Chapter Text
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“A new transfer student? At this time of the year?”
Chuuya’s the one who voices this out in a dubious tone, even if he’s not exactly the person that the Student Council President is looking for. Not that it really matters, since everyone here has long accounted for Dazai-and-Chuuya as a 2-for-1 deal. An inescapable relationship that stretches back to them being neighbors and classmates since preschool years. Chuuya’s long tired of clearing up the misunderstanding that they’re conjoined by the hip.
Case in point: despite being in separate classes, right now, Dazai is spending his lunch break slumped over Chuuya’s desk, an overgrown leech taking a nap right there, cuddling the wooden tabletop as though it’s the most luxurious pillow.
Ango’s glasses shine under the classroom’s lights. As expected of being considered as one of Dazai’s friends, he only shoots a dismayed look at the mop of brown hair, before letting out a long-suffering sigh. “Special circumstances,” he says curtly. “With Dazai-kun’s intellect, I would ask him, but…”
“Do you want that new student to run away screaming?”
Another sigh. “If you’re there to motivate Dazai-kun to do well…”
“I’m not babysitting this shitty mackerel,” Chuuya whispers hotly, careful not to wake the person beside him. It receives a raised eyebrow from Ango, prompting him to add an explanation, “This fucker’s going to be insufferable if he doesn’t get at least thirty minutes naptime, that’s all.”
“…How considerate of you.” Ango then taps at his clipboard. “Would you like to do the tutoring then, Chuuya-kun?”
A refusal is on the tip of his tongue. Then he pauses, reconsiders. Dazai always teases him that he’s too hotheaded, impatient and short to be a good senpai. Isn’t this the perfect opportunity to show that bastard that he’s way more adult-like and senpai-material?
His mind theater fills up with an influx of scenes, of the new transfer student suddenly becoming part of the top 10 in their grade, perhaps even defeating Dazai ‘too lazy for studying’ Osamu. It’s impossible to defeat Edogawa and Poe, the biggest two nerds ever, but the third-rank should be feasible. And then, this new transfer student would call Chuuya a senpai and when someone asks him about Dazai, he’d go, “Dazai, who?”
“…Um, Chuuya-kun?”
That snaps him out of his fantasies of lording things over Dazai. He enthusiastically nods and accepts the request to take care of the new transfer student, “I’ll do it!”
From beside him, Dazai huffs a breath, and suddenly falls sideways, so that his face is pressed right against a pair of muscled thighs. It’s enough to distract Chuuya from his conversation, because he’s now worried that the other will complain about muscle soreness because of this new position. He doesn’t really care if the other breaks his neck, but this kind of scenario is usually followed by Dazai insisting that he piggyback him home, which is extra annoying.
-
Chuuya’s been so distracted by Dazai’s antics, that he’s genuinely surprised to find an unfamiliar redhead approaching his desk once classes end for the day. There’s a bandage over the other’s nose, and there’s a certain measure of gruffness in his posture.
Since he’s forgotten his volunteering to tutor a transfer student, Chuuya looks at this guy’s delinquent aura and asks, “Are you here to pick a fight?” Without letting the bewildered guy react, he adds, “If you have complaints about that shitty Dazai, you can beat him up directly, no need to go through me.”
“…Um, I’m here for the tutoring?” The guy scratches at his cheek. The gruffness melts away, and he looks almost shy. “I’m Tachihara Michizou. I-It’s nice to meet you, N-N-Nakahara-senpai.”
“Oh.” The embarrassed air is rather infectious. Chuuya finds himself mirroring the way the other scratched his cheek. He stands up, clears his throat, and offers a fistbump. There, he should look like a cool senpai. “Sorry about that. You can call me Chuuya instead.”
It might just be the classroom’s lights being brighter because the afternoon sky is growing dimmer—Tachihara’s eyes look like they’re sparkling in reverence. “It’s really nice to meet you, Chuuya-senpai!!!”
He starts clearing up his desk, making sure that he didn’t leave anything behind. “Want to get some ice cream? We can talk about schedules and stuff there.”
Tachihara doesn’t respond for a full minute, so Chuuya looks back up at him, puzzled. Maybe he doesn’t have money…? Prof Glasses did say that he transferred right after summer vacation due to ‘special circumstances’, after all… He clears his throat again. “It’s my treat, you don’t have to pay anything.”
Strangely enough, that makes Tachihara suddenly bloom red, like he’s been dunked into red paint. “Oi, you okay? Do you need to see the nurse or something?”
“Ah, Chuuya-senpai, I—”
“—am thinking on how to decline, because it’s impolite to squeeze into an afterschool ice cream date?” Dazai suddenly cuts in, announcing his presence by suddenly slumping all over him, bony chin digging on top of his scalp. Arms hang over his shoulders, like he’s an oversized monkey using Chuuya as a convenient chinrest.
It says so much about how often he’s pulled this stunt, that Chuuya barely even staggers from the unceremonious plastering of a beanpole on his back. As such, he knocks his head back, dislodging the pointy chin from its perch. It doesn’t work as well, because Dazai simply moves along with him, predicting his reactions easily. Therefore, despite Chuuya’s efforts, they end up still entangled together. This time, with his head planted right in the space between Dazai’s neck and shoulder, it almost seems as though he’s the one leaning his entire weight against the other. He tries to wriggle away, but one of the mackerel’s most salient skills include being harder to dislodge than week-old chewed-up bubblegum.
On top of being clingier than an octopus, Dazai possesses a wealth of other annoying traits.
One of which being… “What date are you talking about? Are you planning on flirting with some poor waitress and asking her out to a double suicide again?!”
Dazai lets out a chuckle, before patting his stomach over his shirt. Goddamn long limbs, urgh. “Well, better make sure to pay lots of attention to me so I don’t wander off~”
“Have I ever told you about how you’re so much worse than a toddler full of shit?”
“You shouldn’t insult toddlers, not when they’re the only ones who can see eye to eye with you.”
He snarls and whirls around so he can stomp his feet over Dazai’s. Because this happens way too often between them, Dazai dodges his attack—or at least, that’s how things are supposed to go. This time, Dazai accepts the full brunt of his weight, arms winding tight around his torso. It plasters his forehead against the other’s shirt buttons, his ear squished uncomfortably on top of a serene heartbeat. And instead of pushing him away—like that one time that white-haired first-year tripped on top of Dazai—there’s no additional movement whatsoever.
Dazai just… holds on?
What the hell?
Chuuya frowns and opens his mouth to ask if the other’s sick or something.
Before he can voice out his concerns—the last time this bastard got sick, he went ahead and threw a massive tantrum until Chuuya relented and nursed him back to health—he’s interrupted by an uneasy-looking Tachihara clearing his throat. It’s followed by a shaky reminder of, “Um, I’m still here?”
Dazai’s heartbeat speeds up slightly. Chuuya pinches his waist so he’ll slacken his grip. Dazai lets out a displeased grunt, but he does end up loosening his constrictor’s hold around him. At least enough to allow Chuuya to turn around and face this new kouhai. They’re still invading each other’s personal space, but at least Chuuya’s not tasting the detergent on another’s shirt when he says, “We were planning to get some ice cream.” He taps his fingers on the space just-above Dazai’s beltline. “You can join us, Tachihara.”
Tachihara still looks a bit bewildered, but he does end up agreeing anyway.
-
Their walk to the ice cream parlor takes longer than usual. It’s only two blocks away, but it feels like trudging through two cities’ worth of distance, with how he has to practically drag Dazai over the sidewalk.
“Are you actually sick or something?” Chuuya does finally ask, given that Dazai has nearly stitched their skins together with how tightly he’s plastered himself over his back and his arms. “Why the hell are you acting like a mummified oversized backpack?”
Tachihara squeaks out a faint, “Chuuya-senpai, I can help carry your bag—”, but then Dazai starts talking over him, something that he’s been doing over the past couple of minutes.
“It’s not my fault you’re just so small,” is muffled against the back of his left ear. Summer break has ended but the tail-end of the muggy season is still thick in the air. Sweat layers over his skin, making everything extra sticky. It doesn’t help that Dazai is licking the side of his face and neck every few minutes, seriously, what the fuck.
“Aren’t you the asshole who keeps on praying for me to stay short during the New Year’s shrine visits?!”
A snigger couched in palpable delight. “Now, now, aren’t you embarrassed at how you can remember every single thing about me?”
“How is that about you when it’s about my height being cursed?!”
“Don’t sweat the tiny details, chibikko,” is followed by another lick to the curve of his earlobe, urgh.
“That’s a very big detail, damn it!”
The tinkling bell by the entrance of the parlor is rendered redundant by the way they announce their arrival, bickering all the way. Tachihara tries to mediate their verbal parries, but is summarily ignored. Thankfully, the owner of the place is already used to their antics, simply placing an additional set of cutlery on their usual booth, the one furthest from everyone else.
“Thanks, Gramps,” Chuuya says the moment he sinks into the seat, the leather squeaking slightly. Dazai squeezes against him despite it being a four-person booth, burrowing to his side like a bloodsucking leech that has found its lifetime meal.
Tachihara shoots a worried glance at the way Dazai appears resolute in fusing the two of them together while ignoring common sense and clothing barriers. Chuuya’s free hand makes a little wave, brandishing the menu at his kouhai. “My treat,” he reminds.
The moment Tachihara says his order, Dazai fishes out money from his wallet and hands it to Hirotsu. “Our usual, thanks.”
Hirotsu blinks at the money, at Dazai’s arm, and then he looks in horror at Chuuya, obviously demanding an explanation. Chuuya is similarly aghast, and he slaps his right palm over Dazai’s forehead. “No fever,” he mutters, before he goes for patting the other’s scalp, neck and chest, doing an impromptu physical check-up. “What the fuck is wrong with you today? Is the world ending or something?”
Most people would be offended if they’re suspected of insanity the moment they actually pay for something instead of mooching. Most people are not as shameless as Dazai though, who simply smiles as he’s fussed over. He even nuzzles into Chuuya’s hands, enjoying the attention. “Don’t worry too much, Chuuya, I stole money from you during lunch time.”
“Oh, that makes sense.” Both Chuuya and Hirotsu let out a twin sighs of relief at that. And then Chuuya pinches off the other’s ears for the blatant admission to his thieving ways. “I knew there was something wrong when you asked me to get ice cream on the way back, damn it!!!”
-
An hour later has Chuuya halfheartedly fighting to shove off Dazai from licking the vanilla from his forehead. Tachihara’s been mostly spared from getting pelted with ice cream, but he is now looking at his senpai with a certain sense of wariness. It’s a childish, vicious food fight, but the way Dazai has targeted every visible part of Chuuya’s skin is… suspect, to say the least.
“Just ignore this damn leech,” Chuuya suggests to his kouhai. It’s a showcase of his self-control that he doesn’t even blush in embarrassment when there’s someone climbing him in public. “Add me on LINE later so it’s easier to arrange our tutoring schedule.”
Dazai starts whining about being hungry for dinner, so Chuuya waves goodbye at the traumatized Tachihara. He starts digging his elbows against the mackerel’s stomach too, chiding him. “You just ate six scoops of ice cream! How are you so hungry again!”
“I want to eat Chuuya’s yakisoba, crab croquettes, potato fries, octopus wieners, steamed bass, apple pie…”
A click of tongue. “I’ve never met a more shameless freeloader than you.”
“Randou-san did say that I’m always welcome to your house, did you forget?”
“My dad’s just being polite, damn it!”
“He’s being smart. See how he has stopped insisting on adding a guest futon for me whenever I sleep over?”
“Damn right my dad’s smart.” Their shadows melt into one, as the two of them walk back to their neighborhood. Chuuya frowns as he thinks that statement over. “It’s his way of saying that you should actually sleep in your own bedroom!”
“Such a pity that you didn’t inherit his brains, huh?”
“My grades are just-below yours, slacker, stop calling me stupid!”
Despite several strange actions throughout the day, Dazai’s more or less back to his normal antics, however strange it is to apply the word ‘normal’ on him.
He greets Randou and Paul warmly when he arrives at Chuuya’s home, acting like a prodigal son while Chuuya’s in the background rolling his eyes at the blatant sucking up. He—who usually eats like some very picky bird pecking at a tiny earthworm—inhales four servings of rice and then complains of stomachache afterwards. He uses up all the hot water when he showers, then jumps to Chuuya’s bed while still-damp, prompting Chuuya to blast a hairdryer to his slimy face.
So Chuuya stops worrying about the end of the world, and sleeps heartily.
But he should have known that nothing shithead-related can be resolved so easily, because the next day, he can only gape in shock.
“…You’re… what?”
“I’m tutoring Tachihara-kun with you,” Dazai beams sunnily as though it makes sense for someone who never hands in his homework and never pays attention in class to be a tutor. “Aren’t I so nice, being such a responsible senpai and all?”
Chuuya nearly has a heart attack upon getting attacked by this wave of blatant lies.
Just what the fuck is going on?! The last time Dazai had insisted on paying attention to someone who’s not him… well… to say that it’s been a crazy clusterfuck is a massive understatement. It almost made international news, what with the involvement of the heir to one of the biggest Russian conglomerates, and way too many clowns outside a circus. Up to this day, he still has a kneejerk reaction to hearing the word ‘rat’.
While he’s busy questioning everything he’s ever known in life, Dazai actually brandishes a pair of glasses and wears it, tucking a stray lock of hair behind one ear. He actually looks like he’s taken the effort to comb his hair today, what the hell. He then says something about preparing all the necessary study materials so that Tachihara can get the most comprehensive tutoring ever. Chuuya gets another heart attack, staring wide-eyed at the mackerel’s transformation.
Is Dazai… interested in Tachihara? Is that why he’s insisting on getting involved…? Is that why he’s actually learned proper grooming…? Should he warn Tachihara about the possibilities of getting involved with someone like Dazai…?
And then Dazai grabs his hand and peers down at him, glasses sliding off his nose slightly. A satisfied smirk on his face. “Fufufu, I do look nice today, don’t I?”
Chuuya… is only human, okay? In the face of this strange, alien mackerel, he can only yell, before punching Dazai using his free hand.
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to be continued