Dazai wakes to warmth, to comfort, to a head resting peacefully on his chest. It's nice. It's soft, it's pleasant. It's a gnawing reminder that nothing good in his life will ever stay put. He lays still, with his eyes shut, breathing in the darkness, breathing out all of his many, many, unforgiven sins. Chuuya doesn't want him. Like this, though… It's easy to pretend he does. So Dazai pretends. For a good thirty more minutes, he pretends Chuuya is his and that he's Chuuya's– that they're together, that they're in love, that he'll wake up every day in Chuuya's arms.
It leaves a lump in his throat and guilt sitting heavy in his stomach. He cracks his eyelids open, and it's still dark in the room. It must be early morning. Early enough, maybe, for Dazai to peel Chuuya off of him and run away. He'd gotten what he wanted, right? He'd gotten Chuuya to kiss him, to touch him, that should be enough, right? But instead of feeling fulfilled, of feeling satisfied, Dazai just feels… empty.
And dirty. Filthy, even. Suddenly, it's hard to swallow. It's hard to even breathe. He sucks in a quiet gulp of air and shifts on the mattress, squirming away from Chuuya. Chuuya groans out something intelligible and holds onto him tighter, and Dazai's eyes sting, for a moment. It's a bit shocking. It makes him huff out a silent laugh. Imagine that. Dazai Osamu in tears over unrequited love, of all things. He hadn't even cried when his parents died, when they left him, so–
That thought sobers him up quickly. He'll get over Chuuya, too. Because Chuuya will inevitably find out that Dazai is lying. He can't keep the act up forever. And when he finds out…
Dazai really, really doesn't want to think about that. He's not concerned about his own feelings, or about whether or not Chuuya will hurt him– (He won't. Dazai is sure.)– he's worried about how Chuuya will feel.
Dazai has been betrayed before. This… This is a really big betrayal. And Chuuya feels so much , all of the time. Dazai doesn't care about what might happen to himself, whether or not he'll spiral, whether or not he'll fucking die. It's Chuuya he's worried about.
Dazai wants to get close to him, desperately. He wants Chuuya to like him, to love him, to stay by his side, but it's just not possible. Because like Chuuya said, this– this can't happen again. Chuuya in his arms– it can't happen. He feels a bitter smile pulling at his lips as he stares up at the ceiling of Chuuya's dorm.
And as much as he would like to continue pretending, to stay here until the sun comes up, Dazai knows Chuuya won't take kindly to waking up in his arms. So he leaves.
He untangles himself from Chuuya's limbs gently, slowly, so as not to wake him. Chuuya makes a few sleepy, unhappy noises, but eventually rolls over, content to cling to the Cinnamoroll plushie instead.
Something aches in Dazai's chest as he watches Chuuya curl up into a ball under the covers. He wants this. He wants it, but he can't have it. Because even if Chuuya wanted it, which he doesn't, Dazai ruins everything he touches. He kills it. It curls up and rots away and dies.
So he clambers carefully over Chuuya, making sure not to kick him or disturb him in any way, finally setting his bare feet on the floor and standing up. He gets a glimpse of Chuuya's face under the light of the streetlamps outside that peeks in through the window blinds, and it leaves him nearly breathless.
Chuuya's brow is furrowed as if in concentration, but he doesn't seem to be having a bad dream. Even so, Dazai reaches out and brushes a thumb against it gently, watching as Chuuya's expression smooths out into something more serene, more peaceful. Dazai's thumb lingers at the corner of Chuuya's face, and longing threatens to drown him where he stands, filling up all his airways, his lungs, his chest, making him heavy like an actor, feet rooted to the ground.
It's only the sound of a throat clearing that snaps him out of it. Dazai startles, jerking his hand away from Chuuya's face, and turns to the source of the sound. The source being Shirase, who is sitting up in his bed and just staring at him. Terror crawls up Dazai's throat and into his mouth, tasting sharp and bloody and oh. He's bitten his tongue. That explains it.
He cracks a cocky grin, raising his eyebrows. He knows the hickeys Chuuya had given him are very, very visible in the lamp light seeping through the blinds. Shirase raises his eyebrows, too.
"I'm heading out." Dazai tells him in a low voice, quiet so Chuuya won't be disturbed. Shirase just blinks at him.
"It's still raining." He says. "Why not stay until morning?"
Dazai shrugs casually.
"Things to do then," He doesn't want to give himself away. If he says something stupid, like Chuuya will be mad at him for staying, Shirase will know how real all this is. How Dazai really feels. So he says, "It's fine. I'll just steal his umbrella."
Shirase just nods at him.
"I'm going back to sleep." He says. "Your shoes are by the door."
Dazai knows that already, but he keeps his mouth shut. He heads for the door and kneels down to put his socks and shoes on. When he's finished lacing them up, he stands, and–
and he falters. That black monstrosity is hanging there, on a coat rack, right in front of him. He'd been putting it off, not asking for it back, letting Chuuya keep it. He has no excuse now. With a trembling hand, he reaches out and takes it off the hook, staring at it as he holds it in his hands. Dazai swallows roughly, and forces himself to put it on.
It looks good on you.
He shakes his head to clear any bad thoughts as he shoves his arms through the sleeves. Then he walks back over to Chuuya's desk. He finds a sticky note and a pen, and writes a short note.
stole ur umbrella
come and get it
when u wake up
Dazai hesitates for a moment, and then scrawls a small, messy heart under the message. His own heart is pounding. It doesn't matter. Chuuya will think he's joking anyway.
His shoulders slump at that thought, and he smiles, a bit sadly. Chuuya will never take him seriously, and that's okay. Maybe he can keep getting this, keep having this, even without romance. Even if it hurts him, he'll take anything Chuuya is willing to give. He's like that, a greedy, blood-sucking parasite.
Dazai tears the sticky note off of the pad it's on and carefully sticks it onto Chuuya's forehead. A glance over at Shirase shows he's already rolled over and gone back to sleep, so Dazai allows himself a fond smile as he presses gently on the note to get it to stick. Chuuya twitches, but doesn't wake up. Good.
He'd like to stay there forever, watching Chuuya sleep. It's creepy. It's wrong. But it feels right. He wants to be the face Chuuya wakes up to. Dazai huffs a small, disbelieving laugh and gathers his clothes from the floor, folding them and tucking them under his arm. Then he grabs Chuuya's umbrella.
With one last look at Chuuya, curled up on his bed and sleeping, a yellow sticky note stuck on his forehead, Dazai turns and leaves. He shuts the door quietly behind him, and opens Chuuya's umbrella to block out the rain. He feels a bit silly, trekking through campus in a pair of Chuuya's pajamas and his coat. It's definitely some sort of walk of shame.
The rain patters softly on top of the umbrella. It's white noise to Dazai's ears, a backdrop for all his loud, constant thinking. The warm glow of the streetlamps that light up the campus gives a golden sheen to the wet pavement. It's beautiful. Or it would be, if Dazai could just get his brain to shut off for once. It had. When Chuuya kissed him, everything had stopped. It was good. It was perfect. He wants more.
He can't have it.
He climbs up the staircase to his and Fyodor's lodging, more of an apartment than a dorm, even though it's technically on campus, and ducks into the hall outside their door, snapping the umbrella closed. And because he doesn't have a key, since he hadn't known he'd be staying out so late, he picks up the door mat and grabs the hair pin he'd left there, sticking it into the lock and jiggling it until it clicks, and he can turn the doorknob to open it.
It's a bit tough to juggle all at once, with his arms full, so he sets the umbrella down, first, leaning it against the wall as he picks the lock. When the door swings open, he picks up the umbrella again and brings it inside to leave at the door. It'll get water on the floor, but it's no big deal. Dazai can clean it up later. One look in the direction of Fyodor's bed tells him all he needs to know. He's not here, which means he's probably with Nikolai.
That means Dazai can shower without waking him up. Good. He needs one. He shuts the bathroom door behind him and practically tears his clothes and bandages off. By the time he gets into the shower it's already scalding, steam clouding up the room. Dazai steps under the spray and scrubs himself raw. He's not satisfied until every inch of his skin is rubbed red, dark speckles on his thighs from burst blood vessels under his skin at the obsessive scratching.
He can hear himself breathing, loud and heavy as the water comes down on top of him. He liked it and it was fine. It was good, even. But as he always does, after being touched like that, he feels wrong. It's why he'd stopped things with Emiko to begin with. He feels wrong because it felt good, and he doesn't deserve good things, he doesn't.
Everyone leaves him, and those who haven't yet will eventually. It's just a matter of time. He's disgusting and putrid and a horrible, horrible monster, and it's no wonder that his parents couldn't stand to be around him. How terrible does a child have to be for his parents to do something like that?
Dazai's breath catches in his throat and he drops to his knees on the shower floor, his kneecaps coming down harshly against the stained tiles and sending shocks of pain up his limbs. His hair falls into his eyes, dripping and wet, leaving streams of water trailing down his face. They aren't tears, because Dazai hasn't cried in a very, very long time.
He doesn't like to think about his parents. They hadn't wanted him, so why should he care? Why should he care that they're dead when it was so clear they wished he hadn't been born? They were never around in the first place, he never got to know them, so why–?
Why does he miss them?
There should be nothing to miss. He can't even remember their faces. They were never there to nurture or care for him. But still… Maybe, Dazai thinks, he misses what they could have been. A family, the three of them, together. As it is, he's just… resentful.
He can't remember much, but he must have truly been a horrible, awful, no good child. What else could he have done to deserve that fate?
It doesn't matter now. None of that matters anymore, because Dazai isn't human and doesn't feel things. He comes to again, on the shower floor, his hands still clasped over his ears. He'd spaced out, and now the water is lukewarm and gross.
Dazai gets to his feet, wincing at the ache in his knees, and gets started washing his hair. Swaths of angry, dark red splotches cover his skin in places where he'd scratched too hard. Oh well. At least, after all of this, he'll feel better. He'll feel clean.
And he can cover up the evidence with bandages, anyway. No one will have to know that he despises himself enough to make himself ugly when he's supposed to be recovering.
He turns off the cooling water with a turn of the shower knob and steps out, water running off of his skin in rivulets. He wishes it was blood instead. Isn't that a fucked up thought? He aches for something more painful.
He's getting the floor wet. Dazai grabs a towel and scrunches his hair with it, a bit half-heartedly. He feels sluggish and not altogether there. He dries him off almost mechanically. Like a machine. Like a robot. His limbs are stiff and gangly and ugly, mottled with bruises and red marks from his scratching. It's supposed to be satisfying. It's supposed to feel good. He's supposed to be proud, because it's what he deserves.
But all Dazai feels when he looks at himself is disgust. He's a shell of a person. Chuuya might think otherwise, but Dazai knows better. Chuuya… Dazai frowns. He hopes Chuuya isn't upset that he didn't stay. He hopes he doesn't feel abandoned.
Dazai's heart pushes its way up his throat at that. Chuuya doesn't deserve to be abandoned. He deserves the best, the most in this world. Dazai, on the other hand… It doesn't matter if he deserves it or not. It's what will happen anyway, inevitably. Everyone leaves him. He stares at himself in the mirror for a long, long time.
He wishes he hadn't left. He wishes he didn't have to lie. He wishes for a lot of things. His hands tremble as he rummages through the drawers under the bathroom sink. Something, anything–
Then he remembers he has to model Chuuya's clothes still, and it stops him. Right. He can't mess his skin up even more than he already has. It won't be pretty for Chuuya to look at. He's already ugly enough as it is, with scars all up and down his arms.
He doesn't want to see Chuuya's face when he looks at what Dazai has already done to himself. He forces himself to shut the drawers and pull Chuuya's pajamas back on. They're nice and soft. He'll have to give back Chuuya's coat tomorrow, as well as the clothes. He doesn't want to.
Like some sort of human representation of greed, he wants to keep them all to himself, so he can have something left of Chuuya when… when he leaves. He can't have it. It's too much to ask for. It's perverted and wrong, and it's more than Dazai could ever deserve.
He leaves the bathroom and trudges straight to his bed. He knows he won't be able to sleep. Dazai lays there with his eyes closed until the rain clears and the sun comes up, and then forces himself to get ready to go to class. When his phone buzzes with a text from someone who could only be Chuuya, he ignores it. He doesn't have the strength to look at it right now.
Chuuya has a habit of showing up to his dorm when Dazai has done something wrong. So when he hears a knock on his door, Dazai stiffens, and then relaxes his muscles with ease, putting on one of his many, many masks, and opens the door.
Chuuya stands there, his hands curled into fists by his sides, and looks him up and down.
"Why are you ignoring me again?" He asks, sounding downright pissed.
Dazai blinks at him, a little bit shocked. It's only been a few hours, right? He'd had class and come back home, and written some more. But as he looks out the window, he sees that the sun is already beginning to dip below the buildings outside.
"I haven't been ignoring you." Dazai says. His hands fidget at his sides, so he distracts himself with a pinch to the skin of the back of one of them. Chuuya glares down at it, so Dazai quickly quits. He shouldn't have told Chuuya about it. It's a tell. "I was busy." He tries, a bit helplessly.
"Doing what?" Chuuya asks, raising an eyebrow. Dazai swallows and wrings his hands a bit.
"I had class." Chuuya still looks skeptical, so Dazai continues. "And then I was writing. I guess I just… lost track of time."
Guilt overwhelms him more than it ever has before. Dazai never feels guilty, ever. He won't let himself. He's confident and self-assured. Then he does something he hasn't done in a very long time.
"I'm sorry." It startles him. It also seems to startle Chuuya, because his eyes widen in obvious shock. Dazai stumbles over himself to move the conversation along. "You can come in, if you'd like."
Chuuya, seemingly bewildered, accepts. So Dazai steps back, allowing him in. Then he realizes something. He rushes to his desk and snaps his notebook closed before Chuuya can catch a glimpse of what's inside. Chuuya, like he always does, notices. Because Chuuya is smart, he's perceptive. How he hasn't caught on to Dazai's act, Dazai doesn't know. But he takes these moments and holds them close to his chest so that when Chuuya leaves him, he'll still have something to remember.
"What's that?" Chuuya asks him, and Dazai stiffens.
"It's nothing." He answers. "Nothing important, anyways. Just some stuff I'm writing."
Chuuya seems to hesitate for a moment. Then, "Can I see some?"
Dazai feels panic crawl up his chest and freeze him in place.
"Not right now." He chokes out. "Maybe someday."
"Okay." Chuuya acquiesces, and Dazai relaxes just a bit. "Do you like writing very much?"
Dazai averts his eyes, staring at the floor so he doesn't have to look at Chuuya's face when he answers. He can still feel Chuuya's eyes on him, though.
"Yeah." He hears himself mumble, before he can stop it. "I actually… I want to write a book, eventually."
If he's still alive by the time it's finished, of course. He doesn't plan to be.
"Do you have an idea for what it's about?" Chuuya asks, taking a seat on his bed. "Your book, I mean."
Dazai nods, still avoiding his gaze.
"A little bit, I think." Then he forces himself to grin, shakily. "It's kind of sad, though. You know. They both die in the end, that kind of sad."
"Thanks for the spoiler." Chuuya says, but there's no heat in it. Dazai's eyes snap up to look at him.
"You want to read it?" He asks, surprised. Chuuya shrugs.
"Why not?"
Dazai stares at him. He feels stunned, frozen in place.
"I don't know." He says, a bit sullen. "You always say you hate me, so…" Chuuya looks a little bit guilty, so he pushes past that. "And you haven't even seen my writing. What if it's no good?"
Chuuya blinks at him, and a conflicted look crosses his face.
"I'll read it out of courtesy, okay?" He snaps. "Don't get any ideas. I don't care about you, or anything."
Normally Dazai would be able to fight back, put on a smile, but as it is, all he can do is stare blankly at Chuuya. He can't bring himself to say anything, not even an "I know," or a "Sure, Chuuya."
He turns away and shoves his notebook under his textbooks, swallowing around the lump that's grown in his throat. He hates that his voice is hoarse when he next speaks.
"Don't bother." He says. "I don't want you to read my stuff out of pity. I probably won't even publish it, anyways."
Any urge he'd had to share his work with Chuuya is gone. He'd probably just laugh, and Dazai… Dazai doesn't think he can take that right now.
"What's wrong with you?" Chuuya demands, and Dazai glances over at him, surprised. "Normally you'd fight back, or something."
Dazai feels hollow when he says, "I thought you didn't care about me. What does it matter to you if something's wrong?"
Chuuya bristles under his gaze.
"It matters if it affects your work." He says. "You have to pass your final so I can quit tutoring you, already."
Ah, yes. That. Dazai's mouth quirks up into a half grin. It probably looks more like a grimace.
"You could always quit before then, you know." He stares at Chuuya and internally begs for him to stay. "I'm a miserable student, aren't I? I'm hard to work with, aren't you tired of it?"
Chuuya stares at him like Dazai is an insect under a microscope, like he's trying to figure him out. Dazai feels helpless. It seems he's doing a lot of that, lately. Feeling. It's bizarre. It's not right.
"I have a reputation to uphold." Chuuya says, and Dazai's smile grows, but it's not a real one. It's not the genuine smile Chuuya manages to pull out of him on occasion. It falters when Chuuya's glare doesn't lessen.
"Why are you here, Chuuya?" Dazai asks, quietly. Chuuya shifts uncomfortably on his bed.
"We need to talk." He replies. "About us. What happened last night… it can't happen again."
Dazai watches him carefully.
"You already said that." He says, and tilts his head. "What do you gain from saying it again?"
Chuuya stiffens and his glare becomes harsher. Dazai stares at him and mourns something he'd never had in the first place.
"I just think we should set some ground rules." Chuuya grits out.
"Okay," Dazai agrees, because there's nothing left to do. It's no use protesting. "What are your rules, Chuuya?"
Chuuya sticks out his pointer finger.
"Number one." He says. "No kissing."
Okay. Easy enough. Dazai can accept that. Even so, as he tells himself that, his hands form fists in the fabric of his slacks. He hopes Chuuya doesn't notice.
"Okay." He repeats, and hopes he doesn't sound as hollow as he feels. Chuuya nods.
"Number two: no sex." That's easier. Dazai smirks a little bit.
"How would that even work?" He asks. "Sex without kissing? That's no fun."
Chuuya flushes bright red. It's cute. Too bad Dazai can't have it. Too bad Chuuya doesn't want him.
"Shut up." Chuuya says. "I mean it. Our relationship is strictly professional, got it?"
"Can you really do it?" Dazai can't stop himself from asking. "Can you pretend nothing happened between us?"
Chuuya frowns, like he's thinking about it.
"We don't have to pretend." He decides. "It just can't happen again. That's all."
Dazai closes his eyes for a brief moment to collect his thoughts, to hold himself together.
"What if that's not what I want?" Chuuya looks at him, dumbfounded. "What if I don't want our relationship to be just professional?"
"Don't joke about stuff like that." Chuuya snaps. "I'm trying to have a serious conversation with you. Can't you at least pretend to care about it?"
Dazai does care. Too much. He cares too much.
"Right." He agrees, because he's not about to admit that. He'll let Chuuya think he's not serious, that he's joking, and he'll keep writing about him, leading him around in circles, letting him think it's someone else. "Sorry, I'll try to be more serious. And…" He pauses, looking down at his socked feet. "I'll try to be a better student, too."
So stick around, okay? Care about me, okay? I just want to love you. I just want to love you.
"Good." Chuuya says, and his Adam's apple bobs as he swallows. Dazai tracks the movement with tired eyes. He's good at pretending. He's done it his whole life. "That'll make this easier for both of us."
For you, maybe. Dazai smiles softly, helplessly.
"Yeah." He agrees. "For both of us."
Chuuya can think what he wants. If he notices how out of character Dazai is being, he doesn't mention it. Dazai doesn't know if he could handle it if Chuuya did.
"Right." Chuuya says. "Well, now that that's out of the way, I'll be going." He gets up from the bed and heads toward the door, picking up his umbrella as he goes.
"Your clothes." Dazai says, in a desperate attempt to get him to stay. "Give me a second to grab them."
He'd washed them, of course, and folded them, too. He grabs Chuuya's coat, too, and hands it all back to him.
"Coat swap, right?" Dazai tries to tease. It comes out half-hearted and weak. He doesn't think Chuuya notices. He just scoffs and looks away. Dazai's heart sinks lower.
"You're ridiculous." Chuuya tells him. Dazai plasters a self-assured grin on his face. "We're studying tomorrow, got it? I'll text you the details."
"Right." Dazai says. "I'll keep an eye out."
He will. He'll check his phone constantly, because he's greedy and holds every message from Chuuya close to his chest, like a child with his favorite stuffed animal.
His smile falters when Chuuya leaves without another word. Dazai shuts the door and presses his back to it, breathing out in a shaky sigh.
"Goodbye, Chuuya." His voice is hoarse. It's said to empty air. Chuuya hadn't stayed to hear it.
Dazai sits back down at his desk, and he writes.
Don't you see me?
Why don't you see me?
I'm right here, you know?
I'm right here.
I'm right here.
I'm right here.
So stay, alright?
Just for a moment longer, alright?
I like you, alright?
I like you.
He isn't satisfied when he's done, so he opens his notebook and writes there, too. He writes something he'll never let anyone read, ever. He writes his book.
Dazai feels a little bit better the next day. He slips into his clothes with limbs that don't feel so heavy, gathers his books with hands that don't quite shake as much as they just tremble. Even then, it's only slightly.
He buckles his belt and slips on his shoes. He gathers his textbooks, and after a second thought, the pad of sticky notes that his poem to Chuuya is on. Then he heads out the door, a little bit slower than usual.
Because of that, he ends up a few minutes late. Chuuya is waiting outside, scowling at him. Dazai's heart sinks a little bit in his chest. He clears his throat and smiles in a way he hopes doesn't look too weak.
"Sorry I'm late." Dazai says. He really is sorry. "Did you wait for long?"
"Long enough." Chuuya sniffs. "Let's get inside already."
Dazai bobs his head in a nod, quiet, letting Chuuya hold the door open for him. He orders the same thing as always, as well as an almond croissant for Chuuya, despite him not asking. When Dazai sets it down in front of him, Chuuya looks up, seemingly surprised.
"What's that for?"
Dazai smiles again, softer.
"An apology." He says. "I overstepped when I kissed you, so I'm sorry."
Chuuya looks stunned.
"It's fine." He replies, and clears his throat. "Let's move on. Open your textbook."
So much for not pretending it never happened. Dazai snorts to himself, and opens his textbook when he's told. When Chuuya bites into the croissant, his eyes light up and he hums. Dazai's heart melts a little bit.
"Good?" He asks. When Chuuya nods, he smiles. "I thought you might like it. It's not too sweet, is it?"
Chuuya shakes his head, and then swallows.
"You really regret it, don't you?" He asks, voice quiet. Dazai stares at him blankly, because no, he doesn't. He doesn't regret it. He wants more. He wants Chuuya to touch him like that again.
"No." Dazai says honestly, a bit desperate. "Not at all. Do you?"
Chuuya looks away, and something in Dazai's chest aches. Of course. He was a fool to believe there was any chance of Chuuya feeling something for him. He's too selfish, too greedy. He could never ask something like that of Chuuya.
"Nevermind." Dazai says, forcing a smile. "Let's get to work. I have a test soon, and I don't want to fail."
Chuuya looks at him again, carefully, like he's assessing him. Once again, Dazai feels like a bug being studied. He swallows roughly.
"You changed your mind fast, huh?" Chuuya asks. "What happened to wanting to fail?"
Dazai freezes. What is he supposed to say?
"Why do you care?" He ends up saying. "You want this to be over, right?" Chuuya nods, but his face is pinched into an expression Dazai can't figure out. "Well, so do I."
No he doesn't. He wants to stay like this forever, meeting Chuuya at this stupid cafe, studying together even though he doesn't need it. He wants to stay like this forever. He trembles a bit at the blatant lie. Chuuya doesn't seem to catch on.
"Right." He grits out, and Dazai is confused. He knows his face screws up to express it.
"I don't get it." He whispers. Chuuya stares at him. "What do you want from me, Chuuya? I can't tell anymore."
"I thought you said you were good at reading people." Chuuya scoffs.
"You're different." Dazai says. It's hard to admit. "So tell me. What do you want?"
"I want you to shut up and study." Chuuya replies, so Dazai grins at him even though his heart is splintering.
"Yeah, okay." He agrees. If Chuuya can't tell if something is wrong, it's no problem. It's good, even. It means Dazai is good at acting, that he's playing the part well. It means Chuuya won't be able to tell when his lies start unraveling at the seams.
So he holds out an olive branch, a peace offering, and asks in a steady voice that is far too forced for his liking, "Can you explain this to me again? I forgot."
Chuuya's face softens, and Dazai's chest tightens. So does his throat. It's not fair of Chuuya to look at him like that. Doesn't he know what he's doing? Hasn't Dazai made his feelings clear enough?
"Of course." Chuuya says, and Dazai swallows around the lump that has formed in his throat. Of course Chuuya doesn't know. If he does, he doesn't care. He doesn't like Dazai like that, anyway. But Dazai wants to keep him close. Close to his chest, to his heart.
So he lets Chuuya point out things he already knows, nodding with a serious look on his face. The low timbre of Chuuya's voice while he talks is nice. It's soothing. He gives a shaky smile and closes his eyes. He wants to savor this, before he has to let Chuuya go. When Chuuya isn't looking, Dazai sticks the note in his textbook.
Chuuya starts coming over more. It's only to study, even though Dazai desperately wants it to be more than that. Things come to a head one day when Dazai is purposefully being obtuse.
"You're doing it wrong again." Chuuya tells him, and Dazai grins.
"So show me how." He teases. "Teach me, Chuuya."
Chuuya's eyes darken.
"Would you shut up?" He snaps. "I don't have time for this. Stop trying to provoke me."
That brings a frown to Dazai's face.
"Sorry." Dazai says. "I'm just… I'm just trying to act normal."
"Yeah, well…" Chuuya grumbles. "I didn't actually mean anything by it. It's fine."
"Chuuya likes me," Dazai sings, clicking his pen several times in a row, and Chuuya glares at him.
"I do not!" He protests.
Dazai just hums, allowing a small smile to cross his face. He watches Chuuya's eyes soften, like he's realized it's genuine. It leaves Dazai breathless and wanting. He wants more than he's allowed.
"Hey, Dazai," Chuuya starts, and Dazai tenses up. Chuuya catches it and frowns at him, so he forces himself to relax. "What's up with you? You've been apologizing too much lately, and… and you're being nice. Is something wrong?"
Is something wrong? Dazai stares at him blankly. Everything is wrong. Nothing is alright. It never is.
"Why would you ever think that?" He laughs, grinning teasingly. "Are you worried about me, Chuuya?"
Chuuya scowls at him.
"Shut up." He says. "I'm worried about your grades, okay?"
Ah, yes. Right. That.
"Don't worry about it." Dazai says flippantly, brushing off Chuuya's concerns like they're dust on the shoulders of his coat. "I'm fine, so don't worry about it. I'll keep my grades up, okay? I have an 82% already."
Chuuya's face lights up a bit.
"Really?" He asks, sounding awed. "That's amazing! I knew you could do it!"
Dazai shrugs, feeling a little bit embarrassed. He hopes he isn't blushing. That would be humiliating.
"It's whatever." He mumbles. "It's still not good enough."
"Don't put yourself down like that." Chuuya says, frowning. "You're doing great. You used to be failing, remember?"
It's only late April. He still has until July to wait for his final. Maybe he should fail it. Dazai's heart squeezes in his chest. Maybe that way Chuuya will stick around.
"Yeah." Dazai chokes out, and then clears his throat. "Thanks, Chuuya."
Chuuya blinks at him.
"Now I know something's wrong." He says. "You never say thank you."
Dazai frowns.
"I do!" He protests, indignant. "I thanked you for our arcade date."
Chuuya flushes bright red. It looks good on him, a rosy hue on the apples of his cheeks. He looks beautiful.
"It wasn't a date!" Chuuya snaps. "And of course you did, you got everything you wanted out of it!"
"Yeah?" Dazai asks, wiggling his eyebrows. "What do you think I wanted, Chuuya?"
"You're so fucking–" Chuuya snaps, and crashes against Dazai in a bruising kiss. Dazai doesn't know what to do. So he kisses back, keeping his hands on the edges of his seat.
"Chuuya–" He gasps, between kisses. "What about– the rules–"
Chuuya doesn't answer him, just pulls away and latches onto his neck, sucking a dark mark there. This is– Dazai can't breathe. He's suffocating. Chuuya's touch is too much, and not enough. He can't handle it, but he aches for more.
Dazai throws his head back, his fingers flexing where they grip the wood of his chair.
"Just fucking touch me, shitty Dazai." Chuuya orders, so Dazai hesitantly lifts his hands and sets them on Chuuya's waist. Then Chuuya rolls his hips, pulling a groan from the back of Dazai's throat.
"You're not–" Dazai starts, but his voice gets silenced before he can finish, Chuuya's mouth on his. He closes his eyes and gets lost in it. It hurts. Not the kiss. It hurts that Chuuya doesn't mean this, that Dazai can't have it, that Chuuya will only regret this when they're done.
He feels Chuuya grow hard and thanks whatever god there might be that his own body is responding accordingly, too. He'll take anything of Chuuya's that he can get. Because he's greedy, like that.
"Chuuya," Dazai whines into the kiss, when Chuuya yanks at his hair. Chuuya hums against his mouth and pulls back.
"What do you want?" He asks, breathless, and Dazai stares at him, chest rising and falling heavily as his hands tighten on Chuuya's waist. That's not fair. Dazai wants Chuuya to love him. It doesn't matter. He can't have it. This might not be the same, but… It's good enough, for now. Dazai can hardly ask for more. Even so, he can hardly help the broken sound he lets out as he speaks.
"You." He chokes, and Chuuya grins at him, like he doesn't know what Dazai really means. Of course he doesn't.
"That's not good enough." Chuuya tells him. "Be more specific. Want me to ride you? Suck you off again?"
"Just–" Dazai says, sucking in a lungful of air. "Just whatever. Whatever you want to give me, I want it."
Chuuya hums again.
"You got any condoms?" He asks, and Dazai nods jerkily, fumbling in the drawer of his desk and pulling out a foil packet. "Lube?"
He pulls that out, too, desperate to please.
"Good." Chuuya says, and Dazai shivers. Chuuya's eyes darken as he catches it. "Like that?" He asks, and Dazai can only nod.
Chuuya clambers off of him and yanks him up from the chair by his shirt collar, pushing him towards the bed. Dazai falls onto it with a soft oof, his back resting on the mattress. Then Chuuya is on him again, sucking more marks into the skin of his throat. Dazai's hands fist in the sheets, helpless.
"I'm gonna finger myself open," Chuuya murmurs heatedly, open-mouthed against his neck. "And you're gonna watch. And then, if I feel like it, I'll ride you, got it?"
"Yeah." Dazai croaks, when a nod isn't enough. Chuuya pulls away and grins darkly at him, setting the lube on the mattress by Dazai's side and shimmying out of his pants and boxers, movements fluid like a dancer's. He tugs off his shirt next, and Dazai is blessed with the sight of his very defined abdominal muscles. "Fuck." He breathes. Then, "Can I touch?"
Chuuya sticks his tongue out at him, teasing.
"No." He says, and Dazai groans, flopping back against the mattress. "Hands to yourself, got it? Or I won't touch you at all."
That's not fair.
Dazai must say so out loud, because Chuuya clicks his tongue at him.
"Don't you want to be good?" He asks, and Dazai's body is wracked with another shiver. He does want to. He wants to please Chuuya so badly. He'll do anything.
"Yes, yeah," He says, breathless. "I'll do anything, so please, Chuuya."
Chuuya just hums, climbing back onto the bed and popping the cap of the lube open. Dazai watches as he gets his fingers nice and slick, his breath caught in his throat. Then Chuuya raises himself up on his knees and sticks his hand between his legs, below his cock, to tease at his hole.
He uses one finger first, and Dazai watches his eyelids flutter closed when it pushes past the ring of muscle to the first, then second knuckle. Chuuya pumps it in and out for a good few moments before adding another. It's incredible, the way his body sucks them in like it's made for them. Dazai's cock twitches in his pants and he bites his lip.
"Does it feel good?" He asks hoarsely. Chuuya cracks open one eye and smirks at him.
"Yeah," He says. "Want to try it sometime?"
Dazai's breath catches in his throat. Does that mean there will be more of this? More of Chuuya touching him like this?
"I don't know," He admits, feeling helpless. "Maybe."
Chuuya clicks his tongue at him and adds another finger, his breath hitching when he angles his fingers and curls them upwards. Dazai drinks in the sounds he makes greedily, savoring them, wanting to feel them against his lips.
"Chuuya," He says. Chuuya opens his eyes fully, panting, his face flushed with exertion. "Kiss me?"
Chuuya's eyes flicker, like he's considering it, and then he's pulling his fingers out and wiping them on the sheets– Dazai will have to wash those, later– and leaning forward, yanking Dazai up with his clean hand and pressing a bruising kiss to his lips.
Dazai kisses him back hungrily, biting at his lip and tugging, and Chuuya opens his mouth to let him in, their teeth clicking together almost painfully as they meet each other halfway.
"Pants. Off." Chuuya demands when he pulls away, and Dazai hurries to comply, shucking off all of his clothes and bandages in only a few moments. Chuuya watches him amusedly. "Desperate, much?"
Dazai lets out a shaky breath.
"For you," He says. "Always."
Chuuya frowns at him.
"Don't joke like that when I'm about to fuck you."
That stings. But Dazai just cracks a smirk, raising his eyebrows.
"Isn't it the other way around?"
But instead of getting flustered, Chuuya just smirks back.
"If that's what you want to think, sure." He says. "Condom, now."
Dazai shudders and tears open the foil wrapper, rolling the condom down onto his cock and groaning quietly at the feeling of finally being touched where he needs it most.
"Come on," He breathes, and Chuuya grins at him and crawls into his lap. He grips Dazai's cock between his thumb and index finger and lowers himself down, slowly. Dazai's hands fly up to grip at his waist, tightly. The feeling of Chuuya around him– it's almost too much. His head is spinning and it's hard to breathe.
Eventually Chuuya sinks all the way down, their hips meeting, and they both take a moment to just breathe. Dazai stares up at Chuuya with wide eyes, taking in the wildness of his hair framing his face, the flush riding high on his cheeks and on his chest. He wants to keep this memory forever. Then Chuuya moves.
He rolls his hips fluidly, his breath hitching with every movement, and Dazai closes his eyes tightly.
"Fuck." He grits out, and Chuuya moans in agreement, his hands yanking at the collar of Dazai's shirt. Dazai sits up more, fingers flexing on Chuuya's hips, and Chuuya leans forward to kiss him again. It's feverish, frantic, almost, but it's good, Dazai loves it, wants it every day of his life.
Chuuya rides him like he's living for it, like this is all he ever wants to do, and Dazai can't help but relish in the moan he lets out. One of Chuuya's hands grip tightly at his shoulders, and the other comes up to yank at Dazai's hair, pain prickling up his scalp like an electric shock. Dazai makes a weak sound of pleasure into the kiss, pulling back to press closer to Chuuya's hand.
"Again." He breathes, and Chuuya listens, tugging again. Dazai pants as Chuuya's movements get faster, more frantic.
"Dazai," Chuuya groans. Dazai loves it, loves the way his name sounds on Chuuya's lips. Pleasure lights up his nerves as Chuuya tightens around him, hot and slick and perfect.
"Yeah," Dazai manages to say, his voice strained. "Yeah, I'm here. What do you need?"
Chuuya shudders against him, pressing his face to the crook of Dazai's neck.
"Touch me." He whimpers, and all Dazai can do is follow through, grappling for the bottle of lube and pouring too much into his hand, wasting no time in wrapping his slick fingers around Chuuya's cock.
He jerks him quickly, too quickly, and Chuuya hisses, his back arching as he presses further into the touch. This is good. Dazai is being good, making Chuuya feel right. Because this isn't about him, it's about Chuuya.
"Feels good?" Dazai asks, flicking his wrist and smiling at the sound it evokes, something low and feral in the back of Chuuya's throat. Chuuya's hips are slowing, exhaustion catching up with him, so Dazai shifts him on his lap and thrusts up into him to keep up the pace. Chuuya bites at his neck in retaliation to make Dazai falter, and it works for a moment before his resolve hardens and he thrusts harder.
Chuuya is making aborted little noises and cut off moans, but he doesn't answer him. Okay then.
"Come on, Chuuya," Dazai croons, struggling to keep his voice even. "Don't I make you feel good?"
It doesn't sound as desperate as he feels, which is good. It draws a pained whine out of Chuuya, instead.
"Yes," Chuuya whispers against his skin, and Dazai's abdomen tightens with the warning of an oncoming orgasm.
"Are you close?" He asks, and Chuuya nods, biting at his neck again. God. He'll probably look like he's been mauled after this. He can't wait to look in the mirror and see the evidence of tonight all over his skin. That thought just brings him closer to the edge. "Go on, then." He pants. "Come for me."
Chuuya gives a high, twisted whimper, and does, filling Dazai's hand with his release, some spilling over the edges of his fingers and onto his stomach. Dazai isn't far behind, thrusting up into Chuuya once, twice more, before stilling as he fills up the condom.
He flops down against the bed, pulling Chuuya down with him as he goes, both of them panting as they come down from their highs. He has to restrain himself from pressing a soft kiss to Chuuya's hair. That would be too much, would give him away too fast. So he holds back and settles for just rubbing circles into the skin of Chuuya's hip with the thumb of his clean hand. It's enough for now. It's enough, Dazai tells himself.
"You good?" Dazai asks, and Chuuya just groans, nodding his head. "Sit up for me. I've gotta pull out."
Chuuya huffs, drawing a chuckle from Dazai, but he does as he's told, lifting himself off of Dazai's cock and letting him tie off the condom and toss it before collapsing back onto him. Dazai winces, pain lancing up his side where Chuuya's elbow had dug in when he fell. He lets Chuuya lay there, boneless, for a moment, before the thoughts clouding his mind start to get the best of him.
"I found another note." Chuuya speaks up suddenly, and Dazai hums, his stomach twisting.
"Oh yeah?" He asks, hooking his chin over the top of Chuuya's head where it rests on his chest. This is oddly intimate for Chuuya not wanting it. Dazai wonders why Chuuya isn't pushing him away, climbing off of him, running off into the night.
"Yeah." Chuuya says. "I'll let you read it later. For now, let's just shower. We're filthy."
It's over. Their moment is over. Oh well. Dazai tries not to feel too hollow when Chuuya sits up, sliding off of the mattress and standing.
"You can go first." Dazai says, his voice catching in his throat. He clears it, hoping it sounds normal and not as choked as it feels. Chuuya looks at him like he's stupid.
"We can just shower together." He points out. "It would save water."
He does have a point.
"Okay." Dazai says, helplessly, and gets up, too. He leads Chuuya to the bathroom and turns on the shower, making sure not to turn up the temperature as high as he usually does.
He lets Chuuya stand under the spray first, hands him his lavender scented body wash, and lets him scrub himself down as Dazai waits. The steam clouds around them. Chuuya looks like an angel. Not dainty and delicate, but like something terrifying and holy, hair a flaming halo that grows damp and presses against his scalp under the hot water. And Dazai is a sinner, so Chuuya won't ever be his.
Chuuya passes the body wash back to him and Dazai lathers himself up, feeling ugly and horrific and exposed. Scars lance up and down his arms, his thighs, and bruises ride low on his shins and calves from bumping into things one too many times. He feels self-conscious under Chuuya's burning gaze, and resists the urge to cover himself with his arms.
He has to act the part, has to pretend he's strong and uncaring, like all this is behind him. So he swallows down the terror building in his throat and rinses himself off as Chuuya rubs shampoo into his hair. It's a comfortable silence between them, but Dazai's head is clouded, his thoughts racing. He doesn't realize he's gone still until Chuuya reaches out and taps his shoulder. Dazai flinches, surprised, and his vision, previously blurry, clears. In one eye, at least. His other one is still useless.
"You okay?" Chuuya asks him, and his voice is soft, too soft. It sounds a lot like pity. So Dazai just smiles and nods and says,
"Of course! Why do you ask?"
Chuuya glares at him, seeming frustrated, and Dazai falters under the heat of his eyes.
"Don't lie to me." Chuuya says, and Dazai blinks at him, eyes wide. "You can't fool me with that. I'll ask again, and I want you to be honest. Are you okay?"
This is too much. He's being too caring. It's not good for Dazai's heart, for his well-being. But even so, he smiles, softly.
"I will be." He says, his tone gentle. "Don't worry about me too much, Chuuya!"
Chuuya snorts and elbows him in the ribs again, this time on purpose, not the accident that had occurred on his bed before.
"As if." Chuuya scoffs. He steps back under the water and tilts his head back to wash out the shampoo, exposing the column of his throat. He doesn't have any marks there. Dazai hadn't allowed himself to leave any reminders that they were together, because he knows that even if the regret hasn't hit Chuuya yet, it will soon.
And not long after they get out of the shower, Dazai is proven right. He's sifting through his dresser, pulling out some soft clothes for he and Chuuya to wear, when Chuuya clears his throat. Dazai's heart sinks into his stomach. He turns around, and Chuuya is staring at him, wrapped in a towel, his face screwed up into a conflicted expression.
"Dazai," He starts, and clears his throat again. "You know this can't happen again."
Dazai stares at him blankly. That hollow feeling comes back in full force, gnawing away like a black hole in his chest.
"You said that last time." He points out. He's trembling. He hopes Chuuya doesn't notice. Chuuya glares at him.
"Yeah, well." He says. "I mean it this time. Rules are rules. No kissing, and no sex either. Got it?"
He makes it sound like this was Dazai's doing. Something ugly wells up in the back of Dazai's throat.
"You started it." He chokes out. Chuuya scoffs.
"Yeah, and you kept it going." Chuuya crosses his arms over his chest. "That can't happen again, ever. So don't let it."
Dazai forces himself to hand Chuuya the clothes he'd picked out.
"Why not?" He asks, hands still trembling. He curls them into fists to hide it. "Why can't it happen? You enjoyed it, right?"
Something flickers in Chuuya's eyes before he scowls.
"That's not the point." He says. "I don't have time for this kind of relationship. I need to focus on my studies, and you do, too. So, no more of this."
And because Dazai is a weak, weak man, he agrees.
"Okay." He starts to put on his own clothes, avoiding Chuuya's gaze. It burns like an iron brand against his skin, like the marks Chuuya had left. Dazai wishes, for a brief moment, that he could scrub them off like stains on clothing, make them disappear. He's glad he hadn't given Chuuya any marks. He's glad he'd known better.
He had known better. But Chuuya's rejection, for the hundredth time, feels like a kick in his already sore gut.
"Good." Chuuya says, and then swallows audibly. "Dazai… have you been hurting yourself again?"
Dazai's gaze snaps to Chuuya in shock.
"What?" He asks, his voice hollow, blank.
"Your thighs. And arms." Chuuya lists. "The marks on them. They're new."
Immediately, Dazai is bristling. He doesn't want Chuuya to pity him. That's not what he wants this to be. He wants something more than that.
"That's none of your business." Dazai grits out, and regrets the way it sounds, after. Chuuya's eyebrows scrunch together in frustration.
"It's my business if you're modeling my clothes." He says. "How am I meant to take pictures if you look like that?"
He looks like he regrets it immediately after he says it, but it's too late. It's already sunk past Dazai's skin. He blinks at Chuuya, and then grins wide, something ugly and cruel.
"That's all I am to you, huh?" Dazai asks. "I'm sorry I'm so ugly you can't take pictures of me, Chuuya. If it makes you feel better, I can put the bandages back on. Hopefully they won't be too much of an eyesore, right? I'm sure you could just put me in long-sleeves instead, and cover up all the evidence that way."
Chuuya stares at him in horror, and Dazai's smile becomes more pointed. He steps closer.
"Or if that's too much to ask, I could always wear make-up." He continues. "You won't have to look at it if it's not even visible, right?"
"Stop." Chuuya says. "That's not what I meant, and you know it."
"Oh, I'm sure." Dazai croons sarcastically. "How was it? Was it hard, fucking me while I look like this? Oh, wait. You didn't look at me at all, did you?"
It's true, Dazai realizes. Chuuya hadn't looked at him. He'd hidden his face so he didn't have to look. It makes him laugh, loud and unrestrained, a bit crazed.
They're just scars, Chuuya had said. What a dirty little liar he is. That makes two of them, Dazai supposes.
"That's not what happened." Chuuya whispers hoarsely, his eyes wide. "That's not it, Dazai."
"No?" Dazai chokes out, still laughing. "You didn't look at me once. I don't blame you. Who could get it up while looking at something like this?"
He gestures at himself, at his scars and bruises.
"You had to add your own, though, didn't you?" He asks, referring to the hickeys. "Did that make it easier, knowing that some of them were from you?"
"Shut up." Chuuya says. "Shut up! You don't know what you're talking about."
"Don't I?" Dazai tilts his head. Then he lowers his voice to a whisper. "Sorry I'm ugly, Chuuya. Sorry I'm so ugly you had to look away when you fucked me. Sorry I'm too ugly to take photos of."
"Stop apologizing." Chuuya chokes out, sounding close to tears. "I don't care about any of that. You know that, right? You're not ugly to me."
What a pair they make, lying to each other like this. And only one of them knows it.
"I think," Dazai says shakily. "That you should go home." Chuuya looks at him with eyes that are wet and shiny. Dazai has to avert his gaze. "Go home, Chuuya. Just go home."
Chuuya glares at him tearfully and bends down to grab the clothes he'd worn here, as well as his textbooks. He shoves his shoes onto his feet and leaves, slamming the door behind him.
Dazai does what Dazai does best. He peels his sheets off of his bed and takes them down to the laundry room of his building. He sits there while they wash, then dry, feeling hollow, feeling nothing at all. He doesn't think about how he pushes away everyone he loves. He doesn't think about it.
He turns his phone off and doesn't look at it. He doesn't attend class except to drop off and pick up homework and to take tests. Oda has mercy on him.
"Dazai," Oda sighs. "Are you alright? How are things with Chuuya going?"
Dazai stiffens.
"I haven't talked to Chuuya in three days." He says, his voice monotone. "And I don't want to."
Oda frowns at him.
"Why not?" He asks. "I get it. He's kind of headstrong, but he's a good kid, Dazai. You should open up to him more."
Dazai chuckles.
"I did." He says, looking at Oda with tired, dead eyes. "Look where that got me."
"Did he lose his temper with you?"
Dazai looks away, refusing to respond.
"It's gonna be okay, kid." Oda tells him. "And check your phone. I'm sure he's trying to get a hold of you already."
Dazai just nods absent-mindedly, hardly paying attention. He gets his things together, grabs his homework, and heads out. It's cloudy, but not raining. Just a gloomy day that matches Dazai's mood.
He thinks about how Chuuya looked in his shower, how domestic it was. He misses that. He misses it. He checks his phone when he gets home.
slug 🐌
hey.
i'm really sorry
(2 days ago)
dazai?
i don't know what else to
say
i didn't mean it like
that okay?
(1 day ago)
...do you want to come
over for a fitting tomorrow?
(Today)
And because Dazai misses him, hates himself, and has no self preservation, he can only agree.
mackerel 🐟
sure.
what time?
It's okay if Chuuya finds him ugly. Dazai doesn't care about that. He doesn't care about anything. Caring about things gets him hurt. It's easier not to care about anything at all.
He'll wrap himself in extra bandages tomorrow, and act like nothing is wrong. He can do that. He practices smiling in his mirror. It looks ugly, and wrong. He doesn't know how to do it right. He doesn't know how to look human.
No wonder Chuuya hates him. No wonder he can't look at him. No wonder he thinks Dazai is ugly. He can't do anything right. He pinches and pulls at his face until there are red marks on his cheeks from tugging too hard. It still doesn't fit. It still doesn't look right.
He still looks like some sort of amalgamation of an eldritch horror stuffed into a human body, skin bruised and stretched too thin. His phone buzzes in his pocket and he pulls it out. Chuuya's nickname flashes across the screen, and he answers the call before he can stop himself. He doesn't say anything, just breathes quietly.
"Hey." Chuuya says on the other line, his voice sounding hoarse. Dazai's throat tightens up. "Dazai. You there?"
"Yeah." Dazai forces himself to sound calm and collected. "I'm here."
"..." Chuuya is silent for a moment before he speaks up again. When he does, his voice trembles. "I'm really sorry."
Dazai closes his eyes.
"It's okay!" He says cheerfully. "No worries, Chuuya. It's all in the past."
"It's not okay." Chuuya sniffles, he sniffles. Chuuya is crying because of him. Because of Dazai. "Don't do that. Don't pretend that I didn't hurt you."
Dazai goes quiet for just a few seconds.
"Hey, it's fine." He says. "I don't care about it anymore, okay? It's fine."
"I don't think you're ugly." Chuuya tells him, and Dazai's heart wrenches in his chest. Why? Why is Chuuya lying? What's the point when they both know it's true? "I really don't, Dazai."
"Sure, okay." Dazai agrees calmly, playing along. He's good at chess, at checkers, at Uno, at Monopoly. He can play this game, too.
"I mean it." Dazai hasn't opened his eyes since he last closed them. He's not about to, either. He doesn't want to see the face he's making in the mirror when Chuuya says his next words. "You're not ugly. And… and I'd be honored to have you model my clothes. And I won't take pictures unless you're comfortable. Okay?"
"You don't have to take pictures at all, if you don't want to." Dazai forces himself to laugh. "I'm okay with being your dirty little secret, Chuuya." Even if it hurts him.
"Don't say that." Chuuya says, his voice still watery. Dazai's chest aches. "You're not dirty, okay? And I don't want to keep you a secret. I'm making this line for you, so you'd better wear it."
Dazai feels himself smile softly, a bit sadly, too.
"Okay." He agrees. "I'll wear it. But you never answered my question, Chuuya. What time should I come over?"
"You really want to?" Chuuya asks, sounding a bit surprised. "After everything?"
"Well, yeah." Dazai says. "I wouldn't agree if I didn't want to."
That might be a lie, too, but it's small. There's nothing he won't do to mend this relationship, to keep Chuuya by his side for as long as possible. A little white lie never hurt anybody.
(It has, and it will. But that's neither here nor there.)
"Okay." Chuuya sniffles one last time. "Good. We can get started at twelve tomorrow, then. I have some sketches for you to look at, and then you can try on the pieces you like. Does that sound good?"
"That sounds perfect." Dazai says. If he can keep himself together for this fitting, everything might just work out.
He'll wear his bandages tighter, unless Chuuya wants them off. And if it comes to that… well. If it comes to that, Dazai doesn't care if Chuuya thinks he's ugly or not. He's not about to get his hopes up again.