Work Text:
A few days after the movie day, Okuto Nakamura walked towards the school a bit more excited, reminiscing about the events during the festival.
"I think I'm a bit selfish... to be in love with someone when I knew we would just be friends," he thought with a sad smile on his face.
Not watching where he was going, a high school student ran towards Nakamura, accidentally bumping into the poor boy and making the blue-haired one fall to the ground, breaking his bracelet in the process. The culprit saw this and quickly apologized to the protagonist, explaining he was in a huge rush.
"Relax, it's all good, it was my fault for not watching where I was walking," the boy placated as he got up and brushed the dust off his pants.
He smiled faintly in response to what the other student was saying when a poster hung on the brick wall caught his attention.
"Come see the famous crabs at the Yokohama Aquarium!! We have the rarest types of them coming from the deepest Ocean!"
"Oh yeah! It was the same aquarium I went to and surprisingly ended up spending the rest of the day with Hirose for the first time!!" the blue-haired boy thought, breaking into a genuine smile, his cheeks taking on a rosier hue from the excitement.
. . .
"Why do I feel like I'm forgetting something?"
"Yokohama + Aquarium + Crabs + Ocean.."
"Ocea... Osa-"
Nakamura's eyes widened in shock as he realized why he felt that way! He had completely forgotten that he had made plans to meet his friend during the field trip to Chinatown in Yokohama!!
The teenager started running while mentally reprimanding himself on his way to school.
He was a terrible person! Who in their right mind stood up their own best friend to spend the day with a crush who practically never felt the same way?!
Not to mention that was months ago! How had he not realized?!?
Then again, knowing his friend, he'd probably do practically the same thing if he got the chance.
Exhausted, Okuto stopped running and leaned on his knees to catch his breath. Across the sidewalk, there was a plushie store, where one of the employees had just placed a crab plushie in the window.
The blue-haired boy swallowed hard and stood up, staring fixedly at the plushie in the window.
Mh....
.
..
..
..
..
"Alright class! Everyone in your seats because today we have a..." — The rest of the words spoken by Mr. Otogiri became inaudible to the dark-haired boy who was lying completely defeated on his desk.
The classroom was like a distant buzz, completely muffled by the silent storm raging inside Okuto Nakamura's head. His arms were crossed over the desk, his forehead pressed against the cold wood, while his fingers drummed in a nervous, erratic rhythm. The image of the aquarium poster still danced behind his closed eyelids: Crabs. Yokohama. Ocean. Osamu.
The guilt weighed like an anchor tied to his sternum. How could he have forgotten? How could he have traded a date planned weeks ago for a spontaneous and overwhelming afternoon with Hirose? The dark-haired boy buried his face deeper into his arms, lightly bumping his forehead against the desk in a gesture of mute frustration.
"That's why he started ignoring and not answering my messages..." he murmured, burying his head in his arms and lightly tapping his head on the desk. "Damn! I'm sure he saw me with him, ahh..."
A few minutes passed with the protagonist lamenting his terrible mistake to the point of not hearing the bell ring, indicating it was lunchtime.
In no particular rush, a chair scraped as a boy covered in bandages, with wavy, slightly curly brownish hair, approached Nakamura's desk. The room fell silent for a moment before a little giggle danced through the silence and a hand rested on the taller boy's head.
"Oku-chan~."
Recognizing the nickname, the aforementioned boy slammed both hands on the desk and quickly stood up, staring at the person in front of him. With a completely shocked expression, there was only one person who called him that.
And this person had almond-shaped eyes with a slightly reddish tint, wavy hair with curls in a small, organized mess — because despite being a mess on a normal person, it strangely looked good on him — whose brownish strands, if not in the sun, would easily be mistaken for black. He wore bandages over almost his entire body, and one covered his right eye.
Almost like the person in front of him right now.
. . .
"WHAT?!?" Nakamura shouted, jumping back as if he'd been burned by something.
Dazai blinked a few times, caught off guard by the blue-haired boy's reaction, before moving his hand to his mouth to muffle a few giggles — but failing miserably.
"Pff... you still get startled like a cat with a cucumber," he mocked, turning his head to the side, his shoulders shaking.
"H-Hey! Stop laughing, you unloved idiot!!" he stammered, pointing at the dark-haired boy, who just ended up laughing even more.
☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆
"So, how was it? You just ditched my magnificent presence to spend the day with your boyfriend, something good must have come out of it," Osamu asked casually while drinking a strawberry soda, swinging his legs in the air as he sat on the stair railing.
The afternoon sunlight filtered through the high windows of the hallway, bathing Dazai's brownish hair in shades of copper and honey. At fifteen, he was remarkably short for his age, standing at only 1.55m, which forced him to seek elevated positions — like the railing — to feel like he was on the same level as the rest of the world. Or, in this case, on the same level as Nakamura.
Okuto Nakamura stood a few steps below, his shoulders slumped, his school bag hanging on his shoulder seeming to weigh a ton. The blue-haired boy's heart was still hammering against his ribs in a disjointed rhythm of guilt and relief. The fact that Dazai was talking to him, even with that sharp mocking tone, was a miracle he was willing to pay any price for.
"He's not my boyfriend, Osamu..." Nakamura murmured, his voice choked, rubbing the back of his neck with his free hand. "And... I'm an idiot. A selfish, blind idiot."
Dazai stopped swinging his legs. The plastic straw made a hollow sound as he sucked the last drop of soda. His eyes, a brown so deep it seemed to absorb the surrounding light, fixed on the taller boy. The mask of amused indifference faltered for a fraction of a second, revealing the raw hurt he had carried over the past few months.
"A selfish idiot..." Dazai repeated, his voice losing its sing-song cadence, becoming dangerously soft. "That's a good description, Oku-chan. You know, I stood in Chinatown square for three hours. I bought those meat baozi you said you wanted to try. I held the aquarium pamphlet until the paper got soggy with the sweat from my hand. And you... you were too busy smiling at Hirose."
Nakamura squeezed his eyes shut, the pain in his chest so sharp it made him breathless. The image of Dazai, small, wrapped in his bandages, holding a crumpled pamphlet and waiting for him, was a torture he knew he deserved.
"I know. I know I messed everything up." Nakamura took another step, his voice trembling but determined. "I got carried away. Hirose talked to me, the festival was beautiful, and I... I was a coward. I ran away into the fantasy of being with him because the reality that I needed to be there for my best friend scared me. But when I saw the aquarium poster today... the world stopped. I felt like the worst person on the planet."
Dazai tilted his head, his curls falling over his right eye covered by the gauze. He didn't say anything, just watched Nakamura with an intensity that made the taller boy want to dig a hole in the ground and bury himself.
"I don't want to lose you, Osamu." Nakamura took a deep breath, kneeling on the step to finally be at the same eye level as Dazai. He opened his bag with trembling hands. "I know I can't erase the last few months. But... I went to that plushie store. That employee was putting in the window..."
Nakamura pulled a soft object from inside the bag and held it out.
It was a crab plushie. Not a generic crab; it was a hermit crab, with its detailed brown shell, orange pincers, and shiny black bead eyes. It was cute, strangely expressive, and smelled faintly of cotton candy and the sea.
Dazai blinked. His bandaged hand, which until then had been relaxed at his side, slowly rose. Dazai's brown eyes, usually so empty or laden with premature cynicism, gained a wet gleam, a genuine shine that Nakamura hadn't seen since elementary school, when they were ten years old and spent hours at low tide looking for shells.
"A crab..." Dazai whispered, his voice breaking.
"To make up for standing you up. And... because I remembered when you explained to me that hermit crabs don't produce their own shells, they need to find homes that others have abandoned and carry them forever, growing and changing houses as they evolve." Nakamura smiled, a sad but hopeful smile. "And, I somehow wanted to apologize to you for leaving you hanging there."
A heavy, but not hostile, silence fell over the stairs. Dazai reached out and took the crab. His bandaged fingers stroked the orange pincers. Suddenly, he pulled the plushie against his chest, hugging it with desperate strength, burying his face in the toy's soft fur for a brief second. When he lifted his head again, there was a smile on Dazai's face. Not the mocking smile, nor the fake smile he used for school. It was Dazai's smile. Small, shy, but real.
"You're an idiot, Oku-chan. But... you're my idiot." Dazai stepped down from the railing. The height difference between them was evident now, but Dazai seemed to fill the space with his overwhelming presence. He shoved his free hand into his pants pocket and pulled out another object, holding it out to Nakamura.
Nakamura took the object. It was an octopus plushie, but not an ordinary octopus. It was a chibi version, chubby, with short, rounded tentacles, huge eyes, and a goofy smile. It wore a tiny little straw hat.
"This is Mr. Octopus," Dazai said, crossing his arms and looking away, his cheeks slightly pink. "I had it custom-made. Because octopuses have three hearts and blue blood. And because... well, you like cute things, even if you try to hide it behind those weird stories of yours... And he looks a lot like your pet octopus, but in a chibi version of him."
Nakamura laughed, a loud, genuine sound that echoed down the hallway, squeezing the chibi octopus against his chest.
"He's perfect, Osamu. Thank you so much."
"Don't thank me. Just promise me one thing." Dazai looked at him, his eyes serious again. "Next time Hirose calls you, you let me know. If he's that important, I want to understand why. But if he makes you forget about me again... I'm going to have to poison his tea. And you know I know how to do that."
Nakamura laughed again, feeling the weight of months lift from his shoulders.
"Deal. No secrets."
"Great." Dazai turned around, adjusting his bag strap. "Now come on. Lunch break is ending and I need to get back to the lion's den. The new batch of transfer students is giving me a headache, and I need you to distract me with those dubious romance stories of yours."
Nakamura followed his friend, his heart light, but his mind already preparing for the chaos that was the classroom.
☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆
Across the room, sitting by the window, was Nakahara Chuuya. The redhead radiated an aura of danger and impatience, his heavy boots resting on the edge of the chair in front of him. Beside him, like protective and hostile shadows, were Yuan and Shirase.
Yuan, with his sharp eyes and defensive posture, didn't take his eyes off Chuuya. There was a clear, almost romantic devotion in the way he watched the redhead, but as soon as his gaze shifted to the back of the room, where Dazai was, his expression twisted into pure disdain. Shirase, on the other hand, was colder, a silent, calculating hatred directed exclusively at Osamu Dazai. It was a day before they transferred, Shirase had tried to play a mean prank on Dazai, but the dark-haired boy retaliated, making Shirase fall into his own trap in front of the whole class; the platinum-haired boy even tried to hit him after that but was stopped by the school monitors.
"That damn bandaged freak..." Shirase growled lowly, adjusting his glasses. "He thinks he can just transfer here and pretend nothing happened?"
"He doesn't even deserve to breathe the same air as Chuuya," Yuan added, his voice dripping with venom, though his eyes softened as they returned to Chuuya. "Right, Chuuya?"
Chuuya didn't answer immediately. His blue eyes, intense as the churning ocean, were fixed on the back of the room. There, Dazai had just sat down next to Nakamura.
The classroom dynamic was clear and cruel. Chuuya, naturally, had separated himself from Dazai the moment they walked in, sitting with Yuan and Shirase, creating a physical and emotional barrier. Dazai, on the other hand, didn't even seem offended. He just walked straight to Nakamura's desk, pulled up a chair, and sat down, completely ignoring the murderous glares from across the room.
"...and then, the protagonist of Crimson Tide realizes the villain has always been his twin brother, but the problem is they're trapped in a mirror dimension and the only way out is by confessing the darkest, most forbidden love they feel for each other!" Nakamura whispered excitedly, his eyes shining as he flipped through a bound volume of a BL (Boys' Love) manga he was skillfully hiding behind his math book.
Dazai, who had a thick copy of The Count of Monte Cristo (a dark fantasy and revenge edition) open on the desk, wasn't reading. He had his chin resting in his hand, the crab plushie resting discreetly on the book, listening to Nakamura with fascinated attention.
"Wait, wait." Dazai interrupted, his eyes gleaming with morbid curiosity. "If they're in a mirror dimension, shouldn't the reflection show their true intentions? Or does the mirror distort reality to punish their hypocrisy? Because, psychologically, the mirror is the symbol of the ego. If the villain is the brother, wouldn't the confession be an act of terminal narcissism? A form of metaphorical suicide before the physical one?"
Nakamura blinked, processing Dazai's completely out-of-context analysis.
"Osamu... it's a romance. They just want to kiss in the rain."
"But the rain is acidic in that dimension, right? You said that in chapter three," Dazai retorted, turning the page of his fantasy book without even looking at him. "It's fascinating. The romanticization of self-destruction. You should lend me this book, Oku-chan. I want to take notes on the psychological torture methods the author used."
Nakamura laughed, hiding his face in his hand.
"You're terrible, you know that? But it's fine. I'll lend it to you. But you have to lend me that book about suicide methods in the Victorian Era that you're reading."
"It's a deal." Dazai smiled, a small, genuine smile, stroking the shell of the crab plushie.
Across the room, the scene was being observed with a mixture of confusion and irritation.
Hirose, who was sitting two rows ahead of Nakamura, turned subtly. He frowned as he saw Nakamura laughing, his shoulders relaxed, completely absorbed in the conversation with the bandaged boy. Hirose felt a strange pang in his chest. Ever since that day at the park, Nakamura had been distant, polite, but cold. Hirose had assumed Nakamura was just embarrassed. But seeing Nakamura so... alive with Dazai? It caused an inexplicable discomfort. Hirose gripped his pencil, his knuckles turning white. Why is he looking at that guy like that?
But the most complex reaction, the one most laden with pain and history, came from Chuuya.
Chuuya frowned, his teeth clenched. He saw Dazai's smile. That smile.
Chuuya knew that smile. He knew the way Dazai's eyes narrowed when he was genuinely interested, the way his shoulders relaxed when he felt safe. But Chuuya hadn't seen that smile in years.
Chuuya's mind was violently pulled into the past.
They were twelve years old. Their families were close, long-time friends. Chuuya, extroverted, popular, the center of attention. Dazai, quiet, weird, with his macabre hobbies and his mind operating on frequencies no one else could tune into. Chuuya, in his eagerness to fit in, to be "normal," started to pull away. He hung out with the popular crowd, leaving Dazai behind.
But Dazai didn't accept the silent abandonment. He started tormenting Chuuya. He pulled his hair, hid his things, made cruel and precise comments that dismantled Chuuya's tough-guy facade. They fought physically, rolling on the grass or in the hallways, a dynamic of violence and attention that was the only way Dazai knew how to say: I'm still here. Don't forget me.
Chuuya always thought it was just Dazai's annoying stubbornness. Until that day.
The sound of the break bell rang, bringing Chuuya back to the present.
"Come on, Chuuya. Let's go get something to drink. That idiot Dazai is polluting the air," Shirase said, standing up.
"Go without me," Chuuya grumbled, his voice hoarse. "I need to go to the bathroom."
Yuan nodded, casting one last look of disgust at Dazai before following Shirase.
Chuuya left the room, but didn't go to the bathroom. He went to the side hallway, the emptiest one, the one that led to the fire escape stairs. He needed air. The image of Dazai hugging that ridiculous crab, smiling at Nakamura, was burning into his retina.
He leaned against the cold brick wall, closing his eyes. Chuuya's breathing was heavy. Anxiety, that old, familiar companion, was starting to rise in his throat.
Flashback.
They were thirteen years old. Chuuya was in the school hallway, laughing at a joke one of his new friends had told, when he heard a strange sound coming from the boys' bathroom. A wet, desperate sound, like a wounded animal trying not to make a noise.
Chuuya pushed the door open. The smell of iron and sweat was strong. Dazai was on the floor, curled up in the corner between the sinks and the wall. The bandages on his arms were partially unraveled, hanging like dirty rags. He was having a panic attack. His hands were scratching his own neck, trying, in a blind panic, to rip off the skin, rip off the bandages, rip off his own existence.
"Osamu!" Chuuya had screamed, his voice breaking. He ran, falling to his knees beside the boy. "Osamu, stop! What are you doing?!"
Dazai couldn't hear him. His brown eyes were rolled back, his mouth open in a silent groan of agony. On the floor next to him, his phone was lit up. A text message. The news about the accident. Dazai's older brother.
Chuuya, with a broken heart and trembling hands, wrapped his arms around Dazai's thin shoulders. He pulled the boy against his chest, ignoring the dirty bandages, ignoring the fact that Dazai was scratching his arms.
"I'm here. I'm here, you idiot. Breathe. Breathe with me." Chuuya was crying, tears falling onto Dazai's brown hair. "Please, Osamu. Don't leave me. I'm an idiot, I was an idiot for leaving you, but don't do this."
Dazai had collapsed. He grabbed Chuuya's shirt with his bandaged hands, sobbing in a way that made it seem like his lungs were going to tear. That afternoon, on the cold bathroom floor, Chuuya understood. The bandages weren't just a weird fetish or an eccentricity. They were armor. They were Dazai's way of trying to keep his soul inside his body, of holding back the physical and emotional pain that threatened to overflow. His brother's death, the feeling of Chuuya's abandonment, the darkness of his own mind... all of that demanded a price, and the bandages were the bandage for a wound that never healed.
Chuuya promised himself that day that he would never let Dazai fall again. But the guilt... the guilt of having pulled away before, of being the reason Dazai felt so alone he broke... that guilt was a poison Chuuya drank every day.
End of Flashback.
Chuuya opened his eyes, his breathing ragged. He ran a hand over his face, cursing under his breath.
"Damn it..." he whispered to the empty hallway.
He was gentle with Dazai when they were alone. No one knew that. Yuan and Shirase thought Chuuya just tolerated Dazai's existence out of a sense of obligation to the past. But the truth was that Chuuya was obsessed with making sure Dazai was "whole." He checked if Dazai had eaten, if his bandages were clean, if he wasn't having too many dark thoughts. Chuuya's anxiety regarding Dazai was a secret that consumed him.
And now, seeing Dazai so close to Nakamura... seeing Nakamura manage to coax that smile out of Dazai, seeing Nakamura understand Dazai's weirdness (like that stupid crab)... Chuuya felt a pang of jealousy that wasn't about romantic possession, but about belonging.
It should be me. Chuuya thought, the pain in his chest acute. I should be the person he laughs with. I should be the person he forgives.
Chuuya knew Dazai loved him. He wasn't stupid. He saw the way Dazai teased him, the way their physical fights were just an excuse to touch each other, the way Dazai's eyes followed him around the room. Dazai had fallen in love with him at twelve, and Chuuya, with his own fear of destroying the only pure thing left between them, pretended not to know. He kept his distance to protect Dazai from himself, to protect Dazai from the darkness Chuuya thought he carried.
But Nakamura... Nakamura was the light. Nakamura was safe.
Chuuya pushed himself off the wall, his expression hardening. He wasn't going to let Dazai drown. Even if it meant he couldn't be the savior.
When Chuuya returned to the classroom, the bell had already rung. Mr. Otogiri was starting the literature lesson.
Chuuya sat down heavily. His gaze met Dazai's for a fraction of a second. Dazai was leaning over Nakamura's desk, whispering something that made the blue-haired boy blush and laugh softly, hiding his face in the chibi octopus.
Dazai looked up. The smile vanished. Dazai's gaze met Chuuya's, and for a second, the mask fell completely. There was an abyssal sadness in Dazai's eyes, a silent cry for help, and at the same time, a painful resignation.
Chuuya looked away, his jaw clenched, his heart squeezed like an iron fist.
The class passed in a blur for Nakamura. He was too busy passing notes to Dazai, drawing settings for his BL stories, and laughing at Dazai's macabre analyses of the characters' psychology.
When the final bell rang, announcing the end of classes, the room exploded into movement.
"Oku-chan!" Dazai called out, standing up and stretching. He looked tiny next to Nakamura when they both stood, but his presence was undeniable. "Let's go to the library? I need to return this book and you need to explain the difference between a tsundere and a yandere in Victorian literature to me."
"Sure, let's go." Nakamura smiled, putting away his books.
"Nakamura."
Hirose's voice sounded behind them. Nakamura turned, his smile faltering a bit. Hirose was standing there, hands in his pockets, his expression indecipherable, but with a slight frown.
"Hirose." Nakamura greeted, politely, but maintaining a distance that hadn't existed months ago.
"You... going to the library with him?" Hirose asked, his gaze shifting to Dazai with clear dislike.
"Yes. We're childhood friends," Nakamura said, his voice firm. He placed his hand on Dazai's shoulder, a protective and natural gesture. "Osamu is going to help me with a literature research paper."
Hirose clenched his jaw. He wanted to say something, wanted to pull Nakamura away, wanted to understand why that weird, bandaged boy had so much power over the guy he had started to like. But the barrier Nakamura had erected was clear.
"Alright," Hirose said, his voice cold. "Just... don't forget you promised to help me with my history homework tomorrow."
"I don't forget my promises, Hirose," Nakamura replied, his eyes calm.
Hirose nodded once and left the room, his steps heavy.
Dazai watched the interaction with narrowed eyes. When Hirose left, Dazai turned to Nakamura.
"The beach boy. I see he's got a pinch of jealousy."
Nakamura sighed, running a hand through his hair.
"Don't think about nonsense... things are complicated, Osamu. And I've learned I can't let complicated things make me forget what's important."
Dazai smiled, a small smile, but one that reached his eyes.
"You've grown up, Oku-chan. The crab changed its shell."
As they left the room, laughing softly, Chuuya was standing in the doorway of the hallway, having just arrived. He saw Nakamura's hand on Dazai's shoulder. He saw the way Dazai leaned slightly into the touch, seeking the warmth.
Chuuya felt the bitter taste of loss. He shoved his hands into his pockets, clenching his fists until his nails cut into his skin.
Yuan and Shirase approached, flanking Chuuya.
"Come on, Chuuya. Let's go to the cafeteria. Forget that trash," Shirase said, casting a venomous look at Dazai's back.
Chuuya didn't answer. He just watched until Dazai and Nakamura turned the corner of the hallway, disappearing from his sight.
"Let's go," Chuuya said finally, his voice hoarse, empty.
He started walking in the opposite direction, but his mind was stuck on the image of the crab plushie. He knew what he had to do. He couldn't lose Dazai to the darkness, and maybe... maybe he couldn't lose Dazai to someone else's light anymore. The silent war between them had changed battlefields, and Chuuya, for the first time in years, was willing to fight not with fists, but with the heart he had tried to hide for so long.
Meanwhile, in the library, Dazai was lying on the floor between the fantasy shelves, the crab plushie resting on his chest, while Nakamura read aloud a particularly dramatic chapter of a BL.
"Lord Blackwood's eyes burned with a passion that defied the very morality of the era..." Nakamura read, gesturing dramatically.
Dazai sighed, closing his eyes, a genuine smile on his face.
"You know, Oku-chan... I think I'm going to really like being here."
And with that, a beautiful sunset colored the sky in shades of orange-pink, illuminating the library room.