A readable Thread by @cataclysmiceve1 Says PART II Chuuya has never been p

PART II Chuuya has never been particularly good at getting over things. He holds onto grievances, picks them apart in his head until he feels like he can move on. But heartbreak isn't a grudge, and Chuuya doesn't know if he /wants/ to move on. It's the worst Christmas /ever./

His father hasn't asked him many questions on the car ride back--and Kouyou's curious glances have mostly been silenced with pointed looks, while Chuuya does his very /best/ to seem normal, his face buried in his phone in the backseat, trying to see if Dazai texted him during

the flight. He didn't. Chuuya bites his lip, his fingers tightening slightly around the edges of it. Why does it even matter? Is he really /that/ pathetic? Why should he /want/ to hear from that jerk, anyway-- "Okay," Rimbaud sighs heavily, "I have to ask--" Chuuya is half

expecting a comment about the tears, because his father has been decent enough so far not to /really/ pry about the redness in Chuuya's eyes or how splotchy his cheeks are. "--what happened to your /neck?/" "..." Chuuya looks like a deer in the /headlights/, and he doesn't

exactly make a /picture of innocence/ when he yanks the collar of his hoodie up higher, "What are you talking about? My neck is fine--!" "It looks like you got mauled by a wild animal--" "Some kind of animal," Kouyou offers from the passenger's seat. "/Young lady!"

their father /looks/ stern as he turns onto the highway, "that is your /baby brother/ you are talking about--"' "Yeah, and how many times have you walked in on me and Akiko in three days?" Rimbaud looks a little /green./ "Enough times to make me regret letting you invite her."

Kouyou shrugs, crossing her legs as she leans back, "My /point/ is, Chuuya is eighteen years old." She shrugs, "What do you /think/ happened to his--" "Maybe I got /mugged/, okay?!" Chuuya grumbles, sinking down into his seat, turning /so/ red. "Chuuya--" his sister is already

/snickering/, "--did said mugger nibble behind your ear before he asked for your wallet, or--" "/Kouyou!/" Both men in the car screech at the same time, one pale, the other /maroon/, and her laugher /fills/ the air as they continue the drive home. His older sister's teasing

dissipates, however, when they're alone, their father disappearing to the kitchen to get started on dinner, while Kouyou helps Chuuya carry his suitcase up to his room. "Ane-san, I've /got it/--" Chuuya protests when she hands his suitcase off to her girlfriend. "/Relax/,

kiddo," Yosano rolls her eyes, tucking her bangs behind her ears as she hauls Chuuya's suitcase up the stairs, "part of being the baby means having your family act like paranoid freaks." Chuuya doesn't particularly /enjoy/ being the subject of paranoia, but /fine./ "I'm

assuming those are from Tachihara though, right?" Kouyou asks casually as they walk down the hall, towards Chuuya's childhood bedroom, and the younger redhead stiffens. "Uh, actually..." Chuuya takes a deep breath, "we broke up a couple of weeks ago." "...What?" Kouyou frowns,

eyes widening in shock, "Why didn't you tell me? I thought things were going /well?/" "I thought so too, but he..." Chuuya bites his lip, realizing how this is going to /sound./ "Thought I was into another guy." "...What," Yosano blinks, setting Chuuya's bad down in his room,

"did he think you weren't over your ex?" "He couldn't have," Kouyou cuts her girlfriend off before Chuuya can even try to answer, "Chuuya was /definitely/ over that piece of shit--" Chuuya doesn't see much of a point in /withholding/ it, especially since he's probably going to

be crying about it a /lot/ more over break, well... "He thought I had feelings for my roommate." And it's easy for Kouyou to be disbelieving at /first/, because her only experiences with Chuuya's roommate have been when Chuuya has called her to /vent/ about him. "/That/ prick?"

"Yeah," Chuuya mutters, sitting on the edge of his bed, "that prick." Kouyou is relatively dismissive of the whole idea, but Yosano notices Chuuya's downtrodden expression, along with the conspicuous of eye contact. "Well," the med student shrugs, "do you?" "Huh?" "/Do you/

have feelings for your roommate?" "..." His silence makes Kouyou /stare/, her expression falling, and Chuuya can see what she's /thinking./ That Chuuya has a /type./ "Chuuya, please tell me you--" "It doesn't matter anymore, okay?" Chuuya mutters, flopping back on his bed.

"He's not coming back this semester, so it's not like I'm ever gonna--" Chuuya swallows hard, trying to convince himself that he's /not/ going to cry anymore, "--like I'm ever gonna see him again." "..." Yosano sits on the edge of Chuuya's bed, facing away from him. She doesn't

try to make it sound /better/ (because at his point, nothing really /could/), she just rests her elbows against her legs, staring at Kouyou pointedly until the redhead drops into the desk chair with a sigh. "You wanna talk about it?" Chuuya shakes his head quickly, reaching for

a pillow, dragging it over so he can wrap his arms around it, rolling over onto his side. "No." Kouyou sighs, drawing invisible patterns on the floor with the tip of her shoe. "...So if those bruises didn't come from Tachihara...?" Her brother /shrinks./ "Oh, /Chuuya/..."

Dazai, for his part, manages to have the worst Christmas ever. Or, actually--he can't qualify it as the /worst./ That, without a doubt, goes to his 13th Christmas. But his eighteenth Christmas? It was, by FAR, the most /chaotic/ Christmas his family has had in /this/ century.

Dazai is quiet for most of the taxi ride to the estate, his head leaning against the window, pretending to listen as his mother chatters on about /Switzerland/ and how Dazai was /missing out/ when he never visited--like she had /invited him/--trying to contemplate /where/ exactly

he went wrong. Why would Chuuya be /upset/ about Dazai being glad that they were roommates? Well. There's the obvious explanation, that Chuuya might have expected a confession, but did what Dazai said /disqualify/ that as a possibility? He didn't say he /didn't/ have feelings

for him, right? So, shouldn't that count for /something?/ He stares down at his phone screen, scrolling through his instagram, fighting the urge to send a /text/--because it's not like Chuuya would even /see/ it right now-- "Do you think your father will be excited? We haven't

spent the holidays together in ages." Dazai lifts his head, "I think he'll be /surprised/, but..." He sighs, biting the inside of his cheek, "there's something you should know." She blinks, adjusting her scarf, "What?" "Atsushi is here for the holidays." Her smile fades.

"/What?/" Dazai sighs, watching as the estate rolls into view. "None of this is his fault." "I never said it was," she says it, because she knows it's the socially /acceptable/ thing to say, to feel--but Dazai can hear the frustration and the resentment in her voice. "But don't

you think he would have been /happier/ staying in London for the holidays? Or with that woman's family?" She says '/that woman/' like it must be some sort of /slur/, and Dazai sighs. "His grandparents don't have custody, Dad does. If he wants Atsushi home for the holidays, then

that's up to him--" "But why does he /want/ him there?" She mutters, looking away, and Dazai sighs heavily. He can already tell he's going to spend /most/ of his vacation keeping his little brother away from her, and he isn't looking forward to it. "Sakukosuke is coming too."

"...does your father have any other love children that might show up?" She asks dryly, and Dazai lets out the /heaviest/ sigh that he possibly could. "You didn't tell him you were coming." "What, like that's an /excuse?/" Dazai wants to make the argument that it would be

worse if his Dad /didn't/ want to see his children and /never/ invited any of them over for the holidays, but he doesn't think his mother would see it that way. And does she have a valid reason to be /upset/ that his father had children with other women during their marriage?

Obviously. Is expecting the family to ignore their existence /realistic/ or /fair/? No. "Grandfather wanted Odasaku to come," Dazai shrugs, taking a deep breath as they pull up to the estate. "It wasn't even Dad's idea." His mother grumbles under her breath. "Of /course./"

Dazai gets out, walking around to open her door for her as she /continues/ to grumble. “Want me to go inside to let him know you’re here?” “That might be for the best,” she responds airily. “I’ll be in after I finish paying the driver.” Dazai turns away from her witu a sigh,

walking towards the house. It’s an old, stately building, still largely traditional in its external architecture, but modern on the inside. The door opens for him before he even reaches it, and a butler is waiting to take his coat, “Young Master—your father is waiting in his

study.” “Thanks, Hirotsu-san...” Dazai yawns, rolling his shoulders, “Have the holidays been treating you well so far?” “I can’t complain, sir.” “You really should take some time off, you know—grandfather would let you.” “I prefer not to have too much idle time, really.”

Dazai sighs, walking towards the stairs, “Is Atsushi up?” “I believe he just laid down for an afternoon nap.” Good. Maybe he’ll sleep through /this mess/, then. Dazai climbs the steps, making his way towards his father’s study, rapping the back of his knuckles against the door

“Dad? It’s me.” “Osamu?” A familiar voice replies, “Please, come in.” Dazai opens the door, and the reality of his situation—and how the rest of his holidays are about to unfold—hit him rather quickly. His father is sitting behind his desk, clearly only having returned from

the hospital rather recently, with his white coat tossed over the back of his chair, while his sleeves are rolled up and his tie is loosened. And, sitting on the edge of his desk with her legs crossed, is a blonde that Dazai has /not/ seen before—and one that certainly can’t be

more than /five years/ older than Dazai himself. “...” Dazai fights back utter /exhaustion/, “I don’t think we’ve been introduced.” “Oh,” the blonde woman smiles brightly, speaking with a thick foreign accent, “my name is Sophie, it’s a pleasure to meet you—your father has

told me so much about you!” She seems sweet, if not a little overly comfortable, but Dazai smiles, shaking her hand when it’s offered to him. “I’m a little surprised,” he admits, his eyes cutting towards his father, a little wary, “typically, Dad doesn’t bring his friends here.”

“Well,” Mori smiles, reaching over to place a hand on her thigh, “Sophie isn’t just a friend,” ‘friend’ had been a code word for ‘mistresses’ for Dazai’s entire life, “we’re together.” “...” Dazai looks from his father, to the girl, back at his father, and he just— He /laughs./

Not like a small little giggle, but a deep, /belly/ laugh that makes him hunch over, clutching his stomach. "Oh my /god/--" "Osamu--" Mori interprets his son's sudden hysterics as having something to do with his girlfriend's /age/, "--you're being very disrespectful--" "Oh--"

Dazai wipes at his eyes, his shoulders shaking, "You have /no idea/--" "Babe," Sophie frowns, turning her head to look at the doctor, "what's he talking about?" "She's--" Mori's eyes get HUGE at Dazai's next words, "--gonna back the car over you this time before driving off!"

"..." Mori's eyes flicker from Dazai, to his young girlfriend, and his throat is suddenly dry, "Your...mother is here?" "For the holidays," Dazai smiles thinly, his mirth finally fading, "For the first time in seven years, isn't that exciting?" "Why didn't you /tell/ me?!"

"I'm telling you now, aren't I?" He glances over at Sophie, his smile bubbling back up again, "Are you french?" "Why does that matter?" "Is she a model, or a med student?" "I'm dropping out of my program, actually." She finishes somewhat sourly, and then Dazai figures it out.

His father brought a woman home for the holidays. To their /family/ estate, presumably to meet Dazai's grandfather--something he hasn't done before. And she's dropping out of her program. "Oh my god." Dazai isn't laughing /this/ time. "She's actually gonna kill you this time."

Mori opens his mouth to argue, and then they hear his mother calling in the stairwell, "Is anyone home? Osamu, where did you go?" "...You go outside and handle her," Dazai mutters, pinching the bridge of his nose. "You're going to make me deal with her by myself?!"

"I'm going to stay here and get to know the mother of my future sibling," Both of them stiffen, and Dazai sighs, "I mean--she /is/ pregnant, right?" "I don't know if I like that /tone/--" "I don't like any of this," Dazai snaps, "now go downstairs and /deal. with. it./"

His father sighs heavily, standing up from behind his desk, taking Sophie's hand and giving it a kiss before he slips out of the room, and the moment the door shuts, Dazai lets out a heavy sigh. "What, were you in your clinicals at his hospital, or something?" Her silence is

telling enough. Dazai's father's taste in women hasn't really evolved since Odasaku was born. Pretty girls, early twenties, intelligent, but not terribly argumentative. The closer Dazai gets to their age, the more they seem less like /affairs/, and more like an abuse of power.

His father doesn't see them that way--Dazai /knows/ that--because he would never /fire/ a girl for saying no, and he's certainly never forced himself on anyone. That doesn't make the relationships /appropriate./ "...He really is a wonderful man," she finally answers. "You're

lucky to have him--" "What are you," Dazai sighs tiredly, "twenty four?" Her response is to hunch her shoulders defensively, and Dazai shakes his head, "I'm not judging you. Really." "...Twenty three," she admits. "I started university early." "And you're dropping out?"

"Now it sounds like you really /are/ judging me." She mutters, crossing her arms over her chest, and Dazai sighs, waiting for the yelling to start in the hallway--strangely enough, it hasn't. "...He told me he was separated." "He is," Dazai agrees. "Up until a week ago, my mom

was skiing in Switzerland with an owner of a Rugby team." He sighs, "Whom I'm assuming she pushed off of a cliff, or he found out what she's like when she's not self medicating..." Sophie bites her lip, slipping off of Mori's desk, "You really aren't trying to make your family

sound very good, are you?" "I'm trying to /prepare/ you," Dazai shakes his head, "because this is about to go one of two ways." "...and what are they?" "One, he's going to tell her he doesn't want her back outright, and if that happens, you're going to end up taking him to the

ER, or..." Dazai shrugs, "he's going to tell her that you're here with /me/ while he works on a way to get rid of her that doesn't involve another court order." "He wouldn't actually tell your mother that we're--" she starts, and when the door opens she hears, "Now, I'm just

/so/ excited to meet the girl my boy decided to bring home for the holidays--" Sophie's jaw goes slack, and Dazai mouths 'I told you so.' "--and your name is?" The french student stutters, glancing back and forth between Dazai's parents, her eyes wide. "I--um--Sophie?"

"It's a pleasure to meet you darling, a pleasure!" Dazai manages to persevere through some bullshit explanation of how he met her, and she's a little older, but--as Dazai points out while smiling /so/ viciously/ at his father--she isn't /that/ much older. The poor girl ends up

being ushered off by Dazai's mother to look at his /baby photos/, and when Dazai is left alone with his father, his fake smile fades. "/Nice./" "I don't need any judgment from you." Mori mutters, pinching the bridge of his nose. "She's /Odasaku's/ age." "Look, she's very

mature for her age, and she /is/ an adult, she made her own choices--" "Yeah, she wasn't an impressionable young girl who was delighted to be receiving attention from one of the top surgeons in /Japan/," Dazai mutters, wiping a hand down his face. "And you brought her /here?/"

"I wanted her to meet your grandfather," Mori mutters, "what's wrong with that?" "Oh, I don't know," Dazai mutters dryly, "maybe the fact that it's cruel." "/Cruel?/" Mori snorts, raising an eyebrow, "That's a little bit /dramatic/--" "What sort of expectations are you trying

to give her?" Dazai mutters, "It isn't fair, not when we both know how it's going to /end./" "I'll have you /know/," Mori crosses his arms over his chest, "I have every intention of marrying her." "..." Dazai stares, and he decides to pull a leaf out of Chuuya's book. "Okay."

"That's all you have to say?" Mori frowns, "/Okay?/" "I'm sorry," Dazai feels tired. Not just kinda drowsy, but /bone/ tired, like he could just take a nap that lasts until retirement. Or until he dies of old age. Sounds easier than dealing with this. "/Congratulations?/"

"The sarcasm is /appreciated./" Mori mutters, shaking his head. "I'm sorry, you're /already married./" "Against my will, at this point." "And you think she's going to sign the papers /now?/" Dazai shakes his head. "After /years/?" "Well, a pretty inconvenient obstacle is out

of the way now." Mori shrugs. Dazai knows what he's saying isn 't /intended/ to be harmful. It never is. He just... Doesn't take the time to think about it. "We aren't fighting over custody of /you/, anymore." He sighs, reaching into his pocket for a cigarette. "Is that all,

or did you manage to kick up some sort of fuss before the end of the semester that I have to /fix?/" It's not outside of the range of possibility that Dazai would cause trouble. Dazai gets that. He doesn't mean it /like that/-- Dazai tells himself that. "Nope. All A's." He

replies lightly. "/And/ I didn't get a girl pregnant, so I'd say between the /two/ of us--" "/Please/ get out and go see your grandfather," Mori mutters, reaching for his lighter. "If I have to deal with that woman for the next few days--I'm just not in the mood to deal with you

right now." "Feeling's mutual," Dazai mutters, pushing himself off of his father's desk. He isn't disappointed. That would be naive. He knew his father intentionally brought both of his brothers back for the holidays, and /yeah/, that /did/ imply that his father was trying to

improve his parenting when it came to his /other/ children. Dazai didn't assume that would apply to him. If he did, he shouldn't have. He's the lucky one--the one who always had what he needed, who got to live in the main house, who was never called a mistake. He doesn't get to

be /disappointed./ And when he remembers Chuuya's tear filled eyes from this morning, he knows he doesn't get to feel /lonely./ Of course, life doesn't like to ever slam Dazai when he's /ready/ for it, or give him shitty news in small doses--so it doesn't even stop /there./

Dazai knocks on the door before entering his grandfather's rooms, waiting to hear a distracted, 'Come in,' before pulling back the screen and stepping inside. Natsume Soseki is reading a book, propped up comfortably in an armchair, blankets tucked around his lap, and when he

glances up, the wrinkles around his eyes deepen with a smile. "Osamu--" he raises one arm, gesturing for his grandson to come closer, "I was wondering when you would make it in." "Sorry, Ojiisan--" Dazai smiles, feeling his chest finally /relax/, walking over to give him a hug,

his chest /relaxing/ slightly at the familiar feeling of his arms--and he lingers, maybe a little bit longer than he should. "I should have called." "It's alright, life doesn't have many /pleasant/ surprises anymore," the older man waves him off, "I'm excited to hear about how

university has been." Dazai makes a face, and his grandfather snorts. "I know you didn't /want/ to go, but it couldn't have been all bad." Not /all/ of it, no. Dazai can think of one /particular/, /singularly/ good thing about his college experience. "...I learned a lot."

"How are you liking your major?" Dazai shrugs, smiling a little when his grandfather's cat, Miichan, slips out from under the bed, padding over to rub against his legs. "It's easy." "But not very fascinating?" Natsume shakes his head with a laugh, "I always said you needed

something creative, nothing else would challenge you enough." "Don't tell Dad you don't think medical school is enough of a challenge," Dazai snorts, sitting down on the floor with the cat, letting her climb in his lap as he scratches her behind the airs, "He'll blow a gasket."

"He can get over himself," his grandfather sighs, with a look Dazai recognizes all too well--he wants a cigarette. But he quit--four years ago. "I never did like surgeons. Always trying to play god and whatnot. You know, I really do think he refused to go to law school just to

/spite/ me..." he shakes his head irritably. "Maybe we should find a /really/ ridiculous major for you...Like musical theatre." "/Grandpa./" "What? you can sing--" "That doesn't mean I can act, or dance." Dazai points out, "I'm pretty sure musicals require all three." "Ah..."

Natsume frowns, remembering Dazai's dancing at the last family wedding. "You're right. Best not." He waits for Dazai to /laugh/ but...he doesn't. "Are you alright?" Dazai glances up from Miichan, raising an eyebrow. "Yeah. Why?" "There's something you aren't telling me."

Dazai's eyes immediately dart back down to the cat, and his shoulders hunch slightly. "I don't really think you'd want to know." "Did you commit a crime or something?" "/No/, why was that your first guess?" "Because," Natsume blinks, "I'm not used to seeing you looking so

ashamed." Ashamed. It's a strong word. Not exactly /inaccurate/, when Dazai insiders how he feels right now. "...I met someone," Dazai hedges softly, not looking up. "You've met /quite a few/ girls, Osamu." Natsume sets down his book. "Did something happen?" "..." Dazai takes

a deep breath. "They were really special to me." Natsume has never heard of Dazai speak about one of his...'lady friends' like /that/ before. "What's her name?" Dazai feels a little nauseous, his hands are suddenly clammy, and it's...like he's on the verge of saying something

he can't take back, but also like if he /doesn't/ say it, he's somehow letting himself down. "I've been having a really hard time with something--for a while," he admits, his voice so small, so /scared/, that it catches his grandfather's attention. "Whatever it is, it can't be

the end of the world--" "His name is Chuuya, Ojiisan." Dazai mutters, tilting his face forward until his bangs fall forward to obscure his expression, and Natsume's jaw is hanging loose. /His/ name is Chuuya. A /boy./ "You're..." the older man struggles for words, and Dazai

doesn't look up. "You're /gay?/" "I--" Dazai wraps one arm around himself, shaking his head, "/No/, I still like girls." "I don't understand--" "I just...I don't know, I like both?" Dazai swallows hard. "And I thought that meant that I could...just ignore it. Because I don't

want to hurt you, or disappoint you--" he takes a deep breath, shocked at how /jittery/ he feels/, "--but the feelings aren't going away, I don't know what to do." The silence that follows is /deafening/, and if there's one thing Dazai /can't/ handle right now, it's being

rejected by the /only/ adult that has been consistent in his life. And if his grandfather /does/ have a problem with it--well, Dazai is already thinking of ways to backtrack, to take it back, to say that he's still the /same/ person, and that things can go back to the way they

were /before/-- "I'm not disappointed." Dazai stills, not daring to believe it when he hears his grandfather's /tone./ He doesn't sound /mad/, or disgusted, which were his grandson's first two assumptions. "...You're not?" "I had a brother who was that way, you know." Dazai

doesn't know how he feels about hearing it described as, 'that way,' but...it's a better reaction than he expected. "You mean Uncle Haruki?" "No, your great Uncle Shiki, he passed away before your father was even born." Dazai's grandfather explains with a sigh. "Things weren't

the same back then. When he told our parents..." Natsume trails off with a wince. "They told him to find a wife, and never see the man he was interested in again. And he did, but...he was dead, two years later." Dazai remembers /how./ "It felt like too little too late, but...

I tried to make it better, in my own way." Natsume shakes his head. "I'm not disappointed, not at all." Dazai nods, swallowing hard, resisting the urge to clutch Miichan against his chest, like he's /five years old again./ "Dad would be." "You aren't going to tell him?"

Dazai looks away, "I'm pretty sure his reaction wouldn't be that different from your parents." "Osamu," Natsume sighs heavily, "my son is...complicated, and he has his failings--but he does /love/ you, you know." Dazai isn't sure that he /does/ know that. "And he might be many

things, but a bigot certainly isn't one of them." "I never thought he was homophobic." Dazai mutters, wrapping his other arm around himself, wishing he was still a kid. He wants the world to shrink down and not be complicated again. A time where Chuuya could have just been his

friend, and Dazai wouldn't have to /think/ about it so hard--or feel /terrified/ when he considers the prospect of never /seeing/ him again-- Hell, it's barely been twelve hours, and Dazai /misses/ him. He wants to know how he's doing--if his flight landed safely, if he's just

as smothered and annoyed by his Dad as he said he was going to be. He just wants to hear his /voice./ And that's confusing, it's embarrassing--and it's /terrifying./ "I just don't think he's willing to deal with the public scrutiny." Dazai shrugs, "It'll bring more attention

to his own problems." "Well..." Natsume's mouth turns down at the corners, and Dazai's stomach sinks. He can tell from the tone. From the look on his face. Something's /wrong./ "He'll be getting quite a bit of attention before long, whether he likes it or not." Dazai swallows

hard, trying to brace himself for /whatever/ it is, but-- "It came back." You're never really /ready/, when it's someone you love. "Wh..." Dazai clears his throat, even when his stomach feels like it's in free fall. "When?" "October." "/Two months ago?/" "Your father said

you were having fun at school...I didn't want to distract you from your studies." Natsume shrugs. "It's a special time, in a young man's life." "Well..." Dazai takes an unsteady breath, trying to get his bearings. "What's the plan? I know last time, before it cleared up, they

were talking about a transplant--" "It isn't in my lungs this time, Osamu." Natsume explains gently, reaching over to pat the top of his grandson's head. "They can't operate." "Okay..." Dazai squeezes his hands together so they won't /shake./ "Could--chemo extend it?" "Your

father has had me poked and prodded by every Oncologist in Tokyo for the last two months--we even flew to Berlin, to look into an experimental trial." "And?" "They are going to make me very comfortable, but..." Natsume shrugs, sinking a little deeper into his chair. "That's all

they can do." Dazai looks down at the ground, and he finds himself wrestling with his emotions, once again. Grief, fear, anger, and /denial./ Every single one trampling over the other, trying to grab the steering wheel and tell him what to do next. "How long?" "Between six

to ten months." Natsume strokes his fingers through his hair, and even if Dazai is too old for it--and he probably should be handling this /better/--he leans against his grandfather's legs, fighting back tears. "I've had a very full life, Osamu." "I'm--" Dazai bites his lip.

"I'm not ready." "I don't think it's something you can be ready for." His grandfather smiles softly. "But it /would/ make me happy to see you and your father get along more--" "Really? You're gonna make getting along with /him/ your dying wish?" "Is that so bad?" "I'm just

saying, it's not the worst thing--for a boy and his father to have a good relationship. I wish your father and I had spent less time arguing when he was younger, it feels like a waste, now..." "Well," Dazai sighs heavily, his eyes filling up more and more, but he doesn't cry.

"I'm not the one with a problem." Crying has never done Dazai any good--and while he knows his grandfather would comfort him (he's the only one who ever /has/)--he doesn't want to put that burden on a man who is, well... Dying. "...You said his name was Chuuya?" Dazai snorts,

"That was a very graceful subject change." "It seems like a more productive topic." Natsume shrugs, pulling his blanket up a little higher, "Is he your...boyfriend?" he doesn't sound entirely comfortable with the idea, but Dazai can tell that he's /trying/ to be. "Not even

close." Dazai shakes his head, "We're..." He knows exactly what they did the night before. They didn't just have sex. He isn't really sure if Chuuya knows the difference at this point, but /Dazai/ sure as hell does. It /meant/ something. "More than friends, but we're not..."

Dazai trails off with a heavy sigh. “I already messed it up.” “How could you have messed it up if you aren’t together?” Natsume questions softly, “Did you break up with him?” “No, we were never dating,” Dazai glances away. “But I’m pretty sure he thinks I’m not interested.”

“You’re more than just interested,” his grandfather points out, and when DazI stiffens, he explains— “You wouldn’t have mentioned him to me if you didn’t think he was important. I don’t think you’ve ever told me the name of a single girl you’ve been with.” Because Dazai /hasn’t/

Dazai has slept with a friend before. Multiple, actually. Never more than once--and it was always something they joked about after. Dazai doesn't think he can joke about /this./ "Well, it's like said," Dazai shrugs, clearing his throat. "He's...really special to me." "Does

that mean I get to meet him?" Dazai bites his lip, shaking his head again. "No, I don't think so." "Too embarrassed of your old gramps?" Natsume laughs softly. "Don't tell me his parents didn't vote for me--" "They were living in Paris back then." Dazai shrugs. "Actually,

that's where he is right now." "Would you have brought him to New Years dinner, otherwise?" Dazai snorts shaking his head. He can tell that his grandfather is /trying/ to cheer him up, after getting news like that--and it's working as much as it /can./ "Well, if I'd known the

family was going to be re-enacting the young and the restless this year--then yeah, I /would have./" Dazai rolls his eyes. "I'm not sure Dad would have even noticed he was there with all of the commotion." "And I could have taken him golfing." Natsume sighs. "Since when do you

/golf/?" "I don't know," his grandfather shrugs, reaching up to scratch his beard. "Don't the french golf?" "I think that would be the English." "The /Scottish/, now that you mention it." Natsume sighs, "Ah, well--what do the French do for fun?" "Well, he isn't /French/, he

just /lived/ there for a while--though," Dazai blinks, "his father /is/ French, so--it's a mixed bag." "Ah, whatever--then I suppose we could have shared a glass of gin and a cigar while I welcomed him to the family--" "You don't smoke anymore, Ojiisan." "You /really/ can't

let me pretend I would have had a nice time, can you?" /Now/, Dazai finally cracks a laugh. "It'd be easier if you wouldn't talk about it like you were welcoming a son-in-law into the family." "What? You said he was special!" "It makes it sound like he's about to date your

granddaughter or something." "Well that would be ridiculous," Natsume pats his leg, and Miichan abandons Dazai, jumping up into her owner's lap. "I don't have a granddaughter." "I /know./" Dazai responds pointedly. "Would you be more comfortable if I acted like he was a future

daughter-in-law?" "No!" Dazai shakes his head, "He would hate that--" "Then how would you want me to treat him?" "I don't know..." Dazai rubs a hand against his forehead. "Like a....look, it doesn't matter, I already told you--I messed things up, and you're /not/ meeting him."

"...And you said you made him think you weren't interested?" Natsume muses. "Why did you do that?" "I didn't do it on /purpose/, but in the /context/, the more I think about it...it looked bad." Dazai admits with a wince, wishing he still had Miichan to cuddle close. "Well,

walk me through it." Dazai isn't a guy with a lot of /shame/, but even /he/ pales at the idea of telling his grandfather the entire story /with/ context. "It's a little..." "A little what?" "Raunchy." Dazai admits, and Natsume /sighs./ "What else is new, with you? Go on."

"Uh...Alright, it all started--" Dazai takes him through the /entire/ thing. The night they met. The Panini Press. Shirase. Dazai going to the hospital. The 'educational experiment.' Tachihara. And their /last/ night together. "And..I don't know," Dazai sighs. "I couldn't put

him through all of this." Natsume raises an eyebrow, looking like this conversation might have taken /more/ time off of his life. "All of what?" Dazai gestures around them vaguely. To the estate. To their /family./ "/All/ of it." "Do you think the boy is in love with you?"

"No," Dazai answers reflexively. "I don't see how he could be." His grandfather stares at him disbelievingly, and Dazai sighs. "He was in and out of two relationships, I was the first guy he ever kissed...I think he had feelings for me, but..." He shrugs, "I didn't really let him

get to know me." He knows he opened up a /lot/ that last night. More than he ever has with anyone outside of--well, the person he's talking to right /now/, but--that's not enough to makeup for being a /dick/ for four months, is it? Or his /entire life/, for that matter. "But

you know enough to be in love with him?" "Yeah, well, that's--" Dazai freezes, giving him a look. "That was /dirty./" "Were you going to admit it, otherwise?" Dazai glowers, looking away. "No." "But that distracts from my point." "...If you met him, you'd get it." "Oh?"

"He's an open book," Dazai shrugs, "he gets this little crease between his eyes when he lies. Getting to know him isn't that hard." "That sounds..." Natsume trails off, "Refreshing." Dazai lets out a /heavy/ sigh, "Yeah," he agrees, somewhat emphatically, "I /know./" "What are

you going to do about it, then?" Dazai scratches the side of his head. "What do you mean?" "Well," his grandfather shrugs, "how are you going to fix it?" Dazai makes a face, "Fix it?" "I'm not really sure how it works between two boys, I suppose jewelry is out...Does he like

watches? Flowers? Promises you don't intend to keep?" "Look--that's Dad's playbook," Dazai sighs, "and who said I /wanted/ to fix it? I just explained it to you, I don't want to pull him into this." "Why not?" "He's--" Dazai pinches the bridge of his nose, "--not a good fit."

"That's a rather cold way of phrasing it," Natsume raises an eyebrow. "Times have /changed/, Osamu--even since your father was forced to settle down and find a wife." "Oh?" Dazai raises an eyebrow. "You think the media wouldn't have a /field day?/ And with you already sick--"

"I don't want you using /that/ as a reason not to live your life, Osamu." His grandfather counters, reaching down to squeeze his arm. "That's why it took me so long to /tell/ you." "Yeah, but...he's /nice/, and he's..." Dazai makes a face, "mostly normal--and I don't think he

could deal with it, and even if he could--why would he /want/ to?" "Oh, I don't know..." Natsume sighs, "I've been told there's a particular sort of charm about the men in our family." "/Thanks/," Dazai sighs. "Oh, you left that one /wide open./" "Point being, I /can't/ fix

it." "No, you're saying you /won't/ fix it," his grandfather replies sternly. "But here's what you're /going/ to do." "/Ojiisan/--" "You're going to spend the evening having a nice time with your brothers--" "I was planing that anyway--" "And in the /morning/, you're going

to call him." Dazai feels a little nauseous at the thought, because he doesn't even know what he would /say./ "I don't think he wants to hear from me." "So?" Natsume shrugs, "He'll know that you care--and do you know what your grandmother used to say?" "...No?" "Half of a

happy marriage is being willing to open your mouth and /say something./" "We aren't--" "Sentiment's the same," Natsume sighs, "now, why don't you go help your little brother wash up for dinner? He was going on all morning about how excited he is to see you." "...Yeah, okay."

Dazai spends most of the night playing with Atsushi, talking about his Christmas list--and then cross referencing with Hirotsu to make sure santa would bring everything on said Christmas list. Dinner was /strange/--definitely awkward, having to pretend Sophie was his /date/, but

Dazai could tell from the building tension between his parents, his mother would likely end up throwing some sort of fit and leaving before the end of the weekend. He tucks Atsushi into bed later, sitting with him and watching youtube videos until falls asleep, and when Dazai

lays in his own bed, he tries to think of what he's going to /say/ in the morning. It'll be evening in Paris by then. Chuuya might be with his family. If he doesn't answer, should Dazai leave a message, or maybe he should just /text/? He runs through the possibilities in his

mind, trying to discern if there's even anything he /can/ say when he doesn't know what he /wants/--and eventually, tossing and turning those ideas around in his head, he falls asleep. When he walks up in the morning, he really /does/ have every intention of following his

grandfather's instructions. He just makes one crucial mistake first: Dazai checks his instagram. Not for any /particular/ reason--he's just gotten in the habit of checking his social media when he wakes up most mornings. And, unfortunately, he sees Chuuya's most recent post.

At first, it's innocuous. There's another beautiful girl, a redhead--one he immediately recognizes as Chuuya's sister, cuddled up with a raven haired girl in a restaurant booth. That isn't the shitty part. It's the two people on the other side of the booth. Chuuya is in an

oversized sweater, green, and the filter brings out the shades of his eyes /just/ right. /God/, his smile still hits Dazai like he's being punched in the /gut/, and he knows that beneath the scarf around his neck, the marks Dazai made are still there. But the fourth person in

the photo caches his eye. Blonde. European, smiling at the camera with an arm around Chuuya's shoulders. They look /pretty comfortable/ together. And god, Dazai wants to lift that arm off of Chuuya and break /every single finger/, but- Chuuya doesn't /look/ all that broken up.

Dazai tries to think of an explanation, and he knows Chuuya doesn't /owe/ him one--but maybe Dazai just.../completely/ misinterpreted the situation. Really...they /were/ friends, even if Chuuya doesn't feel like /that/, he does /care./ Maybe he was just...sad that Dazai wasn't

coming /back/ next semester. Really, that isn't outside of the realm of possibility, is it? Dazai squeezes his eyes shut, remembering the way Chuuya held onto him, the way that he kissed him /after./ // "You're beautiful too." // Dazai feels like he's losing his /mind./

Chuuya rolls over onto his stomach, staring at the picture, counting the likes he receives, trying to see if /any/ of them are from @/daz.osamu_1. None of them are. "Well, in any case, he'll definitely think you're over him," Yosano yawns, carefully aiming before she tosses a

popcorn kernel in the mouth of Chuuya's cousin, Phillip (the blonde from said picture), "So, you don't have anything left to be embarrassed about." "Serves him right," Kouyou mutters. "If he asks, you should tell him that he has a bigger dick, too." "/Ew/," Phillip frowns, "I

was happy to model around a bit for you, but he's still my /relative/--" "He wouldn't believe me if I said that, anyway." Chuuya mutters, checking Dazai's page to see if he's posted since he got home--and when he sees that he hasn't, Chuuya starts going through his recent likes.

Yosano snorts, "What do you mean, he wouldn't believe you? Phil, I think he's trying to say you look like you have a tiny eclair down there--" "/No/," Chuuya grumbles, noticing that Dazai has /not/ liked anything for a couple of days. He can't really just bust out and say that

Dazai is at the /upper end/ of the spectrum size wise (yes, Chuuya /guessed/estimated/ his size and googled it, so? it's a /normal/ thing to be curious), so he just goes with, "I already lied to him about a guy's...build before to needle him, and he caught me, so..." Phillip

raises an eyebrow, "I thought you said you were never dating the guy?" "I /wasn't/--" Chuuya mutters, feeling a little bit smothered. Venting about Dazai has been an effective means of not getting asked about anything /else/ since he got home, which means he's not had to lie

about whether or not he had an /attack/ while he was at school, or about his doctor's recommendation. If Chuuya can get through /one more semester/ of his program, he could switch to part time. That would be plenty of latitude to adjust to his new meds--or even recover from

a procedure, if they end up going through with something like that. But if his Dad finds out before Chuuya comes back for the next semester? That's it. Goodbye. He'll get guilted (or begged) to move back home. But Chuuya is interrupted from his thoughts when his phone starts to

/buzz./ He glances down, and his heart leaps into his /throat/ when he sees the name on the screen. "Who's calling?" Kouyou asks, head tilting up, and Chuuya clutches the phone to his chest. "No one--" "/Chuuya/, is it /him?/" He slides out of bed, edging towards the door,

"It's a friend from school--" he mutters, reaching behind him to fumble for the knob while he's /still/ clutching the phone to his chest, hiding the caller ID. "Chuuya, we talked about this, he's a /fuck boy./ You know what that means?" "I didn't say it was him!" "This is for

your own good, give me the /phone!/" "It's none of your business!" And of course, this ends in a mad dash down the stairs that sounds like a fucking /elephant stampede/, making their father jump out of his skin, almost spilling the risotto he's working on /all over/ the kitchen

floor, his brother leaping forward to help him steady the pot, and when he turns his head to ask what's going on, he sees his son /flying/ out the front door, slamming it behind him, with his daughter taking the steps two at a time after him, "You know what fuck boys do, Chuuya?!

They fuck your roommate and give her /CHLAMYDIA/ on homecoming weekend, then they BLOCK you on instagram and NEVER CALL YOU BACK--" Yosano leans over the bannister, chewing a piece of gum lazily as she watches the scene unfold. "You sound like you're /super/ over him, babe."

Kouyou glances back, immediately turning a little pale as she yanks the door open, "I mean I /am/, but that was a traumatic event--" Through the front door, you hear the echo of, "/YEAH, well he ALREADY fucked his roommate!/" Rimbaud is clutching a wooden spoon to his chest,

gaping with shock, "/Swear jar/, both of you--/OZAKI KOUYOU/, don't you walk out that door, get /over here!/" "But Chuuya--!" "Who gave you /Chlamydia?!/" "No one, Daddy, it was my--!" The door slams shut as Chuuya skids across the icy sidewalk in bare feet, shivering and

hissing from the cold as he lifts his phone away from his chest-- Only to see that the call went to voicemail. Shit. Shit, shit, /shit./ Chuuya rubs his arms, his breath fanning out in front of him as he wars between his own /anxiety/, and wanting to hear Dazai's /voice./

Well. If Dazai was calling him, it was probably /important/, right? And--Chuuya didn't just make a huge scene running out of the house to /not/ talk to him-- /Ding!/ Chuuya's screen lights up /again./ // Dazai: Call me when you can? Chuuya bites his lip. That doesn't /sound/

like some fuck boy that would give him Chlamady-something and then block him on instagram. It /sounds/ a little bit more like the boy who held Chuuya all night after his first break up, and didn't complain /once/ when Chuuya cried all over him. And, Chuuya's observations about

Dazai's character /aside/, he just... He /really/ wants to hear his voice, so Chuuya taps on the missed call notification, his stomach doing gymnastics as he lifts the phone up to his ear. It rings three times, and Chuuya finds himself getting keyed up all over again, but then-

"Chuuya?" He lets out a shaky sigh without meaning to, wrapping one arm around himself, "Yeah?" "I--" there's a beat of hesitation on the other end of the line, each second marked out by the jack hammer in Chuuya's chest. "--are you outside?" "Huh?" "I hear cars," Dazai

explains hoarsely, and the redhead's eyes flicker to the side, remembering that he /is/ standing next to a /somewhat/ busy Paris street. "Oh--my family was pretty loud inside," he clears his throat, hoping that makes him sound a little less nervous about /lying/, "--so I came

outside, to hear better." "Is it cold?" Chuuya shivers a little more violently, like the question itself serves as some sort of reminder. "N-not really," he mutters, shifting from foot to foot, his bare toes /stinging/ from the frost on the concrete. "You should go back

inside, you little dork--" Chuuya brushes /past/ that insult for now, "You said you wanted me to call, so I figured it was important." "I mean..." Dazai trails off, and Chuuya can't really read his /tone./ But something /is/ bugging him, the redhead can tell. "...How's Paris?"

"...It's fine," Chuuya mumbles, pushing his hair behind his ears, pulling his scarf up a little higher around his face. "How's your family?" There's a long beat of silence, and then Dazai mentions, "I saw you went out with your sister and her girlfriend. That looked like fun."

"Yeah, well--" Chuuya bites his lip, wishing he was better at standing his ground and not so /fucking weak/, but here they are. "It was fun." There's a long beat of silence, and Chuuya finally can't help himself, so he blurts out, like an /idiot/-- "The guy is my cousin."

His face is /so/ red, and it has nothing to do with the cold, and Dazai goes, "Oh." Not a big, HEAPING sigh of relief like Chuuya might've been secretly hoping for, "I thought--" "It wasn't anything like that, no." Chuuya mutters, glancing up at the sky. "...Is that why you

called?" He didn't realize how /forward/ that was until it came out, and he /instantly/ regrets it, especially when Dazai says, "No,um, I...." Chuuya is waffling back and forth between feeling /so/ embarrassed,and /worried/, at the way he sounds. "I just..." Dazai sighs.

"I really needed to hear your voice." Chuuya pauses, his breath catching in his throat, reaching up to press his hand over his heart through his sweatshirt. An old habit. He used to think he could just slow it down by /pressing down on it/, but-- Chuuya's always been prone to

wishful thinking. "Are you okay?" He asks slowly, fiddling with the edge of his sweatshirt, and after an even /longer/ pause, Dazai admits-- "No, not really." Chuuya tenses. "Did something happen?" Dazai doesn't really have the energy to obfuscate "I....got some shitty news."

"Do you wanna talk about it?" Chuuya mutters, suddenly not caring about the cold, or the fact that his sister is /definitely/ pressing her face against the living room window to stare. "...It's my grandfather." Dazai admits softly. "He's sick." Chuuya knows /that/ tone.

It means he isn't going to get /better./ "Oh, Dazai..." he trails off, his voice full of empathy, because this feeling--Chuuya really /does/ get it. "I'm /so/ sorry--" "Can I ask you for something kind of weird?" Chuuya blinks, drumming his fingertips against the back of his

phone. “Yeah, what?” “Could you...” Dazai lets out a deep, /bone/ tired sigh, unaware that he and Chuuya are actually in similar positions, but while his face is turned up towards his bedroom ceiling, Chuuya’s is turned to the stars over Paris. “...Could you call me Osamu?”

Chuuya blinks, biting his lip so hard that it’s almost /painful/, because a boy hasn’t ever asked Chuuya to call him by their /first name/ before, and even if it isn’t, it /feels/ like a big deal. “Like...” he swallows hard, “all the time, or...?” “For right now.” Chuuya

nods quickly, which is ridiculous, becuase it’s not like Dazai can /see./ Given what Dazai is telling him, and the fact that he probably doesn’t have anyone else to /talk to/, Chuuya shouldn’t read /into it/, but... “...Okay, Osamu.” Saying that name gives Chuuya /goosebumps./

He can't see the way Dazai turns onto his side, cradling the phone close to his ear, "I know it's ridiculous, he's in his eighties, but...I've never really thought about him /dying/ before," he admits in a small voice. Chuuya leans back against the wrought iron fence that leads

to the court yard in front of their house, slowly sliding down until he's sitting on the sidewalk, pulling his legs close to keep the warmth in his feet. "That's normal," he regurgitates the words he's heard in a therapist's office a /million/ times. "People don't think about

stuff like that until it happens to them." Dazai isn't so sure about that. He's thought about death quite a /lot/, but just...not someone /else's./ "Have you ever lost someone?" "...Yeah," Chuuya admits slowly, pulling his knees up inside his sweatshirt "My mom." "I'm sorry--"

"You didn't know," Chuuya shakes his head. "She wasn't sick," or, well, they didn't /know/ that she was. "...But I do sort of get the feeling of impending dread." Not that he wants to explain /how./ "Does it get easier?" Chuuya thinks about it, biting his lip. "I don't know."

“I was nine, so...the older I get, I forget a lot,” he admits quietly. “But I don’t think it’s gotten easier for my Dad.” “Is that why he’s so protective?” Chuuya’s hand slides up to press over his heart again. “...Part of it, yeah.” He takes a deep breath. “But you still have

time left with him, right?” “...Yeah, why?” Chuuya squirms a little, internally debating whether or not it’s too /personal/, but then again—this whole conversation is. “After my mom...I used to think about what I would do, if I had one more day.” After a pause, he adds, “What

sort of stuff does your grandfather like to do?" "Uh..." Dazai exhales slowly, a little ashamed to admit that he doesn't know /that/ much. He was a spoiled child--and most of the outings he took with his grandfather were about things /he/ wanted to do, not the other way around.

"Museums, and fishing..." He strains to think, "Books too--he's a big fan of poetry." "Sounds like my kinda guy," Chuuya smiles faintly, picking at the stray threads at the end of his sleeve with his fingertips. "What kind of poetry?" "Haiku, mostly." "You know what I think?"

Dazai burrows a little deeper under the blankets in his bed, pulling them over his head until it's dark, and he can jut hear Chuuya's /voice./ Even though it's just the beginning of the day, he feels like he could fall asleep all over again. "What?" "You said he likes museums,

Haiku, and I'm /assuming/ his grandkids. What are you doing tomorrow?" The day /after/ Christmas? Dazai makes a face. "Probably boring family events." "Why don't you and Atsushi take him and play hooky?" "..." Dazai smiles slowly. "He's the /head/ of the family, how is he

supposed to play hooky?" "I don't know, but there /is/ a Haiku museum in Tokyo--do you think he's ever been?" Honestly, Dazai grew up in the city and /he/ didn't know that. "...No," he admits. "I don't think he has." "Then he'd probably like spending the day there with his

grandkids." Chuuya muses, leaning his head back against one of the iron bars of the gate. "Maybe have Atsushi write him one--he'd probably get a kick out of that." "You think?" "Kids writing Haikus?" Chuuya smiles, shaking his head, "It always ends up /hilarious./" "I guess

so..." Dazai nods, making a mental note of the suggestion. "I'm sorry, you probably want to be with your family right now--" Chuuya glances back at the window, where his sister /is/, in fact, watching. "It's okay. Honestly, I'm glad you called." "...You are?" Chuuya's face

heats up a little, and he can hear Kouyou screaming in his head, smashing together pot and pan lids in a /rage/, 'He's a fuck boy! Stop making yourself emotionally available!' But really, Dazai is his /friend./ The more Chuuya thinks about it--Dazai might be his /best friend/,

even if Chuuya wants a /lot/ more than that...but that doesn't really matter right now. What Dazai said yesteday--what happened the night /before/ that--Chuuya is /trying/ to place it on the back burner. "Well, you know they drive me crazy..." Chuuya explains, the words a

little awkward, and he's obviously not being /completely/ forthcoming, so he admits quietly, "...and I wanted to hear your voice too." It's not quite the same as /I miss you/, somehow it feels even /more/ intimate, but... "You can always call me, you know." Chuuya doesn't

hear it as the open hearted confession that /Dazai/ sees it as, because he's never told /anyone/ that before, or had it offered to him. "Because we're friends?" "...Because you're important to me." Dazai counters softly. Chuuya swallows hard, trying to decipher what that

/means/, coming from Dazai. Obviously, Dazai is important to /him./ He's /so many/ of Chuuya's firsts, it doesn't matter how much time goes by, or how far away they are--Chuuya is /always/ going to care about him. But there's /nothing/ that would make Chuuya special to Dazai.

Chuuya isn't his first /anything./ He's just...a friend Dazai made from school. Just another person in the long line of people Dazai has already slept with. And maybe it's the /friendship/ that makes him important--because if Dazai felt even /close/ to the same way that Chuuya

does... Then Chuuya doesn't understand how Dazai does't sound like he's swallowing glass, because that's /exactly/ now Chuuya has felt since he got on that plane. "...Yeah, Osamu," Chuuya sighs, biting his lip, "you're important to me too." And then there's that /other thing./

The thing Chuuya hasn't told him. That he especially isn't going to tell him /now./ Probably not /ever./ "I'll let you get back inside." "Yeah, okay..." Chuuya agrees slowly. "And you're taking him to the museum tomorrow?" "/Yes/, I am--" "Take pictures." "Why?" "Because

you're not trustworthy." "/Hey!/" The call ends in laughter, and when Chuuya hangs up, he clutches the phone to his chest for another few seconds, trying to process all of it. // "Because you're important to me." // Paired with: // "I'm glad we were roommates." // They feel

like two conflicting messages, and Chuuya doesn't know what to think-- Does Dazai /like/ him, or not? Either way, his feet feel like /ice/, and it's time to find his way back inside. He has to spend the rest of the night dodging questions from Kouyou about what Dazai wanted,

before eventually volunteering to help his younger cousins go to bed, getting ready for Santa. Dazai /does/ take his grandfather out to the museum with his little brother the next day... Ans the entire time, he can't help but find himself wishing that Chuuya was there.

Dazai's mother leaves the day after New Years, and at that point the little charade can /stop/, which is a relief to everyone--though /very/ confusing, for Atsushi--and Dazai finds himself in his father's office /again/, watching Atsushi play with Sophie in the garden through the

window. "I'm assuming you've already spoken to your grandfather about his personal news." Dazai doesn't really think normal families call a terminal illness, 'personal news,' but...that's just guess work. "He did, yes." "Then I suppose you can guess where I'm going with this."

Dazai blinks, tilting his head. "No, I don't think I do." "...I'm about to be the head of this family." Mori explains slowly. "I'll have to leave the hospital--focus on managing our finances and what not. There's even some discussion of running for a seat in the Diet." "Right."

Dazai sighs, crossing his legs. "And your two, soon to be three illegitimate children, young mistress, and alcohol addled wife aren't going to be a hindrance to your political aspirations? I mean, other than the other thing." Mori raises an eyebrow, already irritated. "What

other thing?" "Oh," Dazai shrugs, tilting his head back, "the fact that to anyone who /isn't/ a girl in her early twenties with Daddy issues, you're a creep? I mean, it would make me think twice before voting--" "I'm sorry--" Mori blinks, his brow creasing, "--if I didn't know

any better, I'd think I detected a tone of /resentment./" "I don't know, Dad, I think pretending my future /step mother/ was my girlfriend for the past week put a bad taste in my mouth." Dazai mutters, "/Especially/ when she's going to find out /anyway/--" "Look, I /appreciate/

you doing that for me--" "Oh," Dazai rolls his eyes so hard they almost pop out of his head, "Don't say that like you asked me /nicely/ instead of just /dumping/ it on me." "Oh, my apologies," Mori glares, "I thought that between the private schools, the cars, the vacations,

and god knows how many credit card bills I've footed over the years--I had earned a /little/ bit of a favor from you." "I /did it/," Dazai snaps, crossing his arms over his chest. "And I'm assuming this conversation is about something else you want from me after you /father's/

'personal news' kills him, so /what?/" Mori stares at him, long and hard, before letting out a sigh. "You know, the angst, the melodrama, I /get it/, I was your age once--but has it ever occurred to you that /I/ don't enjoy this situation any more than you do?" "...Excuse me?"

"You have /no idea/ how lucky you are..." Mori sighs. "Back when your grandfather took over the family, in the nineties? God, things were different...And I..." He wipes a hand down his face, "Look, I understand I'm not someone who was ever meant to be a husband, and /especially/

not a father, not that young, anyway--" He doesn't /mean/ for the words to hit like a slap. He doesn't understand how /impossibly/ alone it makes Dazai feel. To Mori, this is just...being honest. "But you have /different/ opportunities. You should be grateful for that."

"...What /different/ opportunities?" Dazai finally asks, not willing to address the emotional /impact/ of the rest of that. Not right now. Maybe not ever. He's the lucky one, remember? "I'm not going to /choose/ a girl for you, Osamu--you get to pick one for yourself." His

tone is /generous/, like he's doing Dazai some sort of favor. "But no more /publicly/ screwing around. We're already going to be in the papers /quite a bit/ when the news breaks about your grandfather--" "And you don't think the pregnant 23 year old is going to be a story?"

"We don't need /multiple/ stories--and by the time it goes public, she'll be my fiancé. Your mother and I have already come to an agreement." "And this one is going to stick?" Dazai mutters, watching as his father's lips twitch with frustration. "Do you think she actually came

down here to spend time with the family?" Mori snorts, shaking his head. "You know, I understood the shitty attitude when you were in middle school, really--but you can't punish me /forever/--" "Why was she here, then?" "Because she /knew/, Osamu." Mori snaps. "And I would

prepare yourself for that--because people like her, at the first /whiff/ of death, they come sniffing. Like damn vultures." He shakes his head, looking away. "I'm just glad you turned eighteen first--or else she'd be looking for a way to get her name back on your trust fund."

Dazai doesn't make a /big/ reaction, not right now. "What exactly did the two of you work out?" "Ten percent," Mori sighs, opening his desk drawer, pulling out a pack of cigars. "She signs the papers, gets to be one of the wealthiest women in Japan--" "And you get a fiancé half

your age," Dazai shakes his head, "works out for everyone." "And /you/," Mori shrugs, "get to pick out your own fiancé. Which is more than I ever got. Hell, I'm not even telling you not to sleep around. I'm not the /bad guy/ here, you understand that, right?" Dazai's silence

lasts long enough that the man feels the need to /push./ "I /know/ I was a shitty husband, but we both know--I was the /better/ parent. And I also happen to be the one who /gives a damn/ about you, so that patient, long suffering attitude you reserve for that /nutcase?/ I'd like

to see /some of it/ extended towards /me/--" "What if it isn't a girl?" Mori stops, his cigar halfway towards his mouth, a lighter in his other hand. "...Pardon?" "The fiancé?" Dazai asks flatly, staring him down. "What if I don't pick a girl?" They stare at each other.

"...Don't," Mori looks /exhausted/, "for once in your /life/, don't do this to me--" Dazai's arms tighten, "Do /what?/" "You're not /gay/, Osamu, you're just a little shit who is /determined/ to make me drop dead before I turn fifty--" "I'm being serious." "Like /hell/ you

are--" Mori pinches the bridge of his nose. "You know sexuality is a /real/ problem that people /actually/ deal with? Not something to use to get my /attention/--" "I've done a /lot/ of stupid shit to get your attention," Dazai glares, his hackles rising, "but this isn't--"

"Oh?" Mori slams his lighter down against his desk with a harsh rattle. "When you slept with my top attending's daughter during a /charity gala/, what were you trying to do?" "...Be charitable?" Mori waves him off with an exhausted shake of his head. "You know as well as I do,

the only reason that you're expected to get married is because you need to have /children./ So the family /continues./ So, of /course/ the first words out of your mouth--when I /know/ it would be /more/ than easy for you to shack up with any girl with a /pulse/--is, what if I

choose someone who I /can't/ have children with?" Mori's snort is so /bitter/ that Dazai /actually/ flinches. "So, to answer your question: /no./ That's what your private life is for." "...My private life." Dazai repeats softly. "And Ojiisan was saying that you weren't a bigot."

"I'm /not!/" Mori looks like he wants to pull his hair out. "If I /actually/ believed this was anything more than an /immature/ call for attention, I would take it seriously, and we would figure it out--but /is there/ a boy, Osamu?" "..." "/Look at me/, when I speak to you."

Dazai lifts his chin, feeling more resolved than he did a week ago, when his head was full of /wishful thinking/ and daydreams. "No." He can't bring Chuuya into this. Mori shakes his head, irritation written all over his face. "I didn't think so." He frowns when Dazai stands

up, "We're not done--" "I need to pack," Dazai mutters, toneless. "We need to pick out some /names/ first--" "I'm not in the mood." Dazai mutters, and he's /tired./ So, /so/ fucking tired--and he doesn't see a way out of it anymore. "What are you packing for?" Dazai stops,

his hand on the knob. "Atsushi is flying back this afternoon," he mutters, shaking his head as he turns away. "I'm not going to make him go by himself." "We were going to have Hirotsu-san--" "He's not his /family/," Dazai mutters, yanking the door open, "that /matters./" He

slams the door harder than he means to, so hard that the entire frame shudders from the force of it--but Dazai doesn't /care./ He is /never/ going to have any kids. And he is /never/ going to get married. Because the way he's feeling right now, this ugly, ripping, /lonely/

feeling in his chest-- No one can hurt you that bad--except for /family./ The flight is long, steadying--he helps Atsushi play games on his Switch, watches Paw Patrol videos with him. He helps him get settled back in the dorms, talks to his professors. Dazai does what he

thinks a /parent/ should do, running through motions he barely even understands, trying to provide some sense of /normalcy./ They go out for dinner, and when Dazai is dropping the little boy back off, he squeezes his hand. "Dazai-nii?" "Hmm?" He glances down, only to see big

amber eyes staring up at him with concern. "Why are you sad?" "..." Dazai kneels down next to him, squeezing both of Atsushi's hands. "What makes you think I'm sad?" "You didn't make any jokes at dinner. And you didn't tell the lady it was my birthday to get free dessert."

Dazai smiles faintly, "I'm said because I /paid/ for dessert this time?" Atsushi bobs his head. "You do it to make me laugh." "..." Dazai tips his head, ruffling Atsushi's hair, "I'm just tired from the plane, buddy. Aren't you? Let's go on ahead and get you inside--" "It

makes me scared." Atsushi admits quietly. Dazai pauses, leaning back to stare at the grade schooler with concern. "Scared? What for?" "...You're mostly sad, when I see you now..." Atsushi trails off, hanging his head. "Mommy did that too, and now she isn't around anymore."

"...Atsushi," Dazai sighs, reaching forward to cup his cheek gently, pulling the boy into a tight hug. "I'm not going anywhere." After a beat, "I mean, I'm flying back to Tokyo, but--I'll always be there for you, you know that, right?" "Then--" Atsushi's voice cracks, "why can't

I live with you?" Dazai's chest sinks. "Atsushi--" "I'm not that big! I could fit--and Chuuya-san likes me, we get along great!" "You can't come to college with me--" Dazai tries to explain, his chest aching at the sight of the wobbling lip, the eyes filled with tears. "Not

because I don't /want/ you there, I /do/, but it's against the rules." "I /hate/ it here," Atsushi mumbles, tugging at the front of Dazai's shirt. "Y--you aren't gonna be in the dorm the whole time right? What about after that?" "I don't..." Dazai trails off, not sure about how

to /explain/ all of it, especially when it's so damn /complicated/, and there are some aspects that Atsushi doesn't /need/ to know about it. "...I /would/ want that, Atsushi, but it isn't up to me, it's up to Dad--" "Can you ask him?" Atsushi asks hopefully. "It's not like he

has a reason to say no, right?" "..." People ask why, if Dazai doesn't care about money--he doesn't leave. The little boy in front of him--that's why. "...I'll talk to him about it, when I get the chance," Dazai murmurs, squeezing Atsushi's hands again. "Bout nothing is gonna

happen to me, okay?" He reaches up to push some of the little boy's bangs behind his ear. "Your school has a break over easter, right?" "..." Atsushi nods glumly, and Dazai leans forward, kissing the top of his head. "I'll come see you, alright?" "You promise?" Dazai offers

his pinky solemnly, "You know how serious that is?" "..." Atsushi smiles a little, in spite of himself, hooking their fingers together. "Osamu-nii?" "Yeah?" "...You love me, right?" Dazai's jaw goes a little slack, and he nods quickly. "Of course I do--why would you ask?"

"I dunno." Atsushi looks away. "My Mom used to say it to me a lot, but..." He looks like he's working /so hard/ not to cry, and it makes Dazai /ache/, to think he learned /that/ lesson so fast. "Dad never has." "...Dad isn't good at talking about that stuff," Dazai pulls him

close, hugging him /so/ tight. "It doesn't mean he doesn't love you." Dazai doesn't know /what/ their father feels--but he doesn't want that to be Atsushi's problem--not /ever./ "And I love you," Dazai mutters, "you got that?" Atsushi bobs his head against his chest, "Y--yeah.

But--you're hugging me too tight--" "Sorry, sorry--" Dazai mutters, letting him go, smoothing his hair down again. "You ready to head inside and go to bed?" Atsushi nods, wiping his nose with the back of his hand. "Can I call you when I go to sleep?" "You know you can, dummy."

When Dazai makes his way out, one of the teachers stops him with a hand on the arm, "I'm sorry, Mr. Dazai? I just wanted to make sure you had somewhere to stay for the night, you're surely not flying straight back to Tokyo, are you?" Dazai smiles politely "Don't worry about it."

It was weird for Dazai, the first time he realized he could actually go /anywhere./ It's one thing to have the means--the credit cards, and a passport that can get him pretty much anywhere. But the /freedom?/ Dazai didn't have that until six months ago. So, when he ends up in

Gare du Nord station with nothing but his passport, his wallet, and the clothes on his back--he feels a little lost. It's intrusive. Weird. Definitely weird. Guys do this in the movies all the time and the audience just accepts it as /romantic/, but this is /clingy/, right?

Chuuya is stretched out on his bed, headphones in his ears, trying to finish lining a piece when his phone starts buzzing under his stomach. He pulls out one earbud, lifting it up to his ear without really looking at the Caller ID, assuming it's his father, asking him to turn

the lights out, since it's already almost midnight. "Hey, I was just about to--" "Chuuya?" His heart jumps all the way up into his throat, and he almost drops his stylus. "...Dazai? Isn't it 7 a.m. over there?" "Well--" there's a pause, "--I was dropping Atsushi back off at

school, so..." School. Right. And Atsushi goes to school in... "You're in London right now?" "...Not exactly." Dazai admits softly, and Chuuya sits up, pushing his hair behind his ear. "Where are you, then?" "...Pont Neuf?" Wait. Wait. /Wait./ "/What?/" "It was in that

movie, an American in Paris?" "Dazai, I /lived/ here, I know what it /is/, what are you doing there?!" "I know /you/ know, I'm just explaining how /I/ know about it--" "/Dazai./" "...I made my return flight out of Charles de Gaulle instead of Heathrow." Dazai admits softly.

Chuuya is sitting up completely straight, debating on what to /do./ "When's your flight?" "In the morning." There's a beat of silence, and then, "Look, I know that it's late, but--" Chuuya finds himself silently mouthing the words, hoping Dazai will actually /say/ them--

And then he /does./ "Can I see you?" Chuuya glances at his bedroom door, /completely/ aware of the fact that he is a self possessed, eighteen year old man who can make his own decisions-- And exactly what his father's reaction will be if Chuuya tries to slip out at midnight.

"Yeah." Chuuya answers, making as /little/ noise as possible as he slips out of bed, creeping over to paw through his drawers for something a little dressier than /pajamas./ "Text me the address?" He manages to shimmy into a pair of jeans without making much noise, and he nearly

/faints/ at the loud /creak/ his door makes when he inches over to the bathroom, combing his hair, brushing his teeth, and he hears his father call up from downstairs, "Chuuya, darling? Is that you?" Chuuya pokes his head out the door, "Just washing up for bed, Dad!" "Good--

I'll make a big breakfast in the morning, alright? Sleep in--you haven't been sleeping enough--" "I will, thanks!" Chuuya calls back, easing back into his bedroom, "Night, love you!" "Love you too!" Chuuya closes his bedroom door behind him, fumbling for his coat, carefully,

/oh-so-carefully/ easing into a pair of boots. He shoves his phone, keys, and wallet into his pockets, turning off the light. Luckily, while his bedroom /is/ on the second floor, there's an overhang underneath his window, one that easily bears his weight, and then an

ivy trellis he can easily scale down--and when his boots hit the ground in the garden, Chuuya is a little impressed with himself. Sure, eighteen is a little old to do it--but he's never actually /snuck out/ before. He has to make a running start and /jump/ to heave himself over

the garden wall, but he makes it, rolling over the top and landing on his feet on the other side. Like a /badass./ Chuuya looks at the ground, then back at his house, internally realizing that he /actually did it/, like one of the delinquents in the movies, and you know what?

He /is/ a badass. And /sure/, it would be slightly more badass if he was sneaking out to do drugs (which aren't all smoked, apparently, he still needs to look into that), or to have sex, not meet up with a friend from college during his layover, but /hey./ Still /badass./

He makes his way down to the metro, pulling his scarf up around his face as he slides his card--and it's only a few stops, /maybe/ twenty minutes, but the whole time, Chuuya's head is /racing./ Obviously, when he asked Dazai to sleep with him, he hadn't intended for it to end up

like /this./ But he also hadn't realized that it was actually going to be a /lot/ more than sex. Maybe not for Dazai, but it /felt/ like more for Chuuya, and... How are they supposed to be /just/ friends, after something like that? And why did Dazai /come here?/ He finally

reaches his stop, and he's one of the first people off of the train, hurrying up the steps to the street, and when he sees Dazai-- Everything seems to stop. Well, except for the fact that /nothing/ stops. There's still foot traffic, cars on the street. Hell--even the clouds

leap into action, because all of the sudden-- It starts to snow. Not heavily, but big, fat flakes start drifting towards the ground, sparkling under the street lights. It's beautiful. And Chuuya /would/ be swept up in it, but-- Dazai looks /awful./ "What--?" Chuuya starts,

his lips parting. "Are you...?" It's not like Dazai can ever really look /bad/, his hair is combed, his clothes are still expensive, but... Chuuya isn't sure if he's ever seen someone look so /utterly/ miserable before. And he spent half of middle school in the /hospital./

Dazai rises to his feet, striding towards him, and before Chuuya can really say a /word/, Dazai is /right/ in front of him, dropping his face down into Chuuya's shoulder. He stiffens for a moment, too surprised to /really/ react, but--when he remembers what Dazai said on the

phone about his grandfather... Chuuya's arms slowly come up to wrap around him, one around the back of his neck, while his other hand intertwines in Dazai's hair, squeezing gently. "You okay?" He asks gently, and after a moment, Dazai finally answers. "I need you to tell me."

Chuuya blinks, his fingers stroking through the hair at the nape of Dazai's neck, trying to put together what that /means/--but when he pulls back to take a look at him, Dazai's arms are around the middle of his back, holding him close. "...Tell you what?" Dazai swallows hard.

"If..." he's struggling to find the right words, because when it comes to Chuuya, nothing is ever /easy/--well, the /important/ things are, but /this/... "If I'm being an asshole." Chuuya blinks, trying to put that together, already shaking his head, "Dazai, you're not--" He

can't say anything else after that. Not because he doesn't /want/ to, but--Dazai lifts his chin, one hand sliding up to cup the back of Chuuya's head, and the next thing the redhead knows-- Dazai is kissing him. Not forcefully, or lustfully--but /desperately/, and Chuuya...

He knows Dazai is emotionally vulnerable, and that he probably just doesn't want to be /alone/ right now, but... He /melts./ His fingers tighten in Dazai's hair and he pushes himself closer, until they're flush against one another, leaning back against the brick wall that

flanks the canal, and Dazai feels like he might never be able to let go of him /again/, because /god/--when did kissing ever feel like /this?/ In the snow and the breeze, it feels like there's just /one/ warm spot in the entire world, where Chuuya's lips are pressed against his.

The thought is in Dazai's head, like it's crawled up in there and /embedded/ itself, to the point where he cant get it out anymore. I love you. I love you. I /love/ you. He pulls back slightly, and the tip of his nose--it's cold where it bumps against Chuuya's cheek. "I'm

/sorry/--" Because he knows this isn't fair--because he doesn't have anything to offer, and he has /no idea/ what he's doing, and he's just-- Lonely. He's /so/ goddamn lonely, and Chuuya is the /only/ person who makes it feel /okay/-- "Hey," It's really weird, when he thinks

about the fact that the /first/ time Chuuya's hands were on him (well, the first time that Dazai /remembers/), Chuuya was slapping him into /next week./ Because /now?/ They're so /gentle/ when they cup his face, pulling him back in--and this kiss is so /soft/, Dazai almost

/does/ cry. The tears are right there. He doesn't. He /wants/ to, but he /doesn't/, he just hugs Chuuya even harder, his fingertips digging into the small of his back. When they part again, their foreheads are pressed together, and both of them are breathing hard. "Don't be."

Chuuya whispers, and Dazai bites his lip, struggling for words, for an explanation. The three little ones are right there, dancing on the tip of his tongue, but he can't take those /back./ //"That's what your private life is for."// Chuuya doesn't deserve to be anyone's secret

Chuuya closes his eyes for a moment, just enjoying the weight of Dazai's forehead against his, not realizing until now that he's been leaning up on the tips of his toes--and when he relaxes, Dazai's arms hold him up--like he isn't quite ready to separate yet. The redhead is a

little dazed, /very/ confused, and /aching/ for Dazai, because he can /feel/ the grief there--or the /fear/ of grief itself. "...Hey," Chuuya tips his head forward, bumping his nose against Dazai's, finally managing to knock him out of it and get his attention. "You hungry?"

When Dazai heard about the gourmet food all around Paris, his expectations for what it would be like on his /first/ visit were a little /different/ from sitting on a sidewalk curb outside of a cafe--one attached to a small hotel, staring down at a sandwich wrapped in wax paper.

"Don't just /stare/ at it," Chuuya bumps him with his shoulder, curled up beside him with a disposable cup of tea between his hands. "I'm out ten euros." "I could have gotten it," Dazai mumbles, and Chuuya /rolls his eyes./ "Somehow I think I'll manage to stay off the streets."

Dazai grunts softly, only /somewhat/ himself, caught somewhere between jet lag and stress induced delirium. "What kind of sandwich is it?" Chuuya takes a long sip of his tea. "It's like a fancy grilled cheese, but with ham and egg." He notices the fact that Dazai doesn't seem

particularly comforted by that fact--and he raises an eyebrow. "What?" "...I've never had grilled cheese." Dazai admits, tilting his head to the side. Chuuya's eyes widen. "Who hasn't had /grilled cheese?/" "...Me?" "And you were throwing a fit over a /Panini?/" "Okay, first

of all, it wasn't about the /Panini/," Dazai corrects him, carefully unwrapping his midnight meal. "Oh?" Chuuya snorts. "What was it about then?" "It was about the fact that you wouldn't let me /have/ one." "Okay, /now/ who's the brat?" "Mmm..." Dazai cracks his first /real/

smile in /weeks/, taking a bite. "Still you." And for what is probably the /least/ expensive meals Dazai has ever had, it's warm, comforting--and /shockingly/ satisfying. "...Okay," he sighs, chewing thoughtfully. "Now I'm a little more pissed at you for not giving me one."

Chuuya shrugs, leaning against his side, his cheek resting against Dazai's shoulder as he crosses his ankles in front of him, watching the cars drifting up and down the street--snowflakes melting as soon as they hit the concrete. "I stand by what I said." "Oh?" Chuuya smiles

faintly, and when Dazai watches the way it makes his nose crinkle slightly, he realizes he's gotten in the weird habit of counting Chuuya's freckles every time he does that. The highest he's ever gotten is seventeen, but-- He seems to get higher every time. "They were

for the gays." Dazai shakes his head, halfway between laughter and groaning with /frustration/, "Kunikida still thinks I was trying to call him gay for that, thanks." "Eh," Chuuya laughs with him, his legs shifting to the left slightly, until their feet tangle together on the

sidewalk, "If it bugs him that much, then he's repressed." "Yeah," Dazai snorts, "or he's just sexually attracted to calculators." "How would that even /work?/" "I don't know--he pops a hard on every time he makes one spell out boobs?" "Are you /five?!/" "Oh, or then there's

/graphing/ calculators, that's a world of limitless possibilities--" "Oh my god," Chuuya groans, throwing his head back, "I can't /believe/ I've slept with you." Both of them pause slightly at that, because they've been in this tentative truce--one where they say and do things

that friends definitely /don't/ do--and then they just don't /discuss it/ after. So, offhandedly bringing up their little...tyrst? That's violating unspoken clause one in fucking your best friend: don't /talk/ about fucking your best friend. "Yeah, but in that case--" Dazai

turns his head to give him a pointed look, "--why the /fuck/ did you stiff me on the Panini?" Chuuya frowns, sticking his tongue out at him, making Dazai /snort/, "You had a golden opportunity to out yourself to get one!" "Did you really just stick your tongue out at me?"

"Are you /really/ holding a grudge on me over a /sandwich?/" Dazai shrugs, taking another bite, "I can't help but think it would probably taste better if you made it." "Why's that?" "First of all, it would taste like victory," Chuuya /snorts/, and Dazai adds, "/and/, while I'm

not an expert on the culinary arts, I'm assuming paninis are easier to make than soup, and you did a good job with that." "...Well /thank you/," Chuuya smiles a little, "maybe I'll make one for you sometime." "/Maybe?/" "Depends on if you piss me off again." Dazai responds by

sticking his tongue out at Chuuya, flashing that piercing at him, and just the /sight/ of it is enough to make Chuuya's face heat up, because he still remembers /exactly/ how that thing felt in his-- "You said it was what your mom made for you, when you were sick?" The subject

change is sudden enough that it takes Chuuya a minute to catch up, his eyelashes fluttering as he nods. "...Yeah, she did." "We don't have to talk about her, if you don't want--" "It was nine years ago, Dazai." Chuuya mutters, "It's okay." "...What was she like?" It's

something that's been on Dazai's mind since he was in the hospital. The way Chuuya checked his temperature. Making soup. Is that something that mothers actually /do?/ He always thought it was some stereotype from the movies. "...Creative." It's the first word out of Chuuya's

mouth. "She would spend hours making up scavenger hunts for me and my sister when we were bored during summer vacation. And my Dad--he always likes to stick to wish lists for Christmas and birthdays, but my mom..." Chuuya smiles, and there's a pain behind the tenderness in his

eyes, one that Dazai is /terrified/ of feeling himself. "She made me this music box--custom--with the melody of the song she used to sing me before bed. I didn't really realize how cool that was when I was a kid, but now..." Chuuya shrugs. "She was the best." Dazai can't imagine

his own mother doing that--then again, the most thoughtful she gets with ordering gifts is when she decides to go with something a little more in depth than a Rolex. "And you said she didn't get sick?" Chuuya stiffens again, and Dazai adds, "You don't have to--" "It's okay."

Chuuya takes a deep breath. "It sort of started when I was seven. My mom--she was younger when she had me and my sister, so she was always more active than the other moms in my class, but...suddenly she was just...tired all the time," he explains slowly. "And then one day, during

one of my sister's soccer games, she fainted." Chuuya doesn't like to think about that day, the noise she made right before she went down, how /scary/ it was. "And when she went to the hospital--the doctors said it was vertigo." Dazai shakes his head silently, hearing his

father asking a dozen questions. What tests they ran, what her oxygen levels were, but.... “When it kept happening, and she started sleeping even more—they said it was early menopause. Then they thought she was anemic.” Chuuya shakes his head. “And it was frustrating for her,”

he hates using the word /frustrating/ now, but at the time— It just didn’t seem like a /big deal./ “But one night, towards the end of summer...she just never woke up.” Chuuya mutters, shaking his head. “My Dad left her tea on the nightstand and went to work, but...” Chuuya

let’s out a shaky breath. “When she didn’t come down to start breakfast, my sister got worried. So, she went upstairs and tried to wake her up.” Chuuya bites his lip. The worse part of that entire memory is the /sound/ Kouyou made, desperately trying to wake their mother up.

“...Did they ever find out what it was?” Dazai asks softly, feeling... /Awful./ Because that never would have /happened/ to anyone in his family. Because doctors treat women differently. Because /money/ changes things. “...The autopsy showed that there was a lot of structural

damage to her heart.” Chuuya explains, struggling a little bit now, but fighting not to show it. “Eventually they were able to theorize that she had an undiagnosed arrhythmia—and that those fainting spells...were actually cardiac events.” Given his field of study, Dazai can

already surmise what that means. Arrhythmias are abnormalities in the heart’s rhythm—where the electric impulses that regulate it fall out of synch. It can either cause a rapid heart rate—or an incredibly slow one. In either case, it can severely alter blood flow, enough so to

trigger a heart attack, or a stroke. The latter would be more immediately devastating, but... In women, heart attacks often go undisgnosed. Media would often lead you to think they display the same symptoms as men—pain in the left arm, tightness in their chest— But not always.

In a woman, a heart attack can present itself as nausea, lower back pain, sweating— Symptoms that could be mistaken for vertigo. Or early menopause. Meaning she likely had several smaller heart attacks, damaging the structure of her heart...and one night, she likely had a

slightly more severe event during her sleep, one a healthy woman her age could have recovered from, but... It was too late. She never received the proper care. “I’m...” Dazai trails off, shaking his head. “I’m /sorry./“ Chuuya nods slowly, “She was only thirty four.”

It isn’t something he talks about often. He thinks about it even less. That gets easier, the older he gets— But it /is/ something that crosses his mind, every time he goes to sleep. What if he doesn’t wake up this time? “You’re asking because of your grandfather, right?”

Dazai nods slowly, and Chuuya feels guilt settle in the pit of his stomach—for not /telling/ him, but... There’s no way Dazai could handle that right /now/, and...Chuuya wants to be there for him, he doesn’t want to push him /away/, even if being honest is the right thing to do.

“Everyone deals with grief differently, but...” Chuuya takes a deep breath. “I know your grandfather would want you to try to go about your life.” Dazai gives him a /look./ “how would you know that?” Chuuya shrugs, leaning on him a little more. “I just do.” He mumbles, turning

his face into Dazai's arm. He's wearing his leather jacket, soft and worn--and the smell of his aftershave clings to it. "To be honest..." Dazai mumbles, his heart thudding in his chest with having Chuuya against him like this, "...I don't know what 'my life' consists of."

Chuuya raises an eyebrow, not lifting his face from Dazai's sleeve. "How come?" "I really only had one hobby..." Dazai squints a little. "I remember," Chuuya snorts, and Dazai has the decency to be a /little/ sheepish. "...But I think," Dazai's eyes cut to the side, "I'm

coming back to school next semester." Chuuya jumps, leaning back to look up at him in surprise. "You are?" He asks, a /little/ embarrassed by the fact that he can't keep the naked excitement out of his voice. Dazai nods, turning his head to meet his gaze. "It's not like I could

handle being at home right now anyway, so..." He shrugs. "I don't know, isn't that self care or something?" Chuuya snorts, shaking his head, "Not exactly, but it's a start." There's one thing to contemplate though, something that neither of them really considered before.

They did what they did--or Chuuya /asked/ Dazai to do what he did--because there was an understanding that they weren't going to be in close proximity anymore. There wouldn't be any fallout, because...distance. But now, Chuuya doesn't know where that leaves them. "So..."

Chuuya bites the inside of his cheek, pressing his fingertips over his lips, trying to work it out. "What does that mean for...?" He doesn't finish the question, he doesn't /have to/, and Dazai, for once in his life, is completely honest. "I don't know, Chuuya," he murmurs,

not sure how to explain what his father /said/, what his family is /like/, what all of it would /mean./ "I know what I /want/, but..." His head dips forward, to the point where Chuuya can't see his face. "You know something?" Chuuya's nerves are so on edge, he can barely answer.

"Yeah?" "I can't say I was happy about you being with Tachihara..." Dazai grits his teeth at the memory of them together, and even saying 'he wasn't happy about it' feels like downplaying it. "But I thought it was good for you." "..." Chuuya turns to get a better look t him.

"What does that mean?" "He was a decent guy, and..." Dazai shrugs, "You deserve..." he's struggling to /say/ it, but... "Someone like that." "..." Chuuya isn't sure if it's about /deserve/, but he knows from the way Dazai kissed him before--this isn't /nothing./ "You really

think you're an awful guy, don't you?" Dazai can't look at him, he can't even bring himself to lift his head. "I can't be your boyfriend." He wants to. He's never wanted to put a label on anyone, never wanted to feel /beholden/ to them, but...god, he /wants/ that now.

"I get it." Chuuya places one hand on the side of Dazai's face, stroking his thumb over his cheek. "Really, it's okay--" "No," Dazai mumbles, reaching up to grab Chuuya's wrist, to pull his hand away--but he can't bring himself to, so he just holds it there. "It's not okay."

"Because of all of the attention your family is going to be getting now, right?" Chuuya questions quietly, eyes fixed on Dazai's face. "That isn't your fault." Leading Chuuya /on/ is Dazai's fault. Letting himself go back to the redhead when he /knows/ nothing is going to come

of it. Hell, putting himself through this when he knows he's going to get forced off on some girl he doesn't want--it just feels like Dazai has found a way to hurt himself without leaving a mark. They don't /say/ it. They don't assign a level of /depth/ to what they're feeling

because then, they would have to /deal/ with it. But Chuuya doesn't push. That /would have/ made the difference. But he knows he isn't perfect. It's not like he can say, 'Hey, Dazai, you can totally emotionally depend on me in this hard time, /but/ you should know that I could

drop dead at any second. So /hey/, life's short, why don't we just jump ahead to the wedding?' Chuuya can't. He can't even argue that /he/ deserves Dazai when he's been /lying./ "Hey," Chuuya takes hold of Dazai's chin, forcing him to turn his head, and when he does...

Chuuya kisses him. Soft, slow--the sort of touch that they both melt into, so easily. Dazai wraps one arm around him, hugging him close, and Chuuya just relaxes against him and breathes him in, not letting up until he feels the tension in Dazai's shoulders ease up. "You've been

pretty up front about it from the start," Chuuya murmurs, leaning back just a little. "And before you even /start/, you aren't like Shirase." Dazai tenses, "I don't want you to be some dirty little secret, okay?" Chuuya smiles faintly, looking back on it. // "If I was dating

you...I'd want everyone to know about it." // "I think..." Chuuya takes a deep breath, squeezing Dazai's hand, "You need a friend right now." He finishes carefully. "And when things calm down, if we still want the same things..." Dazai glances away, "I'm not sure if or when

things are going to calm down." He mutters, feeling that fatigue coming /right back./ "Is that a gentle way of saying you don't want me kissing you anymore?" "..." Chuuya reaches down to tighten his scarf slightly. "You can kiss me as much as you want." Dazai gives him a /look/

"Don't tell me that." Chuuya blinks, "Why?" "Because then I'll keep kissing you," Dazai groans, his face dropping into his hands, and Chuuya snorts. "Oh no, what a /nightmare./" "Chuuya--" "/Dazai./" He throws his hands up. "Are you suggesting that we move back in together

and pretend that it never happened? Do you think that would work?" Dazai's silence is enough to imply that it probably /wouldn't./ "I think this is the..." Chuuya thinks it over, tilting his head to the side, "/mature/ way to handle it." Dazai arches an eyebrow. "Mature?"

“Well...” Chuuya blinks, “Isn’t it? I mean—I’m not dating anyone—and neither are you, so...” Bad idea. That’s what it is, and Dazai /knows/ that, but... Does he have the willpower to say /no?/ Absolutely not. And he isn’t sure if staying cuddled up on a bench together while

Talking /all night long/ is something /friends/ do. But this is Paris, and no one knows who Dazai is—and it’s /nice./ Chuuya /insists/ on taking him to the airport, even though he looks dead on his feet, and when he drops Dazai off at security, he grabs the front of his jacket.

“If you start feeling bad again,” Chuuya shakes his head, “you’ll call me?” Dazai seems a little uncomfortable with the idea of that, but he nods. “School starts back in a few days—“ “I know,” Chuuya cuts him off, “But you’ll call me?” “...yeah,” Dazai sighs. “Okay.”

Chuuya is reluctant to let him go, but he does—not before rocking up onto the tips of his toes and pressing a kiss to Dazai’s cheek. He hates walking away like that—but now it’s six a.m., and Chuuya has a bigger problem on his hands. Sneaking back /into/ his house. Really,

if he’d been more experienced with his newfound title of bad assery, he would have understood that you don’t sneak /out/ before making a plan to /get back./ And now here he is. He’s managed to get up over the garden wall, and now he just has to... He stares at the trellis, and

it isn’t often, even with his limitations, that Chuuya feels /out of shape./ But it’s a lot easier to climb /down/ than it is to climb /up/, and by the time he makes it up onto the overhang, he /knows/ he’s pushing it. How the /hell/ was he running four minute miles in middle

school?! Jesus, this even feels like a marked difference from when he was taking early morning runs at the beginning of the semester. He shakes himself out of it, pulling himself up onto the window sill, easing it open before slipping back inside— And he’s home /free./

Right? /wrong./ He nearly crashes onto the floor with a surprised yelp when the desk light flickers on, expecting it to be his dad, or his sister, but— No. Yosano sets down her phone and a back of Cheetos from where she’s clearly been waiting for him to get back. “Auditioning

as an extra for the new Spy Kids movie?” Chuuya makes a face, “Very funny. If you’re gonna rat me out—“ The raven arches an eyebrow. “I’m the one who distracted your sister when we heard something in the garden last night. /And/ I’m the reason she’s sleeping in this morning.”

Chuuya makes a face, “That’s /gross/—“ Yosano smiles at him wolfishly, “At least I didn’t make her wear the wig.” “The /what?/“ “Not /everyone/ puked during Blue is the Warmest—“ “/Okay/, okay—“ Chuuya Gags, “/thanks/ for that. Why are /you/ up then?” “/Someone/ had to stay

Up and make sure you didn’t break your back climbing back up that thing.” Chuuya frowns, crossing his arms over his chest, “Why didn’t you say anything when you saw me leaving, then?” Yosano shrugs, “Becuase you’re an adult.” “...” He feels slightly mollified by that. “Well, I

made it back safe, so...” Yosano crunches a Cheeto in her mouth, somewhat menacingly. “I can see that.” After a beat of silence. “But if you don’t answer my questions, I’m gonna snitch.” Chuuya /huffs/, unlacing his boots. “I thought you were gonna be /cool/ about this—“

"/Cool?/" Yosano's eyes narrow slightly. "You think I wanna be the /cool/ sister-in-law? You think I give a shit?" "/In law?/" Yosano rolls her eyes. "You /really/ think I'm gonna not try to marry her? You think I'm /stupid?/" "Okay, /okay/-" Chuuya raises his hands, "/What?/"

"Where were you?" "I was with a friend." Chuuya sighs, scratching the side of his neck. "We got some food, and I dropped him off at the airport, that's /it./" "Was it that guy your sister hates?" Chuuya rubs his hands down his face, because he knows exactly how this is going

to /sound./ "He isn't /like that/, okay? He was flying back from dropping his little brother off in London, his flight wasn't until six, so we just hung out for a few hours--" Yosano nods, "You snuck out of a window stayed out all night just to eat sandwiches with the guy who

left you crying in an airport after taking your virginity?" "That isn't how it /happened./" Chuuya mutters, shaking his head. "We're close, and he's been going through a hard time lately--/and/ we had stuff to talk about, so--" "Why sneak out?" "Why distract my sister?"

Yosano sighs, "...Touché." She pushes her bangs away from her face, looking thoroughly exhausted, wearing an oversized NYU t-shirt and sleep shorts. "But you can't stay up all night, Chuuya. And you can't leap garden walls. You're a smart kid, you /know/ that." The thing that

Chuuya thought when he was a kid about growing up was--eventually, people stopped telling you that you /can't/ do things. But when he got his diagnosis, it became /abundantly clear/, that was never going to end "What happened to me being an adult?" "Are you a /suicidal/ adult?"

Chuuya throws his hands up, "It was /one time/--" "And your color is bad, you've lost weight--despite the fact that I /know/ your meds would normally make you retain it--and you've slept more than you haven't since you got here." Yosano shakes her head. "Look at me." Chuuya

does, however reluctantly. "What?" "You look me in the eye, and you tell me--" Yosano mutters, drumming her fingers against her leg, "--did you have an attack while you were at school this semester?" "..." Chuuya grits his teeth, because he can't /lie/, she'll /know./ "One."

"Just one?" "..." Okay, now he's in /bigger/ trouble. "One big one." Chuuya admits, seeing the way she tenses up, "But I had a full screen from my doctor, there was no structural damage, we're changing my meds--" "But you aren't wearing your alert bracelet." Yosano points out.

"And you're in a high pressure, full time program--" she shakes her head, "You cardiologist--he recommended an ICD, didn't he?" Chuuya crosses his arms over his chest, "I asked him if I could make it another semester without it, and he said yes, okay?" "/Chuuya/--" Yosano

pinches the bridge of her nose. "It's like you don't even realize how /serious/ it is--you really /could/ die, you understand that, right?" "I think I'm /aware/," Chuuya snaps, more than a little bit sarcastic. "Thanks for that." "Then why are you doing everything in your power

to make sure that you /do?/" Yosano grumbles, reaching for her bag. "It's /preventable/ Chuuya, Long QT--it's dangerous, but it's one of the few cases where your risk goes /down/ the older you get, okay? Come here." Chuuya shakes his head distrustfully. "It's /my/ choice, and

you make it sound like it's just one quick little procedure and then my life is suddenly /normal/ and /fulfilling/, but it's /not/--and why do you want me to come over there?" Yosano lifts out the oxygen reader, "Give me your finger." "That's a /total/ invasion of my privacy!"

Yosano raises an eyebrow, "You suck it up and take the test /now/, or I wake your Dad up and it'll be a completely different conversation." "..." Chuuya grumbles, walking over and sticking his finger in the stupid thing, watching the loading screen as they wait for the reading

to pop up, and when it does, Yosano shakes her head. "90--that's too low," she mutters, and Chuuya rolls his eyes, used to hearing /that/, already rolling up his sleeve so she can take his pulse, because med student or not, she's basically just another doctor and he /knows the

drill./ She presses her fingers to the inside of his wrist, counting, and Chuuya is about ready to blow a /gasket/ when she pulls out a blood pressure cuff, but he tolerates it--not wanting to wake anyone else up. "Am I about to drop dead?" He asks dryly when she releases his

wrist, receiving a pointed look in return. "Your heart rate is slow, for someone who was just scaling a building. Oxygen levels are low. And your blood pressure is low." She mutters, shaking her head. "Which can only tell me that your meds have been /maxed out./" Chuuya shrugs,

"My doctor said it was fine." Not true. His doctor practically /begged/ him not to do it, but... If you ask Chuuya, the fact that he was able to get out of there without another medical alert bracelet? That means his doctor was fine with it. Yosano stares, her eyes narrowed.

They endure a silent tug of war—and she finally lets out a sigh. “You know I’m graduating this semester, right? I’ll be starting my clinicals in Tokyo after that.” Chuuya noticeably stiffens. “So, you aren’t going to be able to fake it till you make it, kid. Not for much longer.”

Great. /Great./ So, instead of his Dad, or his sister, he’s now going to have his sister’s slightly more terrifying /girlfriend/ breathing down his neck. /Great./ Chuuya closes his eyes, massaging his temples. It’s just /one more semester./ He makes it back to Tokyo three

days later, and moving back into his dorm room /this time/ is a slightly different experience. Partially because he’s just not moving his /entire life/ this go around, and... He also just so happens to have a slightly /different/ reaction this time, when he sees his roommate.

Dazai barely has time to look up from his book before Chuuya leaps into his mattress, the springs bouncing under them, “Ch—? What are you /doing/?” “You ruined my life,” Chuuya mutters, stretching out on top of him like an ovedsized stuffed animal. “What did I do this time?!”

Chuuya groans against Dazai’s shirt, his spine aching when he rolls over to lay next to him on the bed, “Riding coach back after you sent me there in the Buckingham Palace of planes /sucked/—“ Dazai rolls his eyes. “Was it really that bad?” “Have you ever flown coach?” “No.”

"Then you don't know, okay? It sucks." Chuuya grumbles, trying not to show the fact that he practically shivers with happiness when Dazai wraps one arm around his back, holding Chuuya against him. "Even first class is slumping it for me," Dazai shrugs, "I wouldn't know." "Huh?"

"Well, we usually fly private," Dazai explains, his fingertips rubbing slow circles against the small of Chuuya's back. "You charter a plane every single time?" "No," Dazai snorts, shaking his head, "We own one." "Don't snort at me like your family owning a plane was the

/obvious/ answer." Chuuya mutters, dropping his face back against Dazai's chest. "I'm the normal one." Dazai laughs /again/, this time a little /louder./ "You are /not/ normal." Chuuya lifts his head with a glare, "What's /that/ supposed to--" Dazai cuts him off with his lips.

Chuuya doesn't push back, and it's /nice/, just being able to do this like it's /normal/, because Chuuya /did/ say Dazai could do it as much as he wanted--and god, does he /want/ him to-- He lets out a soft pant when Dazai flips them over, until his roommate is hovering over

him, one knee between Chuuya's legs, and Chuuya... Is anything but /un/receptive, hitching one leg up around Dazai's waist as he kisses him back, wrapping his arms around his neck. And this is /okay/, right? Sure, Chuuya knows that he's setting /himself/ up for heartbreak, but

he already /tried/ dating someone else while he still had feelings for Dazai--and that crashed and /burned./ So...even if this isn't what he wants, it's better, right? When Dazai's tongue meets his, Chuuya lets out a low noise, pressing closer--all while a little voice in the

back of his head is whispering-- /He didn't actually /say/ that he liked you./ // "I can't be your boyfriend." // Chuuya gets /why./ But...would it have hurt for Dazai to actually /say/ how he felt? Though it's not like Chuuya did either. And he's definitely not ready to say

it himself. Not after what happened the /last time/ he tried to say something. But this is better than /nothing/, and the weight of Dazai on top of him is solid, grounding--and he just...holds him /tighter./ Until there's a knock at the door, and they both freeze. "...Hello?"

"Room check," Kunikida calls from the other side of the door, to which Dazai lets out a heavy sigh, moving out of bed, (at a leisurely pace, so Chuuya can hurry back to his /own/ bed), and opening the door. "We're set up just fine, Kunikida-senpai." The blonde looks back and

forth between Dazai, and the redhead, a little shocked to see them both moved in and...relatively /quiet./ "You two are getting along okay?" "We are," Chuuya waves from his bed, "Thanks for checking." Kunikida doesn't really buy it, but he nods. "Alright, well...if I hear

anything that sounds like a fight, you two are on strike three, got it?" "Got it," Both boys respond in unison, not seeming all that concerned. And honestly, if Kunikida wasn't /already/ slammed with homework for his first classes, he would care a little more. Chuuya' second

semester of college gets off on a noticeably /better/ foot than the first. Point A: No Shit(r)ase Point B: Better professors in his classes, and a slightly easier schedule. And, most importantly, point C: Dazai. They don't exactly /openly/ describe their friendship as one

that comes with /benefits/, but... Dazai quickly comes to appreciate the benefits of having a lover who can actually /learn/ what you like over time, particularly when Chuuya is /more/ than eager to explore him, and...well... “I’ve been thinking,” Chuuya mumbles one night,

making Dazai pause from where he’s pressing a trail of kisses down the redhead’s thigh, his eyes turning up inquisitively. “That doesn’t sound promising—“ Blue eyes narrowing at him, and Dazai smiles sweetly, adjusting, “—What’s on your mind?” “Well,” Chuuya shrugs, “we don’t

use condoms.” Dazai blinks, trying to keep up with where the conversation is going, “As I recall, that was your idea—“ “I know,” Chuuya agrees a little too fast, “because you’ve been tested, and you’re the only guy I’ve really been with like that since /I’ve/ been tested—“

Dazai enjoys that little fact a bit /too/ much— “But if you’ve been with other people since then, don’t you think we should...?” Dazai blinks, “I haven’t been with anyone else since November.” To him, if just seems like offering basic information, but now, in the cold light of

Day, he knows how it /sounds/, and now they’re staring at eachother. “...I mean,” Chuuya starts weakly, wishing he had started this conversation when he wasn’t naked from the waist down with Dazai between his thighs, but here they are. “It would’ve been fine if you /were/, I

just...” Chuuya shrugs, “If you we’re going to, it would make sense to start using them—“ “Well,” Dazai lifts his chin, “I think it’s pretty convenient—“ Chuuya raises an eyebrow “Convenient?” “What I /mean/,” Dazai continues, “is that not sleeping with anyone else is more

convenient for me right now.” Chuuya doesn’t look convinced, and he adds, “You know, scheduling,”Dazai doesn’t have a better explanation for why he’s being so /awkward/ right now than the fact that Chuuya decided to ask when all of the blood in Dazai’s brain has already gone

/south/, “and I don’t have to buy any more condoms—“ Chuuya stares down at him, eyes widening slightly, “Are condoms expensive?” Dazai turns his face into Chuuya’s thigh to hide his expression, “No, but...” And he knows, logistically, playing on Chuuya’s relative ignorance

on the subject is wrong, and he probably should just be straightforward. Or even just kissing the redhead senseless to shut him up would probably be a valid form of distraction at this point, but is that the next thing out of his mouth? /No./ “...It’s good for the environment.”

Chuuya's staring at him like he's grown a second head. "I'm sorry, /what?/" "What do you think they're made out of?" Dazai says it so /confidently/, that Chuuya has to stop and wonder if /he's/ the crazy one. "...Rubber?" Dazai stares at him, like /Chuuya/ is the one that's

being slow on the uptake. "Which isn't..." Chuuya blinks, his brow creasing. It's not like he's an /idiot/, but he's not ever really paid much attention in science, and he went to a catholic school that taught abstinence, so he really doesn't know anything about /condoms/ either.

"...Recyclable?" Chuuya tries, and Dazai nods very seriously, because /now/ Chuuya is getting it. "So, you know, it just makes sense." Dazai finishes, like /that/ is all there is to it. "...Right," Chuuya agrees slowly, trying to figure out if he's really just /that/ stupid, or

if Dazai is fucking with him, or... Well, either way, the end result is the same. They're just friends. Friends who happen to have sex. Very intimate sex that isn't /really/ intimate, you know--because they're just /friends./ And they aren't sleeping with /other/ people,

because, you know... ...the /environment../ And, somewhere past all of the foreplay--which for Dazai, can sometimes take an entire /afternoon/, if he's feeling attentive--Chuuya places a hand on Dazai's chest, making him lean back when he was just about to slot himself between

Chuuya's legs. "What's up?" Dazai asks breathlessly, and Chuuya isn't much better off himself, but this is something he's been /meaning/ to ask, and the best way for Chuuya to keep Dazai from avoiding a subject is to quite literally put his own ass on the line. "I was just

thinking..." Chuuya grabs Dazai's chin, tilting it up, "Since you found out about your grandfather..." Dazai already feels himself literally /wilt/ in response, because why would Chuuya bring that up /now/? "Have you thought about talking to someone?" Dazai gives him a /look./

He leans in, and the kiss he gives Chuuya is so /deep/, so /sinfully/ good, finding /exactly/ how they're supposed to fit together, Chuuya almost loses focus. "I talk to you, don't I?" He murmurs against his lips, and Chuuya shivers, tempted to let it drop, but... This matters.

"I was thinking something more along the lines of a therapist." Chuuya explains, baffled by the look on Dazai's faice. "I mean--you've been before, right?" "...What makes you think that I have?" Chuuya doesn't know how to explain the fact that, after seeing Dazai without his

bandages, he sort of /assumed./ "...My Dad made me go after my mom," Chuuya shrugged, "I assumed you would've gone after your parents split up. That's normal, right?" "..." Dazai isn't really the right person to /ask/, but... "No one ever said that I needed to." Chuuya blinks.

Dazai obviously /did/ need to. And money wasn't an object, so... And it's in that moment, for the first time, that Chuuya really starts to /grasp/ the fact that while Dazai came from a well off family, and likely had everything he ever wanted-- It wasn't a loving one. At all.

But is Chuuya going to press that issue right /now?/ No. Instead, he opts for, "...Well, it's normal to go, when you're dealing with something like this." Dazai nods, assuming that's enough, but when he leans forward he's pushed back again, and he sighs. "I'll think about it."

Chuuya tilts his head to the side, "One session isn't going to kill you--if you don't like it, you don't have to go back." "..." Dazai stares at him, wondering if he's actually going to /budge/, and Chuuya adds, "And if you /do/, I'd be open to trying that thing you asked about

last week..." Chuuya hums, watching the way that Dazai's eyes widen just a /little./ "I thought you said you didn't think you could bend--" "I could work up to it," Chuuya shrugs, "/If./" If. It's somewhat remarkable to Dazai, because at first, he mistook Chuuya's

inexperience for shyness. /Incorrect./ Chuuya doesn't like to look like he doesn't know what he's doing, but once he /does/, he's...not ashamed in the least. And the more comfortable he's gotten with Dazai, the more he seems to understand he can't actually do something /wrong/,

and that... Makes him a lot more /confident/, willing to try things, and honestly...Dazai doesn't think the redhead would /believe/ it if he told him, but... He legitimately is the best partner Dazai's ever had. "Okay," Dazai agrees weakly, "I'll try it. Okay?" "Okay."

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Cataclysmic Event x happy endings only