thin line. “Ah, a little bit.”
“Hm.” He shrugged. “That’s a shame.”
“Why?”
Chuuya looked at him. Then smirked. “My insults deserve to be remembered.”
“Hilarious,” Dazai said sarcastically and that had been that.
Chuuya would eventually get used to the smell of smoke perpetually clinging to Dazai’s clothes and he wouldn’t ask to take a hit again. Dazai is pretty sure Chuuya thinks he forgets all of their conversations, but that’s only kind of true. The details are muddied, vague and lacking concrete lines but never forgotten. In any case, and unbeknownst to Chuuya, after that particular conversation Dazai had begun to cut back on his habit. If only to be able to retain whatever they talked about and remember it fully on nights he couldn’t sleep.
His lowest point comes in the month of July.
It’s exam season and Dazai hasn’t seen a lot of Chuuya in these past few weeks. The football team is going at it full time, and on the side they have to keep up with classes and revisions and last minute cramming. He understands the reason behind the absence, really. What he doesn’t understand is the bitterness in his gut whenever he finds the main gates empty of foreign exchange students that cause him regular heart failure. It's illogical. Plain stupid.
And yet, here he is.
It’s lunch time, Wednesday. Dazai isn’t concerned about exams, his good memory does the heavy lifting for him. As far as he can tell it’s all a memorization game, not much actual intellect goes into the tests or exams they’re given. If told to, he could recite the textbook’s entire material down to which pages are dog-eared and which have doodles upon the margin. There’s no good reason why he finds himself in the library that day, most of the time he fucks off around noon and comes back if he feels like it. (He’s always back by the last bell because he’s desperate enough to wait for Chuuya by the entrance like a good little dog.)
Whatever the subconscious reason may have been Dazai is happy, wagging his figurative tail, at the sight of Chuuya hunched over a table with notebooks and loose leaf paper scattered in a halo. Chuuya hasn’t noticed his entrance yet, so he makes the most of it by sneaking silently behind bookshelves and springing out with a loud, “Chuuya!”
“Fuck!”
“Quiet!” the librarian snaps.
Chuuya glares at him. “Asshole,” he says more quietly. “What are you doing here, I thought you were allergic to putting in the work.”
Dazai takes a seat across. “I’m not allergic, I just don’t need to because I’m so perfect at everything.”
“Everything?” he laughs. “You cannot convince me you aren’t ass at sports.”
“Everyone has their faults. You, for example, stopped growing two years ago.”
“You’ve got a really fucked up fixation on my height, goddammit.”
You’ve got no idea, he thinks but smiles sweetly instead. “Well, don’t mind me. Go on.”
Chuuya glares at him, glances nervously at the librarian and decides his anger is unchecked enough that he’s not sure he’ll restrain himself from yelling at Dazai. He huffs and slides his book back on his lap. Dazai makes himself comfortable on the table.
While Chuuya studies to his heart’s content, Dazai can unabashedly stare without interruptions.
They're really fascinating, Chuuya’s hands and how they grip his pencil or pen or highlighter. In the minutes that tick by it’s what holds his attention with an iron grip. He gets lost in the thought of them, their shape. Short, square shaped. His knuckles are a little crooked, he notes, and there’s a faint tan line by his tapered wrist, where a bracelet would have been for years in order to cause a tan line of all things. His nails are cut and clean, perfect ovals. If he squints the slightest bit, he can see calluses.
They’re the type of hands he would love to hold, only because he knows that it’d be dwarfed by his long fingers and wide palm. This gravitational pull is drawing him closer and he is closer. Whereas Chuuya is properly sat up in his chair, Dazai has spilled his torso onto the table. His face is right in the same line of sight as Chuuya’s hands. If he acts fast he could potentially steal a kiss, press his lips into the palm preferably. His fingers if he’s cut short on time.
Those same fingers come together to snap an inch from his face. Dazai’s eyes flicker back, scooping his attention back to and directing it towards Chuuya’s face. “What are you looking into space for, dumbass? For a second I thought you were super into my hand or something.”
“What?” he startles.
“Because of how hard you were looking,” Chuuya says slowly. “But you were just lost in thought, right?”
“Right.”
“What about?”
“About what?” he asks stupidly.
“What were you thinking about, jackass,” Chuuya says impatiently.
Fuck. Mayday. Think of something to say. Anything.
“I never thought I'd see the day a dog would learn how to read.”
You fucking-
“What?”
That catapults them into a hushed argument. Dazai can’t regret it, not with Chuuya’s attention on him, just like he wanted from the start. Later, when Chuuya asks if this was all part of his plan to distract him, Dazai will smirk and say, “Of course, what else?”
The lie, to him, is laughably transparent.
Good thing Chuuya is none the wiser.
He is such a loser.
Yosano doubles over in laughter. “You’re such a loser!” she cackles.
Dazai rolls his eyes at the ceiling of her bedroom, upside down on her bed. His bangs fall from his eyes and the longest strands of his hair sweep her wooden floors. He has chosen this position based on strategy. If he’s upside down then it’s good cover for his entire face going red. Foolproof plan.
“I don’t wanna hear that from a hopeless, closet case like yourself.”
Yosano doesn’t take the jab, it doesn’t even register. She just keeps laughing.
That gets on his nerves.
Dazai smiles fake-innocently and sighs. “Ah well, maybe I am pathetic. But at least I’m not like those creepy stalker people that watch others from afar instead of talking to them.” Yosano. He’s talking about Yosano and her crush on the new student at her school.
That sobers her up. “Ouch. Touchy, aren’t we?”
“Am I?” he asks.
She also rolls her eyes, resuming painting her fingernails by her desk. Her chair swivels from side to side, legs thrown over the armrest. The music she left on in the background alleviates their occasional silences. It’s something angry, bordering on angsty. Yosano’s new poison is what can only be described as a rebellious mess of instruments and loud vocals. The volume is low enough that it doesn’t grate on his ears and the lack of conversation isn’t uncomfortable, it can never be after years of knowing his cousin like the back of his hand. It’s the type of silence one shares with family. And if anyone is family, it’s Yosano.
“Tell me about him. This Chuu-ya,” she says his name teasingly.
“He’s friends with The Sheep.”
“Gross.”
“I know.”
“What else?”
Dazai thinks about it. “He’s on the football team.”
“Hot.”
“He’s short-tempered. Oh, that reminds me. He’s short, period.”
That gets her attention. “What are we talking about here—Atsushi short, or Kenji short.”
“Barely-reaches-my-chin short.”
“Cute,” she says. “Sounds like your type.”
“I have a type? That’s news to me.”
Yosano doesn't even respond to that, her eyes say enough. In fact, her eyes seem to say the same phrase she has been repeating since they reached their teens. ‘I’m not wasting my breath on stupid questions.’
“What about yours?”
“Mine?” she asks distractedly.
“Yours,” he reiterates. “Kouyou?”
“What is there to say—she’s perfect. Tall. Beautiful. In the kendo team. Out of my league and woefully straight.”
Hold the phone.
Dazai narrows his eyes at the back of her head. “‘Out of your league,’” he parrots incredulously. “Excuse me, have I stepped into the twilight zone? Since when is anyone out of your league?”
That’s not even him praising Yosano’s appearance, no way. It’ll be a cold day in hell when he chooses to stroke her massive ego. No. This is different. Hearing something so self-deprecating goes against everything Yosano embodies. If there is one thing Yosano will always have, it’s confidence. Low-self esteem is not in her vocabulary. So for her to be anything but larger than life… These are someone else’s words. “Did someone say she was out of your league?”
“Yeah. Me.” Yosano blows on her newly painted nails. “Because she is.”
“I've never known you to give up this easily, Yosano.”
“I’m being realistic.”
“You’re being pathetic.”
“Gee, thanks. Hey, next time we hang out, how about we don’t?”
Dazai finally rolls over on his stomach, blood rushing and leaving him lightheaded. “I’m not being an asshole. I’m serious. Did someone say you’re under her league?”
“Fucking-Shizuku,” she says and that’s all that needs to be said. Dazai knows all about Fucking-Shizuku, as she’s come to be known. It all started when the then-new-girl approached Yosano and told her how brave she was to come to school without makeup.
“I could never do that, you’re much braver than me.”
Yosano told him all about that bitch’s comment, starting her story with, ‘That fucking Shizuku said-”
The stories never ended. It seemed that every week Fucking-Shizuku had something back-handed to say. And so Yosano, without even realizing it, started every recount with the words, ‘That fucking Shizuku.’
“Fucking-Shizuku,” Dazai repeats with distaste. “Since when do you care about her shitty opinion?”
“Since she actually said something of consequence.”
Dazai sits up. “Yosano, look at me.”
His cousin does, though slowly. Hesitatingly.
“You’re being an idiot.”
Yosano’s brow twitches in annoyance. “Excuse me?”
“You can’t let Fucking-Shizuku win! And about Kouyou being straight. Yosano, I love you. I guess. Sometimes. But stop being dumb. You’re in an all-girls school, she’s new, she doesn’t know anyone. Who on earth would come right out the gate and say, ‘I’m into girls, let’s fuck’ For fuck’s sake, Yosano, everyone thinks you're a straight girl!”
“Only because I’d hate to be hate-crimed before I turn eighteen.”
Dazai pins her with his patented, ‘thanks for finally arriving to the point of what the fuck I’ve been saying.’
They speak without words a lot of the time.
Mori says it’s a cousin thing.
Dazai thinks it’s a them thing.
“So, what?” she asks. “What do you want me to do?”
“I want you to talk to her, like a normal person.” He stops. “What if she’s as terrified of making the first move as you are? If you sit on your ass doing nothing, there’s a possibility someone else will snatch her up. Don’t be a coward and strap on a pair!”
Yosano doesn't like the idea, she’ll never like any idea that puts her in a vulnerable position. Her unease disappears suddenly, overshadowed by a twinkle of mischief in her eyes.
Dazai feels his stomach plummet into the earth.
“Okay, okay,” she says. Dazai knows better than to think that’s that. “On one condition.” There it is.
“What is it?”
“I’ll talk to Kouyou, if you do something of equal weight.”
“Stop speaking in riddles!” Dazai whines.
“If I’m doing something I’m uncomfortable with, you have to as well. So, while I’m making a fool of myself in front of a pretty girl, and losing half my body weight in sweat, then you have to…” She pauses, thinking for a second. Then she grins. “Go to one of Chuuya’s football games.”
“Yosano-”
She leans in, presenting her hand with dry nails for the taking. “Do we have a deal?”
Every time they have agreements like this it’s like Dazai is making a deal with the devil, brimstone and fire and the whole nine yards. Yosano herself has that evil smile on her face, reminiscent of a hell-spawn.
Unluckily for her, Dazai is not a coward.
He shakes her hand.
“Deal.”
The brief moment of satisfaction that comes from throwing Yosano off with his prompt agreement to their deal is quick to vanish the next day. Flyers are plastered around the entire school, announcing that the next football game will be a home-game.
This Friday.
Fuck.
The week passes slowly yet Dazai still thinks Friday reaches him far too quickly.
He’s not ready, mentally. The Sheep will be there. Most of them are in the team, and the rest like to partake in school spirit. The bleachers are their territory, home-games are their turf. Dazai is shrugging on a coat Mori gifted him three years ago, killing time he doesn't have in front of the door. Dread corrodes every fiber of his being.
At least he’ll see Chuuya in action.
That’s gotta count for something.
Mori bids him goodbye at the door and he shuts it behind him. Outside the frigid air blasts him in the face, dropping his body temperature to below zero. He hopes Yosano suffers for this.
The entire walk he chastises himself, going back and forth like a crazy person.
What is wrong with you?
It’s just a game.
With people you hate making up the entire audience.
And Chuuya.
And it’s cold as fuck.
Chuuya.
And it’s a Friday afternoon.
Chuuya.
And I was so looking forward to sleeping in.
Chuuya…
In the end the thought of letting Yosano win is enough to propel him to his destination. (Among other things.)
The game is well into its second half already. Dazai engineered it this way. Yosano said he had to attend one of these things, she didn't say for how long. The sky is darkening quickly, autumn closing in on them and killing everything summer had to show in the short three months it had.
He chooses to stay far away from the bleachers, sticking to the shadows by the chain link fence on the perimeter of the field. As he goes to take a picture of the game to send to Yosano later another gust of wind slaps him in the face. Maybe he should have worn something warmer. When looking at the weather on his phone it said they’d reach a comfortable temperature of eighteen degrees celsius. He did not take into account that the wind would make that eighteen feel like a frigid ten, which while not exactly cold, is hell on his nerves seeing as he has not dressed for the weather.
He makes it five seconds until he's seriously debating going home. He's even about to turn to leave without even seeing Chuuya when the referee’s whistle penetrates the cold air. Out of curiosity he scans the field, finding that lo and behold Chuuya has been given the honor of carrying out a penalty shot. He dribbles the ball between his feet, effortlessly. Dazai can’t help but be impressed despite the insufferable showboating.
His plan, at first, was to show up, watch a few minutes and then leave. That plan has gone out the window completely. Dazai is frozen in place, eyes glued to Chuuya’s smug smirk. The goalie jumps on the balls of his feet, antsy to block the shot. Chuuya is too fast, he takes a few steps back away from the ball, rolls his shoulders and quick as lightning blasts the ball straight into the net.
His group of fans, the damn Sheep, cheer uproariously. Wait a minute, is the game over?! Dazai was truthfully not paying attention when he got here. As it turns out, he arrived just at the end of the game, in the middle of penalty shootouts. Chuuya had been the last one to have a go and has scored a point in their favor, successfully saving them from a tie.
The entire team rushes towards Chuuya, ruffling his hair shouting in excitement and congratulating him for his efforts. Everyone, it seems, is excited on his behalf. Everyone with the exception of the team captain who glares petulantly at the entire spectacle. Chuuya notices his friend’s bad mood instantly. He parts the sea of people congratulating him and joins Shirase. They speak for a few seconds, and Chuuya goes as far as diverting his adoring fans towards the captain. The happy crowd happily celebrates the win with Shirase, and Chuuya distances himself from the group once his captain has been mollified. Fans and friends shout and clap Shirase on the back, jabbering about his leadership skills, his inspiring performance, and his massive dick and ‘oh, Shirase please let me name my baby after you!’
(Dazai is just guessing that’s what they’re telling Shirase, though based on the stupid smile on his face, he’s not that far off probably.)
Chuuya on the other hand is left on the fringes of the crowd, rubbing his arms up and down. Not sad, from what Dazai can see, but definitely dejected. The party is not about him anymore, even though he’s the one that saved their asses.
Dazai wants to throttle Shirase.
It’s a sorry sight, that of Chuuya. Alone. On his own.
Dazai’s heart clenches, urging him to do something.
And he does.
He does the stupidest thing possible, going against the one thing he’d been counting on to make this night the least painful possible.
He whistles loud and clear, not unlike the referee’s whistle, and draws the entire field’s attention to himself. Though he doesn't care about anyone else but Chuuya who has also frozen in the middle of rubbing heat into his skin. (He’s in his jersey and shorts—no coat and no long sleeves. It’s like he’s trying to catch a cold.)
Dazai ignores the angry glares sent his way, courtesy of The Sheep. He ignores the disinterested glances he gets from the opposing team, he doesn’t even care that it has started to drizzle. He only waves at Chuuya to come over. And to his delight, Chuuya does.
Once they’re close enough, with the fence between them as their only obstacle, Dazai smirks. “If it isn't the man of the hour! Was that last shot for me? Did you say Drive Tiger Twin Shot in your head before kicking?”
Chuuya, who is sweaty but no less beautiful, rolls his eyes. “Captain Tsubasa—are you kidding?”
He shrugs. “I’m a man of many interests, you could almost say I’m complex.”
“I could almost say that, but why waste my breath when ‘pretentious’ does the job so beautifully.”
“Big words for such a little guy.”
“Don’t patronize me.”
“Don’t ask for the impossible.”
Chuuya smiles, too happy still from his win, tilting his head to the side. It’s so endearing Dazai has to pinch himself to pay attention. “You’ve done it before, I’m sure. Come on, I know you’ve got it in you to not be an asshole.”
“Now who’s being patronizing?” he asks.
“Whatever do you mean-” Chuuya is cut off by Shirase calling his name. The team is beginning to leave the field, on their way to shower, change and leave.
Dazai wilts the tiniest bit. He was just starting to really get into Chuuya’s addicting orbit again, forgetting his surroundings and focusing all his attention on the tiniest expressions he could extract from his crush. And that's what it is: a crush. Why else would his chest feel so tight? Why else would his face get all red, why else would he sweat through his clothes when that simple smile is directed his way. “Ah, your friends are asking for you.”
“Oh, yeah. Um,” Chuuya says distractedly, gaze bouncing off Shirase to Dazai and back again. “Uh, Dazai-”
He shakes his head, getting ready to leave. Chuuya probably wants to spend his time with his actual friends. Dazai has done what was expected of him, even going far beyond what Yosano wanted. He should leave already. “It’s fine, slug. I was just about to leave anyway-”
“Oh…” Chuuya frowns, physically drooping. Dazai’s chest is on fire, and he wants to stab himself. “I was gonna ask if you wanted to wait for me to change, but if you’re already leaving I guess-”
“No!” Chuuya flinches back at the outburst. “I mean,” he corrects at a more reasonable volume. “Ugh, forget it. I’ll wait for you here.”
“Oh.” Softly. “Okay. Cool.”
“Cool.”
Awkwardly, Chuuya turns to leave, stops, looks at him over his shoulder, then runs away.
Dazai slumps against the fence, pressing his forehead into the cold steel. “You are such a loser,” he tells himself.
Time drags on, Dazai is starting to get Bored with a capital B.
Everyone else has already gone home. Jesus, most of the team have up and left already. Parents have picked up their kids, the opposing school is long gone. The referee even left. To make matters worse, in the time Dazai has been waiting it started to rain. And not the barely-feel-it kind he felt before, this is the real deal. The rain that is light but that seeps into one’s pores and lives in one’s skin until they take a hot shower.
Frankly, Dazai is starting to think Chuuya has left him stranded like an idiot. But Chuuya wouldn’t do that. Not like Dazai knows him that well, they met a couple of months ago and have talked only a handful of times. However, from what he’s seen, Chuuya is not the type of scum to leave people hanging. So he waits.
And waits.
And waits.
And he gets so bored that the lonely ball sitting on the wet grass is starting to look like something to do.
Dazai meanders to the middle of the field. The tips of his shoes are wet, the socks underneath starting to get moist from exposure. His coat is definitely not warm enough for the finicky weather, and yet he doesn’t even consider going home until Chuuya comes back out. He rolls the ball between his two feet, hands in his pockets. He hasn’t touched a ball in years, though back in elementary he used to play a lot.
Experimentally, he plays around with the ball, calibrating how it feels, relying on muscle memory to aid him. In minutes he has a good enough grasp to try some tricks. At first he bounces the ball on the slope of his shoe, nestled between his ankle and his toes. After that he tries bouncing it on his knee. Sometimes it bounces too high, and sometimes too low. He has to hop around on one foot to keep his streak. It gets to a point where nothing else registers-
“Impressive.”
-which will later explain how the hell he didn’t notice Chuuya staring at him a safe distance away.
Dazai stops, embarrassed though he knows he doesn't need to be. The ball rests under his foot, he rolls it around absentmindedly. “Hello stalker. How long have you been staring, huh?”
“A few seconds,” he shrugs. “Sorry for taking so long. Coach wanted to talk to me.” There’s a pause. Chuuya looks to the side, hiding behind his hair. “I heard it started raining, I was kinda worried you’d leave.”
Him? Leave? Not a chance. “You have little faith in me.”
“You don’t exactly inspire faith, asshole,” Chuuya says, smiling. “You’ve got ‘shifty dealer’ written all over you.”
Dazai looks down at himself. He’s got black sweatpants, a long sleeve shirt and his dark trench coat. “Excuse me for dressing for the weather, as you mentioned, it is raining. And you’re out here in a shirt and shorts?”
It’s then Chuuya’s turn to look at himself. If before, with his football jersey, he’d been too exposed for the chilly air, now is not much different. A slightly oversized shirt and longer shorts, sure. It still makes Dazai cringe to think about his exposed arms.
“I was too busy to check the forecast.” A gust of wind chooses that time to ruffle Chuuya’s hair. He rubs his arms. Dazai thinks he doesn’t notice he’s doing so. In the meantime Dazai plays around with the ball, flicking it up and balancing it on his foot. It stays for a few seconds but ultimately leans off to the side and bounces off. Dazai continues to play around with it.
Chuuya is watching him carefully, in quiet and subtle awe. “...Can I make an observation?” he asks suddenly.
Dazai gives him a smarmy smirk. “Are you finally realizing how hot I am?”
“U-uh, no…” Chuuya laughs awkwardly. Dazai perks up. He’d been kidding, but that reaction is worth investigating further. “N-no. It’s just… Um, for someone as…” Chuuya gets his nerves under control, getting that smug little smile that means he’s about to burn Dazai with an insult. “How should I put this delicately?—for someone as sickly and gross as you, it’s surprising to see you know how to handle yourself with a football.”
“That’s a redundant way of saying you thought I was a total geek.” He flicks the ball up, bouncing it from knee to knee. He’s only a little breathless when he speaks, evading the question altogether. “You know, I get the feeling you saw more than what you say you saw.” Meaning, Chuuya was watching for longer than he said he did.
Chuuya spares him any lame excuses and tells the truth. “Okay, so maybe I was surprised and stopped to see a fish learn how to dribble. So what?”
Dazai shrugs, smiling a bit at his words being thrown in his face. He misses the ball and it rolls away. Chuuya jogs to get it back. “It’s not hard, and I’m not that useless!” He sighs in fake disappointment. “Ye of little faith.”
“Again-” Chuuya gestures at his outfit pointedly. “Dealer.”
“Again,” he mocks, pointing at the sky. “Raining.”
Chuuya rolls his eyes, kicking the ball back to Dazai. He gathers his thoughts, slowly walking towards the ball. He gently nudges it back to Chuuya, and it comes to a stop under the other’s foot.
“Hey…” Chuuya says nervously. “I kinda need to know, 'cause it’s been eating at me… why did you come to our game?”
What he decides to say will come under scrutiny for years to come.
Years from now he will wonder what the hell had been going through his head. Yosano will say he wasn’t thinking clearly, because in what world does a shifty bastard like himself actually, genuinely, tell the truth. And he does say the truth. The embarrassing, horrible truth. Dazai won’t remember what he was thinking, he’d been too focused on Chuuya to properly analyze his train of thought. But in that moment, that present moment, Dazai had thought of Yosano and what he’d said back in her bedroom.
“Don’t be a coward and strap on a pair!”
How can he not do as he says? Lead by example, Mori is always telling him.
And as he’s said before. Dazai is no coward.
“I wanted to see you.”
The truth, as it turns out, is a heavy thing that snaps the tension in half.
The effect is immediate. Chuuya’s face gets this ridiculous shade of red, from his ears down to his neck. “What?” he gasps.
Dazai could, in theory, laugh and play this off like a joke. But that wouldn’t work in his favor. Besides, this is the least of what Chuuya should get for making him feel like a pining idiot.
Dazai tilts his head to the side.
Chuuya shakes his head and looks to the side too, biting down on a smile. “You fucking…” He doesn’t finish. With arms crossed over his chest, and flushing so pretty, Chuuya is radiant. From under his lashes and from the corner of his eyes, he says, “That’s not playing fair.”
Oh.
Oh…
Out of the depths of his most revolting urges he’s suddenly overcome with the desire to eliminate the space between them and-
And…
Don’t do it, he warns himself. Don’t fucking do it.
His mouth has other plans. “Chuuya…” he starts.
“Yeah?”
“Come’ere.”
Chuuya obeys, with only a little hesitation. Dazai refrains from making a comment about dogs. Once within arm’s reach Dazai shrugs off his coat and drapes it over Chuuya. His long hair is trapped under the heavy material, slightly damp from the rain.
Don’t fucking do it.
He tucks a strand of hair behind his—surprisingly pierced—ear.
Stop it.
His brain has disconnected, he is officially offline. And surely—fucking surely—his entire face is on fire. No other explanation, no siree. Dazai is not humiliated, or embarrassed or super anxious that he’s touching a cheek that is so soft he could bite it-
“Uh, Dazai? You in there?” Chuuya asks warily.
“Uh, yeah. Just…”
Just what, asshole?
And Chuuya looks at him with the most open and beautiful expression and Dazai… he just thinks, why the hell is he looking at me like that when I don’t deserve it? Someone so good, someone as nice and precious as him, should stay as far away from Dazai as possible. A good for nothing waste of space like him is better off in his own corner of the world. That’s what The Sheep say, and admittedly there is some merit to their comments. Because Dazai is a black hole, he takes and takes and he doesn’t give back. He is lacking so much he looks for an excess in other people to mooch off of.
And he’s doing that right now, with Chuuya. He’s putting too much stock into one person again, and if ever he decides to leave Dazai behind…Well, that would just be it for him. Once again Dazai has gotten too involved and let his heart make the decisions. At first it was Yosano’s burden to bear, then Oda’s. And now…
Caring for someone the way he does—wholeheartedly, so much so it hurts. That’s a recipe for disaster. He should know.
His parents. His aunt.
Jesus. Look where that got him. A few nice memories and a hell of a heartache. A tombstone he hardly visits and flowers placed there every year. Every good thing in his life that comes so close and leaves fast enough to leave him aching.
He’s better off keeping his space.
“Just… got lost in thought. Anyway, it’s getting late. We should go home.”
Chuuya swallows, visibly taken aback by the strange shift in mood. His hand, with those beautiful fingers and slightly crooked knuckles, grabs the edges of the trench coat to burrow into.
(Dazai hopes to god it doesn’t smell like dog shit. When was it last washed? Is it clean? Does it smell like him? Does HE smell?!)
“Did you walk… or?” Dazai asks quietly.
Chuuya nods awkwardly, too close still. So tantalizingly close. “I walk to and from school. Don’t worry.”
“Okay…” Now what you fucking asshole, he yells at himself. You led him on and now what.
Chuuya rips the bandaid for him. “So…” he says. “See you at school tomorrow?”
Now, that teases a smile out of him. “Tomorrow’s Saturday, slug.”
Chuuya’s face flushes red. “A-ah… So Monday…”
With his stupid heart in his throat, Dazai tries to smile. It comes off a little more fragile than he means it to. “Well, bye.” He turns and walks back home, gritting his teeth so as to not look back. A safe distance away from the school he begins to jog back home, antsy and jittery and for once with too much fucking energy.
Back home he calls Yosano and they both speak at the same time.
“I’m screwed!” they both yell.
Oh, boy.