#bptag

break point [ao3]

soukoku | 159.8k | E

⟢ eleven chapters / complete

The stranger grins at him. “I’m surprised they didn't ask to see your ID.” For a moment after, Chuuya contends with whether or not the man standing in front of him is real. It’s possible, he thinks, taking stock of the stranger’s warm brown eyes and similarly shaded hair, of the bandages peeking out from underneath the collar of his oversized gray crewneck, that this is all a test—that the universe wants to see just how far it can push him before he concedes. Resigns himself to a reputation he might actually deserve. When he blinks twice and the stranger doesn’t disappear, he narrows his eyes to say, “You don’t know me,” with all the intonation of a threat. “Besides, asshole, they check IDs at the door.” “I don’t? Are you not Nakahara Chuuya? The tennis player that lost today?”

A one-night stand after a humiliating loss comes back to haunt him when Chuuya learns that the man he slept with is a member of an up-and-coming player’s coaching team.

He forgets the compression sleeve on his knee. The summer sun warm against his neck and heating his cheeks doesn’t feel so bad when he remembers all he still has to play for. The crowd pushes him to perform, and with each perfectly placed shot, each point won, he rises to the occasion. — break point (ao3).

break point [ao3]

soukoku | 95.2k | E

⟢ chapter six: paris, late may

There’s nothing desperate or hungry about the way he’s kissed, or the hand Dazai reaches up to cup his cheek with. It’s gentle. Quiet. In another life, a bystander peeking through the curtains might have even mistaken them for something more. Something that matters. “I need you out of here by morning,” Chuuya warns him when they part for a measured breath. Then, he lets Dazai kiss him again. Soft and slow.

from paris, with love.

⟢ or, start at chapter one here.

break point [ao3]

soukoku | 139.1k | E

⟢ chapter nine (of eleven): cincinnati, august

Chuuya blows out a breath and drags a hand across his face, biting back the urge to yell out something profane. He’s lying to himself, he knows as much. Because if Dazai were solely to blame, not just for today, but for every moment shared across this past year, Chuuya wouldn’t be here: cowering on a tiny bench in a tiny alcove, willing his mind to focus on anything but that brief flash of panic caught in Dazai’s eyes when they saw one another again for the first time since June. He feels it still, in the tips of his fingers and tight against his chest—this all-consuming ache gnawing at him from the inside out. And yet, he struggles to give it name. Refuses to give it name. Because naming it makes it real.

In which Chuuya accepts the truth.

⟢ or, start at chapter one here.

break point [ao3]

soukoku | 79.0k | E

⟢ chapter five: madrid, late april

Chuuya doesn’t move. He continues to stand there, arms now crossed over his chest, his vision tinged with a slightly red hue. There’s an added bite hiding in his voice when he asks, “Do what?” “Give you your gift, obviously.” He shouldn’t. He has absolutely no reason to step aside and let Dazai enter his room—has absolutely no reason to even accept anything from him. And yet, among the warning bells and their familiar chime, he hears a voice telling him that it’s better to keep Dazai shut behind a closed door than it is to let him linger in the hallway, where Hirotsu or Kouyou or Verlaine could step out and see him at any moment. “Whatever,” he grumbles. “Just make it quick.” He hates the way Dazai continues to beam at him even after the door clicks shut. 

one year older.

⟢ or, start at chapter one here.

break point [ao3]

soukoku | 67.6k | E

⟢ chapter four: miami, march

He wakes up alone and embarrassed two hours after sunrise with a pounding in his head and the overwhelming urge to vomit churning in his stomach. A loud groan accompanies his attempt to sit up, and he lets out a second after grabbing his phone off the nightstand and holding it close to his face. Because there, buried in between the usual texts from his group chat and two from Yosano, he finds: Unknown Number [ 7:54 a.m. ] Good Morning, Slug~~ Hope you threw up >._.<

one step forward.

⟢ or, start at chapter one here.

break point [ao3]

soukoku | 122.7k | E

⟢ chapter eight (of eleven): london, july

“I’m not getting worked up!” At the knowing look she gives in response to his dramatic assertion, he turns his head and, quieter this time, says, “It’s… I’m just making sure he’s alive, or whatever.” And he knows it sounds foolish, but he’s not sure what better answer he can give. It’s not his place to tell her about the last conversation he and Dazai had, their bodies pressed close in the lukewarm bathwater of a German hotel. He wouldn’t call it worry—not aloud, at least—but there’s an inescapable sense of jitteriness that he’s been unable to shake in the two days that have passed since sending Dazai the ‘feel better’ text. He’s yet to receive a reply. Beside him, Yosano stands up from her chair and sighs. “You can admit that you care about him, y’know? I won’t tell.”

so long, london.

⟢ or, start at chapter one here.