Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

If Dazai was given a choice between completing med school and shooting himself in the head, missing the part of his brain that would actually kill him, and living the rest of his life miserably…he would choose the latter. 

The truth was that Dazai had never had much passion for anything, especially nothing involving further education. Unfortunately for him though, his father was a doctor, and so was his grandfather, so he didn’t get much of a choice. Especially since he was the eldest son, and his brother was already considered out of the picture. 

And as if his father didn’t already control just about every aspect of his life, Dazai wasn’t even allowed to pick which classes to sign up for. If he did he wouldn’t have chosen to take Pharmacology at eight in the god damn morning. If his class was a little later, he wouldn’t have slept through his alarms and missed his exam.

He begged his teacher to let him take it later that day but taking a class so early in the morning tended to have a teacher who also wanted to make you hate your life so early in the morning. So he began walking across campus, figuring out what he was going to say once his father called about his grade dropping. 

As if on cue, his phone began ringing in his pocket. He reached a bandaged arm into his coat and made eye contact with his fathers number. For a moment he considered not answering, but he knew that wouldn’t go over very well at dinner on Saturday.  

“Would you like to explain why you received an F on your exam this morning,” his father’s voice came through cold and distant, the way it always sounded. Dazai wondered how his father even knew. Did his teacher personally reach out to his family and say ‘Osamu Dazai is a huge failure and couldn’t even show up on time for his test.’

”Well, I happened to oversleep, because I was up studying until the ass crack of dawn. My apologies for missing the class you scheduled way too early despite my asking you not to,” Dazai explained matter-of-factly. While he knew his father was a scary man, he also enjoyed pushing the doctor’s buttons from time to time.

“Don’t take up that tone with me young man…” as his father drawled on about his educational well being, Dazai took notice of a redhead speed-walking past him in the courtyard. He couldn’t exactly tell whether it was a woman or man. Their hair was long and flowy but their stature was on the masculine side. 

He found himself pondering where such an androgynous figure would be rushing to at this time. To his knowledge, there weren’t any medical classes starting soon, and the medical college was on the southern-most  end of campus, so people didn’t usually “pass through” on their way to another class.

”Are you even listening to me?” His fathers voice brought him out of his thoughts, reminding him of the unfortunate situation he had found himself in. “Good god, Dazai, I went through medical school myself, I know it isn’t that difficult,” easy for him to say, he attended med school because he loved medicine — Dazai is simply here out of obligation. 

“I told you this would happen if you stuck me in a class so early,” Dazai looked off in the direction of passing student, noticing a tree which appeared to be split perfectly in half between green leaves and autumnal ones.

“And I told you that as long as I’m paying for your tuition, you would attend whatever classes I pick for you. This wouldn’t have even been a problem if you had simply passed your pharmacology class last year.” In the moment, Dazai hadn’t given two shits about getting blackout drunk with his friends the night before his final. Had he known that decision would lead to him having to wake up so early, he might have gone Straight Edge.

”How many times do I need to apologize for that?” Dazai moaned.

“Maybe until I no longer have to hear your grandmother tell me how poorly I raised my children? Do you have any clue what it’s like to deal with her?” If it weren’t for the fact that Dazai desperately wanted this phone call to be over, he would have brought up that he did know. Did his father never consider that his grandmother bugged her heir just as much as her son?

“Fine, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have failed last year, I shouldn’t have slept in this morning. I’ll make it up to you.” As much as he hated giving in, Dazai knew it was the only way to deal with his father.

“How exactly do you plan to do that?” His father bemused. Dazai didn't have an answer for his father, so instead he began walking toward the multicolored tree, taking in the shades of red and orange that appeared to have been splattered on to the leaves by Mother Nature herself.

“That’s exactly what I thought-” A knock sounded quietly on the other end of line, “one moment, I’m on the phone,” his father called. Then the attention was back on him, “look, just go make use of yourself in some way. Study, volunteer, I don’t really care, just don’t embarrass me.”

“Ok, I love y-,” the call ended in time with Dazai’s words, not that he was very surprised. He couldn’t remember the last time he heard his father say he loved any of his children. Really, Dazai couldn’t even remember what it felt like to be loved, but as the years went on it bothered him less and less until he was content in the embrace of loneliness. 

Since he rarely took part in student relationships or friendships, he picked up a few hobbies, one of which being photography. When his father heard about this he bought Dazai an expensive Nikon SLR camera, assuming it would influence his son to stay out of trouble. 

While the camera was nice — really nice — Dazai despised it. It felt like he wasn’t putting any work into the photos. Even poorly taken photos looked average with a camera like that. It also hurt that his father indulged him not because he cared about Dazai’s interests, but rather maintaing their family's reputation. 

So he started using analog cameras. The first one he bought was a $50 point and shoot from eBay. But it felt different to know that if he made a mistake, he’d be able to appreciate it. And when he learned to develop the rolls of film in the university’s dark room, he felt like he created something that no one else could have. 

When he started, the pictures were god awful. Most blurry and shadowy. It took a bit of time for him to get the feel for how to use the flash to his advantage and make the photos look best. Nonetheless, he treasured every photo he took, keeping them in an old shoebox under his bed. 

Now that he’d been taking and developing photos for three years now, he had gotten pretty good at it. He had also been told by a few people on his secret insta that he had a good eye for subjects. So when Dazai saw that tree, he knew he needed to photograph it. 

He rummaged through his bag to find his camera. Once finding it, he uncovered the lens, and pointed it to the tree. He took a few moments to fine tune the focus to his preference and pressed down on the button located comfortably beneath his pointer finger. 

Click.

He pulled the camera away from his face, bringing his thumb up to wind the film when he noticed a small notebook on the ground. 

Bending down to pick it up, his back ached and he started regretting all those nights he fell asleep hunched over his desk studying. He flipped through the pages to find numerous sketches of outfits. Some were gaudy, some casual. Whoever drew them was very talented, probably a fashion major, he thought to himself. But what would a fashion major be doing down here? The university considered fashion a fine art, so students usually slept in the dorms on the upper right of the campus. 

He really couldn’t think of a reason one of those students would be all the way down-

Then Dazai remembered how the girls talked about the med students. It must have been due to how early in the morning it was because now it seemed almost obvious why a fashion student would have gone through the trouble to come down to the medical college dorms. 

Must’ve spent the night with one of the guys. Maybe that could explain the redhead he saw passing by earlier. Now it all started making sense. Some girl from the fashion department went home with a med student, they presumably had sex, and she was rushing back to her own dorm to get ready for classes. 

He remembered her coming from the direction of the tree, perhaps she had dropped it. He flipped to the very last page where the name read C.Nakahara. He tried to think of a girl whose name started with a C but was brutally reminded of his antisocial behavior. He decided to drop it off at the fashion department's front office on his way back to his apartment. 

After his first two years in pre-med with absolutely horrific roommates, Dazai spent weeks finding someone who would get an apartment with him. When the only person who responded to his rooming poster was Edogawa Ranpo, he almost gave up on finding someone. 

The gossip surrounding Ranpo was endless. He held the best parties, and even if he wasn’t the host, he was so energetic that he was always considered the life of whatever party he attended. He was known for sneaking away with people at parties. There were plenty of rumors to suggest that Ranpo's rich family background was the only reason he remained at the school so long, but his spot as top university student in the country suggested otherwise.

So Dazai decided to meet up with the guy. Dazai tried his best to not give into rumors but he was only human. He learned rather quickly that Ranpo was just like any other college student, hell Dazai wasn’t even surprised that he was in the criminal justice department.

Two weeks later they were moving in together with ground rules laid. They actually got along rather well as roommates. Most nights that Dazai needed quiet to study, Ranpo was conveniently at a party or with his best friend Edgar Poe. 

As Dazai approached the fine arts portion of the campus, he pulled the notebook out of his bag. He walked up to the front desk, about to hand the book over, then he paused—

Now, if you were to ask Dazai why he chose to do what he was about to do, he would most likely tell you that his brain still wasn’t working yet. But the truth was a lot more…self-serving than he’d like to admit.

“Do you know where I could find a Nakahara-San?” Dazai asked the kind woman with blonde brown hair at the front desk, her name tag read Higuchi and vaguely remembered seeing her at orientation a few months back.

“Do you happen to know a first name or any other identifiers?” The woman asked kindly, opening a new tab on her computer. 

“Her first name starts with C, she’s got red hair…” Dazai tried to think of anything else he could remember about the girl from half an hour ago, “oh! She was really short, about this tall,” Dazai gestured to his chest to indicate the mystery girl’s height.

“Um, let me see what I can find,” The woman smiled at Dazai before looking at her screen and typing away. He patiently waited for her to find the student he was looking for, it’s not like he was in a rush to pay for another bus fare. “It doesn’t look like we have any students matching that description in our department. Infact, there isn’t anyone by the name of Nakahara enrolled in any of our courses.” She explained with a slightly confused look on her face, “was there a reason you were looking for them?”

”N-no not really. I just thought I knew someone here with that name,” the woman looked at him for a moment, definitely not believing him because he didn’t even know this person's full name. “Thanks for the help though,” he waved and began walking back out the door. 

After stepping back outside, he put his headphones in and began his walk back to his apartment in the slightly chilly weather. Very soon he would start to wonder just why he chose to live with a guy like Ranpo.

——————————

Dazai stood outside his apartment for thirty-seconds, just looking at the doorknob. Really, Ranpo, really. Today of all fucking days? Who even gets up this early to put a sock on the door? 

It would seem that Dazai was effectively locked out of his apartment. Technically nothing was stopping him from taking the sock off, but one of Ranpo and his rules was to always respect the sock. They even picked out a special sock for this purpose. It had mushrooms that looked suspiciously like dicks scattered across the fabric. 

If Dazai walked in now, he half expected to see Ranpo with some girl in the kitchen of all places. He’d like to think his roommate had more decency than that, but the rumors did exist for a reason. 

So he found himself walking back toward the elevator contemplating what the hell he was gonna do now. He could see if there was a pod hotel somewhere nearby, but he didn’t want to spend a ridiculous amount of money to take a nap in a claustrophobe’s personal hell.

Eventually, he lands on going to the library. If anything, he could get some studying in for the next pharmacology exam. Libraries were also quiet and free and empty this early in the morning, making them the perfect place to sleep. Plus, the librarians knew him so they were likely to leave him alone even if they found him dozed off in a corner at the back of the library. 

As the floor numbers ticked down, Dazai began thinking about the redhead from earlier. Not in the fashion department huh? It’s possible she was from another school? Maybe a hobby? Dazai wasn’t too sure exactly who this woman was, but it made him even more curious. 

Now that he thought about it, the redhead’s hair looked pretty similar to the tree he photographed earlier. Dazai wonders what it would look like to frame her in front of such a complimenting centerpiece.

Honestly, he wasn’t looking for this chick because he wanted to bang her or date her or whatever any other guy would. The truth is, he was eerily similar to a cat — his curiosity consumed him and it almost always came back to bite him in the ass. Nonetheless, he could never stop himself from trying to solve a mystery once it was presented to him. 

So he pondered and pondered all the way to the library. Still he could not figure out who this Nakahara-San was, and he hated it. Dazai knew he was smart, he knew he could solve mysteries quicker than most (he was on the track to become a diagnostician after all), but no matter what he did, he didn’t know who this girl was. Eventually, he began to give up.

Soon he was walking through the grand entrance to the Yokohama library, mingling his way past book carts and computers. Slowly making his way to a corner farthest away from the librarian’s desk. Luckily, the chairs here had comfortable cushions — he definitely didn’t know this because he had taken naps here before.

So he studied. If he couldn’t solve this mystery, he would solve cases. He would memorize vocabulary and chemical reactions over and over and over and over again- 

Ok, he hated studying, it was the bane of his existence. Why couldn’t his father have forced him into an easier major, one he could breeze through?

Because that wouldn’t look good to the rest of the family, he reminded himself.

By two pm he decided that Ranpo had to have run out of stamina. Dazai stood up, making his way to the door when his phone started ringing. 

To make a bad day worse, Dazai forgot to turn off his ringer. It was just his luck that in the five and a half hours he was here, he didn’t receive a single notification, making him forget about his phone in the first place. Even worse, Ranpo enjoyed playing a fun game of “lets wait until Dazai passes out from exhaustion and change his ringtone to something extremely embarrassing” about once a week. 

Deep Throat by Cupcake begins blasting out of Dazai’s phone

He scrambles to grab his phone as quickly as he can, gaining plenty of dirty looks from library goers. His pace has quickened as he desperately attempts to escape the library but in his hurry he drops his phone.

Finally he stumbles his way out of the front doors, ruining his previously mentioned relationship with the librarians. He went through all that trouble for a goddamn scam call of all things.

He was for sure giving Ranpo a piece of his mind once he got back to the apartment. (Or so he thought)

——————————

When he got home, he found Ranpo on the couch watching tv with Poe. “You really have no shame. Just gonna hang out with him after you were doing god knows what with god knows who all morning, keeping me locked out of the house for 5 ½ hours?”

The two exchanged a quick look that Dazai couldn’t decipher, but he was too tired to pay much mind to it anyway. “Yeah, I am. Poe’s fine with it. He’s not as innocent as you think,” Ranpo winked at Dazai as the other raven haired boy looked away blushing. 

It was just like Ranpo to tease his friends like that, he seemed to enjoy the way they tried to escape the situation, unable to. Bit sadistic, Dazai thought for a moment before Ranpo started talking again.

”You could’ve come home an hour ago if you wanted to,” Ranpo said matter-of-factly. 

So not only was Ranpo hanging out with Poe after kicking some poor girl out, he must’ve kicked her out not thirty minutes ago. “That still would’ve left me without a place to go for four and a half hours.”

“You knew what you were getting into when we became roommates, it’s not my fault you weren’t prepared for the consequences.” 

“I didn’t think people actually woke up at nine in the morning and shagged until past noon!” Dazai shot back, but when he looked at Ranpo, the boy had turned his eyes to his phone, completing his daily mind exercises. 

Dazai thought about going to his bed and just sleeping for the rest of the day but he figured he should probably eat something before retreating to his room. After rummaging through the cabinets for a while, he settled on soba noodles. 

As he made the soup and boiled water for the buckwheat noodles, he overheard Ranpo and Poe whispering to each other. He tried to listen but it was hard over the sound of the TV. In the end he was only able to catch bits and pieces of the conversation.

”I thought…what if…caught…so what…embarrassing,” Dazai decided that whatever they were talking about wasn’t worth the effort it took to eavesdrop and made his way to his room. 

Walking through the door he needed to decide where he was going to eat. He looked over to his bed on the right, dark purple duvet strewn across the mattress, still left discarded from when he rushed out of bed this morning. He could sit on the end, using his nightstand as a sort of table but he figured it would be easier to sit somewhere else.

His eyes then darted to the bean bag chair in the back corner of the room, flat from years of use. He considered trying to eat the noodles from there but was brutally reminded of his back pain and figured he would need more support than the thing could provide him.

Finally, he settled on his desk. Carefully he picked up his pages of notes, tapping them down on the desk to straighten them and placing them in one of the drawers. 

He thought he should let himself watch some anime as a reward for not totally sending his father over the edge. Scrolling through the options on Crunchyroll, he settled on an action based shonen. It wasn’t one he particularly cared for, but one that was entertaining regardless.

After finishing his noodles, Dazai made his way to his bed. He thought he would sleep the rest of the day away, exhaustion still clinging to him, but for some reason he felt so awake once his head hit the pillow. He’d close his eyes and he would replay his shit show of a day. He’d open his eyes and he could barely keep them open. It was like his body was fighting with his mind about whether or not to let him rest.

This cycle repeated for multiple hours until Dazai started to actually drift off into unconsciousness. He pulled his duvet close to his face, nuzzling in its warmth and felt that specific sense of relief right as he was about to fall aslee-

Ringggg…ringggg

”Oh my god, what could you possibly want?” Dazai practically whined into the phone, he was just about to fall asleep. The mind numbing rest was so close it was almost tangible. 

“I don’t remember ever teaching you to speak to me that way, Osamu,” shit. 

“Oh, father! I’m sorry, I thought it was a scam caller.”

"Has your life truly reached the point where you don’t even check your caller ID anymore?” His father’s voice was mocking and it pissed Dazai off even more. He wanted to point out that it was eleven at night and that most students would be sleeping right now, but his father didn’t give him a chance to speak. “I need you to go get your brother.”

"Father, it’s so late and I have another early class tomorrow, does it have to be me?”

"Were you raised to question your superiors when given an order?” Did his father truly not have an ounce of sympathy for Dazai? No, Dazai thought, why would he even bother. ”Either way, you owe me remember. Do you know what it took to get that professor of yours to suddenly remember that you were sick and had been previously excused from that test?”

Again Dazai wasn’t given a chance to speak before his father was ordering him around, “He’s at some strip club and I would much prefer if he were back home where I can keep my eye on him.”

Finally Dazai was given the opportunity to respond, “A strip club, what the fuck is Akutagawa doing at a strip club? He’s not even attracted to wom-“

"I’ve sent you the address. Please go retrieve him promptly. Your uncles are in town and it would be a terrible mess if they were to see him there.” With that, his father hung up and left Dazai sitting up in bed, confused, and toeing the line between consciousness and sleep. 

I guess I don’t have much of a choice.

The only upside to being so tired that you pass out in your day clothes is that you can leave the house on a dime. All he had to do was grab the comb on his bedside table, run it through his hair a few times and he was mostly presentable.  

Once he felt the cold wind biting at his cheeks, Dazai pulled out his phone to retrieve the address. It was some bar on the outskirts of Yokohama, why his father was even worried about Akutagawa being spotted, he wasn’t sure.

The walk was chilly, leaving Dazai’s hands slightly numb. As he was approaching the front of the bar, he shoved his hands into the pockets of his long coat and felt that small notebook still there. 

After everything else that had happened that day, he had forgotten he even found it in the first place. Little did he know that in a few seconds he would be forgetting about that book once again due to the sight in front of him. 

The noise around Dazai began to quiet and the sound of heels entered the still atmosphere. He pulled his head up from the ground to find a woman- no, a man wearing gaudy makeup walking out onto the stage. 

The stage was a semicircal at the opposite end of the bar from Dazai with a walkway jutting out between tables. The space in between him and the performer was filled with tables, all populated by other bar goers. To his left was a dimly lit hallway with tall doors lining the walls. To his right was the bar with two bartenders serving guests. 

In his peripheral Dazai could see a bathroom sign somewhere closer to the stage. He noticed that the walls were brick with posters adorning them. 

As his gaze drifted back to the center of the room, he saw that the…person…was taking off a black blazer to uncover a top that seemed inspired by the Victorian era. The main bodice was a corset that accentuated their slim figure, highlighting the contrast in width between their shoulder, hips, and midsection. Something in Dazai’s mind thought this person looked familiar, but there was no way he knew them. He doesn’t come around placed like these, worried of other noticing and thinking badly of him. Still, Dazai couldn’t help but notice the satisfying hourglass figure this person had achieved. 

Further, as the person took their pants off, the corset was connected to more fabric at the bottom that created a skirt — an admittedly short one. Dazai’s eyes followed down their legs, drawn in by the fishnets and matching high heels, the very piece of apparel that made him look up. 

Before he was able to finish his assessment of the person, they began spinning around the conveniently placed pole on the center stage. Dazai found himself entirely engulfed in the performance. The performer’s body moved so fluidly, slightly unsure at first but the longer the show went on, the more comfortable they appeared.

Before he was able to fully adjust to his surroundings, the performer was crawling down the run way, making direct eye contact with him. Their look was sultry and inviting, it took eveything in Dazai not to walk up to the stage right now and kiss this person so violently that the entire crowd gasped in shock.

Dazai would be lying if he said all the blood in his body remained where it was supposed to be. He wanted this person more than he had wanted something before in his life, they were captivating and beautiful, probably the most beautiful person he had seen in his life.

Their masculine nature contradicting their feminine clothing flipped a switch in his brain he never knew was there. For the duration of the performance, he simply admired.

Once the performer began to walk toward the curtain he emerged from, he noticed the color of this person’s hair: red. Suddenly, Dazai realized why this person felt familiar. It was the mystery girl, or rather mystery guy, he had been looking for all morning. With that thought, Dazai’s brain honed in on one important detail.

Mystery guy. 

This whole time, he was enthralled by a guy, turned on by a guy, and left wanting more from a guy. Additionally, the redhead on stage winked at him right before he walked off. 

He fucking winked. Even an idiot could figure out that it was a form of flirting. This guy was willingly flirting with Dazai, another man, was he not worried about what others would think. Men didn’t flirt with each other, that just wasn't how things were meant to go.

Looking around, he realized what kind of club he was in: a drag club. A sense of worry rooted itself deep in his gut. The thought of someone recognizing him here and telling others at school terrified him. What would they think of me, was replaying like a mantra in his head,

The majority of the club goers were male, half of them already paired up with another man. Dazai noticed a couple making out in the corner and fought the urge to go up to them and tell them how wrong their relationship was. 

The colorful lights and loud music didn’t help to calm him down. Why did it have to be here? Did Akutagawa know that Dazai would be sent to retrieve him? Was this all some elaborate scheme to get back at him for years of sibling harrassment? 

Now searching the room frantically, Dazai spots his brother in the front fucking row of tables. Could it really be any worse than this.

It doesn’t take him long to reach his brother and his brother boyfriend, grabbing Akutagawa by the wrist. “We’re leaving, now.” 

“Ooo, Dazai I didn’t know you enjoyed such places,” Akutagawa replied sarcastically.

”I’m not joking. You are getting your ass out of that seat now, and I’m taking you home,” Dazai pulled at Akutagawa’s wrist and the smaller boy complied, quickly grabbing his things from the table. 

Atsushi followed close behind the brother, concern painting his features. “Is there anyway you could explain why we must leave Dazai-San?” 

Dazai looked around for some place where he could talk to the boys in private. Spotting an alleyway, he walks them away from the entrance of the bar. ”Look, I know you two are ‘in love’ or whatever, but you need to control yourselves.”

”Control ourselves, we’re in a small bar on the outskirts of the city. No one is going to see us here,” Akutagawa takes a quick glance behind him, assuring that Atsushi is ok, “besides, we’re adults. We don’t need to ‘control ourselves'. Where is this even coming from?”

Through his teeth, Dazai muttered, “Father sent me to come get you.”

"Why would father send y-"

"Because he doesn’t need you screaming to the whole world that his son is a fag,” Dazai spat. He could feel disgust and anxiety surfacing as he eyes the younger boys hands clasped together. He really did want the best for his brother, but the black haired boy seem set on rebelling.

"Hey, you can’t just say th-" Atsushi starts, but Akutagawa cuts him off with a harsh squeeze to his hand.

"It’s fine. If my father wishes me home, then I will return with the utmost urgency,” Akutagawa gives Atsushi a pleading look before bringing his eyes back to Dazai, “it’’s best not to argue or make trouble, right brother?"

"Right. I just wish you would’ve had your wits about you when you made the stupid decision to come here in the first place,” Dazai looked out into the street, hoping no one had noticed them.

"I was simply trying to enjoy a night out with my boyfriend. I apologize for causing you such an inconvenience,” a bystander may mistake Akutagawa’s tone for sincerity but Dazai could hear and feel the edge to his words.

"Don’t get smart with me, the car should be here any minute now,” With that, Akutagawa stopped arguing and the three men waited on the sidewalk for their ride.

Once the car pulled up, Atsushi and Akutagawa got in the back while Dazai slipped into the passenger seat. "Vincent, we’ll need to make a quick stop at the university before heading home.” 

“Will Atsushi-kun not be accompanying Akutagawa back to the house?” Dazai wondered how their family was content with hiring such a stupid driver.

"No, he will not.” Dazai replied coldly.

The car pulled away from the curb and began its trip toward the university. Dazai watched in his side mirror as the building disappeared around the corner. Something told him he would be back sooner rather than later. He only wanted to ask that performer why they would pursue such a profession, that was it. 

Looking back, Dazai noticed the two boys gently kissing in the back seat. He couldn’t count how many times he had thought it was a nightmare that his brother turned out like this. Life would be so much simpler if Akutagawa were normal.

Returning his eyes to the road, Dazai pressed a finger to one of the buttons on the car's user interface, promptly rolling up the divider.

Chapter Text

The first thing Chuuya notices when his consciousness returns is the frigid air engulfing his naked limbs. He tries to cover himself in blankets, only to realize he was already under them — they just sucked. Looking out to his left, Chuuya followed the small dust particles with his eyes as they danced in the early morning light.

Actually, it seemed a little too bright outside for it to be “early morning”. Sitting up gingerly, doing his best not to disturb the sleeping body next to him, he looks around for his phone. After a few moments of aimless grasping, his hand makes purchase on a small metallic device which he turns on. Much to his dismay, the time reads 9:43 a.m. — about an hour since his electromagnetism class starts. 

 Scrambling out of the small dorm bed, Chuuya slips on his jeans and band tee from the night before. Goddamnit, I knew I should’ve pushed this back, I really can’t afford to miss this class. While buttoning his jeans, he feels a hand lazily grab onto his wrist. 

 “Don’t go…” A groggy voice moans out, running their hand up Chuuya’s arm, to which he responds by stepping to the side.

 “I told you not to be weird and clingy like last time,” Chuuya wasn’t unfirmiliar with Shirase’s more…traditional preferences. He always begged the red head to stay the night or say sweet things in bed. Unfortunately for him, Chuuya was the farthest bit interested in any kind of “traditional” relationship, and he wouldn’t be for a long long long long time. 

 “Please, I just love how warm you are next to me,”

 Was this guy delusional? Warm? It was a fucking ice box in here, no wonder the guy was desperate for a human heater. “I told you last night, I have an important class today that I am already late to. Plus I have plans tonight and I cannot afford to be worrying about classes.” Chuuya waited for the med student to fight back and keep begging, but he sighed dejectedly, rolling over and falling back asleep. 

 Moving through the hallways slowly, Chuuya managed his way to the bathroom, thank god he remembered where it was this time. He would rather not relive the time a random freshman found him wandering the student dorms in a mini skirt and crop top. They both stood there like deer in each other’s headlights until Chuuya pivoted on his heel and sprinted the other direction. 

 Shivers ran down his spine at the memory, but he focused on the mirror in front of him, trying to look presentable since he wouldn’t have time to run back to his apartment if he had any hopes of making it to class. 

 As he makes his way down the university walk-ways he only sees one other person outside, a tall brunette on the phone, the conversation appearing unpleasant. But Chuuya didn’t have much time to think about the passerby or their situation because he needed to Get. His. Ass. To. Class. 

Pushing his way through the tall mahogany doors which decorate the entrance to the university’s College of Applied Sciences, Chuuya makes it just in time to witness the exodus of classmates as class has officially ended. 

 Quietly making his way inside the classroom in hopes of talking to the professor about some extensions he was hoping to get, he notices a chart with tally marks on the side of the board. The column on the left reads ‘Chuuya Is On Time’, the middle ‘Chuuya Is Late’, and the last column on the right reads ‘Chuuya Arrives at the end of Class’. Majority of the tally marks were on the last column. Chuuya might have taken this offensively if he was not painfully aware of his reputation. 

 “Man, looks like I lost five dollars today thanks to you kid,” A female voice carries over to the student standing meekishly in the corner. Ok, it did kind of  annoy him that they put money on it, sure, he was late almost all the time and the likelihood of winning a bet on his punctuality was high, but he wasn’t a card in a game of poker.

 ”I’m so so so sorry Kōyo sensei, I had a,” He paused for a moment, searching for the appropriate word, “rough night."  

 “Looking at your attire, you’d spent it in a dorm that was not your own?” The pink haired professor raised her eyebrow st the twenty-one year old.

 ”Well technically, I live in an off-campus apartment so none of the dorms are actually my own…” Chuuya trails off, realizing he’s not helping himself here.

 He watches as Kōyo sensei moves over to the black board and begins wiping it down, erasing all evidence of the secret gambling ring that was apparently taking place in his own E&M class. “Are your parents not worried about how you're doing? Do they not call to check how things are going?” 

 “Well, they call once a week, so I make sure that every Thursday I’m at an appropriate location by 3:45pm. But actually, I really wanted to talk to y-”

 “You’re a talented student, Chuuya, I know you know that,” So you shouldn’t spend your time partying and being premiscuous bla bla bla, he really couldn’t count how many times he’d been given this lecture by his professors. “I want you to do well and achieve the things you deserve.”

 Now this was taking a slightly different turn from what he had expected. Nonetheless, she continues, “There’s an art show this weekend on campus grounds. The theme is Identity Crisis, I think it would be beneficial to you.” Kōyo steps toward Chuuya, handing him a brochure for the exhibition. 

 “I’m sure it would, and I’d love to go see it if I had time, but I’m really behind in a few classes…including this one…and I was hoping you might give me an extension on the essay that’s due this Monday?” 

 “Do you think you deserve an extension when you couldn’t even show up to class on time?”

 “I’m really sorry about that. I know I haven’t been a great student this semester but I have a lot of passion for my major and I would do any if you could just give me a few more days,” in any other situation, begging would have been way under Chuuya but he figured that if there’s ever a time to try it out, it would be now.

 “I’ll make you an offer, in exchange for those essays you’re missing, I’d like you to go to the art show. I want you to write me a five page essay on how electromegnetism can be used in a field like painting,” well that's not too bad, Chuuya thought. “And, I want you to turn in a three page paper about how the pieces made you feel and how you connected to them.” Before Chuuya could open his mouth to ask the one question invading his mind, his teacher interrupted, “Before you ask, you will not receive partial credit for turning in the first essay without the second. This is an all-or-nothing assignment Nakahara-kun.”

 As much as he wanted to protest, Chuuya didn’t have much of a choice. If he wanted to pass this class, he needed to take whatever charity his professor was giving him. “Thank you, Kōyo Sensei, I’ll make time to visit the show and do my best to turn the papers in to you on time.”

 “I’m glad to hear that,” she replied in a calm tone, “I see a lot of potential in you, I just hope you do as well.”

Concealer, foundation, eyeshadow, highliter, lipstick. Chuuya had gone through this routine countless times before. There’s an art to drag makeup, you have to know exactly how to accentuate your features while also making the makeup unique enough that you’re memorable to guests.

 He had wiped his eyeshadow off and redone it four times now. His hands wouldn’t stop shaking and his brushes were slipping from sweat. Carefully gliding the pencil brush along his brow bone, white pigment settling on his skin, he was going to get it this time.

 Good, left eye finished…now to make the other one look the exact same. Chuuya grabs a dry wash cloth to the left of him, drying the sweat off his hands. A ding comes from his phone, reminding him he has fifteen minutes to finish getting ready before he has to go on stage.

 Taking a few breaths in and out, he takes the brush to his naked eye and begins applying red pigment to his lower lid. Next was the white, which sat above the red to give some contrast to the look. Everything was going well, this was how it went that last four times he attempted this look. The first minute goes by fine, almost on cue, his hand begins shaking, and before he knows it, the lines are uneven and don’t even come close to matching the other eye.

 “Fuck,” he throws the brush toward the vanity mirror in front of him. It bounces off one of many bulbous lights that outline the mirror’s edge. Putting his head in his hands, avoiding messing up his carefully done hair, Chuuya’s thoughts begin racing.

 I shouldn’t have accepted the boss’s offer. I’m not ready for this. I shouldn’t have met up with Shirase. I deserve this. I’m gonna fail I’m gonna fail I’m gonna fail I’m gonna fail I’m gonna fa-

 “The more you think about it, the more you’re gonna freak out,” A soft hand lands on his shoulder, and his eyes look up to find Lucy in her waitress’s uniform. Her makeup looked so nice it felt like an insult. 

 “How am I not supposed to think about it,” Chuuya whines, “I’ve never been the opening act before, how can I be sure I won't fail?”

 Lucy only rolls her eyes before looking back at the distraught red head, “Because you work your ass off every shift,” she turns his head toward the mirror, squeezing his face between her palms. “You’ve put on killer performance after killer performance, the only difference tonight is that you’re going first rather than fifth or sixth.” 

 Begrudgingly, Chuuya begins wiping his failed attempt off his eyes, reaching for the primer so he can start again. “But that’s exactly the point, by the time I perform, everyone’s buzzed or totally drunk, they don't even notice my mistakes.”

 “No one notices your mistakes because no one knows how your performance is meant to go, that's what they tell us in rehearsal,” Lucy grabs the brush from Chuuya and starts working on his eyeshadow. She’s seen him practice this look a million times in the past week, she can do it herself by heart. “Not a single person in that audience is holding a play by play of your dance. As long as you stay confident and act like everything was planned, they’ll be none the wiser.”

 He wanted to complain, but he knew she was right. 

 “You’re beautiful Chuuya, whether you go first or last, the people are going to love you. And if they don’t, I'll drag them into the back alley and beat the ever loving shit out of them,” his best friend grinned ear to ear as she made the statement, he wasn’t sure if that was comforting or concerning. 

 “I love you, Lucy, thank you,” Chuuya smiles at her, he can’t remember a time since moving to Yokohama where Lucy didn’t know exactly what to do. 

Chuuya really hated orientation days. Every open house he went to in school was dreaded. It wasn’t that Chuuya was terribly unpopular or antisocial, it was just awkward as hell having to meet all your new teachers and classmates. 

 At least back in Chuuya’s home town he knew some people. But here, in this big ass city, he knew no one. Not a singular face was familiar and he didn’t even have his parents. As embarrassing as it was to admit, there were times when Chuuya wished he still had his parent’s hands to hold. 

 Sitting on a small bench in the main courtyard of XX University, the breeze was nice but the loneliness wasn’t. Everywhere he looked, there were pairs or groups of people walking together and laughing. Everyone seemed to have friends, and despite how large the city was, he couldn’t spot any loners on campus. 

 It’s probably because they chose not to come, Chuuya thought to himself. He was looking at the skyscrapers around him, he still didn’t know how to feel about the city. Sure he did well in crowds and his peers described him as a charismatic spirit, but he liked the quiet aspect of the countryside.

 It was fun to go to a party every once in a while, but he also enjoyed sitting on the hammock in his parents back yard overlooking the sea. That was his favorite spot for writing, drawing, reading — really it was his favorite spot for doing anything. But sitting in the middle of Yokohama, Chuuya couldn’t imagine a single place being as quiet or serene as that spot, his spot. 

 He liked writing poems about the scenery around him and making drawings to go with those poems, here it all looked the same everywhere he turned, the only thing that changed was the height of the buildings. Great, I can sketch a landscape that equates to an overqualified bar graph. 

 “This will be good for you sweetheart, you might really enjoy yourself in the city,” he had remembered his parents telling him. What would have been better for him would be to have never met those assholes who ruined his life. 

 “But I like my life here, with you guys,” Chuuya had pleaded, “I can take the bullying, really I can. I’m tough, I mean how many bones have I broken climbing trees and doing what not in the back yard?” He was crying at that point, but his parents weren’t going to budge.

 They didn’t want him gone any more than he wanted to go, but they could only watch their son come home with bruises and cuts so many times before they had to step in. In the end, Chuuya accepted his parents' decision and made the move to the city. In the first few days of being here, he had made the assessment that he would’ve preferred the harassment over this neon acropolis. 

 “You look like a bird just shit on your lunch,” at first Chuuya assumed the female voice was directed at someone nearby, until he remembered there wasn’t anyone nearby. 

 Standing in front of him was a girl of average height, auburn hair, aquamarine eyes. She had her hair tied into two braids on each side of her head, on some it would look childish, but she made it look fashionable. Speaking of fashion, her whole outfit was stylish. From the brown halter top and checkered cardigan down to her black ripped jeans, you could tell this girl knew her stuff.

 “Well whatever happened to hello?” Chuuya asks, still trying to figure out why she had approached him.

 “You didn’t really seem like the kind to respond to a hello. I’d peg you for an abrupt introduction kind of guy…or maybe I’m just an abrupt introduction kind of girl,” she trailed off looking up at the clouds. 

 “I wasn’t aware I came off as unapproachable,”

 “I didn’t say you were unapproachable, I said I didn’t think you’d enjoy a ‘hello’, you're too interesting for that,” she was kind, the first person in this city who had paid him any mind (bars). 

 Chuuya had been told he had a unique spark to him, but never from a stranger, or in a positive way. It was most often used as a nice way of saying that he could be “a bit much” from time to time. But looking in the girl's eyes, he could tell she meant it well. “Thanks?”

 “You’re welcome, so what’s got you so,” she waved her hand towards Chuuya as if to suggest there was something up with his…everything.

 “You could say I don’t enjoy the city so much,” The girl stepped to the side and sat down next to Chuuya, it seemed unlikely she was going to leave him alone, he didn’t really mind all that much though. This girl reminded him of a character in a book he once read. The memory lightened his mood. 

 “What? How can you not love the cloudy gloomy capital of Japan?” It made Chuuya laugh, something he hadn’t done since his parents dropped him off at his new apartment a few days ago. 

 “I guess I just don’t do well without the sun,”

“That’s surprising given how fucking pale you are.”

 “Thanks, that really raises my spirits,” he didn’t know who this girl was, but he liked her. She managed to bring her own bit of sunshine with her, if he could make friends with this girl, university might not be that bad. 

 “You’re welcome, everyone tells me I’m great at cheering others up,” she smiled at him, a twinge of concern in her eyes. “But really, what’s up?” 

 “It’s sort of complicated, but basically, I didn’t want to move here, I don’t want to go to this stupid university with a bunch of people I don’t know. And I really don’t want to have to explain that this is my real hair color to all my professors again,” Chuuya put his elbows on his legs, propping his head in his hands, observing as the cars passed by the campus.

 “Soooo, you hate the city, hate people, curse your ancestors, and instead of trying to do something about it, you’re sitting in a corner whining,” she counted each observation on her hand, holding the four fingers up it Chuuya’s face before saying, “Am I missing anything?”

He opened and closed his mouth a few times before he finally spoke, “You don’t have to be such a dick about it,” despite his hostile tone, the girl didn’t flinch or give off any indication that she was going to stop talking to him. “But, yes I guess you’re right. Except for the ancestors, I don’t curse them, I curse everyone else in Japan for having dark hair.”

 “You know, I think I like that. Who’s to say we’re the weird ones. Maybe society just forgot how humans are meant to act and we’re the only true ones left,” She looked at Chuuya and smiled this bright smile that felt like it invaded every dark spot in his mind and cleared them out. 

 “I never really considered it that way,” Chuuya extended his hand, “My name's Chuuya Nakahara, yours?”

 The girl takes his hand and shakes it enthusiastically, “The name’s Montgomery, Lucy Montgomery.” Her name sounded western, and the more Chuuya thought about it, her Japanese did have a slight twinge to it, so she likely moved here for school.

 “Do you have a phone?” Lucy asks, already rummaging in her back to presumably pull out her own. 

 “Of course I have a phone, I’m from the countryside not the 40s.” 

“I love you too, now get your ass in the wings,” Lucy was grabbing Chuuya’s shoulder and moving him toward where he would make his entrance.

 Now his heart rate was really picking up. The loud bass of the club was reverberating in his head, the smell of booze, perfume, and sweat were giving him a headache. In all the nights working as a performer at this club, Chuuya had never noticed how much was going on at once. The lights were blinding, the smells overpowering, and the music deafening. 

 By the time his feet were atop the glowing marking tape backstage, the dancer could feel his breathing accelerate and his heart was damn near beating out of his chest. Lucy, in the way that she always does, noticed that Chuuya was beginning to freak out. How many times do I gotta tell ya how hot you are until you actually start believing it? She thought.

 Grabbing his arms, moving her hands up and down in slow, languid motions, she attempted to calm him down. “Chuuya, look at me, not the curtain or the lights or even the floor. Look at me. Just breathe, I know you know how. In and out,” as she spoke, she elongated the words, never looking away from Chuuya. 

 “But what if I fail?” It came as barely a whisper, he’d hardly expected Lucy to even hear him.

 “Then you fail. You started working here because it was fun, if you let all of this pressure build inside you’ll only come to hate this place. So choose to enjoy the attention, let them see you first. Let your performance be the one that stuns them for the rest of the night.” Lucy’s hands were now holding Chuuya’s — firm and grounding, “I’ve seen you have the worst night of your life and still walk off that stage laughing. Now go out there and show off them legs.”

 Giggling, Chuuya shakes his head and the tears that were threatening to ruin his makeup. “Ok, ok, you’re right.”

 “I know I am,” with her smile, the one that took root in your heart and refused to wither, Chuuya composed himself and took his starting position. “Good, luck,” she squeezed his hand one last time, before walking back to the green room and out to the bar.

 "Hello and good evening everyone. I hope everyone is having a wonderful night. And if you aren't, you're about to be. First up tonight will be our one and only red-headed beauty, Chuuyaaaaa Nakaharaaaaa." Applause echoe throughout the room, and instead of making him more nervous, it filled him with the familiar excitement he felt before every performance.

 Chuuya waits a few second until the first notes of the piano begin. Slowly reavealing himself to the audience, he walks forward toward the pole in the middle of the stage with precison, making every step intentional.

 Slowly and sensually, he brings his slender, pale fingers up to the buttons on his blazer. Lip syncing to the foreign lyrics, he makes a show of taking the piece of clothing off, revealing the lace corset beneath hugging his hips and sides. Next he takes off his dress pants in the same manner, unveiling tight fishnets.

 Now, fully exposed in his victorian stlye outfit, he places one hand on the strip pole, spinning around it once while keeping one foot on the ground before lifting it and wrapping it around the pole.

 Now holding himself up above the stage, he flips himself upside down, using his legs wrapped around the pole in a straightened criss-cross manner to keep himself from falling. His hair hanging free below him, he blows some kisses to the audience, watching their eyes light up.

 Bringing himself back to an upright position, he executes a few more crowd-favorite moves he knew were sure to get him some nice tips. Now it was time to walk down the runway-esque protrusion of the stage.

 So far so good, he through to himself, the audience was enraptured, but most of all he was having fun. He couldn't believe he was so nervous for this, he should've known the feeling of the warm lights and sweat glistening on his back would calm him down — it had never failed to before.

 Appraching the halfway point he feels his heel catch on a divot in the floor and before he could process it, he was falling. Shit shit shit shit.

 He manages to catch himself on his hands and knees, deciding to turn this ino part of the performance. He crawls on all fours, looking out into the dark dining room. The lights were too bright to really see any of the people ocuppying the seats, but there was a particularly tall figure toward the back of the club, so he chooses to fixate his gaze on them.

 Finally reachig the edge of the stage, he sees one customer holding out cash to him, so he grabs it,— a crisp $20 bill — and stuffs it into his corset, the feeling of the stiff paper on his chest becoming somewhat grounding.

He makes his way back down the stage as the song is coming to a close, turning around to the audience to wink and blows one last kiss before disappearing behing the curtain he appeared from.

The room fills with loud applause, whistles, and woops, and other vocalizations of approvement. He was sure he had never receieved this much praise before in the entire year he'd worked here. It was like a high, better than anything he'd tried at a party and even more addicting.

"Holy shit babes, that was amazing!" Lucy was already hugging him, jumping up and down with excitement. "I don't know when you added in that fall but it was brilliant, the audience, every single one of my guests was captivated, I could hardly get their attention to refill their drinks."

"Added it in…Lucy that wasn't planned, I literally fell," he explained to her, but it was reassuring to know that the audience believed it was part of the performance.

Her eyes grew wide and concern painted across her face, "Shit, are you ok?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. But, you mean it, it looked planned?" He sounded like a childing asking their parents if they really meant it when they promised ice cream after dinner, but he didn't care.

"Hell yeah it did, it was super hot. I even heard a few customers asking if you provided private services. The dissapointment on their face when they were told no was priceless."

"Holy shit…holy shit they liked it!" Now it was really hitting him that his performance was not only good, it was exceptional. And he loved that feeling.

Chapter Text

Breakfasts were never a good omen. Dazai's family didn't do breakfast. They have dinner every Saturday, which usually consists of his father telling him and his siblings what they did wrong that week, what they can do better in the coming week, and most importantly, he always ended the lecture with "don't embarrass me."

Dazai should have seen this coming after the catastrophe that was last night. On the quiet drive home, he hoped that he would be spared, but just as he had expected, his father requested he stay the night at the family house so they could have a 'family meeting' in the morning.

As he strode into the long dining hall, he took notice of the quiet presence of his brother, already sitting on the farthest end of the dining table. The table could seat thirty people easily, but they hadn't had that many people over since she had passed away. Father said the quiet would be beneficial, but it only emphasized her absence.

Akutagawa was sitting upright, his posture exactly how he was taught to keep it. But underneath his composed figure, Dazai could see how scared his brother really was. Akutagawa's eyes were unfocused and his hand, a fork resting within it, took on a slight tremble. He and his brother were alike in that way, at least they used to be.

When Dazai was younger, his father teriffied him, if it weren't for all of Dazai's exhaustion and acquired apathy, he still would. That sense of dread that settles in your stomach and the sweat that collects on the nape of you neck — Akutagawa was experiencing all those things.

Taking a few strides forward, Dazai made his way to his seat at the table, across from his brother. They don't make eye contact, they rarely did nowadays. The butler approached him, placing a tray with white rice, tamogoyaki, miso soup, and salmon in front of him. Dazai makes a quick nod of thanks toward the employee before picking up his chopsticks.

"How did you sleep?" He asks Akutagawa calmly. It takes a few moments before the boy looks up, seemingly coming out of the haze he was in.

"Fine," the words are forced out through clenched teeth. "Do you know when father is planning to arrive?" It appeared Akutagawa didn't want to be here any more than Dazai did.

"I have no clue, I only hope it is soon so I can go home and sleep-" Dazai replies through a yawn, his voice deeping, but is cut off by Akutagawa.

"This is your home," Akutagawa snaps, "or did your running away make you forget that?" Seriously, brother? It's been three years.

"I did not run away, sweet brother, I just left, I had bigger things ahead of me." Dazai doesn't even look up as he replies, he focuses on his food, taking small, portioned bites of his rice. It seemed everytime they spoke to each other — which had grown rare — Akutagawa couldn't help himself but bring up Dazai's moving out.

In Dazai's defense, he was 18, he had every right to move out, even if he knew he was moving to much worse conditions. It would have been in his best interest to continue living at home; they only lived a few minutes from campus and the accomodations were better. You could say Dazai was curious about the world outside the four suffocating walls of his home.

"Like hell you did, if it were up to you, you'd be living on the streets trying to kill yourself with the first girl you met!" Akutagawa shouts, "if father didn't force you to go to school, you'd be dead by now…honestly, would've done all of us a favor." He looks down at the table, muttering a few more remarks more to himself than to Dazai. Dazai watches his brother pick at the food on his tray, undecided about his hunger as much as every other part of his life.

Setting his utensils down, Dazai looks up to find his brother staring daggers into him, "what do you want me to say?" He crosses his arms, accidentally disturbing the end of the bandages on his arms. A thin strip slides off his forearm, dangling, and as he begins fixing it, Akutagawa speaks up.

"I want you to admit you ran away like a coward, leaving me here to take all the hits from father." Akutagawa's eyebrows furrow, his hands moving as he speaks.

Dazai pauses for a moment, the bandage slipping from his fingers, he takes a few breaths before respondong, "I did not run away, and I did not delegate anything to you. Just because I'm not in the house doesn't mean father doesn't call me incessantly." Akutagawa's expression remains the same. "Besides, we wouldn't even be in this situation if you would just admit this whole 'gay' thing is a plea for attention." Akutagawa scoffs to himself on the other side of the table, shaking his head.

For a few minutes, the only sound filling the room was creaks and the clinking of metal coming from the chefs in the kitchen. Dazai takes the time to unwrap his bandages and redo them, but the outcome is only messier than before.

"How many times do I need to tell you, I don't choose to be like this. Why would I willingly ruin every familial relationship I've ever had? Why would I willingly ostracize myself from all but one of my peers. I didn't wake up one day and decide I was gay!" Akutagawa's defense was practiced and rehearsed, it almost sounded robotic now.

"But, you did," this argument was exhausting and overdone; Dazai tilts his head, awaiting his brother's response — not that he couldn't recite it himself.

"Why should the people I love affect how you think of me?" Akutagawa's voice was small and broken, a hint of resignation, "just because I like men doesn't mean I'm different from the brother you'd spend nights protecting when father came home angry and beligerent," his cheeks now damp, Akutagawa curled in on himself. "All the nights you'd spend in my room because I was scared of the thunder, all the rounds of Mario Cart we played, and all those times you'd let me win, I'm the same person. I didn't wake up and choose to be this way, I always have been."

"Then I guess the brother I grew up with was just a fake," Dazai had no sympathy for Akutagawa. He understood the temptations, the intrusive thoughts of other men, but unlike his brother, he knew how to suppress them. They would only ever be temptations, never actions, and thats how those thoughts are meant to be dealt with. Akutagawa had wandered down the wrong path, loosing track of the ideals he'd been taught. More than anything, Dazai hoped his brother was on the track to understanding how to handle his emotions. Until then, Dazai would isolate him until he understood.

"When did you decide I wasn't worth loving anymore, Dazai?" at best, Akutagawa's pleads were weak attempts at garnering pity and at worst, they were pathetic.

"I never stopped loving you, brother, I treat you this way because I love you. I want you to be happy and successful. But as long as you behave this way, no one will ever perceive you as normal. Other's will only ever look at you with distaste, and you deserve better than that." Dazai frowns, now having lost his appetite.

"This is bullshit, you know that?" Akutagawa's voice raised, and he stood up, the wooden chair emitting a jarring screech as it slid across the floor. "No one looks at me like that, no one cares! You and this shitty family are the only ones who think that way. And for the record, you don't define 'normal'," he used air quotes when he said the last word, now on the brink of hysterics, "you aren't god, and you never will be, you're just grasping at straws to feel that your life serves any kind of purp-"

"I think that is quite enough," the cold reverberations of their father's words carried across the hall. Mori Ogai had a voice fit for a god: it struck fear into those who knew it, and respect in those who didn't. "Dazai, I've told you to stop trying with him. And Akutagawa, I've told you to stop giving in to him."

Akutagawa turns toward their father, "how is this my fault-"

"Please, Akutagawa, it is too early, and I do not have time for this. Can we please just get on with everything." The bags and dark circles under Mori's eyes were more prominent than normal — a tell tale sign that family was in town. Knowing how these 'reunions' went, Mori spent hours with his brothers as they bragged about their success, second-handedly emphasizes Mori's failures,

"Yes, father, I agree that would be for the best," Dazai chirps in, sending a smug look toward his defeated brother. It seemed Mori had picked up on this, but did not have the energy to comment or acknowledge.

"Alright," Their father took his seat slowly at the head of the table. The first thing he did was massage him temples with his middle and ring finger, pressing smooth circles into his wrinkled skin. After a brief moment the brothers watched their father take a sip of black coffee as he decided which approach he wanted to take.

It was actually surprising to see him think about his words before he said them. Mori was an extremely calculated man, he planned every conversation out before he even knew if he would be having them. He assessed the personality and socioeconomic status of the person he would speak to, and devise 3-5 ways to broach a topic. Then, once he knew for sure his practiced speech would be needed, he picked the approach. It was rare to see him still deciding by this point.

"Akutagawa," Mori turns to the youngest son, "you know as well as anyone at this table, that our family has a reputation to uphold. Not only to the public eye, but among our relatives as well." Mori pinched the bridge of his nose before continuing, "I have been very lax with. I allow your friends over, I do not hound you for your acts of rebellion, and I do not beg you to revert to the way you were raised," a deep breath, "so why is it so hard for you to respect me and your brother?" Mori's eyes were cold as he looked into Akutagawa's.

"I didn't do anything wrong…" Akutagawa wiped the tears that escaped during his earlier argument with Dazai, "I was just spending time with the person I love. I went on a date, isn't that what normal college students are supposed to do?" He asked, but it didn't sound sarcastic at all, his tone conveyed sincere confusion.

"Except for the fact that you aren't a normal teenager," Dazai speaks up — Mori does not stop him. "If you were out with a girl, then you would be on a 'normal' date like a 'normal' college student. But you weren't." Akutagawa looked at Dazai, lips slightly parted.

"Why should it matter is he's a man or a woman, shouldn't it be enough that I love them?"

"Don't be stupid, boy, you do not posess the capacity to understand love," Mori interjected. "You are simply infatuated with this childhood friend of yours and it has gone on longer than expexted."

Akutagawa looked back and forth between his father and brother, the small amount of life in his eyes fading, "but, we've been together for years, we've had feelings even lon-"

"Akutagawa!" The already tense room stiffened. Their father's voice echoed throughout the house, likely audible on the other end of the property. Even Dazai felt his back straighten out of instinct. Their father was mad, and it was showing, which meant this anger was not born from a single incident.

Dazai was aware his father viewed Akutagawa's life choices unfavorable, but from what he had gathered, Mori wasn't too upset because he still had one 'good' son left. It seems he had miscalculated. Perhaps his father was just as good at supressing his true emotions as he was faking the one's he didn't mean.

"If you talk back to be about this matter one more time, I will ensure you never see that white-haired boy again." For most families, this was a mostly empty threat. Kids could sneak out and lie. But within their family, Mori could really make someone disappear. If he wished it, no one from Yokohama would ever hear from Atsushi Nakajima or his family again.

While Mori's weapon of choice was not violence, except when it came to his own children, he could still ensure that the party he was controling had an illusion of choice. First he'd offer them money, a lot of it. On the rare occassion that the bribe was turned down, Mori would ensure that party was brought to a point where they had to take the money. Their employers would miraculously have to issue mass lay offs, or their home would be severely damaged.

There were a few moments of silence as the threat buried itself under Akutagawa's skin. Dazai knew this silence was intentional. If his father wished to speak, he would would be speaking. Mori wanted Akutagawa to sit in that threat, ruminate in it, and let his imagination run wild with it.

"Do you understand me?"

Looking up from the wooden grain he'd been fixating on, Akutagawa made an attempt to respond. The first noise out of his mouth was a broken whimper, as if he hadn't fully regained control of his mind or body. "Yes."

"Yes, what?" Mori glared at Akutagawa.

"Yes, I understand."

"And…" Mori dragged the word out, annoyance lacing his speech.

"And I will not embarrass or jeopardized the reputation or integrity of this family again." There was no fight put up, no more protest or complaint, Akutagawa simply caved. Everyone did when it came to their father.

"Good, now leave," Mori waved his hand, dismissing Akutagawa, shifting his attention to Dazai as the sound of retreating footsteps faded into the background.

"What is it you want now?" Dazai asks, impatient.

"Well, you've got a mouth on you this morning," Mori frowned, taking another sip from his coffee. Dazai observed how Mori crossed his legs in the chair, a slight slouch making itself known. These small reminders that his father was still a human were comforting in a way, they assured him that once his father was dead, Dazai would never have to see him again.

"Well," Dazai mocks Mori's tone, "its early as shit and I want to go to sleep." He rests his head in his left hand, feigning exhaustion.

"You could've slept in," Mori stated matter of factly, as if this was obvious information.

"What do you mean 'I could've slept in'? You told me to stay the night and that we were having breakfast," Dazai sits up.

"Yes, but I didn't say you needed to eat with us, I was only letting you know that if you wanted to you could." Dazai's eye twitched as he stared at Mori, because you are always so ambiguous and forgiving of misunderstandings. "Anyways, I just wanted to let you know that your uncles say they miss you and would like to give you this," Mori slid a small envelope across the table, wiping his hands after pulling them back.

"And I needed to stay the night for this?" Dazai asks inspecting the envelope. He peers inside to find a stack of bills, it likely amounted to 7.4 million won knowing his uncles. They always did have a thing for spoiling their nephews.

"Despite what you might believe, I do love you two, and I enjoy seeing my eldest son's face from time to time." Of course you do, Dazai thought grimly.

If Mori Ogai's love directly correlated with his expectations, then he loved his kids more than any parent ever had.

A chill ran down Dazai's; there was nothing colder than Mori's expectations.

bing

bing

"Are you ever not playing with that thing, Ranpo?" Dazai asks as he spreads peanut butter across white bread. It had been a few days since the incident with his brother, and now, after coming home from classes, he could feel his hunger festering. Most of the time, Dazai just wouldn't eat, but the persistent growling of his stomach grew annoying.

It was evening, the sun had just begun setting and painting the sky in hues of orange and red. Dazai had taken a few photos of sunsets like the one in front of him, enough of them to know that eventually they all start looking the same. Despite that, he still enjoyed the colors that morphed the hues of the clouds. They set the apartment in a warm hue that made the space feel cozy. This was one of the reasons he had chosen this apartment: the way the light came in through the floor to cieling windows. The house he grew up in had few windows, and they were always covered by blackout curtains.

On weekends, when his father was working and Akutagawa was out with friends, the house felt large and empty. Whoever said darkness makes a space feel small had never lived in a place littered with bad memories. In dim light and silence, every experience you'd ever had becomes clear, almost following you around with each step. Dazai hated that feeling, he prefered to surround himself with noise and chaos so he didn't have time to think of his childhood.

"There isn't much else worth my time," Ranpo responds without looking away from his hand held game console. On the rare occasions the roomates actually vacated the same room, Ranpo was never without his games. Dazai would guess Ranpo had some severe ADHD because the boy could never stop moving. It would make sense given the constant partygoing and adrenaline chasing.

"You could be studying," Dazai offers, wiping off the butter knife and grabbing onto the container of jelly. If he lived by himself, he would just put the knife straight into the jelly after the peanut butter, but Ranpo always seemed to get upset when he did that. He'd say is was gross and would refuse to use the jelly until they bought a new one.

"Don't make me laugh, Dazai, when have I ever needed to study for anything," Dazai knew Ranpo was somewhat arrogant but for some reasom he still found it surpising when the genuius spoke so casually about his abilities. I wish I never had to study, Dazai thought to himself, watching Ranpo pump his fist up and down after completing a level in his game.

Carefully spreading the thick condiment onto his bread, Dazai tried to figure out how he was going to bring something up to Ranpo. Something that had been on his mind the whole day. He fixated on the feeling of the knife in his hand, realizing that he and his roomate have never discussed personal beliefs or views. But Dazai had never heard Ranpo say anything that would imply that they had conflicting beliefs, so he decided to go for it.

Walking around the kitchen island, holding his sandwhich wrapped in a paper towel, Dazai made his way to the couch where Ranpo was laying. "Hey," he began, as he expected Ranpo provided no response, "did you know there's a drag club on the outskirts of the city.

Ranpo looks up for a moment, confusion dusting his features, "we live in the second most populated city in Japan, I'd be a little concerned if there wasn't one."

Dazai considered Ranpo's answer, he wasn't wrong, but it was still a little odd to Dazai that that kind of place is just seen as part of the city. "But doesn't that stuff…" Dazai figited with the corner of the paper towel, trying his best to ensure his words came out the way he wanted them too, "kind've bother you?"

Ranpo paused for a moment, pausing his game — or, no, it was a live game so Ranpo must've been intrigued enough to risk his public ranking. Speaking slowly, Ranpo asks, "how so?"

"Just, in general, I don't know," Dazai hadn't expected Ranpo to ask him what he meant, most people didn't really care, they just responded to him. It didn't necessarily bother him, but it caught him off guard and he didn't have the time to put his thoughts into a string of words that would make sense.

"Does it bother you?" Ranpo asks, expression now calm, his console sitting quietly beside him, buzzing intermitently. Dazai looked around the room, now feeling like he'd been put on the spot. He looks from the bookshelf to his left over to the 40" TV screen sitting parallell from Ranpo.

Now that he though about it, it felt kind of chilly in the room, makes sense, it is fall. Eventually his eyes find Ranpo's again and Dazai realizes that he's still waiting for an answer. "Well," Dazai's heart rate picks up, "yes."

"Why?" Ranpo's wastes no time in firing back his question. It's like already had the word on the tip of his tongue before Dazai even spoke. Now Dazai's palms were sweaty and he was beginning to feel irritated that Ranpo didn't just understand what he was saying.

"I mean, why wouldn't it," Ranpo only stares at Dazai with a blank expression. He waits for Ranpo to respond but no such thing comes. "It's just, not n-normal for men to dress that way."

"Who says?"

"I mean, no one in particular, that just how things work."

"How what works?"

"Jesus, Ranpo, I don't know! It's just how people function. Men are composed and professional. We don't wear makeup, and we don't pole dance," Dazai stands up, making his way back to the island when he made his sandwhich. His throat is dry and feels tight, making it difficult to breath. He decides to get some water to clear his throat and mind but he can't ignore the growing tension in the room.

The more seconds pass, the more Dazai starts to think Ranpo isn't going to respond. He hadn't expexted Ranpo to ask so many questions, let alone ask them in an interrogatory manner.

As his sock clad feet make their way down the hall on the left toward his room, Dazai notices Ranpo standing at the opposite end of the hall, watching him like a subject in an experiment.

"Hmm," is all he says.

"What?" Dazai asks, now regretting starting this conversation.

"Is it affecting you?" Dazai freezes, the cold metal doorknob in his hand begining to feel as if it's burning. His heart drops to the floor because how could Ranpo know that this one club had been bothering him for the past few days. Dazai was so good at concealing his thoughts and feelings, he never understood the concept of wearing your heart on your sleeve. But then again, this is Ranpo afterall. He was scary good at figuring out mysteries so it wasn't entirely out of the realm of possibilities that he could have figured Dazai out. "Well, does it?"

"How do you mean?" stay calm stay calm stay calm.

"That club existing, what men do there, does it affect your life in an intrusive or unavoidable way?" Entirely unavoidable and intrusive? No. But it did affect him in ways he couldn't admit.

"I- I guess it doesn't."

"Then mind your fucking business." With that, Ranpo walked away, back toward the living room. Dazai had never seen Ranpo annoyed, he realized. Ranpo exuded a chaotic nonchalance that had blocked Dazai from even considering he could really care about anything at all. To him as well as others, Ranpo didn't care about much at all, he could sleep with one girl and her best friend the next, it never bothered him. It hadn't occurred to Dazai that there was a topic that could upset Ranpo.

Feeling his soft sheets welcome him, Dazai couldn't help but think about Ranpo's question. The club's physical existence didn't affect Dazai at all. But one singular red head was threatening to ruin everything Dazai had worked for, and he wasn't sure if he'd be able to resist.

Never in his life had Dazai been 'hung up' on anyone. People were just accessories to his life, and he didn't feel much need to accessorise. So the way this one singular person had invaded his life, forcing him to acknowledge the feelings of want pooling deep in his stomach, was all new to him.

When he was in highschool, girls would fall at his feet, and receiving confessions had become a daily occurrence. For the first few months, Dazai tried to have feelings for these girls to no avail. There was nothing wrong with them; they were beautiful and kind, some of them he even enjoyed talking to. But he never wanted them the way they wanted him. Eventually he accepted that he just wasn't into the girls he went to school with. He was sure that eventually he would figure out his type, settle down with a nice woman, and give his father an heir.

None of this was a part of the plan.

bzz bzz

Looking down, he reads the notification on his phone: "@arahabaki2383 posted to their story." Swiping up on the broken glass, he opens instagram to view the new post.

There in center frame was the owner of the notebook Dazai found a few days ago. More importantly, it was the guy from the club who had been haunting Dazai's every waking moment. C. Nakahara, or better known as Chuuya, a twenty-one-year-old XX University student, who posted often about hanging out with his friends and dressing up for his performances.

The photo on his story was a one-handed selfie taken raised up to make room for another female to appear in the photo. Assuming from her outfit, she was likely a waitress at the club Chuuya perfomed at. They must be friends, Dazai thought. For a moment he wondered what it was like to be friends with Chuuya, to know him.

Did he always look so enticing? When he laughed was it a conserved giggle or was it the radient kind of laughter that lit up a room. Did he like jokes? Was he funny? What major was he in? Did he study a lot like Dazai or not need to like Ranpo? What does he sound like early in the morning? What kind of pajamas does he wear to bed, if any? And if none, what did he look like, thin limbs sprawled naked and bare across the sheets? If Dazai were to reach out and touch him in such a vulnerable state, would he flinch or give in to Dazai's large hands?

Dazai's pants were tightening, and his breath was quickening. Would his skin be pliable or firm, Dazai wondered as he reached down to palm at his erection, searching for relief. Would he prefer to be praised or degraded? The peanut butter and jelly sandwhich lies untouched on the bedside table, Dazai having forgotten it entirely.

Lost in thought, he reaches down to unzip his jeans, what would he sound like when I ruined him? Carefully removing his cock from his boxers, beads of precum gathered at the tip, Dazai, for the first time in his life, fantasized about someone he knew.

Of course in the past he had masturbated, but it was always to porn or while imagaining having sex with some non-existent person. What Dazai was slowly realizing was that when he thought of a real person as he touched himself, every sensation and movement of his hand felt electified.

Waves of pleasure coursed through his body, engulfing his thoughts, and clouding his mind. Would he let me take his clothes off one by one, revealing every inch of him like a present wrapped only for me? His hand moves up and down along his desperate length, chasing after the overwhelming feeling of pleasure that was sure to come.

He lets out a quiet whimper as he quickens the pace of his wrist, using his thumb to stimulate his tip with every stroke. He imagines yanking Chuuya's long hair as leverage when he fucked him into the sheets.

"I could be however you want me to be," A quiet voice echoes, breath tickling Dazai's ear. He refuses to open his eyes, he knows this is a figment of his imagination, but the idea of Chuuya being so willing for him, so submissive-

"Fuck," Dazai let out a muffle groan, visualizing Chuuya's small hands wrapped around his dick. He's probably experienced, his back arches as the sensations begin to overwhelm his body. His breaths are ragged and uneven as Dazai struggles to remain silent.

Approaching his orgasm, he reaches for his phone, failing to find it a few times before his hands settle on the slim metal rectangle. Hands shaking, he opens Chuuya story once again to admire those features. He wore a a chain top which was less of a shirt and more so jewlery for his body. A metal collar wrapped around his neck accompanied by matching cuffs around his biceps. Additional loose chain dangled down atop his bare chest, pink nipples on display.

Chuuya had defined muscles, which pushed Dazai even closer to the edge. He would cover every inch of that skin with hickeys and bite marks, claiming the smaller boy as his.

"How would you touch me?" That voice whispers again, enticing him further.

"Ah, fuck Chuuya, I-I would ravage you w-with all I have," Dazai struggled to form a response, "I'd tease you until y-you beg me to fuck you," he gasps. "T-then, when you're totally spent, I'd — oh fuck —," Imagery of completely dominating Chuuya invaded his mind, overpowering his senses.

Toes curl and limbs writhe gently as his orgasm washes over his body. One hand clutching the sheets beside him, the other working himself through his climax, Dazai murmurs out two syllables over and over again, but he would never admit to anyone what those two syllables were.

"Chuuya, I really think it would be a good idea for you to just head home," Lucy urges, helping the drunk boy in her arms remain standing.

"I'm fine, I swear, it's not the first time I've ever been drunk," Chuuya replies.

"Then at least drink some water," Lucy says as she walks him to the bar, helping him sit down and asking the bar tender for a drink. She looks over him, concerned, trying to piece together why Chuuya had drank so much, let alone on the clock.

"It it means, you'll get off my ass, I'll drink a whole gallon," Chuuya slurs, eyes unfocused and scanning back and forth. It wasn't uncommon for the performers to drink; it helped ease the nerves, which in turn helped the performers put on better shows. Had he had a few too many drinks for someone who's working? Maybe. Was anyone other than Lucy going to say anything? Most likely not, so what was the problem.

"I'll get off your ass once you tell me what happened that made you drink so much. To be honest, I don't know if I've seen you drink outside of parties," Lucy says, a clink on the bar alerting them to Chuuya's drink being delivered. She watches him grab it, slowly bringing it up to his lips and taking a sip.

"I already told you, Shirase and I got into a fight," He grumbled, wiping his mouth.

"And I told you that's a bullshit reason, you and Shirase have fights all the time. Usually you two give each other a day of silent treatment before you have sex and make up — which, for the record, I do not approve of."

Chuuya rolls his eyes, holding the glass up to his lips once more, "He was just being clingy, as usual, and I had enough. He acts like we're in a relationship, and it pisses me off. I've told the guy a hundred times that I don't want anything serious and he never listens," He waves his arms around, water spilling over the rim of the cup. "So I told him I was done. He can find some other bitch to screw around with, I have better things to be doing."

Lucy looks at the bartender, Tachihara, defeated. She mouths 'help me' in his direction, but he only laughs and mouths back 'good luck'.

"Look, I'm not trying to pry here, I'm just worr-"

"Nakahara-san, theres a gentleman requesting private service from you," Lucy looks at the bouncer who had approached the two, puzzled, "I'm aware you do not offer them, but he has been very persistent."

Looking back to Chuuya, Lucy can see the mischevious glint in his eyes, this dumbass is gonna say yes. He looks over to her, smirking; she shakes her head in response, silently pleading him to use his better judgement.

"You know what, I think it's about time I give it a try," he looks to the bouncer, "take me to him."

Unable to stop him, she watches him retreat toward the cooridor of private rooms. Please be safe, is all she can think as her drunk friend is taken to a private room with a man neither of them knew.

Chuuya sways side to side as the bouncer leads him to the guest who had requested him, "is he good looking?"

"I am not at liberty to judge a guests appearence," Chuuya frowns, "but I would describe him as being on the attractive side," The bouncer looked back and smiled at Chuuya who grins back. "Now please wait here for a moment while I explain the rules to the guest."

Chuuya watches as the bouncer dissapears behind the curtain of the second room on the left side of the cooridor. Chuuya had never been down this way long enough to really get a good look at the decoration. The lights were darker, a reddish purple painting the walls and floor. The ambience is amazing, he giggled to himself. While looking down, observing the swirly patterns on the carpet, the bouncer reemerges.

"Are you ready," he asks.

"Yes," Chuuya is bouncing with excitement, the alcohol lifting his spirits and dulling his anxieties. He nods curtly and pulls the velvet curtain to the side, making room for Chuuya to walk through.

Inside the room is a lot smaller than Chuuya had expected. A couch, a chair, and a small table sit in the centre, on the farthest one, a dark figure. Looking around there are neon lights lining the ceiling, a small remote on the table to control the colors. Behind him, the curtain shuts and he can hear footsteps retreating. For a moment, he felt nervous, turning toward the curtain, he realizes to a much fuller extent, that he didn't know what the fuck he was supposed to do.

"H-hello," a voice says from the couch behind him. Chuuya turns back around to find a boy his age, younger than he was expecting. The boy was tall, messy hair framing his face.

"Hi," Chuuya drawls, making slow strides toward the guest, trailing his fingers along their collar once he reached them. They blushed at the contact, giving Chuuya a confidence boost. Raising his face closer to theirs, Chuuya moves his lips mere centimeter away from the matching pair in front of him, "and what would your name be?"

"Dazai?" The person says, unsure and nervous. Chuuya swirls his fingers in Dazai's hair, watching him shiver.

"Are you unsure?" Chuuya teases.

"N-no, sorry," Dazai rambles, "I'm Osamu Dazai, lovely to meet you."

Chapter Text

Chuuya's cheek burns, a red hand print forming on the tender skin. Shirase stands stoney-eyed across from him, massaging his hand. Sounds of wind and insects float through the cracked window, the breeze cooling Chuuya's face as the shock sets it.

"Holy shit," he mutters to himself, looking down at the floor. The dorm carpets were always so disgusting, just another reason why he never wanted to live here. The fabric was a dull shade of brown, which mirrored that of puke or shit, stains scattered every few inches. How many people have argued in this exact room, he thought. Could any of these stains be blood?He didn't know.

"Don't act like you didn't have it coming," Shirases hisses, staring straight at Chuuya who was still processing the harsh contact. Chuuya had never been hit before, at least not like this. His parents spanked him when he was young, that wasn't uncommon in the town he grew up in. But this violence, the kind born from anger and a desire to control, he had never experienced.

There was a couple in his village that would recieve weekly calls about domestic disputes. Everyone talked about them behind closed door. Whispers travelled like bullet trains in the country side — the tight knit community and lack of excitement was a breeding ground for rumors.

The wife came to the grocery store every week with a new bruise on her body. Why he hit her, Chuuya couldn't understand, and until this moment, he never fully did. It was about power, he thought, it's always been about power.

"Did you seriously just put your hands on me?" Chuuya asks, looking up at Shirase, his face disgruntled and scrunched. Looking at him in this light, he was the ugliest person Chuuya had ever met.

"If it makes you stop slutting yourself out, I'll do it again," Shirase threatens, his hand balling into a fist. For a moment Chuuya feels scared, he never imagined he'd be in this position. He grew up well-loved and care for. He thought he was always the one in control. It had never occurred to him that someone would try to harm him to gain the upper hand.

"Are you fucking serious right now? We aren't even dating, you have no right!" Shirase's face twists with anger.

"I have plenty of right! How many times did you call me in the middle of the night to fuck you?" Chuuya wondered if the students in adjacent dorms could hear the argument — they probably could. Late at night, lying in Shirase's cold dorm, he would listen to the conversations on the other sides of the walls. Most of it useless gossip some academic anxieties, it all put him to sleep just the same.

"What does that have to do with anything?" Even if Chuuya had called Shirase at ungodly hours, he always picked up and came running. Shirase gave him every reason to believe he was always available, never once had he told Chuuya he was busy despite Chuuya telling him it was ok if he was.

"I had classes! I needed to study, but all you cared about was getting railed in your matress," Shirase fumed. Chuuya's expression was one of shock, his jaw dropping lower with each word that flowed out of Shirase's mouth.

"You cannot be serious right now!" Chuuya finds a sort of stupid comedy in the argument, but Shirase shows no hint of laughter, "you could've said no. How many times did I tell you it was ok if you said no? I have other people I can call, I was never your responsibility!"

"I don't want you fucking other people!" This was possibly the stupidest fight Chuuya had ever had. While he was still pissed this bastard put his hands on him — and his face no less — he was more astonished by the audacity than the violence.

"That's too damn bad! You knew this wasn't exclusive, I made that very clear from the beginning," Chuuya gestered between him and Shirase as he spoke, enunciating his refusal to call what they had a relationship. He watched the cogs turn in Shirase's heads, the next word out of his mouth almost from a textbook.

"Oh, so it's my fault?"

Running his hands down his face in exhaustion, likely smearing any left over eye liner from the night before, Chuuya tries to collect his thoughts. He knew guys were like this, he knew Shirase was like this, but it never failed to piss him off.

"Yes! We aren't in a relationship, you don't own me, and you sure as hell aren't going to hit me," Chuuya walks past Shirase to grab his bag and leave.

The look on Shirase's face shifts from one of annoyance to fear. It was highly unlikely he had ever experienced being told no, that was common of a lot of rich people from the city. Chuuya would never really understand how city folk raised their kids, but he could always tell when they were raised spoiled.

"This is done, you were always too clingy and now I know it's because you have some sort of primal need to control me. If you want my advice, go to therapy so that you don't scare off the next guy you mess around with. Chuuya walks out the door, making eye contact with a few eavesdroppers in the hallway. At least if they were listening they were getting a good show, he thought.

"Wait, Chuuya please, I'm sorry, it won't happen again," Shirase was on his knees begging Chuuya to stay, how pathetic. "Just please…please don't do this," Shirase looked up at him with forced guilt and desperation in his eyes, like a puppy trying to get out of trouble. Chuuya paused before he decides to turn around and leave Shirase with some final words of parting.

"You wanna know something I learned from my parents when I was young?" Chuuya asks, bending down at his knees to bring himself to eye level with Shirase. It felt odd to be the one bending to someone else's height, but it felt astounding. Shirase looked at him with expectant, hopeful eyes while violently nodding his head. "People like you don't deserve a second chance, go fuck yourself."

Chuuya wished that in that moment he had a camera to take a picture of Shirase's expression. 'Shocked' couldn't begin to describe it — he looked like he'd been denied his favorite toy for the first time, unaware that was even a possibility.

There were a few stragglers still watching in the hallways, they whispered among themselves before dispersing and leaving the silver haired boy alone in the hallway. Left begging like a dog.

Who the fuck did Shirase think he was? Chuuya was still struggling to wrap his head around everything that just happened. A small voice in his head was whispering that maybe he did deserve it, but he knew that wasn't true. He never lied to any of the people he slept with, he was as honest as he knew how to be.

People like Shirase deserved to rot in loneliness — nothing would ever fill the void inside them, so they search for love, and when they can't find, they try to force it.

Despite knowing this, he still felt like shit, holding back tears and instead focusing on the sound of his feet hitting pavement. He wanted to call his mom, he wasn't sure what he would tell her or what he even wanted her to say. His face hurt, it was likely going to have a mark, but more than that, something deeper inside Chuuya was in pain, and he needed someone to tell him everything was ok.

He wasn't upset about ending things with Shirase, the guy was a piece of shit before he put his hands on him as well as a total pain in the ass. He didn't care about all those people who heard and saw what happened. So why was his chest aching, his heart in his throat?

"-lovely to meet you," Dazai squeaks, hands hovering over Chuuya's hips in an adorable, inexperienced way.

"It's okay if you'd like to touch, we aren't strict around here," Chuuya coos, pressing kisses into Dazai's ear. Large hands hesitantly find a place on his hips, shakily caressing them.

"I-I've never done anything like this," Dazai says quietly, every movement of his hands unsure. It's cute, Chuuya thought, but at the same time it was a bit comforting. It would be pretty hard to fuck up if neither of them had any experience.

Chuuya places a hand on the man in front of him's chest, pressing lightly, encouraging him in the direction of the large love seat toward the back of the room. Dazai's calfs make first contact with the soft fabric and hard frame, falling clumsily as Chuuya climbs onto his lap. The chains adorning his body jostled and made soft swishing noises.

Dazai's breath is ragged, beads of sweat collecting on his hairline. His pupils are blown, looking at Chuuya as if he were the only person in the world. Trailing the tip of his nose up Dazai's neck, his lips ghoasting the bandaged skin, he makes his way to Dazai's mouth.

"Is this okay?" Chuuya asks, the slightest amount of contact between their lips making the breath hitch in Dazai's throat. He gulps, shuddering under Chuuya.

Dazai seems to search for words, but they do not come to him. Instead, he nods his head, leaning forward to catch Chuuya's mouth in a fervent kiss.

At first, it was clumsy, Chuuya was surprised by how uncoordinated Dazai seemed. Sure, he was nervous, even said it was his first time in this place, but he was good looking, it seemed a bit bizarre to imagine he'd never been with anyone before.

Eventually they found a rythm, Chuuya holding tight to Dazai's face and neck, hands slipping into the dark curls which were messy when he stepped into the establishment and bound to be entirely disheveled once he left. Dazai's hands remained at Chuuya's waist, but his strong grip pulled the smaller boy closer with each kiss, even after there was no more room between the two.

Chuuya licks Dazai's lips, waiting for permittance, but is met with a tongue invading his own mouth before he could make any advances himself. Dazai explores his mouth like kid in a candy store. His wet tongue mapping every inch of Chuuya's mouth.

Chuuya had been with better kissers, more deliberate and concise with their movements, but the desperation coming from Dazai made up for his faults. There was an edge to the encounter when all movements were based on instincts and need.

The mood in the room had shifted ever so slightly, yet it felt like a full tilt to Chuuya. He expected to be taking the lead given how apprehensive Dazai had been at first, but now he was being devoured as if the other man were starved.

Dazai moves away from Chuuya's lips, sucking on his neck, threatening to leave marks. "Hey, touch all you want but don't leave a trace-" Chuuya is cut off by an abrupt squeeze to his ass. He considered the consequences of hickeys weighed against how good this felt and decided he didn't buy high-quality concealer for no reason.

Sharp pain came from Chuuya's neck periodically whenever Dazai would sink his teeth into his neck, but it felt undeniably good — electric. Lifting his chin higher to expose more of his neck, Chuuya left out a soft, breathy moan.

The body beneath him stilled for a moment before continuing work on his collarbone. Chuuya gripped Dazai's broad shoulders, hands clenching each time Dazai licked across the fresh hickeys, as if laying a layer of varnish over a new painting.

"Fuck," Chuuya whimpers, and in response feels hands moving up toward his chest. He's expecting Dazai tease him, play with his nipples, but that is not what happens. While he's still reveling in their makeout with alcohol heightening the sensations, Chuuya is being shoved away, hitting the ground hard.

He looks up to find Dazai wide-eyed and panting. He's not looking at Chuuya, he's not really looking anywhere. His mind is somewhere else, as if he didn't know where he was.

"What the fuck," Chuuya snaps, carefully hauling himself back up, his back throbbing from where it hit the ground. He begins marching toward the curtain to call for a bouncer when he hears a small cry.

He turns around to see Dazai curled in on himself, tears gently flowing down his cheeks. Shit, this isn't what I signed up for.

"I'm sorry," Dazai whispers, sniffles filling the room. He didn't sound sarcastic or snarky, he just sounded broken. "I'm sorry," he repeats, holding himself, trying to calm down.

Chuuya walks back over, arousal being replaced by pity. He kneels down so that he can look Dazai in the eye, "l-look, don't cry ok, I'm not mad."

"You're not?" Dazai's eyes light up with relief before they go back to staring off into space. Chuuya reaches out to comfort him, but decides against it, pulling his hand back.

"I was just a bit…surprised," he says calmly, beckoning the distraught male to look at him. The only thing Dazai says is another 'I'm sorry'. Now Chuuya is slightly drunk, entirely lost, and without a clue of what to do. "Alright, give me one moment, I'll be right back, don't leave," Chuuya says, carefulling retreating toward the curtain.

He makes his way back to the bar to order a drink for Dazai, ensuring the curtain closes fully behind him. His first thought was to have Dazai kicked out, but it seemed like the shove was an honest mistake and…something else.

Now that he was approaching Tachihara, whose eyes widened when he noticed the reddish-purple bruises covering his skin, he realized he had no clue what to get the guy. Chuuya preferred to go for the finer types of alcohol — aged wines and such — but maybe this guy enjoyed fruity mixed drinks.

"Don't say anything," Chuuya interjected as Tachihara's eyes wandered up and down his neck. The bartender nods solemnly before looking up to meet his eyes.

"What can I do you for?" He asks, hands on the bar to support him as he leans in toward Chuuya.

"Um, fuck I don't know, something for someone who's in a bad mood," Chuuya says, looking back toward the private rooms to make sure Dazai hadn't stumbled out and run away. In his state, half the men here would be more than eager to 'comfort' him in a hotel room across the street.

"Any other descriptors?" Tachihara fished, but Chuuya just glared at him impatiently. "Alright, a gin and tonic, coming up."

While the drink was being made, Chuuya was trying to think of how he was supposed to deal with the hysterical boy back behind the curtain washed in dark mood lighting. He knew he was unfirmiliar with the whole private scene, but surely this wasn't normal. Was 'private services' just free therapy? Did he approach this totally wrong?

"So, how did it go- jesus Chuuya, your neck," Lucy interrupted his pondering, her hands tilting his face toward the cieling while she performed her examination. For once she looked more confused than concerned,

"It's a long story, but I'm fine," a soft clink comes from the counter as Tachihara serves the mixed drink to Chuuya, a lime slice on the rim.

"I hadn't assumed you were hurt but, god this is alot. Like a lot a lot."

"I'd love to chat more, but I've gotta head back," he sing-songs, retreating from the bar. His friends watch as he speed walks back to the dark hallway, gingerly slipping behind a curtain without spilling the drink.

Approaching the dark figure, which seemed to have calmed down a little, Chuuya offers the drink. Dazai grabs it, taking a few sips before pulling himself out of the hunched-over position he had presumed. Chuuya was now sitting on a chair diagonal from the couch where Dazai was slowly regaining composure, small shivers making waves through his body from time to time.

"Sooo, are you alri-"

"Can we just talk?" Dazai says abruptly, looking up at Chuuya with a pathetic attempt at a calm gaze. He didn't know what to make of it all, but Chuuya figured it couldn't hurt, maybe he'd get a good tip.

"If that's what you'd like, would you prefer if I stayed over here?" Chuuya replies, watching Dazai observe the distance and relaxes somewhat.

"Yes, please," Dazai says, not looking at Chuuya.

"Well, what is it you want to talk about?"

"You go to XX University, don't you," Dazai takes a sip from his drink, "can we talk about that?"

Dazai was properly freaking out at the moment. He came here to give Chuuya the notebook, but that somehow turned into having the performer on his lap, the two of them kissing messily. When he saw what he had done to the boys pale skin, he wanted to throw up.

If people were to find out what he had done here, they would never look at him the same. He'd surely be shunned by his family, disowned and removed from every will. It was a mistake coming here.

The walls were closing in, the floor spinning no matter where Dazai tried to focus. Tears were brimming in his eyes, vision blurring. He vaguley remembered Chuuya leaving and telling him to wait. Dazai's first instinct was to run, but his legs were weak when he tried to stand, and he was even more paranoied about being spotted than when he'd arrived.

He had never kissed anyone before so he had no point of reference, but kissing Chuuya felt good, really good. It was terrifying how Dazai's mind went quiet for the first time, only focusing on the skin under his fingers. Chuuya was grounding and warm, he made Dazai feel like he was wanted — a feeling he didn't even know he was yearning for.

As the seconds ticked by, his heart beat faster with each moment of isolation, he began to worry that he had run Chuuya away. He hoped he hadn't hurt him too bad, he wasn't trying to shove him to the ground, just enough to separate them.

He probably hates me now.

I hate me now.

Then a cold glass was being pressed into his hands, the sweat on the glass coating his callusses and pulling him from his thoughts. Chuuya was in front of him again, he didn't leave. Dazai brings the drink to his lips, taking a small sip and then another. The liquid burned his throat, but the pain helped ease the turmoil in his thoughts.

"Are you alri-"

"Can we just talk?" He asks. He'd rather Chuuya didn't try and comfort him or treat him like porcelain that could shatter.

"If that's what you'd like, would you prefer if I stayed over here?" Part of Dazai wanted nothing more than to have Chuuya close, but at the moment he'd rather die than be touched by another human.

"Yes, please."

"What do you want to talk about?" What did he want to talk about? None of this night was thought through or planned. What do two people their age talk about? Sports, hobbies, jobs, school…school! They went to the same college, they could talk about classes.

"You go to XX University, don't you?" the effects of the drink in his hand, presumably gin, were easing his nerves, "can we talk about that?"

"Of course, I do go there. Are you in school or are you already working," Chuuya asks, leaning back in his chair.

"Well, we go to the same school, actually I think I found something of yours a few days ago," Chuuya raised his eyes in curiosity, leaning toward Dazai, hesitating, and then leaning back. Reaching into his bag, Dazai pulls out the notebook full of sketches and hands it over.

"Oh my gosh, I've been looking everywhere for this, where did you find it?" Chuuya's eyes were lit up with excitement, his energy overflowing and filling the room. I wish he'd never stop looking at me like that, Dazai thought.

"I picked it up by the medical dorms, I think we might have crossed paths," Chuuya flipped through the pages, sighing of relief knowing that his precious sketches had been returned to him.

"Oh," Chuuya grimaced, a touchy subject it seemed, "thank you." The two sat in awkward silence, neither of them knowing what to say. Dazai picked at the skin on his thumbs, searching for another topic, but this was the only thing he really knew about Chuuya. He might've seen that he had friends, but that wasn't something Dazai could relate to him about. The closest thing to a friend he has is his roomate who he shared about five words with every week.

"So, um, what major are you in?" Dazai asks, his heart still racing in his chest, but the tingling in his hands is beginning to fade, his breath evening out.

"Astrophysics," Chuuya says with a smile. Dazai's eyes widened slightly, of all majors, he never would have guessed such an advanced degree. Chuuya seemed to pick up on his shock, because his smile morphed into a grin and a small giggle escaped his mouth.

"What? Were you expecting I was a performing arts major," Chuuya teases, resting his chin in his hand, leaning forward.

"I'd assumed you were a fashion major, f-from your drawings," Dazai exlpains, wiping the sweat from his hands on his pant leg. He hoped his hands weren't that damp when he was touching Chuuya, but he knew they probably were.

"Oh," Chuuya's eyes lit up, "I do all this," he gestures at the journel, rapidly flipping through the pages in a performative manner, "for fun, it's just a hobby I picked up when I moved here, do you have any hobbies?"

Dazai was glad he didn't need to keep the converation afloat while his thoughts still raced. He was normally charasmatic, entrancing people in his elegant words and silent manipulation. But now, all conversation skills had gone out the window.

"I like to take photos." Dazai looks away from Chuuya, fearing judgement or disappointment, but none came.

"How long have you been doing that?"

"I started a few years back, just for fun, I used to give some of my photos to my siblings-" A screeching noise comes from the back corner of the room, a bouncer standing in the entryway, motioning for Dazai to leave. Chuuya gives Dazai a soft smile before getting up and walking over toward the suited man. The two exchanged whispers, Chuuya caresses the man's shoulder, and then he just..walks away.

"Is everything alright?"

"Oh yes, it's fine, he was just making sure everything was alright," Chuuya looks off, thinking for a moment, "about your siblings, how many do you have?"

"Two, a brother and sister, both younger. My brother is closer in age, but we don't get along very well." A wave of shame washed over Dazai, he had spent the last few years tormenting Akutagawa for his sexuality, and here he was sitting in a drag bar, the saliva of other another man still cold on his lips.

"Well, I hear that's how sibling relationships go," Chuuya grabs Dazai's drink off the table, taking a small sip and putting in back, "I'm an only child, so I wouldn't know."

"I'm jealous," Dazai's eyes follow the glass, tracking the spot where Chuuya's mouth had left a faint stain behind.

"Don't be, it gets lonely, I would've killed for a sibling growing up." Dazai laughs, he couldn't grasp someone wanting a sibling.

They continued talking for another forty or so minutes, Dazai's heart rate calming down to its normal pace, and a smile making its way onto his face. He had never been able to talk so freely to another person. When speaking with his family, he needed to maintain the image of a perfect heir, never faltering or showing any sign of emotion. When speaking to peers, he couldn't let his mask of perfection slip, couldn't let them see past the walls he had spent his life building.

He told Chuuya things he had never told anyone about, which was unlike him. Years of training had taught him to never tell others about his problems. No matter what he said, Chuuya never judged or laughed at him though. He listened, nodded, and asked questions as to give all his attention to Dazai. It was intoxicating to be treated like a priority.

For that hour, he felt like someone had wanted to listen to him. Cared for what he had to say and was eager to learn more. He found himself thinking that he could get used to having a friend like this.

He wondered if it would be possible to be just friends with Chuuya. He hated himself for it, but still he still had urges to explore every inch of the red head. Would he be able to ignore them?

"Well, I need to get back to the bar and, unfortunately do my job," Chuuya laughs and gestures for Dazai to follow him toward the exit, the chains on his chest jingling against each other. Right before they step out, Chuuya steps in front of Dazai, blocking his path. "But, you're welcome back whenever you'd like," he smirks, pressing a kiss to Dazai's cheek.

Dazai stands in shock, eyes tracking the figure retreating down the hallway. Dazai's cheeks grow warm, and a smile creeps onto his face.

He makes his way outside the club, deciding to smoke a cigarette on his walk back to the apartment.

Making his way toward the front door of his apartment, Dazai pays careful attention to his steps so he doesn't wake anyone up. He slips the copper key into the doorknob, unlocking it with a click.

The cool air of his apartment greets him, the sound of his roomate typing up an essay quietly floating down the hallyway.

Dazai closes the door behind him with care, turning around to look out the window toward the city skyline. He spent a while just watching the flicker of streetlights and apartments. The past few hours hadn't felt real and he wasn't sure if he wanted them to be.

On one hand, he had met someone who freed him from the shackles of his childhood pretenses. On the other hand, being around that person put his entire future in jeopardy. He lets out a deep sigh, knowing that he would be finding himself back to that small club on the edge of town.

When Dazai enters his room, he looks around for the last place he had put his sleeping medication. It was already late and his nerves weren't going to let him sleep anytime soon. He finds them under his pillow after a few moments of searching and uses an old water bottle on his desk to swallow it.

A drop of water slid past his lips, a memory of Chuuya kissing him flashes into his mind. Now that he was back in his apartment, he couldn't stop replaying the night, observing himself from a third perspective.

When he imagined how he clung to Chuuya, hands grabbing and pulling at his hips, he wondered what his father would say if he caught word of it. He saw himself breaking down in the corner, unable to control his anxiety. His grandmother would strike him across the face for falling apart so easily.

And maybe they would be right to. What he did in that club tonight wasn't right. It was an abberation in his life, an ugly scar he wouldn't soon forget. If he were to marry in a few years would he pluck this from his mind and never worry about it again. Or would he be haunted by it for the rest of his life.

He should have known better. He should have controlled his impulses. He shouldn't have gone there. He shouldn't have entwined himself with another man behind closed doors and loud music. He was disgusting, revolting, ruined.

I need to make sure this doesn't happen again. He lifts his matress gently, using his free hand to search for the wooden box he knew would be there. Once he reached it, he slowly lowered the matress down to the frame.

Inside the box, he picked the sharpest razor he could find, having already decided which bandages to remove.

Chapter Text

Jesus, why is it so hot in these damn classrooms, Chuuya thought while his quantum physics professors dragged the lecture longer and longer. Chuuya left the house in a hurry this morning, so he didn't have a hair tie on him. His neck was coated in sweat and he felt like he was just a few minutes away from passing out.

He bent over to search for some make shift hair band that could tie his hair up when he comes across the small gift bag he had recieved at work yesterday.

"Damn Chuuya, that's the sixth one this week," Lucy said after he exited the stage.

He'd been so busy last night that he didn't get the chance to look inside to see what it was. He had been receiving gifts every single shift this week, and even his friends were picking up on it. The past few gifts had been jewlery or makeup supplies. As he pulled the tissue paper out as quietly as he could, he noticed a metallic shine inside the bag. Grabbing the object carefully, he pulled out a dainty hair stick.

It had a long silver stem with pale blue flowers on the end. Hanging down from the flowers were two chains that held small spherical crystals. It was pretty and most of all it was a life saver in this moment.

Trying his best to remember how to use a hair stick, he wrapped his long hair around the stem, turning in clockwise to grab more hair from his scalp. He meticulously weaves the stick through his bun and it actually stayed.

Thank you, mom, for forcing me to wear these with my yukata at festivals, Chuuya thought, remembering how he once said hair sticks were too girly for him.

Now with his hair off his neck, he could feel a slight breeze on his skin. Class was coming to close but Chuuya needed to study in the library before going home and getting ready for work.

His study methods were chaotic, papers strewn everywhere, a thousands tabs open on his laptop, and a disorganization only he could sort through. Lucy had made fun of him countless times about it, said he studied like a mad scientist, which, to a degree, was a proper evaluation of himself.

He had studied like this since high school and while it was messy it worked. He was the top student in his class when he graduated, often being picked on by friends for caring so much about school.

The first time he studied in the university's library he had been yelled at for taking up the space of five people. They told him if he insisted on throwing his papers around everywhere, he should move to less popular area of the library. So, now he's claimed a small corner in DVD section. No one ever came back here, no one used DVDs anymore, but there was a conveniently placed work table which provided the exact amount of space he needed.

There was no natural light back here, only the glow of incandescents which gave him headaches from time to time. Some of his friends knew of his own little spot, but they rarely visited. Half of them didn't even know how to get there.

So it was a surprise when, an hour into his astrophysics homework, a tall familiar brunette stumbled into the aisles of blue plastic cases. He didn't notice Chuuya at first, so he watched as the figure looked through different movies and documentaries.

He was looking for something in particular, but was having trouble finding it. It didn't help that everything back here was heavily coated in dust.

After five minutes, Chuuya was still undetected and Dazai was still aimlessly searching the shelves. Silently moving from his seat, Chuuya made his way over to Dazai.

"Need help finding something?" Dazai jumped like a scared cat, hands curling up to his chest. Chuuya couldn't help but double over in laughter. The sight of an almost six foot grown man startling like a girl was funnier than most comedy movies he had seen.

Dazai looked at him, bewildered for a few moments before his expression shifted into a bashful embarrassment.

"I've been watching you look up and down the shelves for the last few minutes, but you dont look any closer to finding what you're looking for."

"How- where- what," Dazai stuttered, "where did you come from?"

"Over there," Chuuya points to his work space, Dazai face scrunches up from the mess, "I know, its a disaster, don't you dare say anythin," he smiled up at Dazai.

"How long have you been here?"

"Today? About an hour. But I've had this place claimed as mine for two years now. You're the first person I've seen come back here."

"My sister likes old movies, we have most of them at home but she wanted something different."

"Well you're in the wrong spot for classics, those are three aisles down, you see where the big ol' sign says '20th Century Hits'."

Dazai looks over, mentally slapping himself in the face for missing it. "I swear I checked over ther."

"No, you didn't, but I can help you find your movie, what is it called?

Dazai looks down at a smudge of ink on his palm, "Twelve Angry Men?"

"Oh, I know where that one is, I used to watch it a lot as a kid because I wanted to be a lawyer," Chuuya walks confidently toward where he knows the film is, Dazai stumbling behind him still processing what Chuuya had said.

"W-why did you change your mind?"

"I took a physics class," Chuuya says, smiling back at Dazai, drawing out even more blush.

"So you've always known what you wanted to do?"

"I wouldn't say always, but since high school, yes. Have you not?" Chuuya asks, stopping in front of an array if films from the 1950s.

"I still don't," Dazai nervously scratches the back of his head.

"But you're third year pre-med, seems like you committed," Chuuya runs fingers over the dusty cases.

"It's just what my father wants."

"Strange…found it!" Chuuya exclaimes, pulling the film from the shelf, a small metal object falling from his hair letting the tufts tumble down, "shit."

Dazai leans down to pick it up, "you're actually wearing it."

"Sorry?" Chuuya looks up at him with those big blue eyes, confused.

"The hair stick, this one, you're actually wearing it?" Dazai had spent forever picking out which one would suit the red head best. In the week since their last encounter, it was hard for him to bring himself back to the club. He wanted to see Chuuya so bad, but he was too nervous to go back. So he sent gifts everyday, hoping they would suffice.

Chuuya's face shifts in understanding, "of course, I never let a gift go to waste," he smiles and takes the hair stick from Dazai, twirling it around in his fingers. "Though, I'm not very great at using these."

"I can help you," Dazai blurts out before he's aware his mouth has even opened. It seemed to surprise Chuuya as well, but he only smiled and handed it back to him.

"Really? How gentlemanly of you," he turns around pulling his hair back from his shoulders.

Dazai hesitates to touch Chuuya but he manages to reach out, taking the hair into his hands. It's soft, softer than he had remembered. And now that he looked at it up close, it was a lot more of a strawberry blonde than a ginger.

"Do you dye your hair?"

"No, I just use colored spray to make it pop for the club, shit sucks to get out though."

"Then why do you bother?" Dazai pushes the hair stick through the tight bun he'd created.

"Because it gets me more tips," Chuuya spins around to look back at Dazai. When their eyes meet, neither of them look away, just searching for the something lingering between them.

"Well, I've got to get this back to my sister, she's impatient, you know how teenagers are," Dazai says, stumbling over his words and staggering out of the aisle. Before he can disappear entirely he hears Chuuya call out.

"Hey Dazai," he looks back to see the small boy looking at him with a childlike grin, "stop by the club sometime would you? I meant it when I said you're welcome back."

"I'll try to find some time."

A few days earlier…

Who knew the world of accessories was so large. Dazai had scrolled through pages upon pages of hair clips, bracelets necklaces, earings — did Chuuya even have his ears pierced — to no avail. How is one meant to pick just one gift among the hundred of options.

"You could always just give her more than one gift," A smooth voices comes from his shoulder. Dazai jumps at the intruder, whipping his head around to find Yosano bending down to look at his laptop.

"Jesus christ, you scared the shit out of me," exclaims Dazai over the bustle of the cafeteria.

"Well, who are you shopping for?" She asks, ignoring Dazai's previous statement. Her eyes glance up and down the webpage of feminine gifts.

"No one," Dazai replies shortly.

"Oh, so you plan to wear all that Jewlery yourself?"

"N-no," Dazai stutters over his words, taken aback, "but, it isn't any of your business who I shop for," he dramatically places a hand over his heart is mock distress. Yosano stares at him with a look of unamusement.

"Well, you should start by determining if she wears silver or gold," She takes a seat next to Dazai at the small table, pulling out a book she's been reading.

"Does it really matter?" Dazai asks, continuing to scroll through different gems and styles.

"Yes, it really does," Yosano looks down and rubs her forehead, "I know you aren't 'popolar' with the ladies, but I'd figured you had some common sense" Dazai shrugs in response.

"Is she fair skinned or dark?" Yosano continues on, dissapointment written on her features.

"Again, does it matter?"

"Well, if she's fair skinned, gold could wash her out so its better to go with silver. Contrastly, silver often clashes with darker skintones with warmer undertones. So you can make a good guess based on those factors alone."

Dazai carefully goes to his cart to begin deleting the gold jewlery he had picked out. He tries his best to hide the screen from Yosano but fails.

"Fair skinned I see," She prunes, eyeing Dazai's full cart of items.

"Can you keep your nose out of my business?"

"I'm just trying to help here, what's her name by the way?" Yosano asks, disreagarding his complaints.

"That's none of your business, why are you even here?" Dazai asks closing his laptop half-way.

"Class got out early, thought I'd come to see my favorite roomate of my brother's," she replies, turning the page in her book.

"How lucky I am," Dazai groans, trying to slim his options down by sorting for silver jewlery.

"Get her a hair pin," she says, never looking away from her book.

"Huh?" Dazai asks confused.

"This school is ridiculously hot and a hair pin is cuter than a boring hair tie," Yosano reasons. Dazai types into his search bar quickly, a large catolog presenting itself almost immediately. There was still a plethora of options but some of the sticks were substantially nicer than the others which made it easier to make a choice.

Now Dazai had one gift secured, but he didn't feel like one gift was good enough. He wanted to shower Chuuya in gifts. Show his affection from afar so that he wouldn't get burned by the flame that lived inside the red head.

A smalll ding comes from Yosano's pocket and she deftly retrieves her phone, looking over the notification. Her expression is blank but quickly shifts to a smile when she looked back at Dazai.

"Looks like I gotta go, have fun shopping for the mystery girl," she waves as she retreats from view and turns the corner toward the exit.

So much for no one finding out.

One week and a couple million won later and Dazai had officially lost his mind. He'd sent so many gifts to Chuuya he started to lose count. They ranged from dainty chains to rings with large, expensive gemstones.

He wanted to show Chuuya that he appreciated what he did for him that night in the club, but he was too scared to go back there himself. He wasn't sure how things would go, would he be able to resist tempation or would he fall victim to his body's desires? He wasn't trying to find out.

But now Chuuya had asked him to come back with that look in his eyes, so how could Dazai say no? Perhaps he would be more prepared for the scene this time, having experienced it once before. Or thing could go terribly wrong and he could recognized, but he was trying to shove those thoughts away as he buttoned up his blazer.

He wanted to look nicer than the last time he had visited. Last time was a last minute decision with clothes thrown on hastily and shoes sliding on halfway out the door.

He looks in the mirror to assess himself, deciding to lose the tie as to not come off as too formal. He ruffles his hair slightly before leaving the bathroom.

The apartment is empty, Ranpo having left hours ago for some party. His footsteps echo against the walls and through his mind. One hand on the door knob and he thinks about turning back, never going to that club again, never sending anymore gifts, never seeing Chuuya again.

But the allure of Chuuya was stronger than the gravitational pulls Dazai learned about in high school, and he could not stop himself from opening the door.

A soft click comes from behind him when he shuts it, wiggling the handling three times to ensure it has locked. He takes a deep breath and takes the first steps out of the building.

He had considered getting a cab, but he was too worried about the possibility the driver knew him or his family in some way. The odds were unlikely, but it never hurts to be careful.

The streets become less and less populated the closer he gets to the club, and by the time he reaches the correct neighborhood, the only people he passes are those hiding away in back alleys. He thinks maybe it would have been worth it to call the cab, but if worse came to worse, he was confident he could defend himself. Plus, most of the lurkers were preoccupied with another body or substance.

The music from the club reverberated down the street, the bass of it palbable from even a block away. The lights from inside painted the opposite buildings in hues of pink, orange, and purple with the occasional strobe light thrown in the mix.

He walks through glass door, trying his best to evade his eyes from the chaos on the farther end of the room. Hurriedly, he makes his way to the bar to get the bartender's attention. He thought that this time, it would be best to get some alcohol in his system before seeing Chuuya.

An average height boy with hair darker than Chuuya's but red all the same walks up the him. Dazai makes note of his almost-but-not-quite correct posture and the stupid plaster across his nose.

"How can I help you this evening, sir?" the boy asks while shining a glass in his hands.

"A sangria, if you will," Dazai says, keeping his eye on the wandering performers, praying they wouldn't come his way.

"Coming right up, did you want to start a tab or pay the one off?"

"I'll pay it off," Dazai says as he reaches into his pocket to grab his wallet. He reaches into the cash pocket and hands the bartender a wad of bills, "keep the change."

The bartender whose golden name tage reads 'Tachihara' counts the bills swiftly before his face flushes and he thanks Dazai in a nervous but grateful manner.

It only takes a few moments for the his drink to be handed to him. Dazai takes a sip and notes the fruity flavors. He doesn't often go for fruity drinks around family because that would be 'unmasculine', but by his lonesome, he preferred them to the bitter spirits.

Once he prepared himself, he walked up to one of the large men in black and requested Chuuya privately. The man gave him an odd look, similar to the one he'd recieved before he was told Chuuya wasn't available.

"Tell him it's Dazai, he knows I'm coming." The bouncer disappears behind the stage for what feels like forever before a small redhead comes running out behind the curtain. He wore a bright smile, but something about it was off — ingenuine.

"You came!" Chuuya exclaims, grabbing Dazai's arm lightly.

"You asked me to, how could I refuse," if Chuuya could feign cheeriness, Dazai could feign confidence.

"How sweet," Chuuya smirks, "will you come everytime I call for you?" Before Dazai can respond, Chuuya giggles and pulls him towards the private rooms.

Dazai felt his skip a beat as he entered the familiar hallway. He tries his best to focus on Chuuya's hand which has now moved down to his wrist. The touch feels warm and Dazai is able to put all his attention into the skin on skin contact.

What is different though, is the room they enter. Dazai was expecting to be back in the same room he was in a week ago, but this one was much larger. A large bed sat opposite the door — a door, not even a curtain — but there was enough space for a small coffee tables and two chairs in the stretch. On the left most wall was a full mini bar complete with all kinds of drinking glasses.

"Ta-da," Chuuya says, flaunting the room to Dazai.

Dazai wants to be excited, be happy for this kind of treatment, but all he's thinking is why Chuuya would have gone out of the way to bring him to this room. The other rooms didn't have beds, they didn't have thick wooden doors, and they didnt have mini bars. Chuuya had to be expecting something tonight. Something Dazai was not prepare to give him.

Chuuya seemed to notice the discomfort on Dazai face because he immediately jumped in to explain.

"Oh shit, I didn't bring you here to sleep with me," Chuuya looks guilty, "I probably should've led with that. This room is just the suite and no one will barge in like last time." Dazai looks into Chuuya blue eyes which look brown in this light, he can practically feel the sincerity in them.

It hadn't occurred to him that someone would stick they neck out just for his comfort. What had he ever done for Chuuya to do any of this for him. Surely it was a pain in the ass to reserve the room, Dazai hadn't even requested it.

But Chuuya had done it anyway, for him.

Glancing around at all the amenities, they no longer seemed demanded anything of him. Instead they comforted him, reminding him that Chuuya cared, even if he had no reason to.

It was an old feeling for somone to treat you well, Dazai realized. In the same moment, he realized that perhaps for Chuuya, this was a bare minimum. Perharps, it should be the bare minimum for Dazai too.

In the moment, looking at Chuuya's face in the low light, his heart fluttering and his stomach doing back-flips, Dazai had the intense urge to kiss him. He might've if it weren't for Chuuya prancing over to the mini-bar to pour himself a glass of…whiskey?

"I know it's weird, but I just prefer the stuff. I would've offered you one, but you seem to already have a drink," Chuuya says, stepping toward one of the arm chairs near the coffee table.

Dazai walks around the tables, keeping his gaze on Chuuya while making his way to the bed to inspect it. He pulls his eyes away to run his hand across the velvet blanket and then up the wooden posts. It was hard to tell the color of the wood under the light, nor distinguish the grain.

Chuuya seemed to be watching him, more specifically his hands as they explored the furniture. His expression was unreadable, something Dazai hated.

"So, really, why did you come tonight?" Chuuya asks, sipping on his drink.

"I told you, because you asked me to."

"That can't be it, I figured there was no way you were coming back here after the last time," Chuua says, still eyeing Dazai but now his eyes were roaming up and down.

"That was..improper of me, I'm sorry you had to deal with that," Dazai says, looking down at his feet."

"No need to apologize, I've seen crazier shit," whether Chuuya was lying through his teeth, Dazai couldn't tell. Part of him was glad for this fact, but the other part of him was increasingly annoyed by how well put Chuuya was.

"Perhaps, you could say I was curious," Chuuya's eyes finally meet his.

"About what?" His tone is playful, like he knows the answer but wants Dazai to say it outloud.

"About you," the words are muttered, barely audible but it's as if Chuuya could read his lips none the less.

He steps closer to Dazai, who is still leaning against the bed post, smiling mischeviously. Dazai expects him to flirt or touch him, but at the last second he plops down on the bed to look up at Dazai with bright eyes.

Dazai holds eye contact for a while, a silent conversation lilting in the silence. It felt like a challenge, not from Chuuya but from Dazai's own mind. He wanted to kiss Chuuya so badly, his subconscious screaming at him to pin the red head to the bed. But he was nervous, so so nervous because this isn't who he is…is it?

Chuuya's lips glisten in the lowlight, a gloss layered atop the pink skin. Dazai placed his hand down on the blanket, leaning toward the boy beside him. Chuuya smiled even wider as he towered over him. He reached his hands up to wrap around Dazai's neck as their faces grow closer and closer.

Before their lips touch, Dazai does his best to imagine he were kissing a girl.

Three Years Ago…

There is yelling coming from Mori's office when thunder strikes loudly not too far from the house. It had been raining all day, nature's relentless tears mocking the emotions of the day.

When Dazai woke up this morning, he was expecting the same boring routine he'd aclimated to all semester. Senior year was busy and rigourous, especially when your father cares more about your grades than you do.

Dazai awoke at 6:30am everyday to the sound of his alarming assaulting his ears. It took him three minutes and twenty-seven seconds to pull himself out of bed every morning. Making his way to the bathroom in the hallway, he brushed his teeth and combed through his curls. When he arrived back in his room, he pulled out his wrinkled school uniform and slipped it on, not caring to iron it. From there he studied until 7:10 and at that time he grabbed his school bag and left.

Mori was never there to say good morning or wish him a good day at school. No one had told him they loved him as he walked out the door in probably six years. By now, he barely even registered if another person said anything to him as he left.

The walk to school was boring. His classes were boring, His friends were boring. Everything in his life was a melancholic drag on an endless loop until he would graduate, go to college, and become the heir to the family head.

Perhaps when he walked through the door of his house that evening, he felt momentarily excited. There was yelling and slamming doors. It may not have been a good sign but it deviated from the normal trajectory of his day — in the least, it would entertaining.

Before he could finish taking his shoes off in the doorway, his father was grabbing his wrist hard enough to leave bruises. Dazai was dragged to the office and shoved into the chair across from his father's desk.

Beside him was the family's assistant and, unexpectedly, his grandmother who looked a mix of angry, disgusted, and disappointed.

"Did you know?" Mori accused more than asked Dazai, his looked pointed and sharp.

"Know what?" Dazai asked, rubbing his wrists.

"Don't play dumb with me young man. Did you know about your brother?" In corner his grandmother was looking down at the floor shaking her head slightly. To his left the assistant held a large notepad with numerous scribbles he couldn't decipher.

It wasn't uncommon for his father to scream and accuse his sons of things, but it was very obscure that his grandmother be present for the scolding. His grandmother was the current head of the family since his grandfather had passed away two years prior. She ran family affairs strictly and traditionally. While she wasn't the proudest of Mori in his life endevours, he was the eldest and set for becoming the next head.

"Akutagawa? I hardly speak to him these days, I'm too busy with exams," he felt guilty as he spoke. Him and his brother were close before their father became overly strict with Dazai's education. They used to watch movies together every friday night and play board games in his room when Mori was on one of his rampages. Now all his afternoons are spent at cram schools or studying in his room, he hadn't a clue how Akutagawa had been recently.

"You better not be lying to me boy," his father rumbled pointing a finger toward Dazai.

"Perhaps he is telling the truth and one of your sons isn't a total failure," his grandmother chimed in, "some faith could be beneficial."

"How am I to have faith when I've just discovered my sone is one of them," Mori spat the last word, anger twisting his face.

"What's wrong with Aku? Is he alright, is he hurt?" Dazai asked worriedly.

"He wish he was hurt," Mori paused, pacing, before looking at Grandmother for a nod of approval.

"Your brother," Mori continued, "do you know his friend, Atsushi he met in grade school?" Mori asked, attempting to keep his expression calm.

"Of course, he's been here almost every weekend since Aku was little. What happened?" Dazai searches the room for hints of the disaster that could have occurred while he was gone. His brother was on the rebellious side — he couldn't count how many times he had brought someone over before asking or purposefully played music too loud to annoy Mori — but he obeyed when he needed to.

"Today I went to fetch your brother and I found them," Mori takes a deep breath, struggling through the second half of his sentence, "together."

Dazai was still confused. Those boys had been inseperable since the day they met. The only person Aku spent more time with than Atsushi was Dazai himself. Even if Aku had snuck Atsuhsi into the house when father told him no it wouldn't have caused this much ruccus.

"I'm sorry, I don't get it, when are they not together?" Dazai asks. Mori scowls at his before hissing an explanation.

"They were together as lovers are."

There wasn't one particular thought that crossed Dazai's mind at this information. It was a total absence of thought before a tsunami of questions. He didn't even know Aku was dating, let alone having…he didn't want to think of his baby brother like that. Worst of all though, with another man? With Atsushi no less. How long had it been like this, how long since his brother was, like that.

Dazai's mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water, but he never did find something to say. Fortunately, his shock seemed to be proof enough to Mori that Dazai was as out of the loop as anyone else was.

He wasn't asked any more questions after that, but he wasn't dismissed either. He wasn't sure how long he sat there while the adults around him talked. Though he was eighteen, an adult himself, he felt like a child, entirely unequipped to handle the implications of the situation. So he just stayed there, not listening, not ignoring, but trying to piece everything together for himself.

After so long, Dazai spoke up and his voice was rougher than he'd expected it to be, "am I excused?"

The others in the room stopped in the middle of their conversations, seemingly having forgotten him. His father dismissed his quickly, resuming his sentence without a second thought.

Dazai's feet were heavy as he moved toward his brother's room. He wishes he could say he went their to comfort his brother, or to see if he was doing alright, but he wasn't. He entered the room searching for answers.

When the door swung open, his eyes found Aku immediately. He sat in the corner of his bed, curled into himself softly crying. When he looked up at Dazai his eyes were red and his hair was a mess. Dazai hoped his hair was messy because he didn't brush it that day, but the baggy clothes that weren't his own only confirmed the suspicions lurking in the recesses of his mind.

Aku got up quickly, running towards Dazai to hug him and cry. Dazai did not hug him back.

"How long?" he croaked out.

Akutagawa looked up at his, glossy eyes confused, "what?"

"How long?" Dazai said, more anger in his voice. Akutagawa seemed to understand now, stepping back from Dazai a few paces. His eyes refilled with the tears he had wiped away.

"No," he said quietly, "no, please don't do this, Dazai."

"How long?" Akutagawa stumbled back to his bed, sitting on it and placing his head in his hands.

"Can you please just be my brother right now?" he began crying again, the stray tears dripping onto the sweatpants he wore.

"How. Long." Dazai enunciated the words, demanding an answer rather than asking for one.

"Why does it matter?" Akutagawa sobbed, sniffling and wiping away the flowing tears with his sleeve. Dazai had never seen his brother look to so foreign to him.

"Because I need to know how long he's been doing this to you!" Dazai yells back, making Akutagawa flinch before he begins sobbing again.

"He didn't do anything to me, you sound like dad." The cieling fan creaks in the silence that follows, the breeze periodically pushing the hair from Dazai's face. After a few minutes of Akutagawa's sobs being the only response to his questioning expression, he turns to leave. Before he takes his last step out of the room he hear a small sound from his brother.

"Two years." Dazai winces and slams the door behind him.