Val !!

You wake up to the smell of something burning.

At first, you think you’re imagining it—the lingering remnants of a bad dream. You sit up and rub your eyes, glancing over at your clock. It’s six in the morning; you have an hour until you have to be ready for a video conference with Mishima Yukio. It’s barely been over half a year since he took over as boss of the Sun and Steel, and he’s made a mess of the organization. He let too many members of the old guard keep their executive positions, and they’ve been causing him a lot of trouble.

It’s not really your problem, but it is partially your fault. It was you who had Mishima’s father assassinated at the end of the Dragon’s Head Conflict. Mishima Azusa was a right bastard who made too many enemies with his aggressive expansionist policies, and one of those enemies happened to be someone whom you were very keen on recruiting, so you promised a head for loyalty. 

It was best for the Port Mafia in the long run anyway. Mishima Azusa was not only a right bastard, but he was also far too traditionalist for yours, and Mori’s, liking. He never would’ve aligned with the Port Mafia, even in the face of foreign threats and even if it was what was best for the Sun and Steel. Mishima Yukio, on the other hand, is a fumbling idiot who is more concerned with his rebellious seventeen-year-old daughters than running an organization. You knew this about him when you first made your promise to Itou, and you were banking on Mishima relying heavily on you, and by proxy, the Port Mafia, to get his organization under control. 

He trusts you because you offered your help in the initial chaos of the power vacuum. He doesn’t know you were the cause of it, and he never will. He probably should have been more suspicious of your willingness to help, but your ability, combined with his frustration and fear for his daughters’ lives in the mayhem, led him to be vulnerable. You capitalized on it, and it's well proven its worth, but it's also left you very, very busy.

You yawn and then exhale heavily, resting your back against the headboard of your bed. You should get up and start getting dressed, but you’re exhausted. Dazai got home late from his mission last night, and he came home hurt, although he tried his best at hiding it from you. He refused to go see Mori for stitches, not that you can really blame him for that, but it meant that you had to stay up until three in the morning, making sure he didn’t bleed out in your bathroom. 

You didn’t particularly mind. It was amusing listening to him go on a two-hour rant about his “useless subordinates” and the other “equally incompetent executives.” He doesn’t usually vent like how you and Chuuya do; he usually takes out his frustrations on his subordinates and then gets over it within the hour. So it was a bit refreshing to see him melt down like that, but you’re tired now, and you have a long day ahead of you.

It's only when you push yourself out of bed that you realize that you weren’t imagining the burning scent. The smell is gross, so thick that your face immediately twists in disgust. You’re not sure how you thought that it was a figment of your imagination. You pause when you hear the elevator bing as if someone is arriving, or leaving, your apartment, glancing at your shut door. You quickly grab your phone and slip on a robe, rushing down the steps in the direction of your kitchen.

“Dazai!” you call loudly, nearly tripping on the bottom step as you get to the first floor of your apartment.

Your eyes dart around for a few moments before you realize he’s not there. You sigh as you rub the back of your neck and make your way into the kitchen, freezing as soon as you’re about to cross the threshold to the other room.

Your lips part in shock, eyes widening. There’s… batter everywhere. All over the wall. All over the counters. All over the floor. You don’t even know how this could happen. There’s a carton of eggs open by the fridge, butter on the counter, and two untouched plates on the kitchen table. You make your way over to the stove and turn it off, gagging at the charred batter in your ruined pan.

What the fuck?

“Dazai!” you shout, angry this time, but you get no response as you expected.

You pull out your phone and type furiously.

You: What the fuck, Dazai? Did you seriously just make a mess and run?

You pace angrily back and forth across the kitchen, nearly slipping on the mess he made as you wait for a response. You see the typing bubbles pop up for too long, and then they disappear and don’t return.

You: Dazai???? Get the fuck back up here and clean this shit. How did you even manage this??

Dazai: idk what ur talking about

You gape as you stare down at your phone. You half want to believe that you misread the text, that maybe if you stare at it long enough, the words will shift into something more reasonable, like: oh, sorry about the mess. Or you’d even accept, my bad had to run! 

You: You’re joking. 

Dazai starts typing again, and then he stops. Your eye twitches.

You: Dazai. 

Dazai: i havent been at the apartment. i left when you fell asleep.

Frustrated, you shove your phone in your pocket and storm back upstairs. You don’t have time to deal with this. You need to get dressed, and you need to get ready for your video conference with Mishima. You haven’t even gone over what it is that he wants to talk about. You toss your phone onto the bed and fling open your closet door.

You’ll just have to deal with this, and Dazai, later. 

What a headache.

(When you come home after hours of meetings later, the kitchen is clean and your pan is replaced. Dazai refuses to admit that he made the mess, and denies cleaning it, and if you find flour and batter-covered clothes and gloves in his laundry bin, then you don’t bring it up to him.)

---

Dazai is at the tail end of one of his episodes. This was a shorter one than the ones you’ve become accustomed to over the past eight months of living with him. Usually, they last a week minimum, sometimes over two when they’re particularly bad. This one has only lasted a couple of days. You know he’s on the tail end of it, because he actually dragged himself out of his room this morning to grab the extra cup of coffee you make every morning for him, and then left the apartment to yell at his subordinates for fucking up a mission he left for them.

You have the day off today, and you were planning on just rot in bed for most of the day, maybe get up to meet Chuuya at a cafe (probably not), but you decided to help Dazai get ahead on cleaning up his shit, because his room is always a mess after an episode. He doesn’t really like you rifling around his stuff, so all you do is grab the dirty clothes to throw them in the laundry and throw out the half-eaten crab cans and empty bottles of sake. You take the air freshener you hoard in your room (because he overuses it whenever you let him have it and the whole apartment reeks of lavender and vanilla), plug it in his room, and then you relax and eat some cereal while you watch a show.

You even decided to be nice and fold the clothes for him while you were relaxing because you had nothing better to do. So he should let you pick tomorrow night’s movie, because you don't want to watch the same documentary on sea lions for the third week in a row. 

Now, you’re out at a bar with Chuuya, and something is seriously not right. He’s been acting weird since he asked you to meet him, but now there’s no denying that something is up, because every time you try to leave, he forces you to sit back down and have another drink with him. 

You give him a side eye from where you’re sitting on the bar stool next to him; you stopped drinking forty minutes ago, not that he noticed, while he’s on his fifth glass of wine. His cheeks are flushed and his words are a bit slurred, but he’s still mostly coherent.

“Why won’t you let me go home?” you ask abruptly, voice riddled with suspicion as your gaze narrows onto him.

Chuuya immediately stiffens, and then he gives you an accusing look. “I’m not forcing you to hang out with me. Go if you want.”

Usually, something like that would work with you, because you do like hanging out with Chuuya, and you don’t want him to think that you think it's tedious to go out with him. But Chuuya is lying to you right now. It’s abundantly clear from the way his gaze keeps flickering to the door nervously, like he doesn’t actually want you to leave, and it’s even more clear with how he won’t meet your eyes. He’s usually a good liar, but not to you and especially not when he’s drunk.

You know very well the moment you rise to your feet to leave, he’s going to grab your wrist and say, “Wait! Have you tried this drink?”

You rise to your feet slowly, watching him carefully, and your eye twitches when Chuuya grabs your wrist and says, “Wait, hold on, have you tried this one yet?”

You exhale slowly, willing yourself to patience to deal with whatever is happening right now. Chuuya never lies to you. Dazai is the liar, so you don’t know what exactly is happening to make your only trustworthy friend lie right to your face. He’s stalling or something, but you don’t know for what. Is he trying to keep you here, or is he trying to stop you from going home?

“Tell me what’s going on, or I’ll tell Mori that you ignored his calls last week because you were sick of hearing from him,” you finally demand. “I’ll tell him you lied about your phone being broken.”

Chuuya gapes, sobering up quickly in response to your demands and accusations. “But that’s a lie. You stole my phone and hid it from me. I was covering for you because I didn’t want to throw you under the bus. The fuck is wrong with you?”

“And who do you think he’s going to believe?” you challenge, raising your chin and squinting at him. He flounders as he stares at you in disbelief. You threaten, “I’ll do it, Chuuya.”

“Yeah, I know you will, you bitch,” Chuuya scowls, crossing his arms over his chest and looking away. “Just hang with me here a little while more.”

“Why?” you press. “You’re acting suspicious. Are you trying to keep me here or stop me from going home?” 

Chuuya lets out a long sigh of suffering, rolling his eyes at you. For a moment, he doesn’t respond, so you’re about to ask again, but then he finally says, “Stop you from going home.”

Instantly, you’re on edge. “Why?” you ask slowly. “Chuuya, why?”

Chuuya shrugs. “Shitty Dazai called in on a bet I lost. He didn’t give me an explanation.”

“Oh my god,” you say, instantly rising to your feet, all of the worst scenarios racing through your head. “You are a fucking traitorous bastard. Don’t talk to me for the rest of the week.”

What could Dazai be doing that he needs you out of the apartment?

You hear Chuuya call after you, but you’re already racing out of the bar. Chuuya can deal with the tab, considering he betrayed you and for Dazai, of all people. Luckily, the bar the two of you went to is only a few blocks from base, so it doesn’t take you too long to get back to your building. Though it certainly feels like an eternity because you’re torturing yourself with all of the possible things Dazai could be doing in your apartment while you were gone. 

You don’t even greet your doorman, so focused on getting up to your apartment that you fly right past him to the elevator. Chuuya is texting you. You can feel your phone incessantly buzzing in your pocket, but you keep your gaze pinned on the numbers ticking upward until they reach the top floor. 

When the doors slide open, Dazai’s name is on your lips, but you pause when you see him sitting on the couch, lips curved down and expression eerily blank. He doesn’t even realize that you’re there until you make your way over to him. You cross your arms over your chest, brows furrowed as you look down at him; his dark eyes meet yours, but he doesn’t say anything.

“What’s up?” you finally ask him. 

Something smells off from the direction of the kitchen, but you keep your gaze trained on him. You notice a bowl of popcorn on the table in front of the couch, but it was clearly left in the microwave too long, from the way it's crusted black. Dazai will insist that he likes it ‘crispy’ if you say anything, but you know he doesn’t, so you just let it go instead of commenting.

He presses his lips together tightly and takes in a deep breath. His voice is sharp as he says, “Nothing.”

You’re not sure if you should push the subject, so you err on the side of caution and decide against it. You take a seat on the couch next to him, and he gives you a sullen look before averting his gaze. 

“Movie?” you offer. You’ll snoop around later and try to figure out what he was doing while you were gone. Right now, you’ll just sit with him for a while. He always needs it on the tail end of his depressive episodes, but he’ll never ask for it.

“Movie,” he agrees quietly. He reaches forward for the bowl of popcorn and offers you some. You hate the taste of burnt popcorn, but just this once, you take a handful and eat it with a smile. 

(Unbeknownst to you, that night was the closest Dazai ever got to admitting his feelings for you. When he got home from work and saw that you spent your day off helping him clean his mess, his chest tightened so much that he thought he might be going into cardiac arrest. He decided he wanted to do something nice for you, so he called in a favor Chuuya owed him to stall you while he tried to make you your favorite dessert. As always when he tries to do something nice for you, he fails and scraps any plans he might’ve had to potentially confess. A year of stress and heartache begins.)

---

You have not had a good day.

Your head is pounding, you hurt your arm on a mission, and tears of frustration sting your eyes as you lean back against the elevator wall. You don’t know what you expected from today, but somehow, as always, you were disappointed beyond expectations.

Today is your birthday. Or, it’s not your actual birthday, but it’s the only birthday you remember. Ten years ago today, Mori rescued you from the warfront, and every anniversary of that day since then, he has made it his goal to make it both the best and worst day of your life.

It always starts out nice. Mori takes you out to brunch in Tokyo; he rents out the restaurant for the morning and afternoon, your favorite place looking over the bay. He spoils you with presents and dotes on you for hours. A ruby necklace that matches the shoes he bought you a few weeks ago (for you to wear at the Port Mafia’s next event). A new suit from your favorite boutique (because he knows you’ve been meaning to stop by to get a new one but haven’t at the time). A five-day retreat at a resort on Lake Lucerne (because you’ve just been working so hard for him).

And an opportunity.

The opportunity is always where the day takes a turn for the worse. It’s always a trick. Always a setup. But you fall for it every time. He gives you a chance to prove yourself to him. He tells you that if you can succeed in this mission, he can entrust you with any. He promises you that if you bring him back results, you’ll be given one last gift for your birthday: a seat at the executive table.

It’s like dangling a carrot in front of a horse knowing that it can never reach it. Like giving someone wings, knowing that when they leap from the rooftop to fly, the wings will crumble to dust. It’s impossible every time. He wants a bloodless acquisition of a troublesome mafia that’s been encroaching on Port Mafia territory, an impossible ask, even for you, when the members of the troublesome mafia are bloodthirsty and have a personal grudge against the Port Mafia. He wants you to single-handedly stop the passage of a certain bill through the Diet with no preparation, no time, and no resources. And this time, he wanted you to retrieve a kidnapped informant from a locked compound in Kawasaki before the Port Mafia’s enemies killed him, and he wanted you to do it without Itou’s help.

You failed, as you always do. 

He sends you on a quest for the unattainable, and he knows it. The worst part is, he’s not even disappointed with you when you come back empty-handed. He expects it. He awaits it. He sits in his office, hands folded over his desk, lips curled up in a knowing smile when you enter his office with your shoulders a bit more slumped than usual.

“I see,” is all he says. “You are dismissed. Happy birthday, my dear.”

You slam your fist against the metal wall, gritting your teeth as you hold back a curse. You need to calm down before you get up to your apartment. You’re pretty sure Dazai is up there, and you don’t need him interrogating you on what happened. So you force yourself to take a few deep breaths, and push your lips upward into a smile just as the elevator doors slide open.

The smile instantly freezes on your face.

“What…” you start to breathe out. You smell it before you see it. A putrid scent coming from the direction of the kitchen. “Dazai!”

You hear clattering, and then a loud crash, and you drop your bag onto the table and rush into the other room, pausing when you get to the entrance to the kitchen. A thick green-ish-brown liquid coats the white tiles; your pot is still rolling on the ground in it. You can see the black crust inside of it, and you don’t even know what the food is that’s supposed to be in it. It’s charred black and looks hard as a rock. Your stove is on fire, and the wall behind it is burned. Smoke spreads through the room.

Dazai stands in the middle of the mess, visible eye wide, lips parted in shock, and a guilty expression on his face. He’s drenched in whatever that liquid is, but he’s wearing his coat still, so you don’t think it burned him at least. 

This is the last thing you needed today.

You’re fine, you tell yourself. You’re fine. It’s fine. It’s not a big deal. Dazai will just clean it up, and you’ll go to bed early instead of staying up to binge-watch that new drama that came out. It’s for the best anyway, because you need to get up early tomorrow to save some face after your failure today. Everything is fine. 

The guilt on Dazai’s expression shifts into concern, and you don’t know why until you feel something wet tracking down your cheeks. You lift your hand in confusion, staring down at it when you realize that you’re crying.

“Are you okay?” he asks, voice stunted and awkward. He’s never seen you cry before. How fucking embarrassing. “I—I’ll clean it up. And fix everything. I was just trying to…”

He trails off, grimacing as he looks away. You take a deep breath, willing yourself to calm down, and then you wipe away your tears. 

“I’m fine,” you say, and give him a forced smile. You know he can tell that it's fake because you can see his brows furrow. “It’s fine. I’m just going to go to bed. Please just… fix all of this.”

“Wait, but I—”

“I’m going to bed, Dazai,” you repeat, voice pitched this time. Strained. You can feel pinpricks at your eyes again. You just want to lay down and be alone. “I’m going to bed.”

“... Okay,” he says quietly after a moment. “Goodnight.”

You don’t respond.

(You don’t know that he had a whole night planned for the two of you until much later. He snooped through your files to figure out your birthday, and spent an agonizing amount of time finding the perfect movies for the two of you to watch together to end the night right. He wanted to have dinner ready for you when you got back, and that’s when all of his plans went to hell. You wake up to a cupcake from your favorite bakery on your nightstand.)

---

Dazai is baking.

You lean against the doorframe, arms crossed over your chest, utterly perplexed as you watch him squint at the recipe he’s trying to read. He’s wearing your red apron and his pink crab pajama pants, and there’s flour smeared all over his face. You tilt your head to the side, a small smile curving at the corner of your lips as you watch him lift a pen, brows furrowed as he scribbles a note on the paper he’s reading and crosses something out.

He’s so consumed with what he’s doing that he didn’t even hear the elevator arrive, and he doesn’t notice you standing there watching him. You finished up your meetings early today, so you decided to come back to your apartment instead of holing up in your office to get ahead on tomorrow’s work. Dazai, evidently, was under the impression he had the apartment to himself today, because there’s no way in hell he would let you catch him like this willingly. 

Quietly, you make your way over to him. Even when you’re less than a foot away, peeking around him to see what recipe he’s looking at, he still doesn’t realize that you’re there. You squint as you try to read the recipe from a few feet away; you don’t know why he printed it so small, because you know his eyesight sucks, and that’s why his face is an inch from the paper, but you think it’s cake from the small picture at the top.

“Why are you baking cake?”

Dazai startles so badly that he sends the spoon in his left hand flying up to the ceiling. You frown when the batter leaves a ring on the dark paint, and then catch the spoon when it starts dropping back to the ground. You raise your eyebrows at Dazai, who looks mortified as he looks down at the apron he’s wearing and then to you.

Your lips curl up into a teasing smile as you nod at his outfit. “Cute.”

“Fuck off. Why are you back?” Dazai demands, turning away from you as his cheeks start to bloom pink. “You have meetings all day.”

“I finished early,” you say, peeking around his shoulder to look at his face. He instantly glares at you and turns away again.

“Why are you back?” he repeats loudly. “You never come back early. You always stay in your office until late.”

“Well, I wanted to come home early today,” you say, smile widening when you hear him let out a frustrated groan. “Why are you baking a cake?” 

“It doesn’t matter now,” he snaps. “It’s been ruined. I’m not making anything.”

“Don’t be dramatic,” you complain, pushing your shoulder into his before looking down at the recipe. “Let's make it together.”

Dazai mutters out a few snide comments under his breath, but you ignore them as you look down at the recipe. It’s just a plain vanilla cake, not really anything special, but you can see from his messy notes at the top that this is his fourth attempt at it. You’re barely able to hold back a snort, but you don’t do it well enough because Dazai’s head immediately whips toward you.

“Did you just laugh at me?” he demands.

“No,” you lie, and then bite your bottom lip. 

“You’re laughing at me,” he accuses. “I’m trying to do something nice, and you’re laughing at me. What is wrong with you?”

“I’m not laughing,” you say through laughter, ignoring the furious look he gives you. “Is this attempt number four?”

“You—” he starts to say angrily, spinning toward you with exasperation written all over his face. “There’s something wrong with your oven. I’m following the recipe exactly, and it keeps turning into a disaster. This isn’t a me thing.”

You look at him from the corner of your eye, unbearably amused. “My oven runs hot. So does the stove. You have to drop the temperature by thirty degrees from whatever the recipe says if you want it to come out right. I could’ve told you that if you’d bothered to ask instead of pulling a stealth mission.”

Dazai’s lips part. “You’re kidding,” he says, and then he looks vindicated. “I knew it. I knew it wasn’t me. I was following it perfectly. I knew I was being sabotaged.”

“Yes. Dazai 0, kitchen… 4 now? Or is it more?” you reply, crossing your arms over your chest and tilting your head to the side. He gives you another dirty look, but you only give him a sweet smile in return. “Why have you been sneak cooking anyway?”

“Doesn’t matter,” he mutters, stubbornly looking away, avoiding the question like a sulking child. Then asks petulantly, “Well? Are you making it or not?”

You shoot him a scandalized look. “Am I doing it?” you ask, offended. “You are doing it. And I’ll supervise. You’ve already got the whole apron look going, might as well commit.”

You hop up to sit on the middle island, and Dazai’s cheeks flush again. He gives you a dirty look and then moves to take off your apron, but you quickly grab a spoonful of batter and fling it at his face. He freezes, batter sliding slowly down his cheek. Then he turns, eyes locking onto yours.

You give him a simpering smile. “Go on, chef,” you tease. “Do your best. I expect a gourmet cake by the time you’re done. Something worthy of a Michelin star.”

Dazai scoffs, but his lips betray him as they curve up into a smile. He makes his way over to you, resting his hands on the counter on either side of your thighs as he leans in, expression smug as he looks up at you. If your heart is racing a little extra because of his proximity, then you ignore it.

“I’m going to make the best cake you’ve ever seen now that I know your oven was sabotaging me this whole time,” he promises, dark eye glittering with amusement as he looks at you. “Just wait.” 

Dazai doesn’t care about stupid holidays. 

In fact, Dazai can count the things he cares about on one hand—he cares about Odasaku and Ango because they’re his friends, he cares about crab because he likes eating crab and he can recite every known fun fact about them off the top of his head, he cares about the arcade a few streets over because his favorite video game is there and he beats Chuuya every time and it’s funny watching him get mad, and he cares about you because you’re also his friend and you gave him a room in your apartment even though he could have his own but is just stubborn about not wanting to be in Mori’s building.

So, he’s not sure why his feet are rooted to the ground in Mori’s office as he stares down at the small round box of chocolates sitting on top of his desk. There’s a note on top of it that’s partially blocked from his line of view, but he can very much see your signature at the bottom of it. 

You complain about Mori all the time, so it doesn’t take him long to put together that there must be a reason why you went out of your way to get him chocolates even though he knows you’ve been busy with some conflict happening in Russia. It’s not Mori’s birthday, and Dazai’s mind quickly tracks back to the stands of chocolate he saw set up on the same corner that the arcade is on.

Valentine’s Day, he realizes, eyes narrowing down on the chocolate.

“Such a dear she is. She dropped it off for me this morning,” Mori sighs when he realizes what Dazai is looking at. “Elise-chan hasn’t gotten me chocolates yet.”

“That’s because you don’t deserve chocolates, stupid Rintarou,” Elise’s familiar pitched voice comes from Dazai’s left—he hadn’t even noticed her sitting on the ground coloring because his gaze was pinned to the chocolate the moment he stepped into the room. Elise looks up at Dazai with a smile that’s just a bit too sweet, “Aw, she didn’t get you any? That’s too bad, Dazai-kun.”

Dazai’s jaw twitches at the snide comment, and he looks away from Elise back to Mori, who looks oddly intrigued by Dazai’s reaction, which is enough to let him know that he’s over-reacting, so he’s quick to smooth out his expression, even if the irritation in his chest continues to swell. He doesn’t even know why he’s so bothered—he doesn’t care about stupid holidays, and he doesn’t care about chocolate. It’s really not a big deal, but he can’t seem to snuff out the growing annoyance.

“I’m sure she’ll give you one later, Dazai-kun,” Mori says with a placating smile that almost sends Dazai over the edge. “No need to fret.”

“I’m not-” he starts to say, but is cut off quickly by Elise.

“Or, maybe she just doesn’t like him enough to give him any,” Elise says with gleeful giggle. “How did she word it again? Oh, yeah, you forced your way into her life, didn’t you?”

Dazai doesn’t take anything anyone says to him or about him to heart, but he especially knows not to take anything Elise says to heart, considering the girl’s ardent distaste for him. He’s never been sure why she hates him so much, but he figures that it’s because he can make her disappear with his ability, and he’s half-tempted to grab her arm and do just that, but he knows it’ll only make Mori even more interested in why he’s so emotional over this. That’s the last thing he wants considering he doesn’t even know why he’s getting so worked up about it.

But what did Elise even mean? Why would you tell them that he forced his way into your life? If anything, you’re the one who forced yourself into his life when you showed up at his shipping compartment during that winter storm a few months ago. He just… capitalized on it, that’s all. You would’ve kicked him out if you didn't want him hanging around, but you didn’t. And Elise is known for twisting the truth, but then… Why didn’t you give him chocolates? That’s the whole point of the holiday, right? To show appreciation for the people in your life?

It’s not the holiday that’s bothering him, it’s the principle. 

Dazai is suddenly ten times more antsy than he was when he first noticed the chocolates. There must be a logical explanation for this—maybe you really are giving him them later, or maybe you’re only giving them to Mori because you have to. Snidely, he notes that the chocolates you gave him looked like they could be bought at a convenience store, so it’s not like you put much effort into it. 

“Elise-chan,” Mori chides, although he still sounds terribly amused, violet eyes glittering as he scrutinizes Dazai. “Don’t say such cruel things. I taught our hime to have good manners, Dazai-kun will get chocolates from her, even if they’re just obligatory.”

Obligatory, Dazai has to force himself not to physically blanch at the word. He thinks he would almost prefer not to get chocolates from you. How are you just going to give obligatory chocolates to someone you live with? You guys are friends, aren’t you? He doesn’t know much at all about Valentine’s Day, but he does know that there’s different types of chocolate depending on your relationship with the person, and he thinks he’ll jump off the roof if you give Chuuya nicer chocolates than him.

Chuuya.

“I have to go,” Dazai says abruptly, turning to leave.

“Goodbye, Dazai-kun,” Mori sings, much to Dazai’s surprise. He was half-expecting Mori to tell him to sit back down so they could go over whatever he was called to his office for. He still doesn’t even know why the man called him up here—maybe it was just to flaunt the chocolates he received, Dazai thinks bitterly. “I wouldn’t worry too much.”

“I would!” Elise calls after him as he lets the door slam shut behind him, but Dazai doesn’t pay her any mind.

Surely Chuuya wouldn’t have gotten chocolates if he didn’t, right?

———

“Give me those right now.”

Chuuya pauses from where he’s about to pop a round chocolate into his mouth, eyes cutting to the side in irritation when he realizes that Dazai is standing in the doorframe of his office. Dazai is tense and jittery all at the same time—he’s not even looking at Chuuya, he’s staring at the set of chocolates sitting open on his desk and the familiar handwriting on the note next to it. Chuuya’s set is much nicer than Mori’s; they’re his favorite truffles, imported in from Belgium, and there’s a red wine on his desk to go along with it.

It makes Dazai sick. 

“The fuck?” Chuuya asks, sitting up a bit straighter and giving Dazai a weird look before pointedly eating the chocolate in his hand. Dazai’s eye twitches. “What’s your problem this time, you freak?”

“I said give me those right now,” Dazai repeats, inhaling deeply as he takes a few steps closer. “Give me them.”

Chuuya looks a bit concerned now, grabbing the chocolates you gave him and dragging them closer to him. Dazai is undeterred, stalking forward and reaching quickly for them. Chuuya reacts faster, snatching them off the table and holding them close to his chest.

“Fuck off,” Chuuya spits, sounding confused and irritated all at the same time. “What the hell is your problem?”

Dazai could think of an excuse—they’ve been tampered with, poisoned, you accidentally gave him the wrong ones and you sent him here to grab them before Chuuya ate them all—but the only thing that escapes his lips is the same demand.

“Give me the chocolates.”

“What?” Chuuya demands. “No, you fucking psycho, get out of my office.”

Dazai’s hand instinctively twitches in the direction of his gun, and Chuuya catches it from the way his eyes shoot open.

“Yo,” Chuuya says loudly, rising to his feet. “What the fuck, Dazai?”

Logically, Dazai knows that whether he gets the chocolates from Chuuya or not, it won’t change anything. It’s the principle of it that’s the issue. Even if he manages to get his hands on the chocolates, you gave them to Chuuya and you didn’t give them to Dazai, but still, the sight of Chuuya with them is setting Dazai off in ways that he just can’t seem to get under wraps. 

“Give me-”

Chuuya’s face twists in irritation and he slams the chocolates down on his desk before walking around it in Dazai’s direction. Instead of making a smart decision and running out of his office before he can get a faceful of Chuuya’s fist, he takes the opportunity to dart forward and grab the chocolates he put down, throwing them onto the ground and driving his heel right into the box. 

“You bastard,” Chuuya shouts, grabbing Dazai by the collar of his jacket hard and throwing him hard into the side of his desk. Dazai barely withholds a wince as the corner of Chuuya’s desk drives deep into his side, crumpling to the ground hard. Chuuya kneels down to see if there’s anything left to salvage of the chocolates you gave him, but finds himself sorely disappointed. “What’s your fucking issue, Dazai?”

Stubbornly, Dazai doesn’t respond, raising his chin and meeting Chuuya’s gaze, trying to pretend that there is no issue and like he isn’t acting deranged over chocolates. 

Not chocolates, he reminds himself, the principle.

“I knew you were weird about her but jeez,” Chuuya scoffs, picking up the mess of chocolates on his floor, brows furrowed in irritation. “You can’t even handle her giving someone else chocolates on Valentine’s Day. You need some serious fucking help, man. It’s the whole point of the goddamn day. You gonna go around and take everyone’s chocolates, you possessive freak?”

Dazai cringes and can’t stop himself as he asks quietly, “How many people has she given them too?”

Instantly, he knows he’s made a mistake—his voice came out all wrong and Chuuya notices it from the way he squints and frowns. He forces his expression to clear of any possible emotions and rises back to his feet, tilting his head to the side as he dares Chuuya to point out that his voice wavered when he asked the question.

“I don’t fucking know,” Chuuya shrugs, side-eyeing him suspiciously but choosing not to point out the weird tone he asked the question in. “She came in with a ton this morning, figured I was the last since she didn’t have any left with her when she came up here before.”

Oh, Dazai thinks, staring at Chuuya absently. Dazai didn’t anticipate that. At once, both of his theories to explain why you didn’t give him chocolates are disproven, and Dazai falters. If you came in with all of them at once and had none left by the time you got to Chuuya, then all signs pointed to that you’re just not giving Dazai chocolate for Valentine’s Day.

But why? Dazai doesn’t think he’s done anything wrong lately—in fact, he’s barely even had time to talk to you lately because you’ve been busy talking with your informants in Eastern Russia. You spent most days in Tokyo, and by the time you got back to your apartment, Dazai was out on his own missions. He hasn’t had the chance to do anything wrong, unless him just being around you is wrong.

How did she word it again? Oh, yeah, you forced your way into her life, didn’t you?

Elise is known for twisting the truth, she doesn’t usually lie about things—why did you tell them that he forced himself into your life? Do you not want him staying at your apartment? Mori did mention that he taught you to have good manners and he never says anything without there being an ulterior motive behind it. Was he trying to imply that you’re just being polite in letting him stay? Dazai doesn’t know; he’s always struggled to read you, but you’ve always made him feel welcome and wanted more than anyone else. It disconcerted him for a while, but he’s grown used to it in a way that he probably shouldn’t have. 

Now, he’s doubting it all.

Chuuya’s eyes suddenly widen, his small brain clearly realizing something it wasn’t meant to. Dazai’s gaze hardens as he waits for Chuuya to say whatever it is he wants to say, but instead of speaking, the slug snorts. His hand flies to his mouth to smother the noise, but he just can’t stop himself from bursting into laughter. Dazai bristles.

“What?” he demands.

“You’re so fucking stupid,” Chuuya howls, eyes tearing up as he laughs so hard that he wheezes. Dazai stiffens but otherwise doesn’t say anything, and that’s evidently an answer enough for him. “God, shitty Dazai, you’d think you of all people would know better. Get the fuck out of my office.”

Dazai doesn’t want to admit he has no idea what Chuuya’s talking about, but he also isn’t going to let Chuuya order him around, so he stands there stubbornly until Chuuya rises to his feet to grab Dazai by the back of his jacket again. Dazai instinctively drives his elbow hard into Chuuya’s chest, but he’s unbothered by it, shoving Dazai forward through the door of his office.

Chuuya gives him a mocking smile and goads, “How about you go ask her why she didn’t give you chocolates?” 

Before Dazai has the chance to shoot back a snide comment, Chuuya slams the door right in his face. It’s not the principle that’s bothering him, Dazai realizes glumly, it’s the implication that maybe he’s been wrong about his friendship with you this whole time.

———

Dazai doesn’t even get out of the main building before he runs into someone else who has chocolates that are definitely gifted by you considering it’s your new partner. Itou Asahi is lounging in the lobby of headquarters with Hirotsu and a few members of the Black Lizards that Dazai doesn’t recognize. Dazai has never particularly liked the man—in fact, Dazai despises him and he despises how you seem to think the world of him—but now, his jaw is tight as he glares at the man from across the lobby.

Itou seems to be able to feel the daggers being shot in his direction. He looks up as he pops a chocolate into his mouth, eyes narrow as he tries to pinpoint who exactly is staring at him so intensely and pauses when he notices Dazai. He nudges Hirotsu, and to Dazai’s horror, he realizes that Hirotsu also has a set of chocolates that he hasn’t opened on the couch next to where he’s sitting with a note that Dazai can’t read from the distance but is the same pale pink parchment that Mori’s and Chuuya’s were written on.

Mori. Chuuya. Itou. Hirotsu. Why not him? What did he do?

Dazai sneers in Itou’s direction when the man lifts his hand and awkwardly waves, turning on his feet to leave the building. He had been planning on going to your apartment to sulk to see if you notice that he’s wildly irritated over the fact that he’s not received chocolates from you, but instead, he’s going to go grab a cheap bottle of whiskey from the nearest liquor store and drown himself in his misery back at his shipping container.

He doesn’t know what he did to you, and he thought if he did something wrong, you would’ve said something to him instead of icing him out. Isn’t that what you preach to him? Communication? Yes, Dazai sucks at it and has made no attempts to be better about it, but since you’re the one preaching it, you should at least have the decency to act as you preach. 

You’re such a hypocrite, Dazai thinks bitterly, his throat feels clogged and his chest feels tight and his side hurts a shit ton—he doesn’t like any of this, and with each passing second, he’s becoming increasingly more bothered by this situation. 

He’s not irritated anymore, he’s just hurt.

———

Dazai doesn’t end up going right to the shipping container. It’s late afternoon on a Friday, so when he’s halfway to the convenience store, he decides to make a pitstop at Bar Lupin to see if Odasaku and Ango are already hanging there. Luckily, one thing can go right for him today, because the two of them are in fact already sitting in their designated stools drinking their alcohol of choice.

Neither of them have said much of anything to him since he’s arrived besides greeting him. He wonders if he interrupted them—very extremely sour, he thinks that he wouldn’t be surprised if that was the case considering he seems to be a burden on just about every single person he thinks is his friend. 

“I didn’t think you’d be free today,” Odasaku finally says. “We would’ve texted you.”

“I didn’t have a mission scheduled for today,” Dazai replies flatly, unable to muster the energy to put on an energetic front for the two of them. Usually, he doesn’t need to fake it around them because he does genuinely have a good time with them, but he’s just in such a bad mood because of everything with you and all of the newfound doubts plaguing him that it’s impossible for him to take his mind off of it. “Why would I be busy?”

Odasaku and Ango share a look with one another, Dazai catches the way Ango subtly shakes his head and is instantly suspicious. Odasaku either doesn’t pick up on it or doesn’t care, because he says, “It’s Valentine’s Day. I thought you’d be spending it with…”

Odasaku trails off when Ango’s headshakes become more frequent, but Dazai already knows what he was about to say. Stiffly, he asks, “Why would I spend Valentine’s Day with her?”

Ango’s smile is unsure as he shares another look with Odasaku before turning his attention toward Dazai and prodding, “Did something happen?”

“No.” Neither of them respond to his sharp answer, and after a few moments, Dazai blurts out, “She doesn’t want me living at her apartment anymore.”

“What-” Ango begins before seemingly rethinking his question, letting out a sigh. “Did she tell you that?”

“No,” Dazai says after a second, “but I know.”

“How do you know?” Ango presses. “Did you overhear her talking to someone?”

“Well, no,” Dazai responds awkwardly, “but I know.”

“How do you know?”

“Because she didn’t get me chocolates,” Dazai finally explodes, voicing the words that have been bothering him all day. “She got Mori chocolates. She got the slug chocolates. She got her moron of a partner chocolates. She even got Hirotsu chocolates, but she didn’t get me chocolates. And Elise said that she told her and Mori that I forced my way into her life. Isn’t that rich? She’s the one that forced her way into my life. I don’t need her, I never did. I just liked her stupid apartment. I could get my own if I wanted to, I just didn’t want to put in the work.”

Dazai thought maybe getting all of his complaints out would make him feel better, but he only feels worse, because half of that isn’t even true. He likes being able to bother you at night instead of rotting alone in his shitty shipping container, and he likes when you make him coffee in the morning before heading out to a meeting. He likes Friday night movies and he likes forcing you to play video games just so he could beat you and brag about it. You told him that you were his friend, so shouldn’t you like doing all of that with him too instead of it being a burden?

“Don’t you think you’re overreacting?” Odasaku asks bluntly, never one to mince his words. Dazai slowly turns his head to look at the older man, barely catching the way Ango briefly shuts his eyes in exasperation. “I mean, you don’t even know if she’s not getting you any yet. You’re just assuming. The day isn’t over.”

Odasaku is usually logical, and he’s one of the few people who Dazai will take the advice of without question, but this time, Dazai shakes his head. He knows that’s not the case, you brought all of your chocolates to headquarters, and you handed them all out and didn’t give any to him. You knew he didn’t have a mission today so it’s not like he was busy, and even if he was, you could’ve given them to him this morning before he left. And either way, it’s not like that explains what Elise said.

“You should head back to her apartment,” Odasaku continues. “I think you’ll be pleasantly surprised.”

“You know what, you’re right,” Dazai says, becoming increasingly more incensed with each passing second. He knew befriending you was a bad idea—nobody actually wants to be Dazai’s friend once they get to know him, it’s been true his whole life, he’s still half-convinced that Odasaku and Ango only humor him because they think he’ll just kill himself. Once people start to see how odd and fucked in the head he really is, they start to distance themselves from him; you can’t distance yourself from him since he’s living with you, so this is just your way of silently telling him you’ve had enough. He knew things would turn out this way, and he hates the way it still makes his chest hurt. He rises to his feet abruptly, “I am going to head back to her apartment—so I can pack my stuff and leave.”

“Dazai,” Ango calls after him, but Dazai doesn’t respond, storming out of Bar Lupin without another word.

He doesn’t need you, he tells himself again, willing the pain in his chest to turn into something more manageable—anger, resentment, but preferably, he just wants to be indifferent. He doesn’t need you and he knew this was going to happen, so it’s time for him to just take the hint and go on his way, back to how things were before you forced yourself into his life.

———

You’re not there when he gets back to your apartment and you’re not there by the time he gets his things together and leaves. He was especially frustrated when he found himself disappointed by that, because he realized he was unintentionally wasting time packing his things because he was hoping you would show up and stop him. 

But you didn’t, so Dazai is now back at his shipping container huddled under a blanket because it’s cold. He’s almost done with his first bottle of whiskey, trying to numb the pain in his side and all of the shitty emotions he just can’t seem to rid himself of. It’s been three hours since he moved his stuff back into his shipping container; you should be back at the apartment by now—it’s thirty minutes off when the two of you watch your Friday night movies, and you’re usually back at your apartment getting snacks together with him by now.

You’ve realized he’s gone by now. Dazai hasn’t checked his phone, mostly because he doesn’t want to know if you cared enough to reach out. If he’s right about all of this, you’ll just take it as a blessing and move on, not wanting to risk an opportunity arising where you’d have to be polite and ask him to come back. As if he would. If Odasaku is right though… No, Dazai isn’t even going to go down that route, the last thing he needs is-

He’s startled when he hears three loud bangs on the metal wall of his shipping container. Instantly, his gaze focuses on the door. He knows it can only be one of two people, because you and Chuuya are the only ones shameless enough to come by without warning. Odasaku and Ango would text first and everyone else is too wary of him to come anywhere near the shipping yard, much less bang right on his door.

“Dazai, open up! What the hell?” He hears you shout from the other side of the thin wall. “It’s cold, come on! What are you even doing out here?”

You came looking for him, Dazai realizes, swallowing thickly. Dazai isn’t often wrong about things, so he doesn’t dare get his hopes up and he doesn’t respond to you. The roll up door rattles as you try to pull it up, but Dazai doesn’t budge to help you. It’s locked, so you won’t be able to open it and Dazai just waits for you to leave so he can go back to sulking in peace. 

“Dazai, come on,” you complain. “What’s wrong? I was waiting for you back at the apartment, why didn’t you come home?”

Though Dazai intended on just ignoring you until you went away, he can’t help the snide comment that escapes his lips, “Home? You mean your apartment?” 

He immediately takes another swig of whiskey, but the burn of the alcohol does nothing to take away from the bitter taste the words leave on his tongue. From the way you pause, you seem to realize something is wrong—extra snidely, he wonders when you became as slow as Chuuya.

“Yeah, my apartment, the place you’ve been living at for three months?” you say incredulously and Dazai winces. “What’s your problem?” 

“My problem?” Dazai asks coolly. “Maybe you should be answering that instead. You’re a hypocrite.”

He knows that will set you off—he’s always been good at getting under people’s skin—and he’s noticed how you bristle whenever Mori hits you with “Now, dear, let’s not be hypocritical.” He can almost imagine the way you go stiff and the way your face goes cold, but it doesn’t bring him the malicious satisfaction he expects.

 Instead, he only feels heavier.

Unfair, he thinks tightly. You’re always so unfair.

“Can you let me in?” you ask after a few moments of silence. Dazai is even more bothered now that he didn’t get the reaction he expected, gaze lowering to the ground. “I’d prefer not to freeze to death out here.”

This time when you ask, Dazai finds himself rising to his feet. He hasn’t drank enough yet to be unsteady, but he can certainly feel the blood rush to his head as soon as he stands up.

He makes his way over to the door, only fumbling once with the lock. He doesn’t slide it open for you just to be petty, but he doesn’t need to anyway—as soon as you hear the lock click open, you’re pulling open the door and Dazai pointedly turns his back to you before you can step in.

“Seriously?” you ask. Much to Dazai’s pleasure, you do sound a bit irritated now. “Dazai, what the hell? Why are you acting so weird?”

“Me?” Dazai demands, voice shrill at the sheer audacity you have coming to his shipping container and insulting him after what you did. Didn’t do. Same thing. He whips around to face you, a barrage of snide comments about to fall from his lips only to hesitate when he sees a fancy box in your hands. “... What is that?”

Your gaze sharpens and your brows furrow. You move the box out of sight behind your back, but Dazai dances around you to try to get a better look at it. The two of you play a game of swivels and twists for a few moments, but Dazai has to call it quits when the pain in his side gets worse and the alcohol goes right to his head. 

You give him a concerned look, but don’t press about the way he winces. Instead, you say, “Tell me what your problem is first. Why are you drinking here alone in the dark?”

“... No,” Dazai says after a second. “What’s in the box?”

Dazai really doesn’t want to get his hopes up, so he chews the inside of his cheek and rocks back and forth from his toes to heels, hands clasped behind his back as he tries to distract himself. You roll your eyes, but your lips curl up into a fond smile that almost eases all of the stress Dazai has felt all day. Almost.

After what feels like an eternity, you pass the box over to him and Dazai immediately darts forward to grab it before you can change your mind. Though he knows what it is before he opens it, he can’t control the relief that floods him when he sees the expensive chocolates sitting inside the box—most of them are shaped in the typical Valentine’s Day heart, but some of them are-

“They’re crabs,” Dazai says gleefully, a genuine smile spreading widely across his lips as he reaches down to pluck one out of the box and pop it into his mouth. The chocolate is soft and creamy, it melts in his mouth the moment it touches his tongue and he lets out a delighted hum. He eats another, and then another after that. “How did you get them crab shaped?”

You don’t answer the question; you stare at the chocolates, conflicted, and Dazai isn’t sure why. You seem to be trying to decide whether or not you want to say something, but you let out a sigh, seemingly deciding against it. 

Instead of whatever you were debating on saying, you rest your hand on your hip and ask him, “Why did you take all of your stuff out of your room?” 

Your room, Dazai swallows the chocolate in his mouth as he tries to figure out how to respond to your question. He doesn’t really want to admit that he had a meltdown triggered by the chocolate that you just handed him, and you do seem genuinely put off by the fact that he left. Maybe he was wrong, he thinks, pressing his lips together as he considers the possibility. He’s hardly ever wrong, but he supposes it wouldn’t be the first time that you’ve managed to surprise him; since the day he met you, he feels like his mind is dulled when you’re around. He hates it.

So, he throws Elise under the bus.

“Elise said that you told her I forced myself into your life,” he says, voice coming out far more bitter than he intended for it to. He raises his chin stubbornly. “I wouldn’t want to keep imposing.”

Your expression flickers momentarily and you look a bit hurt, Dazai immediately swallows another chocolate, hopeful that he’ll swallow the sudden guilt he feels along with it. He doesn’t.

“Mori was trying to get me to convince you to live in the apartment he has set up for you in the main building,” you explain quietly after a few moments, crossing your arms over your chest. “I told him that he was better off trying to convince you himself because it was your decision to stay at mine. I didn’t have much of a say in it.”

Dazai lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, and because he has no self control, he starts to ask, “But if you did have a say in it…”

Your expression softens in a way that makes Dazai’s stomach turn in on itself and your eyes flicker down to the box he’s holding before you quickly look back up at him. The box of chocolates in his hands suddenly feels a lot heavier, and his grip instinctively tightens around it.

“I… my apartment is a bit too big to live in alone,” you answer, and then add, “I would prefer you stayed.”

Dazai doesn’t respond, but his gaze does dart down to the three bags of clothes he brought back to the shipping container with him, all still packed. It wasn’t all of his stuff, just enough for it to be noticeable to you when you went to his room looking for him. Maybe he had been hoping you would come bring him back.

“I don’t have a movie picked out for tonight, if you want to pick,” you offer when the silence stretches on.

Dazai glances down at the chocolates you gave him again and then he says, “The Discovery channel has a new documentary on -”

“No.”

“What?” Dazai demands. “You don’t even know what I was going to say.”

“I am not watching another crab documentary, Dazai.”

“The last one was good.”

“The last one bored me to tears.”

Dazai rolls his eyes, leaning down to pick up one of his bags and you grab the other two after sending a narrowed look to his left side, slinging them over your shoulder as you step outside of the shipping container. Dazai follows you, rolling the door back down before giving you a mocking look.

“So you just want to watch one of those stupid superhero movies again? The only one actually entertained by them is bird-brained Chuuya, anyone with two brain cells knows how it ends just from the first scene,” he says snidely, enjoying the way you immediately scowl at him.

“Just because you know how it’s going to end doesn’t mean it’s not entertaining,” you argue. “You can be entertained by something predictable.”

“Not me,” Dazai sings as he follows you out of the shipping container yard and to the road. Much to Dazai’s displeasure, he realizes that you did not come here alone—your new partner is sitting in the front seat of the car waiting on the side of the road, scrolling through his phone. Distastefully, he demands, “Why is he here?”

“He drove me,” you say like it’s obvious. “What’s your problem with him anyway?”

“Nothing,” Dazai mutters, making sure to give the older boy a dark look as he slides into the back seat. 

He expects you to get into the passenger seat, but instead you move to sit in the back with him. Before you do, he stiffens as he remembers his clothes were not the only thing he stole from your apartment. Your eyes narrow in suspicion and you place your hand on your hip.

“What else did you take before leaving?”

Dazai sulks at how easily you figured out what the issue is and lies when he repeats, “Nothing.”

“If we get back home and immediately have to come back out here, I’m going to waterboard you, Dazai,” you say flatly.

“I’ve been waterboarded before,” he says stubbornly.

“Not by me,” you threaten.

 Dazai sighs dramatically, letting his head fall back against the headrest.

“I stole all of the remotes in the apartment,” he admits, shifting to push himself up to walk back over to the shipping container, wincing again when he shifts the wrong way. He pauses when you roll your eyes and hold your hand up to stop him.

“I’ll get them,” you say. “Stay here.”

“Don’t leave me with him,” Dazai complains, but you slam the door in his face.

Instantly, the light and playful expression drops from his face as he turns his attention to the rear view mirror, eyes locking with Itou Asahi. The blonde raises his eyebrows tauntingly, as if he’s daring Dazai to say something to him, and Dazai has half a mind to reach for the gun stuffed in the pocket of his black jacket. He refrains if only because he doesn’t want to piss you off even more.

After a moment, Itou twists in his seat to look at Dazai. Dazai’s eye twitches in irritation, realizing that he’s about to speak to him.

He nods to the box of chocolates. “She spent a month at my place trying to get it right.”

Though Dazai planned on ignoring him, he can’t stop the quiet, “What?” that slips from his mouth.

“The chocolates,” Itou says like Dazai is stupid, which irritates him but he’s still confused so he’s forced to wait for him to explain. “She tried custom ordering the crab shaped ones but had a tantrum because they looked ugly. So she spent a month learning how to make them so she could mold them on her own. She only just finished this batch today—still isn’t satisfied with how they came out, but ran out of time.”

Dazai’s throat swells up as he stares down at the chocolates, an odd warmth spreading through his chest that he can’t snuff out. Scrutinizing them more carefully now, he sees all of the tiny imperfections that wouldn’t be there if you’d store bought them—the hearts aren’t all perfectly even, some of the legs on the crabs are longer than others, there’s an indent on the back of the heart shaped chocolate he’s holding like you’d touched it while it was too soft.

His fingers close around it carefully, lips parting to speak but he can’t find any words. When did you have the time though? You’ve had so many missions lately-

Oh.

“All the missions in Tokyo…”

“Her missions were learning how to fucking make chocolate and they were in my apartment, not Tokyo,” Itou scoffs. “I’m never going to be able to eat chocolate again in my life the amount she’s force fed me. I can hardly stand the smell of it now. I had to send her to Nakahara for him to taste test the last few batches.”

Dazai’s gaze sharpens, obscenely bothered at the thought of Itou Ashi and Nakahara Chuuya being your taste testers and Itou is complaining about it. “You should be grateful you got to try her chocolate,” he snaps immediately.

Itou’s jaw drops and he immediately shakes his head. “You two are so fucking-” he starts to say but cuts himself off when he sees you approaching the car again. 

Dazai squints at him, almost wanting to dare him to continue, but his expression lightens when you open the door, remotes in hand and an irritated expression still painted on your face.

He only moves over enough to give you room to sit instead of moving to sit behind the driver’s seat. You squint at him, but Dazai gives you a small smile and says quietly, “My chocolates are much nicer than Chuuya’s.”

Your expression immediately softens and your lashes flutter as you avert your gaze—the telltale sign of you being flustered. Dazai’s lips part to say something else, but no words come out, gaze pinned on the pretty glow the moonlight casts over your face. You look like you want to say something as you look down at the chocolates again, but again, you seem to decide against it.

“How do you even know what Chuuya got?” you ask suddenly, clearing your throat. Dazai freezes. “And what happened to your side? Every time you move you’re wincing.”

“I… stopped by his office and saw them?” he offers, his next smile is too sweet, and you catch it from the way your eyes narrow. Defensively, he says, “The slug didn’t deserve chocolates from you.”

“Oh my god, Dazai,” you complain, burying your face in your hands. 

Dazai’s face flames up, and he shoots a dirty look in Itou’s direction when the older boy bursts into laughter. 

“Slugs can’t eat chocolate,” Dazai insists. “I was helping him, really.” 

“I can’t stand you,” you sigh, but when you shift in your seat, you shift so that you’re sitting a little closer to Dazai, shoulder pressed against his and thighs knocking together.

He glances down at the box of chocolates in his lap again, and the chocolate heart resting in his hand, and after a moment’s hesitation, he passes it over to you. You give him a questioning look, but Dazai pointedly looks away as he wills his cheeks not to reflect his flustered thoughts, waiting for you to take it. His breath catches when your fingers brush his hand as you take it from him.

“Thanks,” you say softly.

Instead of directly responding, Dazai prods, “So, about the crab documentary…”

You let out a heavy sigh as you side eye him. “Fine,” you agree, “but you’re doing the garbage this week.”

“What?!” he demands. “It’s not my turn.”

“The price you pay for forcing me to watch nature documentaries for movie night.”

“It’s not just nature, it’s crabs.”

“Deal or no deal?”

“Fine. Deal.”

“Good,” you say with a saccharine smile that Dazai doesn’t like because he knows you’re thinking something bad. “Deal.”

After a few moments, you add, “I would’ve put it on even if you didn’t agree.”

“I’m going back to my shipping container.”

You laugh loudly, and Dazai’s heart skips a beat at the sound of it. He very much ignores the way Itou shoots an amused look back at them, focusing instead on the way your eyes glitter as your laughs fizzle into soft giggles.

“As if,” you say, knocking your shoulder into his. “I’ll just drag you back again. You’re stuck with me whether you like it or not.”

His lips curl up into a small smile in response to your words, gaze dropping back down to the chocolates sitting in his lap, and then back to you.

“Will you?” he asks quietly, a bit too seriously.

"wind must be picking up tonight," you thought to yourself...until you heard it again, louder — and then again, heavier. you blink, head tilted and eyes narrowed at your curtains. standing to your feet you hesitantly stride to your window, a hand extending out ever so slowly and fingers curled around the fabric. you took a exhale and ripped the curtain open, expecting to come face to face with a confused bird or anything...but what met your eyes were a pair of dark chocolate pupils, causing you to scream and stumble back.

"OSAMU!" you shrieked quietly, afraid to alert your parents, however your perilous scream was so loud the neighbors probably heard you. he mouthed words, "hi, baby~" you assumed yet the window caused his voice to muffle. with a shakey breath you unlock the window and take a step back allowing your menace if a boyfriend to enter. "AH!" he exhales, stretching his arms over his head as he jumped, closing the window behind with a chuckle, "my, what tight space you have out there, bella~ almost squished me like a bug!" he teased and you rolled your eyes. "my window board can only hold the weight of a bird, not a 15 year old boy."

"ah," he cuts in, "a handsome 15 year old boy. who just so happens to be stopping by to pay his oh so gorgeous girlfriend a visit." he leaned over and kissed your lips before you could get a word in, your eyes closed yet you held a grudge, "at 9:30 at night?"

he shrugged, "who's the one with strict parents, hm~" leaning close, noses brushing against each other as he grinned. you shook your head, sighing with a chuckle tossing your head back and stepping back, "whatever will i do with you, dazai." before before even get a word in, falling gracefully on your bed with a smile, his eyes suddenly locked on your figure.

you drape the beige fluffy robe off your shoulders, letting it fall to the edge of your bed to reveal a white silk nightgown framing your curves. his mouth gaped, eyes sealed on your body like he was in some sort of trance. his heart fluttered quickly, a small thump pulsed through his chest and his cheeks flushed with embarrassment. you stretched, back muscles tensing up before relaxing as you pull your arms back to your sides. turning around you come face to face, "samu?"

"wha—what are you wearing?" he words poured out before he could even think about what to say, covering his mouth. eyes darting away even as they betrayed him as he took another glance. you blinked innocently raising your arms up to reveal more of the gown, "hmm, oh just a nightgown. do you like it?"

you twirled, the ends of the gown flowing along with you. dazai coughed, hands immediately behind his neck as his face got hot. "i—well, you look—it's definitely...you can't just stand there and ask me like that!" he mumbled, voice cracking in embarrassment. he doesn't understand what's got him so worked up. was it because he saw more of your body figure, or how your curves were more visible? or how of so fucking hot your looked and he's just trying not to be a pervert?

you suddenly grinned softly, realizing what was going on, now enjoy every second of this power you held, "aww, is someone blushing? you've seen me in pajamas before..." you cooed, now leaning close to him. fists balled beside his legs on the sheets of your bed, him being trapped between you and your arms. "those are not pajamas!" he quickly responded, realizing how close you were his voice suddenly went all jumpy again, "it's...it's silk! It's—different!" his eyes avoiding your gaze the best he could muster in his position.

your head tilts to the side, body curled and a little smirk falls upon your lips, "so...you do like it?"

he groaned, falling backwards on the sheets and covered his face with his hands while you giggled over him — arms still resting beside his thighs. "you're—you can't..." he sighed, letting go of any composure he had left in him. "yes!"

you hummed, climbing onto the bed beside him and laid your head close to his, eyes fluttering up at him with a teasing smile, "your cute when you flustered, you know that?" a finger dragged up his side and stopped at his chest.

his hands grab onto yours and almost instantly you feel him put his weight over you, flipping you down on your back and him sitting on your hips. you let out a yelp, but it was cut off by a kiss. dazai's lips were soft against yours, desperate and embarrassed.

pulling back, whispering against your cheeks "i love you..." you took a hand and rubbed his back, smiling to yourself as he hid his face in the crook of your neck, "and you smell amazing." his voice was mumbled, but you heard him loud and clear.

you kissed the crown of his head and giggled, his breath tickling your skin, "i love you too, samu~"

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