#ango fluff

A minute or two passes

“Unfortunately.”

“I can’t sleep”

“Again? Lol.” the typing bubble on the screen pops up and disappears quickly

“Yeah.”

“Do you want to talk now?” You think about his offer for a minute

“Yeah.”

“I’ll be over in 10.”

Waiting is torture. Suddenly, everything you’ve wanted to say to him is flooding through your brain, but you know, when he arrives, you’ll be at a loss for words. You sit on your couch, scrolling through anything you can just to keep yourself busy, but it doesn’t make things easier. When he knocks on your door, you open it shakily.

“Good evening,” he smirks. You stifle a laugh.

“Don’t do that. This is supposed to be serious,” You say, trying your best not to smile back. He walks in and leans over the counter, waiting for you to take your seat across from him. As you sit, you take a reserved posture. In comparison, Dazai looks very open; it’s comforting. You sit in silence for a minute.

“Uhm, you couldn’t sleep either?” you mumble.

“Not well. I’ve been lonely as of late.”

“Can’t imagine why.” he chuckles lightly. You play with your fingers idly, trying to calm your nerves.

“I wanted you to talk to me. Just talk to me, you know?” Your redundancy embarrasses you. He thinks for a moment.

“How’s Ango been?”

“This isn’t about him, it’s about you.”

“I was just curious.” He puts his hands up defensively, “I almost feel replaced.” He shrugs unseriously. 

“Replaced?”

“Replaced.” Silence settles between you once more.

“I never said you couldn’t hang around anymore; You made that choice.”

“I don’t go where I’m not wanted.” You take an aggravated breath in,

“I don’t care how smart you are, don’t jump to conclusions like that.”

“I’m sure Ango would appreciate the lack of competition,” he shrugs again.

“Competition?”

“Or maybe distraction is a better word.”

“Can you stop with this… cryptic bullshit?!” 

“Ango’s in love with you. Always has been,” he says casually.

“Yeah. What of it?” You give him an irritated and confused look. He looks around the room, refusing to look you in the eyes.

“Do you remember how we used to spend our days together in that cheap apartment?” he smiles.

You sigh,

“Yeah…”

“We used to have so much fun.”

“Sure; we did however we could.” 

“I miss that. Now that our lives have evened out, we’ve settled. We changed.” You nod in agreement,

“We’re different from how we used to be and I don’t think I like it.” he sighs.

“Why not?” you ask, tilting your head. He stares off into the distance again, traveling through memories unknown to you.

“You were all I had left, and I was okay with that.” His words surprise you. You watch as his eyes focus on something past you. Suddenly, he turns back to you, placing his hands gently over yours.

“I want you. I have wanted you. It’s a secret I’ve made no effort to keep.”

You hesitate, “Osamu-”

“I know who I am. I know what I’ve done. But know that I have spent years struggling with myself over you. And I’d do it a thousand times over again for you to look at me as you do now.” He licks his lips quickly, anxiously, 

”You’re so much kinder than me, and so much sweeter than death.” For a while, you sit looking dumbfounded as he smooths his thumbs over your knuckles. When you don’t answer, he breathes in anxiously again,

“Take your time, darling.”

“I need to think; I’m sorry.” you breathe.

“Don’t be sorry.”

“But… Don’t leave.” he smiles, seemingly relieved,

“I won’t.” He lets go of your hands and walks toward your room to settle in.

It’s always nice to have him. Even on days when he didn’t seem there, it was comforting to have a body next to yours. It’s strange, though, watching him stroll so readily to your room as if he didn’t just confess something even he struggled with. You watch his back intently before it disappears from view. You stare blankly at the space he just was; he’s gone, but he stands in front of you like a ghost. No matter where you went, it always felt like he was there. 

When you walk into your room, he’s sitting as comfortably as he did the last time he was there. This time, however, he’s lying on his back, his eyes closed, and smiling to himself. Carefully, you lay down next to him.

“I missed you these past few days, you know?”

“I could only hope so,” he whispers, still smiling.

“...Are you sure about this?” You ask carefully. He rolls onto his side and faces you,

“I’ve never been more sure.” you glance at him then look back to the ceiling blankly.

“Somehow, I think it confuses me more when you’re direct,” he chuckles at this, “I spent all those years trying to catch up with you, but I felt like even if I did, you’d never look at me.”

“You don’t have to be looking at something to be focused on it; it’s not about where my eyes are, it’s about where my mind is,” he says softly, punctuating his words by looking away from you again.

“You get it though, don’t you? It’s hard to feel wanted by you when I know you.” he nods, “And half the time, I doubt I do. That’s the problem. I’ve asked for you for so long, knowing it was probably the one thing you couldn’t give.” you sigh.

“Such uneasiness lies in being loved; nowadays, to me, that’s what makes it so intriguing.”

“I’d have thought that’s why you’d turn away from it.”

“Before, yes.”

“It’s been so long since we talked like this,” You smile.

“It has. We’ve changed.”

“That we have.”

Change is often bittersweet, but this time you welcome it with pride. You feel like you’ve lived up to the expectations you had that fateful night your life changed for good. Miraculously, you have few regrets in this moment- not zero- but few.

“I’m glad we stayed together, Osamu, however we did it.” He pauses for a moment before smirking to himself,

“I wouldn’t have survived it with anyone else.” he quips. You pause to breathe in deeply,

“I think by now, I know what it means to live.” 

he hums, “I’m coming closer to it.”

 you turn to him as he reaches for your hand, grasping it tightly. He looks you in the eyes, staring straight through you like he tends to, but it feels different now,

“Whatever you decide to do, I don’t regret our time together. I have always held our memories dear, and no matter what happens, I’d like to make more.”

“No matter what, I promise we will.” You squeeze his hand. You have no concerns when he pulls you to his chest, letting out a breath he must’ve held for a long time. You have no trouble falling asleep listening to his heartbeat.  It’s always been nice having someone to sit in limbo with.

ango. god shes so pathetic. she works 24/7 until she passes out then as soon as she gets up she continues working. not even because she has such overwhelming workload or because she enjoys it, just because she has nothing better to do. she lives on instant noodles and microwave mac n cheese. she drinks sm coffee that she has become immune to caffeine at this point. however on her rare day offs she searches through her closet and tries on the prettiest dresses she has (being in work uniform everyday can be awfully boring) twirling in front of the mirror in them. bonus: once her landlord caught her in the prettiest dress ever. she has never been paler or shakier than she was in that moment

sigma, the most transgender character known to existence. shes trying her best i swear! its just that .. shes still kind of pathetic but its alright, who isnt ?? she might win in card games against every single customer she has but she trembles while ordering in mcdonalds. she always takes the stairs no matter which floor she is heading to because shes worried she will mess up the buttons and get stuck (not to mention the possibility of being stuck with another person!) fyodor often lends her some books to educate her but poor sigma has such a hard time understanding all those big words. she gets anxious so easily its kind of adorable. and if you praise her? you call her gorgeous? you gently touch her hair? she absolutely loses it, my sweet beloved <3

mushitaro, oh dear mushitaro. shes DEFINITELY not pathetic, shes The Perfect Criminal right? she is mhm. .. its okay shes a bit delusional but shes got the spirit! well what if i tell you that this perfect criminal is actually the most average girl you can find. she works at a small bakery or maybe a café. she serves the customers with a slight smile on her face (her boss told her that if she looks grumpy all the time, they will lose customers, so shes trying her best) right until the person leaves the store. her smile broadens into a huge smirk while shes thinking about how she gave 50 cents less change back! how evil and villainous is she! truly a perfect criminal!

katai. just katai.

“You do seem quite peppy.”

“I have my reasons.”

“Hot date tonight?”

“Oh, leave me alone.” You shut him down before Kunikida can. Atsushi laughs, awkward and confused,

“Uh, have fun?” 

“...Thanks,” you sigh.

At the end of the day, you’re a little behind. You decide to stay after to finish things up. You only realize by around 6:30 that you forgot to tell Ango you might be running late. He hasn’t texted you either, though; it worries you. You call once you’re on the way, but he doesn’t answer. You can only hope he’s still there when you arrive at his office. Walking into the building, you're worried by the lack of lights on, but his secretary is packing up tiredly, and a faint light from his office door catches your eye. You find Ango practically buried under a stack of papers; he gives you an exhausted nod,

“Hello… I don’t think I’ll be out for another hour or two.” he sighs. You frown at him,

“Who the hell pushes all this to you anyway?” he doesn’t respond, just keeps typing away. You sit down across from him with a huff of frustration,

“You didn’t answer my call either. Thought you coulda’ died,” you mutter. He laughs incredulously,

“You have that little hope for me?” it makes you laugh a little too,

“Yep.” he takes his eyes off his laptop to look at you,

“Look, I… I’ll just finish this part and we can go. I’m sorry; I know we had plans.” you give him a sympathetic look,

“It’s okay. Thank you…”

You can tell he’s trying to get it done as fast as he can, typing furiously, a focused wrinkle to his brow. By the time he’s finished, however, it’s already dark. When he closes his laptop, you get excited to run over to grab his coat and hand it to him. He smiles to himself as you hurry over with it,

“Thank you.” 

“I’m just excited to get out of here.”

“I am too,” he says, reaching for your hand; you hold it tight.

“I have an idea,” you giggle,

“Hm?”

“Trust me.”

“Oh God,” he rolls his eyes in jest; he follows you closely anyway. He shivers and sneezes a bit when you get outside,

“Are you still sick?”

“I just can’t seem to shake it.” you sigh,

“Maybe some rest would do the trick.” You say flatly. As you walk, he wonders where you’re headed, but it only takes him a couple of turns to put two and two together. As you approach a familiar alleyway he smiles bittersweetly.

“Gonna order a tomato juice?” you smirk.

“I might switch it up tonight, who knows.”

“Well, it might be easier since you don’t have any secrets to keep.” he nods.

“Right?” you look at him expectantly.

“I may have a few more tricks up my sleeve,” he says, trying to act nonchalant. Walking down those stairs so happily is like a breath of fresh air. Sitting down, you take the same spots you used to; like usual, there aren’t many people. The barkeep must recognize the two of you, he seems to do a double take. You order your drinks and sit idly for a minute. He clears his throat a suspicious amount of times.

“Seriously, are you okay?” 

“I’m fine,” he says, punctuating his sentence by attempting to suppress his next cough.

“It’s cold tonight. Maybe you should’ve got a hot tea.”

“I’ll make some at home.”

He barely touches his drink when it arrives, maybe because he’s so busy staring at you. He knows you notice; he makes no effort to hide it.

“A toast?” he asks, holding his nearly full glass toward yours (half full),

“To what?”

“...I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?”

“I just wanted to.”

“To us?”

“To us.”

As always, he doesn’t hesitate to pay or shove any cash you attempt to take out right back at you. He is, after all, a man of consistency. He shivers again when you walk outside, wrapping himself tightly in his jacket. You pat his shoulder and rub it comfortingly. You think he’s cute, his cheeks red maybe not from just the cold, all bundled up in his coat,

“You’re cute.” his cheeks grow redder,

“Don’t say that.”

“Why not?” he purses his lips and looks to the side, refusing to answer. You play with his sleeve idly, he looks down at where your fingers toy with it. He seems so much calmer than he did earlier. Your walk is calm and romantic, the cold air forces the two of you closer together; the ambiance of the city seems to make a melody. Arriving at his door, he sighs in relief,

“I’ll probably just take a bath and then go to sleep, sorry to disappoint,” he coughs again.

“You should call out tomorrow,” you say, unbuttoning his coat as he looks down, flustered.

“I can’t.”

“Why not?” You hang his coat on its hook.

“Too much to get done.”

“Most of your work is on the computer, though. You could do it from home.” You walk into the kitchen comfortably, opening the fridge to examine its contents.

“They prefer to have me in the office.” he follows you in, coming to your side to watch as you investigate his groceries (or lack thereof).

“Ango, please, what’s one day?” You turn to him, closing the fridge with a subtle thud, and suddenly it crosses your mind to loosen his tie.

“It’ll be two this month.” you frown at him,

“Let me give them a call.”

“...No.”

“I can write you a doctor’s note!”

“No, please.” You put a hand on his forehead, he stares up at it,

“Yosano could write you one.” he sighs deeply but you don’t let him speak,

“I’ll call you out. You seem warm enough, you’re exhausted, you’re still coughing and sneezing. I mean, God, could you just take care of yourself? Just go lie down. I’ll run your bath.”

“You don’t have to—”

“Zip it.” You say as you untie his tie fully, “Go relax.” You kiss him on the cheek and, as if that was what convinced him, he makes a beeline for his bedroom without another word. You smile to yourself as he walks through the hall, trying his best to keep his posture presentable.

"Ango, would you want to join us for dinner too? You should take a break, you deserve it."

He pauses and stares awkwardly at the group, torn between telling them that "cute server" won't appreciate being hit on by their boyfriend's subordinates, or just saying he's busy. He chuckles, trying to fill the silence a bit,

"I can't, I'm sorry. I have a couple things to finish. But, I wouldn't recommend going through with your game."

They stared at each other awkwardly before one speaks up,

"Oh, why not?"

"I don't think their boyfriend would like it; I've seen them get picked up from work... it looks pretty serious."

Disappointed sighs sound throughout the room. As Ango buys his coffee the group discusses new dinner plans, and Ango walks back to his desk peacefully.

When his papers are finally organized and all he needed to do is done, Ango strolls down to your work, tired but happy all the same. When he walks in and hears the familiar chime sound, you're clearing off his usual spot. He lets the stress fall off his shoulders as he sits down, listening to the sounds of cups clinking and flames burning in the kitchen. The place is empty, as it always is when he's finally done with work. You bring him a water and sit down across from him after you send his order to the kitchen, thankful your boss lets you get out of your closing duties to spend time with him.

"Seen any guys from my office here recently?" he asks tentatively.

"A couple, I think. Why?"

"They were planning to have a competition. Who could get your number first." you raise a brow,

"Really?" you laugh, "Where'd you hear that?"

"The break room. Earlier they asked if I wanted to join them for dinner too."

"And what did you say?" you pry.

"I told them I was too busy..." he trails off, "And that I'd seen you with your boyfriend before."

you reach for his hand across the table,

"Were you jealous?" you tease,

"No." he answers suspiciously quickly,

"It's alright if you were."

"I'm not worried about them," he smiles and chuckles to himself. And, truly, he isn't worried. He trusts you in a way he hasn't trusted anyone for a long time. It's easy to sit there and hold your hand and convince himself that everything is okay. He lets out a breath he didn't know he was holding.

His dinner is gone as soon as it comes out and the two of you head home, walking close together, fingers locked, to combat the cold night air. He looks around at buildings you pass and streetlights that look like stars. His commute home always used to be so lonely. Nowadays, he can't remember the last time he felt like that. He stops walking.

"Ango?" you turn to face him, confused.

he stares at you in silence. he lets go of your hand,

"I've had this for a while," he starts softly, "I knew I'd need it, I just didn't know when."

"...Had what?" he reaches into his pocket, nervously pulling something out,

"This." he gets down on one knee.

The street is empty save for the two of you and some passing cars. The streetlights shine a warm light. You step back, laughing, your hands flying to cover your face. He begins to get nervous. Are you laughing because it's ridiculous he thinks you'd ever marry him? Because there's something on his face? He feels as though he's going to pass out, but he stutters his words out as best he can,

"Will you marry me?" Is all he can say, and he curses himself for it. How he wishes he could describe just how deeply in love he is with you. If only he had the words to describe the ways in which you've brightened his life. If he could only say something.

"Yes!" You blurt out, kneeling down to his level.

Now he really thinks he'll pass out.

"You're sure?" is all he can manage,

"I've never been more sure in my life." You say softly, your voice cracking as you hold back joyful tears.

He doesn't bother putting the ring on your finger before rushing to hug you. His arms wrap tightly around your back, and his head nuzzles into the crook of your neck. As he pulls away you take his face in your hands, kissing him desperately. He can't help but smile into it, lost in the way his cheeks hurt at how widely it spreads.

He lets go and kisses the back of your hand, a tried and true gentleman.

You glance quickly at the couch, still waiting patiently for Ango to wake up, hoping it’s soon because mornings like this are always so dull. You spot some movement out of the corner of your eye and watch as Ango sits up and looks groggily around the room.

“It’s…8:26, you fell asleep around 10 o’clock last night.” You say flatly.

“Sorry..” he sighs,

“It’s fine; I don’t mind. You don’t have work today, right? So you could sleep in?” he nods.

“There’s a little left over from my breakfast if you’re hungry, let me know if you need anything.” The words you say are caring and thoughtful, but your tone is dull. You don’t understand why you’re treating him so carefully, yet so cold all the same. 

“Thank you. I’ll… I’ll head out soon.”

“You don’t need to.”

“Hm?”

“... Just don’t rush yourself. You don’t have work, you can relax a bit.”

“I… yes, you’re right.” 

He puts his glasses on and meets you at the counter. You take a quick look at him,

“Are you okay? Your face is so red, is it too warm in here?”

“I’m a little warm, I think I’m fine…” he mumbles, his voice is a little raspier than normal, and you only really take notice of it now, with newfound concern.

“C’mere for a second.” You beckon him to come a little closer. Tentatively, he steps closer, and you place a hand on his forehead. You swear his face gets even redder.

“You feel a little warm, I have a thermometer in my bathroom cabinet,” You say, getting up to go grab it,

“It’s fine, I’m okay! Don’t worry about it.” he blurts quickly. You tilt your head suspiciously. “We should try the thermometer, just in case.”

he sighs, “Okay..” 

When you check, he’s running a slight fever; you’re almost glad. You push away the thought; Shouldn’t you want him to be healthy? But then again, you remember that this gives you an opportunity. 

“You should lie back down.” You give him a sympathetic look and grab him a glass of water. He simply stands where he is looking mortified. You hand him the glass and place a hand on his back comfortingly,

“Really, just go lay down.”

“I feel… fine.” He tenses.

“Ango, I don’t mind if you stay. You have a day off, relax,” you insist and, as he always seems to do, he complies. His muscles slacken as he walks to the couch. When he lies down his head falls to the side; he stares longingly at your wall. His eyes trail slowly to you. He could stare at your back all day. He could reach for you endlessly, chase the feeling of your skin against his hands, and yet, he knows that he will only ever catch the fabric of your clothes. The unsatisfying feeling of each thread reeling through his fingers. He wonders if he’ll always stumble back to you, in some way or another. When the first tear falls, he barely notices it. He wonders if comfort is what he means to you; you are comfort to him. 

A second tear.

Whenever he comes this close, he always feels farther than before. He knows. He’ll tell himself again and again: you are out of reach; you are not his. He knows better than anyone else, you belong to no one. 

He hiccups quietly, his stirring is noticeable to you now.

“Are you okay?” you ask, twisting your neck to look back at him from the counter. He stares blankly forward, trying to feign falling back asleep, but somehow it makes him cry a little harder. You get up slowly and walk over to him.

“Ango?” such a sweet voice, he thinks. Suddenly everything is overwhelming. You’re surprised by the fog in his glasses and the tears rolling down his cheeks. Even in all the years, you’d known him, you could count on one hand the number of times you’d seen him cry. He removes his glasses and covers his face with his arm, embarrassed. 

“Was it something I said…?” You ask, concerned. He shakes his head. You place a hand on his arm, awkwardly trying your best to comfort him. His body trembles with each sob. Quiet, meek, ashamed sobs. The tears he shared with solitude. Day after day, sleepless nights spent alone. And now, tangled in an endless cycle of guilt for what was never his fault. Guilt for wanting your love. He uncovers his face and turns over, facing you kneeling in front of him, tears falling faster again as he looks at you.

“What can I do?” You whisper,

“Stay.”

And you do. A hand comes carefully up to your cheek; he waits for you to push him away, to tell him no, but you don’t. He cups your face, and your eyes lock again.

“I missed you.” He breathes. You smile slightly, leaning into his touch. He pauses, thinking through his next words carefully,

“Can I kiss you?” You haven’t forgotten about his fever, you just don’t care.

“Please do.”

You lean in slowly and so does he, gentle as always, something you loved about him. Just like that, his tears stream again. You don’t care that you can taste them. You don’t care that he’s sick. He puts a hand on the back of your head and pulls you to his chest, holding you there and breathing deeply.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers.

“For what?”

“I’m… crying. You were busy.”

“Don’t apologize.”

“I always feel like I have to.” you pause,

“Maybe you’ve done it enough,” and the word repeats in your head:

Maybe.

You’re not too sure. For now, you’re glad to stay like this, head to his chest, breathing slow and calm and listening to his heartbeat trying to steady itself. His presence still comforted you as it always did, and you hoped it was the same for him. 

When he finally lets you go, you sit back on your ankles next to him in silence for a minute. 

“Just rest for a while. Let me know if you need anything,” you say softly before moving to work in your bedroom. You don’t get much done, stuck on the feeling of his lips on yours after so long. At some point, you can’t take it anymore; you come back to sit beside him. He looks toward you from where he lays, eyes seemingly fixed past you. You fiddle with your thumbs idly, trying to gather your words,

“I think I missed you too. I’m just not sure.”

“I understand.”

“Some days it just feels wrong to me.” he nods silently.

You hear the blanket shuffle as you look down at your lap again. Suddenly, he’s kneeling in front of you, eyes locked on yours. 

“As much as I’d like to say you shouldn’t worry about it, I can’t.” You swallow hard, finally acknowledging the growing lump in your throat.

“I want you to live fully. Whether you’re with me or not.”

Now it’s your turn to cry. Just as he did so many times before, he holds you; so steady, so gentle, an anchor in your storm. When your hands shake and you collapse in on yourself, he makes sure you don’t fold over completely. He was always so kind to you. You should have known sooner he wasn’t cut out for the work he was given back then. Your head spins with memories; he always made things easier. Maybe he was what you needed. Maybe he is what you need.

When you look up at him, he pushes your hair from your face, staring you down with his face growing ever gentler. 

“I’ve always loved you.” he smiles bittersweetly, “Even when you didn’t. Take your time and think about it, please.”

“I will.”

Should you have cut him off the way you did back then? He was hurting too, why couldn’t you see that? Did you treat him that way just because you needed someone to blame? You wonder why Ango still talks to you at all, let alone still loves you. He always was loyal, as ironic as it is to say, as a friend and a lover. When you think of him, you’re always transported back to the first few nights you spent with him. 

“Don’t want the party to end, huh?” Ango laughs heartily. As Dazai and Oda stand up to leave, you grab Ango’s arm, a silent plea for him to stay.

“No, I’m having fun.”

“Is that so?” he raises a brow playfully.

“Mhm.” You nod, “I think guys who drink tomato juice at bars are fun to be around.”

“A rather specific demographic…”

“Yeah, in fact, I think you’re the only one.”

“You think I’m fun?” you purse your lips,

“Something like that.”

It’s a wonder you didn’t throw yourself at his feet the minute you made it through his door. You wanted to, of course, but he was too… prudent for that. He would’ve told you to think about it a little more, asked a billion times if you were really sure about it. Instead, you sat on his couch for a while talking about anything you could think of. Maybe it was better that way. 

“It’s getting pretty late…” he says, tapping his watch.

“Ah, I didn’t realize. How far away is the station?” 

“You won’t make it before the last train.” he chews the inside of his cheek.

“Oh.” you look down at your hands awkwardly.

“I can drive you home.”

Next time you could, you dragged him home with you. That’s when you gain the confidence to make a move.

“Please, you’re drunk.”

“I’m not, I’m still, like, coherent.”

“Uh huh…” He sighs, his grip on your arm firm, but caring. He opens your door for you, but you keep his arm tucked under yours, pulling him into your apartment. 

“Come in, come in!” you urge him. He follows you cautiously. When you sit at your counter, he slumps down next to you weakly. You chat idly, he mostly listens. When it gets late, he insists he should go, but, as always, his resolve falls apart when you look at him. When you whisper, “Stay,” he’s weak in his knees. He insists on sleeping on your couch and you let him, just happy to have him around. When he wakes up, he folds the blanket you gave him neatly and fluffs your pillows; you catch him just before he leaves.

“Leaving without saying goodbye?”

“I, well, yes.” He looks down, ashamed. You sigh,

“Don’t let me keep you.”

“I like you, you know?” Your breath hitches,

“What?”

“I’m not leaving because I want this to be over.”

“Oh,” you whisper. The prospect of being wanted is a lot stranger than anticipated. He gives you a meaningful look.

“We should do this again,” he says before nodding and walking out. You stand dumbfounded, your face a soft pink. 

After that, almost every Friday evening you spend at Lupin is a night and morning spent with Ango. Soon, it’s not just Friday nights and Saturday mornings, it’s Tuesday afternoons at cafes or Thursday dinners. He treats you well, ever the gentleman; even as he gets more comfortable, he’s just as polite as before. He’s so different from Dazai in that way. He’s so careful, not because he needs something, but because it’s who he is. That’s the difference. Ango loves for longevity; Dazai loves thinking it’s as good as over. It’s true, love isn’t always something that lasts, but it can be. Isn’t that the beauty of it? High risk, high reward. 

Even so, you miss Dazai. You miss how effortlessly comforting and exciting his presence could be. He brought life to a dull world, but he’d never believe that if you told him. You spend the whole day in limbo between thoughts, trying to make sense of your situation, trying to make sense of your feelings. It’s even harder when you receive a text from Dazai

“I’m coming over tomorrow.” you’re exhausted, but maybe some weight will be lifted off your shoulders if you finally talk to him.

“...Yes?”

“Are you still at work?” he laughs tiredly,

“When am I not?”

“I’ll be there in, like, 10 minutes.”

“Oh. Okay… see you soon.”

You awkwardly exchange goodbyes as the train comes into the station. You can't help but tap your foot nervously against the floor as you stand in the crowded space. Why are you so nervous? It’s normal to go see him. He doesn’t feel weird about it, right? You suppose you’ll know when you get there. You’d visited his office a long time ago, only once. It’s a little tough relying on your memory, but it serves you well. You make no mistake remembering which floor and which ways to go. Checking in at the front desk, the secretary gives you a happy smile,

“He’s expecting you! Right this way.”

He smiles at you when you walk in; you always forget how big his office is. 

“I have things I need to finish, but feel free to sit down… what did you… come here for?” he tries not to sound so awkward.

“I was just here to say hi,” You laugh to yourself, “I’m sorry, you seem busy,” you mumble.

“It’s no problem. Did you need something?” he clears his throat; he sounds a little better than he did a few days ago, but no doubt he’s still a little sick.

“Are you seriously still sick?” he seems taken aback by the question.

“Um, a little, yes. My immune system isn’t the strongest.”

“I wonder why,” you deadpan, “have you been working all week?”

“Mhm.”

“Uh-huh.” you give him a knowing look.

“That’s just the way it has to be. I’m fine.”

“You’re working overtime. Again.”

“What of it?”

“It’s excessive.”

“It’s necessary.”

“Is it, though?” you give him a sympathetic look; he stands behind his desk holding a stack of papers, looking down at them contemplatively. He sighs,

“I… have a lot to do.” You look at him, disappointed. You walk towards him slowly, your posture welcoming and caring. 

“You’ve done enough,” you whisper, placing a hand on his shoulder. 

He lets his head fall back and looks at the ceiling. He breathes in deeply,

“I can leave at 6:30. Stay if you’d like,” he says, slumping down into his seat. You keep your hand on his shoulder. His muscles are tense with stress. You decide to leave him alone and sit across from him, keeping yourself busy with your own tasks. 

Waiting for him is a true test of your patience. Punctual as ever, he starts to close everything up at 6:29. As he gathers his things, you get up and help him; you hurry towards his door and grab his coat, bringing it over to him. 

“Thank you,” he smiles, embarrassed.

“Don’t mention it.” You hold it open for him to slip his arms in. It feels so domestic, so loving. You spin him around and smooth the fabric down his chest. He stands stiff and awkward, not sure how to react. He stumbles over himself a bit,

“Thanks- Thank you,” he mumbles, swallowing hard.

“Mhm.” you hum proudly. As your hand falls down his chest, you resist the urge to interlock it with his. Instead, you hold your bag with both your hands to keep them busy.

“Ready?” you ask. He nods. The two of you stop at a convenience store on the way to the station for a quick bite,

“Are you coming to mine?” he asks hesitantly.

“If you don’t mind.”

“I don’t.” You nod. Most of your commute is silent, but it’s comfortable, and the two of you stand close to each other, relaxed. Arriving at his apartment, when he puts his bag down you take to his shoulders again, helping him out of his coat. As it did earlier, it flusters him; it’s cute. He sighs in relief when it’s off, watching drowsily as you hang it up.

“You don’t have to do that.” He says weakly.

“I don’t mind.” You smile and settle in. It’s easy to get comfortable; everything is still in the same place it’s always been. You lay back on his couch and watch as he walks toward the fridge,

“Want something to drink?”

“I’m okay, thanks.” he pours you water anyway. He walks over, his tired posture and stress looming over you; you can only imagine how it feels to him. He turns on the TV and falls back on the couch, not realizing how close he is to you. He takes off his glasses and rubs his temples, staring up at the ceiling. You hesitate, but swallow your nerves and make the first move,

“Your shoulders are so tense.” You say, placing a hand on the one closest to you. He relaxes a bit and embarrassment crosses his face,

“Aren’t they always,” He laughs,

“Well… yeah,” you mumble, slowly tracing your hand down his arm. He leans into your touch; it gives you confidence. When he turns to you, his eyes half-lidded, it doesn’t surprise you how easy it is to lean in. He kisses you with all the energy he can muster, his hand resting on your waist. As he pulls away, he sighs,

“You’re… beautiful.” not knowing what to say, you take him by the shirt collar and drag him to hover over you. Your heart swells with pride the redder his face gets,

“We shouldn’t. Not now- if that’s what you’re…,” he stutters,

“Oh, sorry. Sorry. Uhm, I get it.”

“I just, you’re in the middle of a lot right now. I don’t think it’s right for you.”

“That’s okay,” you reassure him, “I understand.”

“I, uh, figured you would. I’ll take a rain check,” he says with an awkward laugh. You laugh too,

“See you after work tomorrow though?” Ango asks, a hopeful smile on his face.

“Yeah.” you smile back.