Archive of Our Own ^beta

Anyone who knows Nakahara Chuuya, be it another student or a professor, a friend or a rival, will undoubtedly agree on one thing: he's the perfect student. Always on top of his class and even his entire year, never missed a single deadline, and on top of that, liked by staff and peers throughout the university. For his skills as much as for his looks.

Some look at him with bitter envy, some with awe. Chuuya doesn't mind either. Most of the time, he's too busy to even notice those gazes that follow him around whenever he's on campus.

That being said, while the person Chuuya is now is a brilliant and diligent student, he hasn't always been that way.

Back in high school, the redhead was just as brilliant but not nearly as well–mannered. He was louder and loved to talk back to adults. He liked to have fun and thought little of the future past the next few weeks at a time. He got into trouble and he learnt a few harsh truths about the world on his own skin.

He was a teenager.

It's the right of passage to fight against the world and get burnt.

Then, in his last year of highschool, it wasn't “the world” Chuuya had a problem with anymore. It was the new, young and promising teacher that took over their modern literature class—

A 24-year-old at the time and a fresh graduate student:

Dazai Osamu.

There wasn't anything particularly wrong with the man. His lessons were interesting even if they were sometimes not as well organised as other classes — it was Dazai's first job, after all. Genius or not, passion or otherwise, everyone has to learn the craft they do. The students all knew it and that's exactly why they may or may not have made it a bit more difficult than necessary for the young teacher at the beginning, but the man managed. Somehow.

If anyone had asked Chuuya, or any other student about it, then yes. It was weird to have a teacher barely six years older than them, especially when other teachers were mostly in their late 40s and 50s. To them, it felt more natural to think of Dazai as a friend rather than a faculty member, but not too much. 

Strange, but it was also fun.

Talking to Dazai was easy. Asking him about the material wasn't stressful because he wasn't one to go on long lectures that no student wanted anyway, like the other teachers would do. Sometimes, you could find him in the library, talking with the students about idle things and laughing together.

Chuuya wasn't an exception.

Although… it was more common to find the redhead fighting with Dazai rather than getting along with the man. Bickering with him came all too naturally and, at some point, Dazai started using his teasing to try and tame the wild 18-year-old teenager. The entire school was living for it, truly the highlight of everyone's day.

It never went past the bickering, of course.

Even if Chuuya may or may not have developed a crush on his teacher at some point.

Truth be told, the entire school had a crush on him.

Every. Single. Person.

It was widely known and no one thought much of it. Dazai was young and ridiculously attractive. He was many things — “annoying” being one of them if you ask Chuuya — but, in the end, it was all just jokes. Told by the students and their mothers alike.

Making the best of his “hormonal teenager” days, Chuuya spent his last year of high school half–thirsting after his teacher and half–wishing to strangle him on any given occasion. Come graduation day, they bickered for the last time, congratulated each other on being free from each other's lives and… that was it.

End of the story.

—that was six years ago.

After graduation, Chuuya moved to the other side of the country to enrol in his dream university. He skipped a year and got his Masters quicker than most, though it didn't come without a price to be paid: stress and energy and many, many sleepless nights.

He's 24 now and on a scholarship for his PhD while also being employed by the university, as per the requirements of his course. He doesn't think back to his highschool days often outside of some evenings when he goes out drinking, he's far too busy and sleep deprived for that. It was a fun time in his life but it's in the past.

Then it happens.

At the beginning of his third and last year in the PhD course…

Chuuya's university has a hard policy on every PhD student working as an assistant to their professor for no less than a half of their total course duration. Their role is to aid in lectures and to hold office hours for students that may need their help with the material, among some other responsibilities.

Also, it's the PhD students that are in charge of seminars.

Especially the easier ones, for the Bachelor courses.

The seminars — or “exercise classes” as STEM students call them here — begin in the second week of the semester, after the lectures have already covered at least a tiny bit of the material needed to solve the problems given.

Chuuya is never late for the seminars he's in charge of but he isn't overly excited about them, either. He comes on time , always a minute or two before they're due to start. And now, here he is, coming into an exercise class for a Classical Physics module for first years.

Unlike what some people believe, “first years” doesn't always mean “students freshly out of high school”. People of all ages are free to decide to pursue higher education at any point in their life. Last year, Chuuya had a very nice 55–year–old man in one of his seminars who “got bored of his job and decided to try out something new”.

Good for him. Really.

Most of the students are younger than Chuuya, yes, but not everyone.

That's not a problem and not a surprise.

What is a surprise, however, and not a small one, is coming into a seminar room half a country across from your hometown, to see a familiar face sitting at one of the desks. A face older than you, even if it doesn't look like it.

A face of your highschool teacher , who is now your student .

Because yes, among the crowd of chit–chatting teenagers and young adults that Chuuya is here to teach—

Lo and behold, Dazai Osamu is right there with them.

And the moment their eyes meet? It's hard to tell which one of them is more surprised, or more speechless. They both know the other recognises them; their eyes are equally as wide, their expressions equally as frozen as they stare at each other. Only…

Once it does sink in, for the first time ever, it's Chuuya who grins.

Because damn if it doesn't feel good to be the one with authority now. No matter how small.

He doesn't say anything during the tutorial, of course not. Personal matters aren't to be discussed in the short hour that the students are supposed to use for getting practice while solving exam questions and asking questions about the lectures.

And let it be known, Chuuya is great at teaching the things he enjoys himself. He also doesn't miss the way Dazai's body is rigid, hunched over his desk, and how the brunet refuses to look at him at first. 

When he eventually does, it's tinted with annoyance.

Reluctant.

Embarrassed, maybe.

And a little childish, too. 

Not exactly how a nearly 30-year-old should act, according to some.

Although — and Chuuya will give him credit for it because he can't tell what he'd do himself if it were in Dazai's shoes — the brunet has enough courage to stay behind when the time is up. Every other person in the room packs their things as fast as possible, all to leave and go about their day, but not Dazai. No, the man is slowly putting his things into his bag, side–eyeing the other students as they leave the room in groups.

Usually, Chuuya would have left by now since no one made it clear they have more questions, but he's staying behind solely to see what Dazai will do. He's dying to know, not that he'll let it show. 

It's easy enough to make it seem natural, too. All Chuuya needs to do is pretend to be putting some paper he used during the class together and not even five minutes later, he hears the chair being pushed back and the metal legs scratching the wooden floor. Then, there are footsteps coming closer and closer.

Careful footsteps.

Slow.

Until eventually—

“Well,” a low chuckle makes Chuuya look up, “I can't say I saw that coming.” 

Try as he may to put on a courageous and nonchalant mask, there's a faint, awkward note betraying the perfect act Dazai is trying to sell. And, as Chuuya forces himself to fight back another grin, he notices there's also the faintest of blushes adoring the man's cheeks.

Oh, he may act all he wants to.

But Chuuya knows for sure it's embarrassing for him, and he's living for it.

(While also fighting back his own awkwardness, that is, because damn Dazai got only more attractive during these past six years. It has to be illegal.)

Now, Chuuya is facing a dilemma that isn't actually a problem but merely a shadow of an older issue. It would have been impossible — and actually illegal — when he was in high school, with both of them being adults now… 

Oh, the possibilities. 

“Long time no see, huh, Nakahara?”

The papers with his notes already forgotten, Chuuya turns to face the brunet more, casually leaning his hip on the edge of the desk. “Very long, I'd say,” he offers back, lips ever curled.

It's been over half a decade.

For Chuuya, that's his entire adult life.

“I also mentioned in the beginning of the seminar that you can all just call me Chuuya,” he adds. They're alone and there is no need to hold back how pleased with himself he is. “Or were you not paying attention while in class ?”

Watching Dazai's reaction is like savouring the most flavourful of fruits. Chuuye can see the man's jaw tightening, not sure if the brunet is holding back an embarrassed smile or an annoyed grimace. Both, probably. Or how his facial muscles shift ever so slightly, as if he's biting the inside of his cheek.

Oh, Chuuya is going to get the most out of this situation.

Mark his words.

Then, Dazai takes a deep breath and—

“I was,” he huffs, shifting his weight from one foot to another. “Old habit, I guess.”

Hmm . “It's never too late to learn new ones.” Or try out a completely new field, as it would seem. Dazai couldn't possibly stray further away from classical literature when he got into a physics course. “I don't think I'll have any problems with calling you Dazai from now on.”

Not Dazai–sensei, as Chuuya used to have to say.

Not Dazai–san, as he technically should, given who of the two is older here.

Unless the brunet explicitly tells him otherwise, Chuuya is going to bend the rules to suit his palette as much as he can. Fortunately, it doesn't seem to be a problem, only a small surprise.

“Oh, I don't doubt it,” Dazai snorts, shaking his head. “Cheeky as ever, brat. ”

“At least one of us is consistent, then.” Crossing his arms over his chest, Chuuya quirks a brow at the other man, asking genuinely, “What happened to your teaching career?” 

Dazai was young, not unskilled, and certainly not unable to keep any job at any school he would apply to. Six years may be more than long enough to burn out of the initial passion but to completely switch professions… Well, Chuuya can't imagine himself doing that.

He can't imagine what could have possibly happened to Dazai, to the annoyingly perfect human being that he was to every student, to push him this far.

And the man's reaction doesn't say much.

All Dazai does is shrug at the question. “Stuff,” he says and doesn't elaborate, and Chuuya isn't sure if it's because it's a sensitive topic to him, or if it's because this is not the right place and time for that conversation.

But his curiosity has been piqued. He'll have to try again some other time, maybe in some other place. Different circumstances. Once they exchange more than a couple words after not having anything to do with each other for over six years.

“Right,” Chuuya nods slowly, accepting the answer for now. He glances at the clock hanging on the wall, then looks back at the brunet. “And did you come over just to say hi, or do you have a question about the material?”

Dazai's eyebrows climb a little higher, his eyes lighten a little more and his voice mellows, teasing. “Oh my,” he hums, amused, “someone seems to be taking this very seriously. Should I call you Chuuya– sensei instead?”

Well—

“Sure.” The redhead grins. “If you want to.”

Usually, Chuuya doesn't like it when his students call him that. He's barely older than some of them — when the older students do it, it's even worse — and it creates this awkward distance between them. As if Chuuya wasn't in their shoes not that long ago. 

It's weird to be called something he doesn't feel like. Not really.

But with Dazai?

Somehow, there's his boiling hot, wicked satisfaction bubbling in his chest and gut when he hears the man say it. He doesn't mind it one bit. Maybe he can even come to appreciate it if given an opportunity. All's possible.

Which clearly isn't the response Dazai was going for.

There's surprise written all over the brunet's face but it's a different kind to before. He appears caught off–guard by the bluntness, not the situation itself. If Chuuya were to take a wild guess, he'd say Dazai must not be used to people teasing him as much as he likes to tease others.

“I…” The surprise passes quickly enough, leaving a lighter smile behind. “Maybe not,” Dazai chuckles, his cheeks growing into a faint tint again. “I think that's a bit too weird even for me.”

Fair point , Chuuya agrees. Only a little disappointing.

“Sure,” the redhead snorts. Then, using his usual voice instead of the alluring pur… “Though if you don't have any questions, I actually have another seminar in half an hour.” 

Which isn't a lie.

His supervisor had no mercy while putting together Chuuya's schedule.

And let it be known that the redhead would love to spend that time talking to Dazai and teasing him about the entire situation to the Moon and back. Under any other circumstances, he would have, but right now—

“Um…”

There it is.

Chuuya may be younger but he isn't stupid. He isn't blind.

Even if he was a little distracted because of this unexpected encounter and the early hours of the day — and the lack of caffeine in his veins — he has been conducting these seminars for two years now. He can always see it whenever someone struggles to understand what is being said, whenever they aren't sure about something.

It's the small signs.

The brief moments when people frown in confusion.

When they look between their notes and the whiteboard one too many times in a row.

When they press their lips tightly as they erase or cross out their notes and then frantically copy what Chuuya wrote down instead. When they open their mouths to ask something but stop themselves before any sound can actually escape their throats.

Once you see it enough times, you recognise the signs everywhere. 

And on everyone, even the people who once were the ones guiding you .

Dazai scratches the back of his neck, his blush darkening every so slightly as Chuuya's eyes fill with satisfaction of figuring the man out on the first try. 

“I…” 

The brunet hesitates as he looks away, suddenly losing all of his nonchalance from before. It looks like he's in a fight with himself, weighing the gains and drawbacks of admitting to whatever it is that eats away at his brain. A game of tug of war between his pride and reason.

When one of the sides wins, Dazai looks defeated.

“I may… have a question about one of the derivations.”

Of course, he does.

Of course, Chuuya helps him, smug as he has never been before in his entire life as he writes down every step of the derivation on the whiteboard and explains it all over again. It's not anything special to someone who's seen and used it over and over again for years, but to newer and less practised eyes, it can be tricky to follow.

Then, once he's done—

“I'm usually in my office and working on my thesis and shit,” Chuuya says, as if he's throwing the comment out casually, “so you can always drop by if you need anything else. Even outside of office hours.”

Dazai arches a brow at that. “Outside of it?” Not only the tone of his voice but also the look in his eyes, betray the fact that Chuuya's intentions haven't gone unnoticed.

“There's a bar near here,” Chuuya adds without a single drop of hesitation. He looks Dazai over as he gathers his things and doesn't fight it if his voice sounds a bit more allusive than it professionally should be. “If you want to catch up .”

Whether Dazai actually takes the hint, or sees it as nothing but what is being said — only catching up — it doesn't matter. Chuuya can work with whichever to find that out later. What matters the most is that he sees Dazai around his office as soon as next week.

Chuuya has just finished a meeting with his thesis supervisor and he's exhausted , having spent the whole night speed writing the bits he was supposed to prepare for it but couldn't be bothered to until the very last minute. He managed but his (nonexisting) sleeping schedule paid the price for it.

Now, as he walks from around the corner, he sees Dazai in front of his door. His eyelids, previously heavy and threatening to fall shut any moment, now draw all the way back as Chuuya's mind awakens all over again.

The man seems hesitant, curiously reading the small plate with Chuuya's name without actually coming close enough to knock. Or maybe he has already done that and Chuuya wasn't there to know about it.

Fuck . 

He could have missed it completely if only his meeting stretched out too long.

When Chuuya gets close enough for his footsteps to be heard, Dazai turns his head towards him naturally. It may just be the redhead's imagination but, for the split second that their eyes meet, Dazai looks tense. Startled, even. 

Like a child caught red–handed, or like one that wants to ask their parents for something but hasn't thought of what to say yet.

It's cute. 

Makes him look boyish. 

But then, Dazai regains his composure and the flustered surprise is gone from his expression. “Ah,” he trails off, “so Chuuya wasn't just ignoring me.”

To whichever god is listening right now: fucking thank you .

“I wish it were that simple,” Chuuya mutters to himself as he fishes for the key in his pocket. He stops next to Dazai, and it's not that he feels the need to explain himself, but… he does. “I usually keep the door slightly ajar at all times, so when it's closed, it means I'm not here.”

Dazai hums as Chuuya pushes the door open and looks over his shoulder at the older man, head slightly tilted towards the inside of the room.

“Wanna come inside?”

When Dazai huffs out a small laugh, he's trying to pretend he does it only because Chuuya asked, and not at all because he's curious. “Sure,” he says, like he's doing the redhead a favour by simply agreeing — who's acting like a brat now, huh?

Chuuya's office is, quite simply, a mess. 

He knows it and doesn't give a flying fuck about anyone else's opinion. This (somewhat organised) mess helps him focus on his work and it also provides the perfect excuse for not working on his thesis when he really doesn't feel like it. “Cleaning the space up” is one of the best procrastination methods. The greatest excuse known to man.

It comes with little guilt, and big merits: a clean workspace.

At least for a day or so.

Then, the cycle repeats itself — every four days. On average.

From the first step inside, Dazai looks around, curious and maybe a little bit impressed. “It's… bigger than I thought it would be.” And Chuuya doesn't blame him.

The university can be generous to its PhD students, even if they're getting a bit underpaid for their TA activities. Nice and private offices for the minimal pay — the balance remains intact.

“It's not always this messy, I promise.” Calculating his chances quickly in his mind, Chuuya takes the clutter from one of the chairs and puts it on his desk instead, in case Dazai decides to stay for longer.

From behind him, Dazai flashes him a smirk. “Whatever Chuuya says~”

“I was busy, okay?” He wouldn't have been if he had worked more consistently, but no one in their right mind does that. Like, ever. “Are you here to judge my cleanliness, or to ask about the module?”

“Actually…” When Chuuya looks back at him, Dazai rocks on his heels. “It's neither.”

“Oh?”

“Though it is deserving of some judgement here.”

“Shut it,” Chuuya huffs lightly, walking around his desk and placing his laptop down on top of one of the piles of papers and books. “Back to my question.”

“I'm done with my classes for the day—”

God , Chuuya thought he has already accepted this bizarre situation, but hearing Dazai say that and be aware that the brunet means he's done with taking classes and not giving them feels off.

He'll get used to it, for sure.

At some point.

“—and I was wondering if you wanted to… catch up?”

Oh.

Oh.

Yes, he very much would.

It's just—

Chuuya glances at the clock, his tongue tapping the back of his teeth as he thinks about it. Not about the proposal itself, there is no question there, but about matters that are far less enjoyable. “If you don't mind waiting for fifteen minutes,” he says slowly, testing the waters, “then the answer is yes.”

Internally, Chuuya promises to curse the god he was thanking just a few minutes ago if that puts Dazai off but—

“I don't mind.”

No gods are getting cursed today.

Tomorrow, who knows?

“Strict schedule?” Dazai asks as he sits down on the empty chair and watches Chuuya sit down on the other side of the desk, his open laptop between them.

“Kind of.” Sigh. “I need to send a few emails to conclude the day before they actually let me out.”

Be it out of consideration, or because he doesn't have anything to say to that, Dazai only hums and takes out his phone to keep himself busy as Chuuya continues to type. The atmosphere is awkward only for the first few seconds. Then, the redhead is too busy with making sure all his emails are polite and constructive enough to think about anything else.

It's always such a pain to write:

'Yes, I have covered everything from the notes during the class.'

…while emailing the professor he's helping out, and not:

'Can you please stop telling the students they “can ask about the derivation in the seminar” without mentioning it to me beforehand? I learnt this shit five years ago. No one bothers with remembering every single derivation out there. Give me a break. Regards—'

And such.

Fifteen minutes pass, and Chuuya shuts his laptop with a relieved exhale.

Another twenty minutes, and they're both sitting down at a table in a small booth in the corner of the bar Chuuya mentioned during the seminar.

The best thing about this place is that, with how close to the university it is, it opens early and has a full food menu as well, all for the sake of the students, who make up over half of customers. You won't get breakfast here, but a late lunch or early dinner? No problem.

“I have to ask,” Chuuya starts once they each have a plate and a drink in front of them. “Did you know it's my university?”

Technically, it wouldn't be impossible for Dazai to know that.

Chuuya never bragged about it but it was mentioned in his “future plans” questionnaire that all students had to submit in their second year of high school. Chuuya's homeroom teacher knew about it and, among teachers at any given school, it's not unusual to be talking about these things. The art of gossip doesn't discriminate.

However, Dazai only shakes his head and sighs, “I wish.”

Maybe he never asked, or never listened.

If Chuuya feels the tiniest sting of disappointment about it, he doesn't let it show.

“I heard from Natsume–sensei that you applied and got into a university in another prefecture, but he never told me which one.”

Ah, fair enough.

Natsume–sensei was, and still is, like that. He speaks in truths that lack some of the important bits, in riddles that aren't always meant to make sense. The common consensus in Chuuya's school was that the man simply forgets about the details due to his age, but the redhead had always had a feeling that he did it on purpose.

Why, though? It's hard to tell.

“Right,” Chuuya mumbles, munching on a long french fry. “It makes it even weirder.”

“Tell me about it…”

“Why Yokohama, then?” Their school was in Yamaguchi, Chuuya's home prefecture, and that's a long way from here.

“I could ask you the same thing~”

Chuuya rolls his eyes but answers anyway. “I was trying to get away from the countryside. There you have it.” He gives the man a pointed nod. “ You , on the other hand, said you liked it better when things are peaceful.”

If Chuuya remembers correctly, that is. Not only was Dazai fascinating to them due to his young age, but also because he graduated from Tokyo's top university. Many couldn't believe he'd choose to come to the most remote school of their prefecture.

“Ah, to think my old student would remember my every word,” Dazai teases, placing a hand over his heart. “I'm so moved I could cry~”

Now, that'a a fucking lie.

Chuuya remembers it only because Dazai said it while complaining about how loud the boy was outside of the teachers' office window. During PE classes. Needless to say, Chuuya then spent a full 5 minutes bickering with Dazai through the open window, until his PE teacher called him over to join the game again.

(Natsume–sensei, who was in the same room at the time, teased them both about it nearly every week until Chuuya's graduation.

Separately, of course.)

“But you're right,” Dazai continues when the only answer he gets is another eye roll, “I do prefer it more peaceful. Big cities are exhausting.”

“Okay, then why…?”

Why pick one of the biggest and most populated cities in the whole of Japan?

Dazai takes one of his fries and bites on it with a light shrug. “I'm from around here. It felt like an obvious choice.”

That… makes sense. Probably. 

"Okay,” Chuuya huffs. “Next one."

Chuckling at how quickly the redhead moves on but not saying anything about it yet, Dazai settles for a quirked brow, waiting. And it's not like they have spent the last hour or so in silence. It has all been mostly small talk until now, with occasional, more personal questions stolen here and there. They aren't awkward with each other anymore, and Chuuya—

Chuuya has never been the shy type, especially not with Dazai.

“Is asking about why you quit teaching a taboo topic, or something like that?” 

If there's a shadow passing over Dazai's features, it's gone too quickly for the redhead to notice. Too easily mistaken for a play of light, or a trick of one's mind.

The brunet hums to himself, his index finger tracing the rim of his glass. “I wouldn't necessarily call it a taboo topic,” he says eventually, eyes following his fingertip instead of looking at Chuuya, “but it's not a sober topic, either.” 

Which means…

There's a story behind it. 

Dazai shrugs and takes a sip of his drink. “Stuff happened.” 

Maybe a few drinks or a couple of outings later, then, Chuuya tells himself and nods to let Dazai know he doesn't mind. Changing the topic before the atmosphere gets too awkward to go back from isn't anything particularly difficult.

“Why physics, then?” he asks.

“Do I not look like the clever type to Chuuya?”

The redhead looks up to the ceiling on instinct. He really wishes people would stop it with that joke one day. “Doing physics doesn't always equal being clever,” he groans, “and being clever can exist outside of science fields.”

Yet, every single time people hear about his field, they act like he's a Nobel Prize winner and not just another, tired beyond repair, student living off of instant meals and caffeine. That, or they think Chuuya looks down on everyone in other courses, or that he somehow spits on humanities in his free time.

He does none of it. He doesn't think like that.

All Chuuya is trying to do is live his life and get by somehow.

Hmm. “Spoken like a true STEM graduate~” 

“Which I am,” the redhead scoffs, “and which you are trying to get to. What happened to the books and… shit?” 

“ And shit, huh?” Dazai chuckles again, shaking his head disapprovingly. “I see I have failed as a teacher.”

“Oi, you know what I mean. Don't even start lecturing me on manners.”

“I needed something new and different,” the brunet goes on. “Physics always seemed interesting from afar and I thought maybe it wouldn't hurt to try and actually understand it.”

To tell the truth, studying physics and “actually understanding” it aren't always the same thing. It's needed at the core, for the basic concepts — basic in terms of their importance, not their difficulty — but above that… it depends.

Still, finally Dazai has said something Chuuya can relate to, and he must admit, he doesn't hear that explanation going around often. 

There obviously are people like that but, especially among fresh high school graduates, it's more common for them to pick STEM and engineering because it pays better in this day and age. More often than not, as long as you know what you're doing, your future can be secured with a well–paying career. 

Not easily secured, nothing in life comes easy, but… the chances are high enough. 

Older students, though, tend to think like Dazai, because most of them have already had some sort of careers that could have lasted them until retirement. Or they have already retired; yet, they come back to the suffering of studying and exams.

But those are rare cases.

Two, maybe three per the entire year.

Granted, there is nothing wrong with choosing the path based purely on how well you can get paid for it in the future; money is important, no matter what some influencers try to say. It's just that hearing someone pick a course you love because of what it offers on a conceptual level, and not the monetary one — it feels… nice.

Maybe Chuuya is stupid for letting it get to him, but Dazai's almost innocent approach is like a breath of fresh air for someone who's been surrounded with stress and anxiety and generally sinking morals for years.

“So,” the redhead trails off as he takes all of it in, “Are you working anywhere right now?” 

Dazai shakes his head. “I have enough savings to get by.” Then, he sends Chuuya a smirk, his shoulders slightly shaking. “While I'm focusing on being a proper student. ”

That's—

Chuuya can't help but snort. 

Also, why does it feel like Dazai is implying that Chuuya wasn't a proper student?! 

“We'll see about that,” the redhead huffs. “No one stays proper for long while at uni.”

Chuuya sure as hell didn't. 

Neither did any of the people he knows.

For a while as they mostly eat, the two talk about pretty much everything and nothing at all. Chuuya tells Dazai some funny stories of his student experience and shits about a lot of it, including the work being pushed onto him by the professor. The work that isn't in his job description but which he can't decline without shooting himself in the foot.

Dazai, in turn, tells Chuuya about what changed back in his hometown and old school. How Natsume–sensei finally retired and now adopts every cat he sees on the street; the curry stand that has finally closed and re–opened as a proper restaurant, and all of that.

They finish eating, and order another drink each. 

An hour of chatter later — another glass. 

It's Chuuya's last if he doesn't want the alcohol to get to his head, and he really doesn't. Not tonight. He's pleasantly tipsy but still with a clear mind, if maybe a little bit bolder than an hour ago.

“Okay,” he laughs after a while, his lips curled into a wide smirk. “It's my turn now.”

Dazai has just finished questioning him about the time the redhead got so drunk he ended up in another prefecture and with a tattoo, a sheep's skull in the junction of his hip. So many details have been uncovered, Chuuya is sure the man will never let him live it down.

“Sure,” Dazai agrees with a smirk, “but I assure you, I have no story that could match that .”

Definitely never going to let him forget it.

With a half–hearted eye roll, Chuuya takes a deep breath to calm down the laugh that bubbles in his chest, while his lips won't listen to his will and are stubbornly curled up. There's alcohol to blame for it, genuine enjoyment as well — but also a hint of embarrassment. 

“Back in school,” Chuuya starts slowly, “did you…” 

He laughs to himself just from thinking about it after all those years, then takes another breath, tracing the rim of his glass with one finger. When he looks into Dazai's eyes, his shoulders are still shaking from laughter.

“Did you know we called you the most fuckable teacher?”

Surprisingly, or maybe not so much, the number two spot belonged to Natsume–sensei. Before Dazai came to their school, that man had been on the top stop for at least a few generations of students, despite his age, and Chuuya can understand that. He's always half–expected the man to be fully aware of it.

Dazai's reaction is as expected, too. 

First, his eyes widen and his brows shoot up in surprise. He's smiling, perhaps even more than before, but it's the awkward kind.  The 'damn I did not expect that' kind of a smile. Then, his eyes dart to the side involuntarily, lost in the search of something, anything, that would tell him what to say back to that. 

He lets out that adorably embarrassed 'um', followed by a chuckle. His cheeks grow darker in the dim light of the bar. 

“I…” Another small laugh, embarrassment falling into amusement as he shakes his head lightly. The movement makes his hair fall more over his face and bounce around instead of staying neatly tucked behind one year.

Chuuya likes that. 

A lot.

“Well,” Dazai drawls after a while, wetting his lips before taking a sip of his drink for encouragement, “I never thought you were calling it that —”

Oh, they very much did. 

“—but I may have noticed a few students having a crush on me, or so it looked like to me.”

And he isn't wrong. 

“You topped the 'most crushed on' list, too," Chuuya admits, biting his lip to suppress a grin. 

The redhead isn't completely unfazed. He does feel his face growing warmer from that confession from earlier — or maybe it's the alcohol? — he's just more used to it than Dazai. He's done some soul–shakingly embarrassing shit in his life and it all turned out fine in the end, giving out a few truths from his teenage days won't be much of a challenge. 

“You did a good job at pretending not to notice, though," Chuuya then says, taking a deep inhale and exhaling a shaky laugh. “Common belief was that you're genuinely oblivious.”

Chuuya never believed it too much himself but there were many who did. Mostly those of his classmates that tried to actively flirt with Dazai despite the man being their teacher, and… Well, it obviously never worked out. 

It birthed the rumours and that belief, though.

“I wasn't keen on losing my job,” the brunet huffs. “I'm not big on getting myself arrested for something I wasn't even interested in.” 

Still very much amused, Chuuya puts up his hands in a surrender gesture. “Hey, I believe you. Just saying.”

“ Mhm. ”

The silence stretches for a long second as Chuuya is holding back from bursting out laughing and, instead, is trying to come up with a way to follow up the topic, but—

“Was I on yours, too?” 

—Dazai beats him to it. 

One brow arched high, Chuuya brings his glass to his lips. “Mine…?” 

Dazai shifts in his seat and wets his lips again, head lolling to the side lazily. He hesitates but only for a single breath, and when his voice rings between them again it's… Not quite wistful. Not quite hopeful. 

But timidly intrigued.  

Maybe betraying a hint of interest.

He's trying to be smug but his body language gives everything away. It makes the redhead wonder, has something changed in Dazai in the years Chuuya hasn't seen him, or was he too young to notice it back in school? Or both? 

“Was I on Chuuya's list , too?”

An unexpectedly straightforward development, but Chuuya doesn't mind at all. He meets Dazai's gaze and lets the question stretch between them for a moment, he lets it settle in the air while the answer already coats his tongue.

Chuuya likes the silent anticipation.

He likes the face Dazai is making right now and how hard he's trying to seem unfazed. Like it's merely a joke. A tease. But there is no need to hide the truth, it should be obvious what his answer will be.

Leaning back in his seat, one arm over his middle and his glass held next to his face, Chuuya tilts his head to the side, letting the few strands of hair fall over his face, and—

“You are. ”

He isn't holding back his smirk anymore, and when his legs extend under the table, the tips of his shoes lightly hitting Dazai's and staying there, Chuuya is pleased to notice the brunet isn't pulling away.

“On both, in case you're wondering.”

“Is that so,” Dazai whispers over the rim of his glass, more to himself rather than to Chuuya. There's no surprise in his reactions but it's not quite confidence, either. 

Not smug, maybe somewhat flattered. 

Maybe happy, if Chuuya can hope for it to be that.

The redhead answers him with an affirmative hum and a slow slide of his shoe against Dazai’s. Despite what the man must think about it, Chuuya isn’t always this straightforward, especially not this fast, but…

Dazai’s every expression, it’s worth it.

Who would blame him for living out his teenage dreams?

“How about you?” Chuuya teases.

“...me?”

“Did I make it to any of your lists?”

Huffing out a small laugh, Dazai also leans back. He hides the curl of his lips behind his glass but the sparkles in his eyes can’t be covered so easily now that Chuuya has already noticed them. That, or his blush. 

“I had no such thing when I was your teacher.”

Oh, wow, Chuuya snickers internally. Congratulations for being a decent human. Now, moving on—

“Fine.” The redhead rolls his eyes. “Am I on any of them now ?”

Silence.

A deep inhale.

Then, and an exhale.

Then…

“Maybe,” Dazai says quietly, as if he's not sure whether he should be saying it at all. The rest of his whiskey swirls in his glass, the partially melted ice cubes clinking on the walls.

“Only maybe?”

Another slow slide of their shoes against each other, and the corner of Chuuya's lips tugs upwards when he thinks he can feel Dazai weakly pushing closer, returning the gesture.

“Chuuya is bolder than I remembered,” the brunet admits instead.

“That a bad thing?”

“No. Just... unexpected.”

Hmpf. “If you're trying to tell me people aren't trying to flirt with you on a daily, don’t bother. There's only so much bullshit I’m willing to believe.”

“I don't go out enough for that.”

In a weird, opportunistic way, Chuuya finds that answer more pleasing than it should be. “I'll have to use this opportunity wisely, then,” he purrs, drinking the last sip of his wine in one gulp. Then, he leans forward, his chin resting on the heel of his palm and the other arm stretched over the table.

An invitation.

He can't reach Dazai's hand with how far the brunet is sitting, but if only Dazai reaches out to him —

“Unless you don't want me to?”

Dazai's eyes glance from Chuuya's face to his hand, then back up. He seems conflicted, yes, but not necessarily unwilling.

He's a walking contradiction, Dazai.

At first, Chuuya thought it was simply because the man is of more timid nature than he remembered, or because Chuuya used to be his student for a year. Maybe it was more awkward for him than it was for Chuuya, more issues to consider. 

But no.

It was Dazai, who came to him first, even if the initial offer came from Chuuya. He isn't turning down the redhead's flirting, he’s reciprocating it for the most part, only to back away again just as the redhead thinks he’s got him.

It's not unappealing and Chuuya is a patient man when needed, but how does he know where the limit lies? How is he supposed to know how much Dazai is comfortable with when the brunet changes his stance all the time?

Yes or no, it would have helped if he said it. 

Either of the two.

When the answer finally comes, Dazai's smile is small, soft. “I'm not against it.” 

His hand is colder than Chuuya’s when his palm comes to the table and his pinky finger brushes the redhead's hand. Yet, despite the gentle touch that could mean something more, there's a drop of an emotion akin to sadness in his eyes. 

Or maybe not sadness but… regret? 

Reservation?

Fear?

All perfectly covered by the casual tone of his voice. By the nonchalance that, for some reason, Chuuya can see right through.

“But I would hate for Chuuya to end up disappointed,” Dazai ends up saying, and the redhead’s brows couldn’t climb higher in confusion.

“Disappointed?” Dazai nods, and Chuuya takes his hand slowly, lazily stroking the back of the brunet's fingers. “Why would I end up disappointed?”

“Everyone has expectations, Chuuya. Even if they pretend not to.”

His index finger brushes the inside of Dazai's wrist. It's delicate and, yet, the brunet's chest visibly rises on a deep breath. 

“I didn't take you for someone with low self–esteem," Chuuya hums, “but I wouldn't mind helping you out with that, either.”

“It's not exactly about self–esteem.”

“Then what?” But before Dazai can say anything, Chuuya adds, “And don't tell me it's about your age. You are not old enough to be saying that.”

The age gap excuse — among many other legal issues — was valid when Chuuya was in high school, but he's 24 himself now.  He's a working adult. He lives on his own. He pays fucking taxes  even if that means only sending out one form a year and not bothering to even think about it for the next twelve months. 

Anyway—

If Chuuya is forced to worry about the economical and political world situation and actually understand it, he has all the right to fuck anyone a few years older if he wants to. Anyone telling him otherwise will be kicked into the next century. 

Dazai chuckles at that, visibly more relaxed. “It's not about that, either, but I appreciate the compliment~”

“I can give you more of them.” Chuuya smirks, getting bolder with the innuendos. “I'm very picky about who I flirt with.”

To tell the truth, he doesn’t flirt that much to begin with.

He doesn't have the time for it.

Dazai smiles weakly, returning the soft touches on Chuuya's fingers as he leans on the table. He looks at their hands for a second before… “I told you I quit my job because ‘stuff happened’, right?”

It catches Chuuya off–guard to hear him mention that again, especially now. “Yeah…?”

“Well…” Sigh. “Without going into too many insignificant details, that ‘stuff’ wasn't exactly nice, and ever since, I've been on certain… medication.” 

When concern flashes in Chuuya's eyes, Dazai offers him a reassuring squeeze and brushes it off with a light shake of his head. 

“Nothing dangerous. It's just to… make me less unhappy.”

Less unhappy…?

Chuuya's eyes widen visibly because—

Oh.

He means antidepressants, doesn't he?

“And while I'm flattered that Chuuya thinks of me worthy of his flirting,” the brunet continues, “it's not easy for me to match up to what he has in mind.”

Now it makes sense, sort of.

Chuuya himself has never been on those, he has never experienced what it's like, but he knows people who do know. He has heard explanations, mostly drunken rambles and complaints.

That it isn't easy. That, sometimes, these things just don't work out at all, even if the person is willing. That it can be frustrating, wanting to get off or fool around but your body not responding to any of it.

Now that he knows what Dazai means, Chuuya can somewhat understand where the brunet’s concerns are coming from, but they aren’t needed. If Dazai thought it would put him off or discourage Chuuya in any way, he was wrong.

“Oh, wow,” Chuuya snorts, the gentle smile on his face not matching the teasing tone. “So you that's what you were thinking about all this time? Getting laid with me?”

Fortunately, Dazai catches on to the tease right away.

He quirks a brow, chindarted up ever so slightly. “Were you not?”

“Oh, I was.” Then, effortlessly, Chuuya moves their hands so that their fingers are intertwined, lazily locked together. “But I also have other ideas.”

“...you do?”

Mhm . “Honestly, Dazai, I am more than willing to try it out with you. I can be very determined when I want to—” Dazai’s lips twitch, when Chuuya sends him a wink. “—and I'm very good with my mouth, I'll have you know.”

Was that a joke to lighten up the mood, or a tease to see Dazai's blush again?

The answer is: yes.

“But I wouldn't mind just chilling, you know?” He goes on before the other man recoils back to whatever insecurities he’s nursing. “We can talk, I have a nice TV and a few movies I've been putting off watching for a while. I could use an excuse to get to it.”

Without him even thinking about it, Dazai's lips tug upwards. Whether it’s from relief, or because he finds Chuuya’s propositions funny, the redhead can’t quite tell, but he wouldn’t mind either option. 

“I can make us late night tea and you could play with my cat if you want to.”

It's so clear and unrestrained when Dazai's eyes sparkle at the last part, that Chuuya finds himself speechless for a moment.

“You have a cat?”

The excitement in Dazai's voice? The sudden lightness of it?

Chuuya didn't expect any of it but he isn't complaining.

“Yeah,” he chuckles, suddenly feeling embarrassed when Dazai's puppy eyes don't look away from him for even a second. He can handle bluntness and shameless flirting, but a feeling this pure? That’s beyond him. “Her name is Baki and she's a menace .”

A true, fluffy, and very moody demon that acts like she's some kind of a god.

“I take it that you like cats?”

Dazai nods. “We had one with my ex but they took it with them when we broke up.”

“They ‘took’ it?”

“It wasn't out of malice,” Dazai explains. “They said if I couldn't take care of myself, the cat would be in danger if it stayed with me. They weren't wrong.”

Chuuya wants to see his point, and maybe he does, but…

That's just sad.

If anyone tried to take Baki away from him, Hell would be unleashed upon the Earth and Yokohama would be left in shambles. That is to say the least.

“In that case,” Chuuya says with newfound determination, “you can have Baki for the whole night. She’ll be thrilled about getting more attention.”

“Is Chuuya assuming I would come home with him?”

And, oh, the irony—

The redhead crooks a smirk. “Were you not?”

Hearing his own words used against him, Dazai can't help but huff out a laugh and pretend to disapprove of Chuuya’s methods. “I think I was,” he still admits, “but only for the cat, I’ll have Chuuya know.”

Sure, the redhead wants to snicker, but he stops himself. There will come a time to banter with Dazai more when he won’t be risking disencouraging the man from accepting the offer by accident.

When they step out of the bar, hand in hand, Chuuya pulls Dazai in the direction of his flat. It's close enough so that they can walk and sober up as the late evening spring breeze blows around them. The pavement is coated in white and pink petals from the cherry blossoms from the nearby park, illuminating the night with the light reflection from them.

“I meant it, though,” the redhead says off–handedly, looking up at Dazai as they walk down the dark street. “If you do want to try, you know, doing something more, I'm all for it. I won't be disappointed no matter what.” He swings their hands between them as they walk, letting out an exhale of relief when the chill air cools his heated skin. “All offers are still on the table. I'll leave the decision up to you.”

Hmm. “How considerate~”

“I'm very considerate. You ever doubted that?”

“Perhaps. You didn’t seem like the considerate type to me when we parted ways back then.” Then, Dazai tilts his head forwards, catching Chuuya's gaze again. “But I like it like this, too.”

Chuuya smirks back, mischief climbing to his face. “Yeah?”

“Mhm~”

If it’s not enough to get one’s hopes up, Chuuya doesn't know what is.

Coming to a halt, the redhead pulls at Dazai's hand to make him stop as well. Weakly enough so that the man could refuse, but also with enough determination to show his intent — and Dazai chooses to follow the pull. Meeting Chuuya’s gaze without trying to escape, he even steps closer, until their shoes are almost touching.

“Enough to offer a kiss?” Chuuya asks, voice velvety as it’s carried by the wind. Quiet and low enough so that only the brunet would hear him, but with enough firmness to differ it from a joke, or even a tease.

Dazai's eyes widen at the request, surprised but not taken aback. “Here?”

With his free hand slowly sliding to the brunet’s nape, Chuuya shrugs. “Why not?” The sole fact that Dazai isn’t rejecting his touch is his victory. “There's no one around, and it’s dark already.”

And, well…

That's true, Dazai supposes.

Maybe it's not the most socially proper thing to do. Maybe it's sooner than any of them would have normally taken these things. Maybe they could have waited until they at least reached the redhead’s flat.

But Chuuya has said it himself: why not?

Chilly as the night around them is, Dazai’s lips are as warm as sunshine glittering between the sakura petals on a spring day. Not as soft and glazes with the aftertaste of whiskey, but somehow, it’s exactly how Chuuya has always imagined them to be.

A kiss stolen on the side of the street, away from the neons lighting up the dark night and with the smell of izakayas carried by the wind from down the road. A slide of lips so gentle, it’s a question in and of itself, and Chuuya’s answer is one that melts the ice–cold grip that hesitation has over Dazai’s mind.

His fingers rub the man’s nape while his other hand tugs him closer, a pleased hum vibrating from one set of lips to the other. Tips of wavy hair tickle Chuuya’s skin as a bigger hand finds its way to his waist, and on the next press, Dazai isn’t so reluctant anymore. He takes Chuuya’s bottom lip between his own, giving it a light suck. 

Slower than the lazy clouds in the sky and gentler than cotton on his skin, Dazai meets Chuuya on every kiss that follows the previous one, always meeting him halfway. So long and so easy, they forget to pull away.

The night around them and drunkards passing by.

Chests pressed closer and arms around each other, time forgotten all together.

There’s no explanation Chuuya could give for this, there isn’t one that he would care for. Right here, social rules be damned, kissing Dazai is all that matters.

***

“If you just sit on the couch and not do anything, she'll come to you on her own,” Chuuya says as he fills the kettle with tap water. “She's prideful but more than that, she hates not being paid any attention.”

Biting the inside of his cheek to hold back his excitement from showing too much, Dazai eyes the cat one more time before choosing to listen to the redhead's advice and sitting down. His hands tingle with the need to feel how soft the fur would feel on his skin; it’s been so long since the last time he played with a cat, it’s like he’s having withdrawal syndromes.

But, as one could expect, the owner always knows their pet the best.

Even before the water for the tea comes to a boil, the white fur ball starts to fidget. First, it's only Baki's tail that sways lazily as it hangs from the shelf she's resting on. Then, her ears perk up and turn towards Dazai every so often.

She glances at him.

She turns over, arching her body and showing off a fluffy belly.

It's adorable and every fibre of Dazai's being wants to get up and offer the cat the pets it deserves — but he must be patient. He will be, he'll do just as Chuuya says.

The kettle pings when the water is ready, and Baki jumps off from her spot.

Dazai catches a glance of Chuuya looking at him with a know–it–all look in his eyes as he pours the water into two cups, but then his attention is quickly drawn to the cat looking up at him from the floor. Meowing needily, Baki is sitting next to Dazai's leg, all elegant and glorious. All expectant in her might.

Now, it may be because he drank before coming here, or because he hasn't had a chance to play with a cat in a while, but—

Forgetting his surroundings, Dazai smiles at the cat. 

And he meows back.

(If Chuuya nearly spilled hot water over his hand because he was caught off–guard by the overly adorable sound and sight he has just witnessed, Dazai doesn't have to know. He won't. It’s a secret the redhead will take to his grave, or so help him—)

Frustrated — or maybe encouraged? — Baki jumps onto the couch and unceremoniously climbs onto Dazai's lap. She curls into a ball of fluff, only her long tail falling to the cushion and twitching from time to time, and who is Dazai to deny the lady of the house her pets?

“Don't be fooled by the spoiled child act, though,” the redhead chuckles. “Baki can and is a demon in disguise.”

“Pushing books off of the shelves?”

“Worse.” Chuuya puts Dazai's cup on the coffee table in front of the brunet. “Pushing my dissertation papers off of the table.”

Ah, it feels like there's a story there.

An amusing, though probably distressing at the time as it was happening, story.

“With enough cuteness anything can be forgiven,” Dazai says, shrugging and reaching for the tea with one hand. “Thanks.”

Letting out a content sigh, Chuuya slumps down on the couch next to him. “Oh, she's using that rule all the time.” For now, Dazai will be forgiven the fact he’s siding with the cat instead of with the actual host.

“Maybe try to keep your papers somewhere else, then?”

“I am. But if she doesn't get her daily dose of worshipping, she'll start going for anything she can see.”

“Then Chuuys should worship her more~”

“I can't help being busy sometimes,” the redhead grumbles into his cup, “but the princess here doesn't understand that.”

  Hmm . “Maybe she's lonely.”

“Or maybe she's a spoiled child. I was playing with her almost non–stop when she was a kitten.” Still, there’s only fondness in Chuuya’s gaze when he scratches the cat behind the ears. “But I've been thinking of getting her a friend to play with.”

As if she can sense being the object of everyone’s attention — meaning, their conversation — Baki purrs louder for the few minutes when they both pet her. 

To Dazai, and it’s a wild feeling to suddenly realise, it's so easy to smile here, with Baki as a warm weight over his lap and Chuuya's quiet voice filling the room. The tea tastes better than it has any right to and the couch is too comfortable for the cheap kind that it is. There’s nothing extraordinary about the apartment, and yet, it feels more welcoming than his own.

The walk here helped them both to sober up, not that Dazai needed it. Since he started taking his meds, he has had to cut down on alcohol — so his doctor told him — but he’s always been a heavyweight, and that much hasn’t changed. A drink or two won’t kill him, there shouldn't even be any side effects, but it does risk counteracting everything the meds are doing for him.

It was a real struggle at first, when Dazai was in a very dark place.

He thought the meds weren’t working, that there was nothing that could possibly help him. That he was beyond saving, and that he deserved it — until, somehow, he went two weeks without drinking any alcohol at all, and suddenly, it got better.

Not good, it was too soon for that at the time.

Just… better.

One, or even half a step forward, is still progress worth celebrating.

But now, sitting like this, his and Chuuya’s knees and arms brushing, it makes Dazai sluggish and thinking back to everything from the last few hours. He’s comfortable but also growing hot despite not meaning to.

A weird combination that Dazai finds himself not minding in the slightest.

The tea is long gone but their idle conversations about Baki's past tantrums don't stop. At some point, Chuuya has shifted in his seat to bring one leg to the couch and rest his head on the backrest. When Baki eventually decides she's had enough and jumps off of him, Dazai also finds a more comfortable position. He slides a bit lower and leans more into the couch, his head tilted back against the cushion and turned to the side to look at Chuuya.

Even since earlier, Dazai can't stop looking at him.

He can't stop wanting to look at Chuuya, even if it's sometimes met with teases and alluring traps that have the brunet stumble over his thoughts. He blames his meds for it.

Chuuya’s voice is so silky, it eases the edges of Dazai's concerns and makes it all too easy to relax. To open up about the things that maybe shouldn't be said between people who, even if not strangers, aren't exactly close yet.

About his last relationship and how disastrously it went down.

But also about the small, happy things, like finding a small shop that sells the best canned crab Dazai has ever had in his entire life.

But most of all—

“You know—but again, no pressure here.” Chuuya's eyes are half–lidded, a lazy smile blooming on his lips as his head rests sideways on his arm. “I really want to kiss you right now.”

—most of all, it's hard to deny how tempting every word falling from the redhead's lips is.

Dazai hasn't felt like this in years, probably since he started taking the pills his doctor prescribed to him. Because he hasn't gone out much, yes, but also because… 

When he did, it never felt like this. He was either too numb from the alcohol or the split up, or too involuntarily indifferent towards anyone trying to flirt with him. Sometimes he wanted to go along with it — but his mind wouldn't be in it, and his body wouldn't care.

Yet, Chuuya does things to him.

There may be no fire in Dazai's gut and his skin may not itch for another person’s touch, but his cheeks are warm and slightly aching from smiling so much. His chest feels lighter and his heartbeat is faster than usual.

There's a spark of interest somewhere in the back of his head.

Curiosity, as well as… something else.

“Maybe you should,” Dazai drawls back, absent–mindedly brushing Chuuya's leg with his finger, and that seems to be all the encouragement the redhead needs.

His hand is warm on Dazai's cheek, making his skin tingle lightly, and his lips are soft. There's a taste of tea left behind on them, the wine aftertaste from before gone completely. 

Chuuya's lips are gentle, the kiss delicate — at first.

It's never pushing too much too fast, it stays slow and easy to pull away from, but the kiss does grow deeper. The almost lazy brush of lips on lips melts into nibbling, then into weak sucks, and then there's a tongue lightly licking Dazai's bottom lip. Cosy flame muffling his senses, filling his chest with a fizzy feeling of shy content.

It feels nice.

But also dangerous.

It feels like the relief Dazai hasn't felt in so long, but also like a possibility of disappointment.

“Chuuya,” Dazai whispers, eyes half–lidded as he watches the redhead pull back barely enough to speak. His breathing is heavier than before. “I…”

“Do you want to stop?”

No.

Maybe only slightly—

But not really. 

Dazai swallows. “It's not…” His head is a mess and his heart is pacing, and the fact his pride is battling his common sense, isn’t helping. “It's not that.”

Chuuya's thumb brushes his cheek slowly as the redhead looks up at him. He doesn't seem alarmed or annoyed, or even confused by Dazai's words. There's understanding in his features, so quietly comforting that Dazai can't look away even if he tried to.

“Do you want to try?” the redhead asks after a while of thinking it over, and his half–joking smirk is back to ease the tension away. “To see if I can live up to my words?”

I'm good with my mouth, you know?

He did say that and he is getting Dazai's hopes up.

But it's nothing more than that: hope. 

Not a guarantee.

And while Dazai doesn't mind it for himself — he's gotten used to certain things not working the same way they used to, he's already way past being bothered by disappointment — to risk it with Chuuya is… not an easy decision. Whatever happens, the redhead won't blame him for anything not working out, and that’s even worse.

It's never easy to show your insecurities in front of someone else, no matter how much trust there may be between you two.

“...I do,” Dazai admits quietly, squeezing Chuuya's other hand. “But I'm also, you know…”

Not sure if I can even keep it up.

“Yeah,” Chuuya huffs, light–hearted, “I know.” He plants another peck on the burnet's lips, soothing the worries before they can escape his lips. “And I won't do it if you want to stop.” His hand slides lower, from Dazai's cheek to his neck, then chest and over his heart. “But I like challenges and I'm not above admitting defeat.”

Despite everything, the comment draws a small laugh from Dazai. “You used to be,” he says, fondness seeping into his voice as memories flow into his head.

“Okay, fine.” Chuuya rolls his eyes. “But I changed a bit in that regard.”

“Are you sure?”

“As much as I'll ever be.”

And that's just as much a reassurance as it is an irrelevant measure of something Chuuya likely can't tell for sure, but his stubbornly honest determination eases the other man's tight restraints a bit. It makes it easier to give in and try it, to follow the mood that makes his mind sway with a comforting rhythm.

That is, of course, until Chuuya is kneeling on the floor between Dazai's legs and his head is right next to his crotch.

Like this, the gentle rhythm becomes his heart hammering in his chest and his fingers twitching over the cushions. Chuuya is working him up slowly, first with simple caresses over the clothes and stolen glances of lustful eyes. When his breathing fans over Dazai's skin once his clothes are out of the way, it sends a shiver down the brunet's spine—

But it's only Dazai's mind that reacts, not his dick.

It would have been too easy, and Dazai’s life is anything but that.

The antidepressants are a blessing in some ways, he'll agree to that much, but right now Dazai wishes he wouldn't have to be on them. It's the weirdest feeling ever, when your mind is aroused and falling into that sweet, burning desire to be touched, but your body doesn't follow it.

It's like it's not really your body. 

Like you have no control over it.

But that's a thought for another time because, unaware of Dazai's inner struggle, Chuuya is clearly not discouraged by the lack of a reaction. 

He licks his palm before his fingers wrap around Dazai’s shaft. That saying about the blood rushing south? Well, now Dazai's blood is rushing north if nothing else, because the sight alone makes his face heat up more than it has any right to. He bites his lip but it doesn't go unnoticed, and Chuuya smirks at him, pleased with the reaction.

“Cute,” he purrs. “But I still have more to offer.”

It's been a long time since Dazai last had someone blow him so he can't say it for sure, but—

The time stretches and stretches, and it's maddening.

Chuuya doesn't mind how Dazai's cock barely twitches in his hand at first, and stays mostly soft for an awkwardly long time. He’s patient — or maybe intrigued by the challenge? Dazai can’t say for sure — as he kisses and licks down the length of it, until eventually, Dazai starts to respond and grow harder under his care. 

The brunet's cock is still only half–hard when Chuuya plants a wet kiss at the tip and takes it into his mouth, his hot tongue flattening along the shaft. The stimulation is there and it’s getting to Dazai’s mind — so why is his body refusing to succumb even now? Dazai's breathing becomes heavy, both from feeling too much and the guilt creeping up his spine. He can't stop it how, in the back of his head, he expects Chuuya to pull away quickly and give up—

But the redhead doesn't do that.

He continues to suck and lick even when Dazai's cock stays like that, not growing any harder for a long time. He continues to bob his head as he works the burnet up patiently, and every time it does earn him a reaction — a twitch, or Dazai's cock gaining a bit more hardness to it — there's a satisfied hum in the back of Chuuya's throat. Vibrations adding to the pleasure reawakening somewhere at Dazai’s core.

The brunet only suppresses the gasps and moans in the beginning, hoping to keep himself in check. But when Chuuya guides Dazai's hands to tangle in the red locks and do as he pleases… There's only so much a man can do to stop himself.

In due time, Chuuya is sucking him off in earnest while his hand plays with Dazai's balls indulgently, and the burnet's fingers scratch at his scalp, or tug at the silky strands. He tries not to push or pull too much, but sometimes, it's an unconscious choice to guide Chuuya's head to an angle that he enjoys the most.

To what feels good. 

Better. 

Great.

Even if his body takes its sweet time to respond, or if it loses interest too quickly whenever the pace slows down — Dazai can’t help but hope for the best and fear the worst at the same time. 

It's like edging but not as enjoyable. It's not Dazai trying to deny himself the pleasure, it's not Chuuya playing with him to make the experience last longer. It's frustrating.

The relief is there, hanging right outside of Dazai's reach.

Somewhere, where he can see it and feel it's teasing brush on his conscience, but not hold onto it and bring it down. And while the feeling of Chuuya's mouth around his cock is heavenly, the subconscious battle only gets worse when the redhead does manage to get Dazai into full hardness and keep him like that for a while without the erection going down as quickly as it did before.

Because his body catches up for a quick second, the sparkle burns into a flame and his blood searing in his veins. His stomach muscles are flexing and his breathing becomes ragged. Dazai can feel the release right there, the orgasm that he's growing desperate for—

Any second now, it should come.

And it doesn't.

For the longest time it doesn't.

Until misery taints the pleasure ever so slightly and he's expecting Chuuya to give up again, because he grew tired or bored of it. Until he is about to tell him to stop, defeated and feeling shame whispering its lies into his ear. 

Until Dazai starts to believe an orgasm is something impossible for him like this. That it's asking for too much. That it's either physical pleasure or mental peace that he can ever be allowed to have, never both.

The ‘it's okay’ is at the tip of his tongue. 

The ‘it's enough’ fills his eyes even though Chuuya can't see them like this. 

The ‘this won't work, let's switch’ is right there when—

The redhead must have felt the hesitation somehow, because his tongue's movements turn more intent. Faster. More on point. He sucks harder and his pace quickens. They've been at it for so long that Dazai knows it's been too long already.

As if the world only exists to prove him wrong, that’s when it happens.

Pressure erupts and all the threads inside of him snap at once, eyes widening more with genuine shock than anything else, while pleasure coats his tongue and vibrates through his voice.

The orgasm is so sudden and overwhelming in how new it feels after all this time, that Dazai is thrown into overdrive for a few seconds. Quickly enough, his body is overtaken by it, his eyes rolling back as a low groan bloom in his throat.

His hands fist in Chuuya's hair and he unconsciously pushes him down on his cock.

His body bends in half over the other man and his legs tremble.

(Feeling a sense of fulfilment fizz up in his chest, Chuuya lets Dazai do anything he pleases, proud of himself for managing to follow through on his words. His neck hurts a little from the position and his legs are numb from kneeling for so long, but he doesn't care.

He did it. 

It took him fucking forever but he did it.

He made Dazai come, even if there's barely any cum coming out, and Chuuya doesn't remember the last time he felt this pleased with himself.

Is it perhaps an overexaggerated reaction on his part? Maybe.

But fuck it. )

Coming down from his high, after savouring it for as long as he allowed himself to, Dazai's breathing is heavy and his mind struggles to catch up to what has just happened. He lets go of Chuuya when his head clears enough to realise he’s still holding him down, the ringing in his ears growing quieter when he meets the younger man’s gaze.

“So?” The redhead smirks up at him, all proud and cheeky. “Do I look disappointed?”

Dazai blinks — one, twice — then, once he catches up to what Chuuya has said, he lets out a snort and shakes his head. “You look like a brat that thinks he's taking the lead in an argument with an adult,” he says, covering his mouth with one hand as his shoulders shake.

“I'm not taking a lead, I'm right— “

“Yeah, you are.”

“—and I’m an adult!”

Sigh. “Yeah, yeah. Chuuya is right and all of that~”

When the redhead stands up and stretches his legs to get his blood flowing again, Dazai uses that time to tuck himself back in and watch Chuuya with a sluggish expression. “I can do it for you, too,” he offers. “You know…”

Blue eyes scan his face, his flustered face, most likely. Never before would Dazia have ever thought he’d find himself this desperate for an orgasm and at his ex–student’s mouth at that. What a life to lead, truly.

Then, having thought it through for a few seconds, Chuuya drops down on the couch next to Dazai. “Or you can use your hand,” he says, a perfect picture of smugness that Dazai has come to realise Chuuya embodies with every fibre of his being.

Still, the comment makes Dazai’s eyes narrow in a challenge. “You don't think I can give a good blowjob?” He very much can, being out of practice doesn’t matter, not when you’re Dazai.

“No that,” Chuuya huffs, amused. “I think I really like kissing you, and I can’t do that if you’re down there.”

Ah, well…

Okay.

That's good to know. Very good. Damn.

Dazai takes a deep breath, his mind running too quickly to one too many ideas at once, and Chuuya chuckles at his reaction. “We can tick off other boxes another time, right?” 

It’s that simple comment, a suggestion sprinkled over an invitation, that flows into Dazai's mind like a flood that cannot be stopped, settling over him like a warm blanket. A veil between Dazai and the unnerving whispers of his mind, between his hopes and the shadows of cold chains ever holding him back from trying.

‘Another time’ is all it takes for Dazai to relax beyond what he thought was allowed for him, or even possible.

It's the beginning of the end of the night, but not of them.

He gives Chuuya the best handjob he can while never stopping kissing the redhead. His lips and jaw, his neck and pulse point, and his lips again, over and over, until there isn’t anywhere visible he hasn’t kissed him.

He agrees to shower and spend the night, only briefly making fun of Chuuya's oversized night shirt and sweats that are barely fitting Dazai at all. He lies down next to the younger man, with Baki nestled between them and… 

Like that, Dazai falls asleep.

On a bed that isn't his own but that which feels more welcoming than any other.