Chapter Text
Beep. Beep. Beep. Bee- Woof!
Chuuya purses his lips out of reflex, torn on whether he should laugh or cry as he feels his face be attacked with slobber. He blindly reaches out to push his over-eager roommate away, “Yes, yes, good morning to you too, buddy.”
Ren barks, standing proudly on his chest and looking back and forth between the door and him with her best puppy face- never mind the fact that she’s not even close to a puppy anymore. He should be smiling. He knows he should be. Instead, he just sighs and half-heartedly ruffles her hair. She barks happily and jumps out of the bed.
He closes his hand into a fist. It’s 5 am. He is done with college, and officially unemployed. He opens his fist and drags a hand down his face. He wishes he didn’t wake up.
“So,” Ranpo pops a lollipop in his mouth, “What are you planning on doing from now on?”
“I don’t know.”
“Sweet.”
Chuuya glares at him. In his defence, he did not think he’d have to plan any further than college. What’s the point? The only reason he did the degree was ‘cause he found it interesting, not because he wanted to build a career out of it. His life usually didn’t require any planning on his part: he’d start it off in one way that he liked and the universe would drop one certain brunette in his way and fuck everything up. By now, he was used to that cycle. After Dazai appeared in his life again, he expected things to go downhill quickly and he was right, partially.
But now, he’s gone, still with no knowledge about who he is, about who they are. Now, he has a friend who knows him for who he is. Someone who sends him stupid memes and calls him ridiculous nicknames and laughs along with him despite knowing who he is. Maybe because of it, too.
He did not expect any of the above to happen, but they did. He doesn’t know how to feel about that.
Ranpo bites off the remaining lollipop like the animal he is and chews loudly. Chuuya can only watch with undisguised disgust when he says, “Alright, then. Do you have anything in mind that you wanna pursue? Research? Teaching? More studying? Or something else entirely? Because while you might be the fallen all-mighty, you still need money for food and to pay rent.”
“I know that, smartass. I’ve been doing this way longer than you have.” he snaps. Ranpo sticks his candy-coloured tongue out in response.
He’s not wrong. He was barely getting by during college, even with the help of his borrowed money from the headmaster of the orphanage he grew up in. He has to pay it back soon and find a way to pay rent. His shoulders slump. Technically, it isn’t hard for him to obtain money. With his powers and stealth, he could easily scam or rob some rich asshole. He has done that in way more lives than he would like to admit, but… he doesn't feel like doing that. Putting the morality of it aside, the whole idea of it sounded so awfully taxing. He has had enough of deceiving and running enough to last a few lifetimes and then some. Plus, what kind of philosophy student becomes a robber?
He must’ve said that out loud, because Ranpo supplies, “A broke one?”
Chuuya throws the couch pillow on his head and watches with satisfaction as it smacks his face, making him flail around like a headless chicken before regaining his balance. He snickers at the indignant ‘Hey!’ that follows.
More than anything, it’s a hard choice because he already likes what he has. He likes learning new things, likes going on daily runs with Ren, and loves working in the cafe. He loves the simplicity of working in the cafe; the smell of coffee, the occasional chime of the door indicating the arrival of the customer and the smile he sometimes receives when he wishes them a good day. He loves the routine, the monotony of it. He-
Oh.
Ranpo hugs the pillow to his chest, watching him curiously, “Had your eureka moment?”
More or less , he thinks.
“I want to open a cafe of my own,” he announces, more to himself than to his friend. He takes a second to process his own statement and deflates, “Which requires money. That I don’t have.”
Ranpo looks at him like he’s stupid, which is nothing new, “So? Work full-time in that cafe of yours and start saving money. Maybe even a side gig online?”
Rolling his eyes, he says, “For a supposed genius, you are surprisingly stupid. Think about it: I have to pay off my student loan, my rent and on top of that, take care of Ren’s living expenses along with mine. Sure, a full-time job will help, but not by much. I could pay off the debt if I tried, but I would still be depending on the monthly paycheck to live. There’s no way I could save up from just working in the cafe alone.”
Ranpo considers this, tapping his nails on his thigh, “How much of a difference would not having to pay rent make?”
“Considering my financial status? A lot.”
“Alright then. Move in with me, I have an extra room in my place.”
Every train of thought screeches to a halt a little too late and ends up crashing into each other. He stares at the raven, eyes wide, “What?”
It’s his turn to roll his eyes, “You heard me. Move in with me.”
Chuuya narrows his eyes, “What’s the catch?”
Ranpo groans, “Oh, for fuck’s sake. No, Chuuya, I am not some fae who wants your firstborn in return for letting you live with me. You do not owe anything to me. There is no catch. I am offering out of the goodness of my heart and the fact that despite you being… you, I’ve grown fond of your stupid face. There’s this crazy thing friends do for each other called helping them during tough times. Shocking, no?”
“Don’t act cheeky with me, asshole,” he tries to sound mad, but his following words sound disgustingly vulnerable, “This is too much. I can’t repay you for this. Thank you for the offer, but I can’t take it.”
Ranpo runs a hand through his hair, at a loss for words, “Why not? I told you there’s no need for you to repay me! I’ll never expect anything in return from you.”
Surprisingly, that’s what makes him mad. He stands up from the couch and starts pacing the room, “That’s exactly why I don’t want anything from you.”
“You are not making any sense, Chuuya.”
“You’re doing this because I’m a charity case to you!” he bursts out and hates how his voice cracks in the end, “You’re doing this because you feel bad for me and my horrible fucking life because you can’t bear to see me live as a shell of a man again! But Ranpo, no matter what you do, it won’t fix things. It doesn’t matter if I move in with you, it doesn't matter if I open a cafe, it doesn't matter if I live or slit my own throat this very minute. It doesn’t matter because I will be put in this godforsaken world only to live miserably for the rest of my life and die when the love of my life falls dead at my feet. You can’t change this, you can’t save me, don’t you understand-”
“Chuuya, breathe.”
And all at once, air whooshes back into his lungs. He didn’t know when he stopped breathing. Ranpo’s hands are on his shoulders and he’s gently guiding him to breathe. In and out, in and out. How long has it been since someone did that for him? How long has it been since someone held him and told them they’d stay and actually meant it?
How long has it been since he forgot how to breathe?
“You are right about one thing,” he doesn’t bother softening his voice; it’s firm and steady, exactly what Chuuya needs to stay grounded, “I can’t bear to see you living as a shell of a man again. But that’s not because I see you as a charity case or because I think you are someone that needs to be pitied. It’s because I care. I want to care. I want to help you. Because you’re my friend. I know I can’t save you from the inevitable but please, don’t stop me from trying to show you how much I care. It’s the only thing I can do.”
His throat stings, “Shut the fuck up.”
Ranpo winces, “You’re right, that was too emotional. Do you want to drink beer and uh… talk about boobs?”
He can’t help it; he bursts out laughing, “Yeah? Should we sit five feet apart too?”
Ranpo grins, “Yep. I even have a hot tub we can use.”
“...Is the offer to take me in as a roommate still up?”
“Should’ve known that’s all it takes to agree. Hot tub whore.”
“...you shouldn’t have said that.”
“Wait- wait, no! Let go of me! Agh, LET ME GO YOU ASSHOLE-”
“Give me your hand.”
Chuuya looks up from his paperwork, suspicious, but gives him his hand anyway, “What are you planning now?”
His skin is a sickly yellow and Chuuya winces internally at the dark circles under his eyes. His hands are clammy and cold when he takes them in his and says, “Don’t scream.”
“Wh- MOTHERFU-”
Dazai shushes him, pissed. He massages his forehead with one hand and glares at him, “I told you not to yell.”
“You are cracking my knuckles, bastard!” Chuuya hisses, trying to pull his hand back but Dazai is insistent, “It hurts! Use your hand for shit like this!”
Dazai purses his lips. The grip on his hand tightens, “I finished cracking all of mine.”
“Then-” Chuuya stops himself when he notes the state of Dazai’s fingers. They were bitten to the quick and crusted with dried blood. His leg was bouncing wildly and he looked like he was physically holding himself back from bringing his hand to his teeth and gnawing it off whole. He looked awful, more so than usual. The redhead sighs and thrusts his hand forward.
“Fine. Do what you will.”
His stomach churns uncomfortably seeing the relief in Dazai’s eyes. Dazai takes his hand, and Chuuya closes his eyes, bracing himself for the sharp pain.
It doesn’t come.
Instead, he feels his index finger being folded gently in half. A quick, firm press makes a crack echo in the air and Dazai’s shoulders relax ever so slightly.
“Did that hurt?”
Chuuya swallows, “No. No, it didn’t.”
Dazai gives him a curt nod and continues cracking his knuckles, swift and careful not to make it hurt. There’s not a single hasty press, not a single misstep. His eyes are focused and he chews on his lips as he does such a simple task and it does something to Chuuya, watching him treat his hands with something uncomfortably close to care. He tries his best to push the feeling down.
After he’s done, he gently guides his wrists side to side and moves them in a rolling motion. Chuuya listens to the sounds it makes with a grimace, “Does it help with your anxiety? Keeping yourself occupied like that?”
Dazai shrugs, “I guess? But only when it’s my hands.”
Chuuya raises an eyebrow, “You’re fiddling with my hands now, and it seems to help somehow.”
“That’s different,” he says, rubbing slow circles on his knuckles. Chuuya holds back a shiver, “That’s different because you don’t feel like you’re someone else. You feel like me.”
Dazai freezes, realizing what he just said. Chuuya’s throat is very, very dry.
How long has it been since they just became an extension of the other? Dazai and Chuuya became DazaiandChuuya and their hands are one and the same and everything they’ve seen they’ve seen together and in sickness and in health they hold each other. They are dazaiandchuuya and Chuuya knows Dazai’s favourite songs and his tell when he lies and Dazai knows Chuuya and his pain and that he’s the cause of it and they’re dazaichuuya and they’re one, they’re one, they’re one and the same.
Ah, there it is. The ache in his chest is back. Dazai is shaking again. Honesty feels like a knife to their throat and with every word of truth it digs deeper and deeper and they’re running out of blood to spill. Chuuya scrambles for something, anything to hold on to when Dazai says,
“I mean, you are my dog, so you don’t count!” the smile that stretches his lips is fake and the horror it brings crawls on Chuuya’s skin. That’s right. Deflect, lie, cover it all up, quick. He exhales and glares at the brunette.
“And dogs bite. You better keep your mouth shut if you don’t want to be mauled.”
And so they don their disguises and get ready to play the fool again. Dazai and Chuuya. Chuuya and Dazai. They are one. They are one.
He wakes up from his first dream with his heart in his throat, and tears streaming down his face. He can’t seem to make them stop. He’s too tired to try.
Chuuya meets Kunikida Doppo on a Sunday night when he’s closing up for the day.
It was later than he would usually close the cafe, but the place was bustling with customers suddenly and Chuuya didn’t have the heart to tell people to leave. But thankfully, at one point, the crowd starts to trickle out and he manages to flip the OPEN sign to CLOSED and heave a relieved sigh.
He puts on a random playlist that Spotify curated just for the sake of filling the silence and starts cleaning the table and the counters. He takes his time to count the day’s profits and hums along to the song even though he has never heard it before. Not bad.
It’s the sound of the windchimes that are hung next to the door that snaps him out of his focus. He doesn’t even look up before starting to say, “The sign clearly says the cafe is closed-”
“I’m so sorry for the inconvenience, but I can’t find any other place that serves good coffee and I would really really like some coffee now.” a pause before he hastily adds, “Please.”
Chuuya gapes at the sight in front of him. He’s bowing. 90-degree angle, not even moving a muscle. The redhead feels a smile twitch in the corner of his lips, “Please stop bowing. I will make you your coffee.”
The man sighs, relieved, and straightens. Chuuya has to physically hold himself back from wolf-whistling.
The redhead combs through his memories, searching for a name to put on the pretty face. He was… what was his name again? Detective? Dazai’s partner?
Chuuya never thought he was into blondes but oh, he was so wrong. The man in front of him was wearing a purple dress shirt with the top three buttons popped open and sleeves folded up to his elbows. Cheeks flushed, eyes hazy and breath coming out in short puffs. He must have run here. That explains the wind-swept hair. Oh, he was definitely into long-haired men. And… was he… was he drunk?
Chuuya decides to keep his judgement to himself and gestures him forward with a nod. He walks forward, gait perfectly steady even while blinking multiple times and oh boy, he really is wasted, isn’t he ? That just made his control over his words and body all the more impressive. He stares at the menu on the counter with frightening intensity, nods to himself and places a few crisp bills on the counter. Firmly slides it towards him, clearing his throat, “Can I have three coffees to go, please?”
Chuuya ducks his head and lets his hair curtain his smile, “Three decafs, coming right up-”
“No,” the man presses, “no, I want three black coffees. De-decaf. The most coffee coffee you have. Give me three of them.”
This time, a chuckle does escape him. He switches on the coffee machine and calls out, “You got it.”
Eventually, he does give the man his coffee and watches him go with a final thank you and a nod in his direction. Truly a shame, he thinks, that he didn’t get to hit on him the last time, what with the whole Agency-Mafia rivalry and saving the world thing going on. And Dazai. How could he ever think of looking away when he was right in front of him, smiling like that, hanging the possibility of love and everything he ever wanted in front of his face?
But really, he has no one but himself to blame for letting someone like Kunikida go. Chuuya gives him a final once over and sighs. He should really get laid.
The thought startles him mildly. When was the last time he slept with someone that isn’t Dazai? Or even, when was the last time he slept with someone because he wanted to and ‘cause it seemed fun, and not seen it as an activity to release all his anger and frustrations? He knows the answer deep in his heart but doesn’t have the mind to dig it up. He’s better off not thinking about those things. It’s not like it’s of any use, anyway. At the end of the day, there’s always only one person he would stumble back to. It leaves a bitter taste in his mouth so he pushes all the thoughts down and starts working on closing the place.
To his surprise, the man is still there when he locks up and walks into the streets. He seemed to be having a staring match at the third cup of coffee (the first two were already empty and thrown into the nearby trashcan). Suddenly, he begins to… chug the scalding cup of coffee like there’s no tomorrow.
Three things come to his mind: 1) He must like his coffee 2) He is batshit crazy. How is he still standing upright?
And fact no.1 and 2 contribute to the final one: it’s been a long time since he found someone so hot.
Fuck it , is all he thinks before walking towards the man and asking, “Rough day?”
The blonde startles before relaxing when he sees him, “Rough week.”
Chuuya raises his eyebrow and says teasingly, “You don’t seem like the type to get wasted over it, though.”
He isn’t lying about that. From what he remembers about the man, he was a stuck-up, uptight goody two shoes that never let loose. But everything about what he was doing right now screamed otherwise.
The blonde frowns, defensive, “What does that mean?”
He shrugs, leaning against the lamppost beside him, “I don’t know, you seem like someone who would enjoy working at home more. You give math teacher vibes, yanno? Straight-laced and all goody two-shoes.”
His grin grows when the man gapes, baffled, “You… How did you…?”
“Oh, I was right?” he smirks, “Well, you still didn’t answer my question. What’s someone like you doing drunk at… 7 pm?”
“As you can see, I’m trying to not be drunk. Hence, the coffee.” there’s a minute of silence where they both just look at each other and Chuuya waits, gaze unwavering, to see how the moment unravels.
“Besides,” the blonde states casually, dropping the final cup in the dustbin, “I’m not all that predictable. Given the chance, I could prove that to you.”
Chuuya crosses his arms and leans forward, the curl of his lips predatory, “Are you making a move on me, pretty boy?”
He simply shrugs, feigning nonchalance; but Chuuya can see the flush riding on his cheeks at the nickname, “I am if you want me to be.”
Chuuya finally bursts out laughing, “Do you think you can get it up after all that alcohol and caffeine?”
The man blinks slowly and pushes his glasses up. Chuuya could swear he saw a smirk flash through his lips, "You sure you don't want to take the chance to find out?"
For the second time that day, Chuuya finds himself thinking, oh, fuck it.
“Go ahead then,” he gestures at the road with a flourish, “Take me home. You better not disappoint, pretty boy.”
Chuuya wakes up to his one-night stand losing his shit beside him.
The man wasn’t wearing his glasses anymore; his hair was a mess and his head was in his hands. Chuuya gives him a once-over when he realizes he’s still shirtless and sits up.
“Oh my fucking god.” he groans, tugging his hair.
Chuuya snorts, sitting up, “Your fucking god. Right.”
The man stiffens before turning to look at him warily. Chuuya grins to mess with him, “Good morning, pretty boy. Are you regretting taking me home already? I have to say, that stings a bit.”
His eyes widen and he begins to shake his head profusely, only to stop and wince when he remembers the pounding headache. Hangovers are one thing Chuuya does not even want to think about experiencing. He was perfectly fine being inhuman if that meant he could get drunk without feeling like shit later, thank you very much.
“No, it’s nothing like that. You have to understand; while I… er… had a great time last night, it totally ended up ruining my schedule and now I’m very behind on grading papers. And for class.”
Chuuya yawns, laying back on the sheets, “Sucks to be you, I guess.” Holy shit, was his back hurting? Did this math teacher fuck his brains out? “Oi, glasses. How many rounds did we go last night?”
“... I don’t know.”
"You can't lie for shit. 4, was it?"
He sighs, dropping his head in his hands again and mumbling, "5, if you count the one when we showered."
Chuuya can’t help himself; he whistles, impressed, “Damn. you're good. I'm Nakahara Chuuya. Do you think we should do this again?"
The blonde looks at his outstretched hand like the mere thought of shaking it is taking years off his life. He takes it eventually, “Kunikida Doppo. And no, Nakahara-san, I don’t think we should.”
Chuuya chuckles and bumps their shoulders together, “I like you. Say, how does being friends sound?"
"...Not too bad."
"Great. Give me your number,” on second thought, he adds, “And make me breakfast, will you? I’m starving.”
The redhead chews on what is probably the best pancakes he has ever had, nodding, “So you don't like people romantically easily or get aroused a lot. And even if you do, you don't usually wanna do something about it.”
Kunikida hums without taking his eyes off the stove, “I do have a sex drive, I guess. But I don't care much for sex. As for the romance thing, I need a genuine connection with a person to like them that way. That's also why I can't indulge in a friends-with-benefits situation. It just isn't for me.”
When Kunikida sends an apologetic glance his way, Chuuya waves him away, “Oh, don't be sorry. I was just kidding when I asked if you want to do it again. Even if I wasn't, it would've ended up being short lived anyway. I am… not suited for any kind of relationship, romantic or otherwise,” he sends an awkward smile his way, “Can't have anyone falling in love with me, yanno?”
Kunikida rolls his eyes, “You think too highly of yourself. I will be the judge of whether you are boyfriend material,” he gives him a once over and taps his chin, “I have to say, it isn't looking too good for you.”
Chuuya laughs. He's surprised to find that he means it. He adds a bit of butter to his pancakes and asks, “Where do you work?”
He plates another stack of pancakes for himself and takes a seat next to him, “I teach Mathematics at Kanagawa University. I got the job only recently and moved here. What about you?”
“I studied philosophy but I'm working full-time in a cafe nearby. I might get promoted as manager soon.”
“Good luck with that,” Kunikida reaches for the maple syrup and sends him a grateful smile when he hands it to him, “That's a very different job when compared to what you studied, though. Can I ask why you didn't pursue anything in the same field? Is it because of the abysmal job market or are you not interested in the field? Or something else entirely?”
“No, actually. It's not disinterest or anything related to that; I love philosophy and I was good at it, too. I was my batch's Valedictorian.”
Kunikida raises an eyebrow, impressed, “Oh?”
Chuuya can't help but smirk, smug, “Yep. It also isn't about finding a job. While I loved learning philosophy, having a career in academia would have driven me mad.”
The blonde nods, “Fair enough. Why work in a cafe, though?”
He could lie. He could lie through his teeth and Kunikida won't know a thing but for some reason, he chooses to tell the truth, smiling sheepishly, “It's a bit silly, but I want to open my own cafe someday. It's almost impossible, considering how much money that would need and how little of it I have, but a man can't help but dream.”
Kunikida shakes his head, “No, that's not silly at all. That's a very nice thing to work towards. I'm rooting for you, Chuuya-san.”
The redhead smiles. He can't help it; talking to Kunikida feels so natural, so easy. He would be lying if he says it feels like he has known him forever. He doesn't know him but what they have is new and wonderful. He doesn't know him, but he would like to.
“Drop the honorifics and just call me Chuuya. We're friends, aren't we?”
Kunikida chuckles and pushes his glasses up his nose, “Okay, Chuuya.”
Chuuya beams. Right when he is about to ask Kunikida if he is good at cooking anything other than pancakes, his phone pings. He briefly considers ignoring it but decides otherwise when he remembers he hadn't texted Ranpo since last night.
Jackass
10:34 am
oi
did you die in a ditch
helloooo
if you don't respond in two seconds im eating your share of cake
lmao i ate it
Bastard.
Yes I am alive. I'm at a friend's house rn
Jackass
10:35 am
friend who?
since when do you have a social life that doesn't involve me
Fuck off I have a social life
… I might have slept with someone last night.
Jackass
10:35 am
WOOO YOU FINALLY GOT SOME
was he good in bed
is he big
what's his name
Yes, he is good in bed. Great, actually
I'm not answering that
His name is Kunikida Doppo
Jackass
10:36 am
omg he's huge isn't he
he has a monster cock
you got hit by the magic of his dick
you can't walk rn can you
chuuya sharing is caring send me his picture
I'm blocking you.
Chuuya switches his phone off and announces, “I don't think you should ever meet my best friend.”
He frowns, “Why so?”
“I just have a feeling.”
Kunikida cuts his pancakes neatly, shrugging, “If you say so. Want extras?”
“Yes please.”
“So, what triggered it this time?”
Chuuya sips on the juice box Ranpo handed to them and makes a face. Too sweet. “Someone ordered the exact same drink he used to. I couldn’t breathe properly for almost an hour.”
Ranpo nods and shoves a handful of gummy bears in his mouth, “Yikes.”
Chuuya snorts, “Yeah.”
He splays his hand on his chest and breathes in through his nose. It beats sluggishly, a dull thump, thump, thump . He can still feel the remains of the searing pain in his chest when he called Ranpo, frantic, frenzied, afraid. His throat aches from the burning footprints his screams left behind ( I can’t do this anymore it hurts it hurts it hurts. Ranpo, why did I tell him to leave? God, I shouldn’t have told him to leave I feel him like a phantom limb like an open wound like a broken heart he’s everywhere he’s nowhere I can’t do this I can’t do this I can’t do this anymore- )
Ranpo bumps his shoulder against his. He doesn’t try to come closer and Chuuya is thankful for that; he always feels too raw and vulnerable after having these breakdowns. He says, “Better now?”
He takes another sip from the juice box, “I’ve had better days and the juice is too sweet. But yeah I’m fine, I guess.”
Ranpo rolls his eyes, “Don’t be an ungrateful whore. Just drink the damn thing.”
Chuuya lets out a hollow laugh. He is so tired. His shoulders are hunched and his eyes are red and he is tired. He is sick of it.
“What am I doing wrong?” he asks, resigned. He drags a hand down his face, “He is gone. But he is still here. In my head. And I don’t think he will ever leave.”
It’s been two years since he last saw him and he haunts him all the same. There is an anvil in his chest and he’s sinking and sinking and sinking and it won’t be long until he forgets how to breathe. He is afraid that even then, even as he is walking towards death’s doors, all he will remember is him.
Ranpo considers that. He kicks Chuuya’s feet with his and extends his packet of gummy bears. Chuuya takes one and cringes. Sour.
“Do you want me to be honest or comforting?”
“You suck at comforting people even more than I do-”
“Not true. Slandering me so badly-”
“Just be honest, Ranpo.”
“Hm. Alright,” he turns to Chuuya, eyes somber. Suddenly, he’s afraid again, “You need to stop being afraid.”
His words hit him like a slap. He recoils, scowling, ready to snap back. A wounded animal, cornered, “Well-”
He cuts him off sharply, “Let me finish. You can pick a fight with me later,” Chuuya deflates. He purses his lips and gestures at him to continue, “It’s not your love for him that’s killing you, Chuuya. It’s your tendency to hang on to the inevitable. Yes, you are cursed. Yes, you are tired. But it’s time for you to let go. I’m not saying you should give up on hope. But by now, you are not hoping that you will break out of the cycle; you are torturing yourself by making every life of yours chasing something you might not even need. Have you ever kissed someone just because they looked pretty before Kunikida? Have you had a friend just because you like them before I came along? Have you travelled? Tried to talk to kind strangers? Have you found what makes you happy? Do you know who you are without Dazai? Are you even something without Dazai? You have killed yourself and abandoned your joy again and again and again for the sake of one man. Why did you never stop to think about you?”
Chuuya’s fists itch for a fight. He wants to pummel Ranpo to the ground and break his face and make him bleed and wants him to make him stop talking because he’s right. He’s right and he has been so consumed by the hell he made for himself that he never thought about why everything hurts so much.
He drops his head, defeated, “What do I do now?”
Ranpo shrugs, fishing for more gummy bears to stuff his face with. His fingers are coated with sugar, “Anything you want.”
Shame burns his chest, “What if I don’t know what I want?”
Ranpo hooks his chin on the redhead’s shoulder. Chuuya hesitates for a second before bumping his head against his gently. Ranpo hums, “That’s fine. We can figure it out together. But for now, I wanna order some junk food and binge watch Death Note. Your company doesn’t sound too bad.”
A smile, soft and small and genuine, comes to his face, unbidden, “I guess I can put up with you for a while for the food.”
Ranpo leans against him, “Fuck off, I’m not buying you shit. Pay for your own food.”
The anvil in his chest is lifting, inch by inch. Nakahara Chuuyya is a faraway concept, a daydream, a faceless stranger to himself. He doesn’t know him. But he’d like to.
“Ranpo.”
“Yes, Chuuya?”
“Don’t scare him off.”
He gasps dramatically, hand on his chest, “How could you! I just wanted to meet my best friend’s one-night-stand turned friend!”
Chuuya rolls his eyes, “You only want to meet him because I said he’s hot and single, you lying bastard.”
“My intentions are perfectly innocent and pure-”
“I’m so sorry I’m late,” Kunikida drops into the chair next to him, looking guiltier than he ought to, considering the fact that he’s only 2 minutes late. His hair is ruffled and his shirt collar is askew, showing the sharp line of his collarbones. He turns to Ranpo, giving him a polite smile, “You must be Ranpo-san. I’m Kunikida Doppo.”
Ranpo gives him a once over, eyes glinting and appreciative. Right when Chuuya is about to tell him to cut it out, he turns to him and announces, “For purely scientific reasons, I need him to dick me down as soon as possible.”
Kunikida doubles over, choking on his spit. Chuuya facepalms. That went just about well he expected it to.
Dazai is sitting next to him. Chuuya’s hands are red with blood of the ones he slayed and Dazai is sitting next to him.
You call something a fight or a battle if the other party involved struggles. If there was resistance. However, whenever Nakahara Chuuya was in one, it could best be called a massacre instead. Ruthless, inhumane, merciless. Not given a second thought. An end with no time to fight or to scream.
The sun is setting and Dazai is sitting beside him and Chuuya, he’s not shaking. He’s not angry or hurt or sad or disgusted but he’s breathing and oh, god, how is Dazai still sitting next to him? How is he still there, after watching life crumble in his hands through centuries and more, how is he not sick of him yet? How does he look at him like he looks at anyone else? Where is the disgust? Where is the frustration, the anger?
A rattling inhale. Dazai takes his hand in his and wipes off the blood with his tattered shirt, “Stop thinking so loudly,” he says, not caring about the blood staining his white t-shirt. Chuuya stares at him with blatant wonder, “I can hear you from all the way here.”
Dazai’s hands are bloody, too. Dazai’s hand is bloody and Chuuya has watched him bring down dynasties with his smile, and they’re the same, aren’t they? Gods turned monsters, monsters turned gods, trying to stumble through the world with their awkward feet and unsheathed claws and awful human disguise. What a pair they make.
“Why are you still here?” the ‘with me’ goes unsaid, but Dazai gets it anyway. He gets a bitter smile in response.
“Where else would I go?”
I love you, Chuuya wants to say. Instead, he closes his eyes and slumps against the only constant in his life. They fall asleep like that- hand in unlovable hand.
“Chuuya. Chuuya, wake up.”
Chuuya wakes up disoriented. His vision clears sluggishly and it takes his mind a lot more time to catch up to his surroundings.
Kunikida was staring at him, lips pursed in concern. Someone was humming- Ranpo?- and shuffling around in the kitchen. There was drool running down his chin. Right. He must’ve fallen asleep on the living room floor last night.
“Hi,” he says and winces at how rough his voice sounds. When was the last time he drank water? “Sorry, I fell asleep right after I came back from the restaurant-”
“Restaurant?”
He yawns and stretches his back, “Yeah, I recently got a job there. Night shift.”
There’s a pitiful whine by his side and before he can turn towards the sound, Ren tackles him and slobbers all over his face. He smiles and pushes her face away, “Yes, buddy, hello. I missed you too.”
Kunikida is still frowning, “She misses you. When was the last time you took her out for a walk?”
He shrugs. Guilt fills his chest as he ruffles her hair and watches her sit on his lap, “I’ve been busy.”
“Chuuya, how many jobs have you taken up now? Three?”
Four, if he counted editing papers for students online. But he doesn’t tell that to him, “Yes-”
“He’s lying,” Ranpo hollers from the kitchen, “It’s four. He’s also helping college students with their projects for some money. He won’t listen if I tell him he’s being underpaid, too.”
Traitor.
Before he can begin to defend himself and reassure the two that really, he’s fine, it’s not as bad as it sounds, Kunikida sighs, “Get up. It’s time for lunch.”
Panic shoots through him, making him jolt up in his seat and swear, “Shit shit shit! I had to be at the store at noon-”
A hand on his shoulder pushes him back down. Kunikida glares at him, “No, you don’t. You are going to eat.”
“But-”
“You are going to eat,” Kunikida presses on, “And then we’re going to talk.”
His stomach drops. He nods, “Okay.”
Every bite of the rice he shoves in his mouth after that tastes like sawdust. This must be it. He did it, finally. He overstayed his welcome. They must be sick of it, having to check on him constantly, trying to keep him alive and well. They must be sick of him. He can’t even bring himself to be mad at them for it. He would be sick of himself, too.
Kunikida and Ranpo are already watching him patiently by the time he takes the last bite of his food and pushes the bowl away. He clears his throat, ready to say that he’ll move out as soon as he can when Ranpo butts in,
“No, Chuuya. Whatever you’re thinking is wrong. Let Kunikida speak.”
He purses his lips, visibly wilting. Looks like he won’t be able to spare himself the pain of hearing the bitter truth, “Okay.”
Kunikida smiles at Ren when she waddles over to him and lies by his side. He scratches her head when he says, “You should stop working so much. Drop every job except for one that pays the best.”
That catches him off guard. His eyebrows furrow, “Why?”
The blonde pushes his glasses up, exasperated, “Why? You’re working yourself thin, Chuuya. At this rate, you will die of stress before you save enough money to open a cafe.”
He flinches at the mention of death. From the side, Ranpo watches him warily when he snaps, “Well, it’s not like I love doing this, either. I have to do it. There is no other way.”
“Let us help.”
“It’s easy to say-” It takes a moment for his brain to catch up with what he heard, “Help? Help how?”
“Let us pitch in, too. We can bear some of the expenses for starting the cafe.”
He bursts out laughing because surely, they must be joking. But no one joins in on his laughter and they’re both looking at him with varying degrees of concern and he wants to back away snarling like a wounded animal in the wild. He swallows the fear rearing its ugly head back down and says, “Why would you do that?”
Kunikida’s frown deepens and Chuuya feels as if he is missing something obvious, “Why wouldn’t we? Let’s look at this logically: we both have a good amount of money lying around and this seems like a good thing to invest that on. Plus, it’s easier to get a loan if three people are shouldering the burden and it's safe to say we both have better credit scores and chances of getting the loan approved than you do.”
Chuuya deflates, relieved. Yes, of course. That makes sense. They are benefitting from this, too. He doesn’t owe them anything. After all, he is exhausted from running around playing the saviour, the hero. His knees are weak and he doesn’t think he can afford to carry any more debts than he already does.
But Kunikida isn’t done yet, “But all that is just a bonus. We want to do this because we want to help. Because we care. It’s as simple as that.”
And just like that, his heart is clawing back up his throat and a wave of an unknown emotion crashes on him. He can’t breathe, can’t move. He can only stare as Ranpo nods and continues,
“We’ve already had this conversation, Chuuya. We care because we want to. No, you don’t owe anything to us. Friends do each other favours all the time, simply because they love and care for each other. For better or for worse, you are stuck with us for as long as you want. And we will be your side in more ways than one, always. Don’t try to deny us the simple pleasure of being able to care for our friend. We can’t watch you slowly destroy yourself for this, not if we can do something to make things easier for you.”
He’s afraid that if he coughs his heart will jump out of his mouth and crawl towards the two in front of him. What do they see when they look at him? What did he do for them to deem him worthy of their love?
“Okay,” he says, ducking his head. He can’t bear to look at them any longer; the love in their eyes is too much, too honest and he feels raw, like an open wound, “Okay, we’ll do it. Together.”
He doesn’t have to look up to know that they’re both smiling. Chuuya doesn’t really know what they see in him but hopes that one day, when he looks in the mirror, he’ll be able to see it, too.
Miracles are real.
That's the only reason he's seeing Ranpo cling to a blushing Kunikida, looking overly pleased. Chuuya gapes, “No way. Don't tell me you guys are actually dating.”
Ranpo beams. The intensity of it almost makes him wince, “He couldn't resist my charm and dashing looks.”
Kunikida sighs, more fond than exasperated, “What charm are you talking about? Your first text to me was ‘please’ written in all caps about a hundred times with no context.”
Chuuya smothers a laugh when Ranpo flushes, embarrassed, “It was late, okay? I did not think it through.”
Kunikida laughs softly and kisses his forehead, “I'm glad you didn't.”
“Ew!” Chuuya yells, “Awful, that was awful! Am I going to have to see this shit every day now?”
Ranpo smirks, “Nope. You'll have to see worse.”
He gasps with mock horror, “You can't do this to me.”
The raven grins and pecks Kunikida's cheek, “I won't do anything to you, don't worry. But to Kunikida, on the other hand…”
“That's disgusting, please leave the room.”
Ranpo sticks his tongue out at him. He flips him off. Kunikida scolds them to knock it off, desperately trying not to smile. Nothing new, really. He thinks he rather likes it like this.
When it happens, he’s sitting on the floor of his living room and discussing the expenses of building the cafe with Kunikida.
It starts with the sense of doom he has grown so familiar with. It grows and grows in his chest, digging its claws in his flesh till he can no longer sit upright. He doubles over gasping. Kunikida is by his side in a second, rubbing his back, asking if he’s okay, but he can barely hear it all. His heart was beating in his ears and everything was blurry and oh-
A sharp pain pierces the side of his neck and twists . He reaches out to grasp Kunikida’s shirt for support, gritting his teeth when he feels tears gathering in his eyes. He thinks Kunikida is calling out his name but isn’t so sure anymore. The room was spinning and his dread was growing and oh god, he knew when he felt like this before.
Please, please, let it not be that. Anything but that.
And then, light spills from his palms.
The sound that escapes his lips is nothing short of inhuman. He thought he knew himself. He thought he had seen the worst this universe had to offer. But at that moment, with that wretched light of life leaking from his palms, he realizes that this was the first time he was really, truly afraid.
A sob rips through the very bottom of his chest as he hangs onto Kunikida’s shirt and watches his eyes widen with concern. He is shaking. He is shaking. He is so, so afraid.
“I can’t,” he cries, “I can’t lose you guys. I can’t lose this. Not now, not yet. Please, please, please-”
“Chuuya-” the blonde tries to hold his hand and flinches back almost violently, “Chuuya, your hands are freezing.”
“No, they are burning.”
Freezing? Chuuya stares at his trembling hands and bites back a cry when the light gets brighter and brighter. Freezing? He was burning, a supernova ready to collapse into itself. When Kunikida gets up to leave, he shoots forward to hold onto his leg, “No, please,” he begs. He can’t breathe, ”Not you too. Don’t leave me, not now, please-”
A hand on his cheek, soothing, gentle. Chuuya leans into the touch like a man starving, “Chuuya, I need you to let me go. I’m going to bring some warm water for your hands. I will be back, trust me.”
What was happening? What is killing him now? A knife to his neck? An illness? An assasination? What is it this time?
How fucking selfish of him. How selfish of both of them. For the first time, Chuuya has something. He has something to wake up every day for. He knows something that’s not pain and gore and death. He knows love. He knows happiness. How selfish it is of Dazai to take it all away in his quest to find death. And how selfish of him, to not care about his lover’s death and think about nothing other than his own life. He couldn’t bring himself to care about what the brunette was going through, not when all he had was slipping through his fingers. Not when all he can think about is the fact that he promised Ranpo he’d play paintball with him tomorrow and he still hasn’t built his cafe and he hasn’t talked to Kunikida about ideals and morals just enough he isn’t ready he isn’t ready, not now, please, not when he has all that he ever wanted, please, please-
Hands wrap around his wrists and gently guide them into a water bowl. He hears someone scream- is it his own? Or is it in his head? He doesn’t know, he doesn’t know and when he tries to scramble away from the water (too much too cold too much ), Kunikida holds him down firmly, “Chuuya, breathe.”
Kunikida. Right. He’s still here
“Can’t you see it?!” he feels insane, almost manic with desperation. He wants to tear his hair out of his scalp but Kunikida won’t let go of his hands and it hurts it hurts it hurts, “ Can’t you see the light from my hands? It’s all over, it’s all over, I’m never gonna see you again, I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m so sorry .
Kunikida’s hands are wrapped around his. His thumbs are rubbing gentle circles on his knuckles and Chuuya wants to cry because this softness, this worry- he was getting so used to it. He was so close to having it forever, so close to convincing himself this could be his new life. Now it was all falling apart and all he could do was watch helplessly as his friend shushed him and muttered meaningless reassurances to keep him breathing.
“Chuuya,” he hears him say, “You’re going to be okay. I’m not going anywhere. I’m here for you.”
And just like that, everything disappears into thin air.
His eyes are closed and his hands are cool and where’s the pain? He could’ve sworn he was being torn apart limb by limb but he feels like he is floating now. His mind is calm, his chest still. He can taste the copper tang of blood on his tongue. He isn’t sure if it’s his own or not.
Is it over? Has it started again?
When he opens his eyes, his hands are dripping water and he is slumped against something warm. Someone warm.
Kunikida.
He’s so relieved he wants to throw himself at the blonde and crush him into a hug. But before he could do anything of the sort, the world spins and everything goes blissfully dark.
He takes the glass of water offered to him with a quiet thanks. Kunikida sits beside him and sighs.
“You do know that you can’t keep me in the dark about this forever, right?”
Chuuya grimaces, guilty. He can’t keep him in the dark about his past forever, but god, does he want to. It’s not even about trust anymore. It’s about his selfish desire to live as Nakahara Chuuya, the college graduate, the barista, and the friend. Nothing less, nothing more. There was no running away with Ranpo, not after he had so blatantly given himself away. He knew that the way Kunikida saw him wouldn’t change just because he knew his past, no. The man loved and cared for him too much for that. This was about him. About him leaving behind his wretched past and living this life he built for himself with bleeding fingers and palms embedded with gravel. He was tired of living in the past.
But Kunikida deserved to know the truth in one way or the other. So he steels himself and says,
“I had…” A what? A cruel lover? A merciless god? A dream that he could never hold on to?
“I used to be in a relationship with someone who was suicidal,” is what he finally settles on, “And I regularly found him trying to kill himself. Poison, self-harm, hanging himself, you name it; I’ve seen them all. I was with him for so long and during all those years, all I could think about was keeping him alive. That soon became my only job. Wake up, check up on him, make sure he doesn’t kill himself before I come back from buying groceries, and so on. That didn’t exactly let me have any friends. And even the ones I had never ended well. It’s been quite some time since I left him; almost 4 years, I think. But I still get occasional panic attacks over it. But they’ve never been this bad, never without a trigger. I don’t know what happened, I just…”
When he finally lets himself look up at Kunikida, his breath catches in his throat.
He expected pity, and maybe even some horror upon hearing such a graphic description of his past but… he just looks heartbroken . For him, “I am so sorry you had to go through all that alone.”
Chuuya’s throat clogs up with an emotion too vast to name.
Don’t do that , he wants to say, Don’t show me kindness. Don’t treat me like I am capable of breaking. Don’t show me what soft things feel like under my fingers for I will grab and never let go. I will dig my claws into it and tear it apart before you could even blink. Don’t show me kindness, lest I start believing I deserve it. Don’t give me hope. Don’t treat me like I’m breakable for if I start breaking under your touch, I fear I will never stop.
Instead, he only forces out a laugh, “It’s really not that bad. It used to be bad, yes, but I’m good now. I’m sorry you had to see that. Now, it’s dinner time, what do you want to have? I was thinking pizza-”
“Chuuya.”
He closes his mouth, teeth clashing together with a loud click, “Yes?”
Soft. Kind. Gentle. Kunikida looks at him like he could be loved. Chuuya hates it.
“You don’t have to hide.”
And just like that, he cracks. Shoulders caving forward, face crumbling, eyes losing their last lick of flame that had been begging to be put out for way too long. He takes in a rattling breath and buries his head in his hands. Kunikida doesn’t touch him and he’s so grateful and he hates it.
Quietly, quietly, he says into his hands- It’s more of a confession than a question- “Do you think I’m unlovable?”
Am I unlovable? I’m unlovable. I’m so sorry I’m unlovable.
He hears a scoff. Before he could comprehend the meaning of it, Kunikida responds, “That’s a ridiculous question. You can’t be unlovable because I love you.”
Chuuya looks at the water dripping down his hands and the bowl in front of him. He looks at the book Ranpo left at his desk because he thought he’d like it. He looks at the house he calls home which he shares with a person he calls his friend. He looks at his hands. He looks at his hands. They are no longer bloody.
Oh. He is loved, isn’t he?
He gives Kunikida what he hopes is a smile, “Hey. I’m glad I slept with you that day.”
Kunikida sputters, ears turning red, “Chuuya! You just can’t say things like that!” he clears his throat and mumbles, “But I am too. I wouldn’t have gotten to know you otherwise.”
The pain in his neck is a fading nightmare. He leans against his friend’s shoulder and feels warmth spread in his chest.
Chuuya stands with the ones he has grown to call his best friends, his family, by his side, looking proudly at the fully built cafe of his own. His. It took him six years to get there but he’s there. After so many sleepless nights, missed meals and days filled with nothing but work he never wanted to do, he has what he wanted all along. Finally. And it wouldn’t be so if it weren’t for the two beside him.
“So,” he breathes, clasping his hands together and bouncing on his heels, “What do you think of the name?”
Kunikida looks at him and smiles, “Coffee DEN has a nice ring to it. But the capitalization is a bit weird. Why do the two words have different fonts? Is it a stylistic choice?”
He can’t help the blush that lights up his cheeks. God, how fucking embarrassing. He feels like a goddamn schoolgirl, writing his friend’s names in some lame abbreviation and displaying it out to the world. He might as well write ‘doppoedogawanakahara4ever!!’ and hang it in front of the place.
Sue him, he doesn’t know how to do this whole expressing affection thing. To him, love means life and death and blood. It means standing through one’s side during all their nightmares and wars. But he doesn’t know what to do when there is no war. When there are no gunshots in the air, only the soft song of cicadas. He doesn’t know what to do with gentle touches and laughter. He doesn’t know how to love like they do, all soft and warm. He is all sharp edges and bone. How can a knife learn how to caress?
But he is trying. He is trying to carve his name out next to beautiful sculptures of marble, all rough strokes and violence. He loves, quietly, quietly, through easily missed gestures and secret smiles. He is afraid of loving loudly. He is not sure which one he is more afraid of; him hurting them with it or him hurting himself with the overwhelming honesty of his affection.
At least they don’t know what it is , he consoles himself, returning Kunikida’s smile with one of his own. He can only hope it doesn’t look too pained, “Yeah, it is.”
They both startle when Ranpo starts cackling like a hyena. They say nothing; by now, they’ve learnt to let him do what he wants and get it all out of his system. He will eventually give them a very long and detailed run-down of his thought process, anyway.
The raven throws his arm around his shoulder and tugs him close. Chuuya stumbles before catching himself, “Careful!”
Ranpo grins, “Coffee DEN, huh. Wonder what that means.”
Chuuya stills.
Kunikida pushes his glasses up his nose, frowning, “It means what it means, Ranpo-san. They are both very simple words.”
“Uh huh,” Ranpo nods, still grinning, “Is that so, Chuuya?”
He turns away to hide his rapidly heating face, begging for the ground to swallow him whole, “Yes.”
He expects more laughter at his expense; he waits for Ranpo to poke fun at him and tell Kunikida how much of a ‘tsundere’ he is (Chuuya wants to throw up at just the thought of being called that) but none of it comes. Instead, Ranpo just smacks an obnoxiously loud kiss on his cheek and laughs when Chuuya pushes him away roughly, “Dude, ew!” he wipes his cheek, gagging when his fingers feel wet, “Did you fucking spit on me?!”
“I would never! However,” he puckers his lips and flutters his eyelashes, “I did lick my lips.”
Chuuya gags again and tries to wipe his hands and cheek on Ranpo’s shirt, only to almost fall on his face when he takes off running. He yells obscenities at the raven and sets out after him. Behind them, Kunikida chuckles and shakes his head.
Maybe it’s not so bad to love someone loudly. Maybe he’ll learn to do that, someday. For now, he only smiles to himself and tackles Ranpo to the ground. Along with the cicadas, his heart sings.
He still dreams. He still wakes up gasping on some days, crying for someone who never looked back, aching, begging for something he never had. But it passes. He wakes up and walks to his friend’s room to play video games with him. He wakes up and takes Ren for a run. He wakes up and talks to Kunikida till the sun rises. He wakes up and makes breakfast for himself and his ungrateful roommate that he loves so dearly. He wakes up, he wakes up, he wakes up.
And he’s glad he does.
The cafe is always buzzing with a quiet energy at this time of the day. He is bobbing his head to the song that has been stuck in his head for a week when one of his regulars, Milo, drops on the table nearest to the counter with a haunted look in their eyes.
Chuuya regards the red-haired teen with wary eyes. They were currently staring at their phone with their head in their hands. If it was anyone else, he would’ve went on with his day with his fingers crossed that they don’t start crying (he is not exactly the best at comforting people) but he has a soft spot for the kid. They were his first customer, his first regular and always greeted him with a smile, crooked and full of mischief. That’s why he finds himself walking towards their table with a frown, “Hey, is everything alright?”
Milo turns to him slowly, shoulders hunched, “Oh. Chuuya-san. I’ll have hot chocolate as usual.”
He hesitates for a second before asking, “Is everything alright? You look a bit down.”
Milo looks like they want to scream, “Grace got Homulilly. They won’t give her to me unless I give her Yuucah. I want to burn this world.”
Chuuya relaxes. Okay, that doesn’t sound too bad. Milo wants to burn the world 8 times a week, “Okay, do you want a croissant to go with that? They’re fresh out of the oven.” with a wink, he adds, “It’s on the house.”
The teen sends him a grateful nod, “Thank you.”
The doorbell tinkles and Ranpo’s sing-song voice seeks him, “If you keep giving random delinquents free pastries, you’re going to have to shut down this place real soon.”
Milo scowls, flipping Ranpo off. The raven only blows him an exaggerated kiss. He groans when Kunikida flicks the back of his head, “Stop antagonizing them. Hello, Milo.”
The redhead sends him a polite wave, “Hello, Kunikida-san. Rot in hell, Ranpo.”
Ranpo pouts, “No respect for your elders! Kunikida, say something!”
The blonde laughs under his breath and leans forward to kiss his cheek, “You deserve it.”
That seems to do the trick. Ranpo beams, pecking Kunikida’s lips. Milo and Chuuya gag in sync, “Gross.”
The air is warm and smells like croissants. One by one, customers start milling in. Chuuya greets the part-timer working in the cafe with a smile. Kunikida and Ranpo leave with a wave and a promise to come back and pick him up when he closes up. This is a promise he knows they'll keep. So he smiles back and says he’ll be waiting.
This is a promise he knows he will keep, too.
Ranpo sips on his slushie loudly, “That sucked.”
Chuuya and Kunikida glare at him at the same time, “You got us kicked out of the theatre with all your booing, Ranpo.”
Ranpo shrinks into himself, looking away, “You can't blame me, that movie sucked ass. C'mon, just admit it.”
Chuuya pauses, “Yeah, actually. That was terrible.”
Kunikida looks at them disapprovingly, “That's still not enough reason to call the protagonist a ‘pineapple-looking headass’. Which doesn't even make sense.”
Chuuya snickers, “Okay that was kinda funny.”
Ranpo grins, “See? He gets it.”
Kunikida shakes his head, defeated, “You two are insufferable.”
Chuuya nudges his shoulder, wiggling his eyebrows, “You have so many sappy feelings about us, don't lie.”
“Yeah,” Ranpo joins him, hooking his arm with Kunikida's, “You looooove us. You wanna make us breakfast every day and sing us to sleep.”
“Oh my god.”
“You want to cut the crust off Chuuya's sandwich and kiss me silly-”
Kunikida’s cheeks redden. He looks around frantically to check if anyone's listening before hissing, “Stop! Fine, you toddlers, I don't hate you. Happy now?”
Chuuya laughs, loud and unrestrained. His stomach is full and the wind is in his hair and it was not so bad, being alive. He watches his friends bicker with a smile before turning to look at the road.
He freezes.
In front of him stands Dazai Osamu, his mouth parted in surprise. He looks good, too; healthier, happier.
“Chuuya,” he breathes.
But that's not what makes his breath catch in his throat. It's the person standing next to Dazai.
Chuuya thinks he hears Ranpo and Kunikida calling his name, worried. But they all sound so far away. His blood is roaring in his ears and his heart is in his throat and he can only stay rooted in one place, terrified.
Because holding Dazai by his sleeve is none other than Fyodor Dostoyevsky.
LOW HP!
SWITCH TO PLAYER 2?
[ yes ] [yes]