It all started that time when Chuuya first spent the night at Dazai’s. They didn’t plan it; it happened by itself, fuelled by rough kisses and restless hands rummaging all over each other’s bodies. The restaurant booth was way too cramped for the two men on fire, and the date was cut short. Dazai’s place was not Chuuya’s favourite, but it was the closest, and god, they had no patience to get a taxi to Chuuya’s.
He wasn’t really too picky.
The next morning, Dazai had to try and stop himself from ogling Chuuya as he walked out of the shower, wearing just a towel wrapped low around his hips, beads of water glinting on his chest and running down his abs.
“Oi. Give me something to change into,” Chuuya said, absentmindedly stroking a hickey on his collarbone.
And so, Dazai did. He didn’t pay much attention to it, throwing Chuuya the first shirt he found in his closet.
Dazai didn’t pay much attention.
When Chuuya walked into the kitchen, his hair in a lazy bun, Dazai dropped the omelette he was flipping. Comically hanging from his shoulders, the sleeves way too long, the hem reaching the middle of this thighs, Dazai’s shirt was the totally wrong fit for his petite boyfriend. It should have looked comical, funny, pathetic.
Except, it was the complete opposite.
Except, Chuuya looked like the meal Dazai would love to eat right now, forgetting all about that stupid omelette.
“Whatcha staring at?” Chuuya asked, coming up to Dazai, a slight move of his arm making the lazily buttoned shirt reveal his shoulder. “Do I have something on my forehead or what?”
Dazai swallowed and turned the stove off.
They were both late for work that morning.
After that day, Dazai noticed that something about Chuuya had changed. Casual, oversized hoodies, shirts and whatnot started appearing in his outfit rotation way more often, and each time Dazai had trouble thinking straight in his presence. Sure, he loved Chuuya perfectly tailored outfits that highlighted all the best features of his body, showing off his snatched waist, strong legs and muscular arms - and still, there was something special about the baggy clothes Chuuya suddenly took a liking to.
It was akin to knowing a secret - that underneath the baggy clothes that made him look so petite and fuckable, was the mafia’s strongest martial artist, his sharp mind, lean muscle and agile body making him a perfect death machine Dazai was lucky enough to tame and make his own.
The more Dazai saw Chuuya sporting his new street style obsession, the more he got used to it, and he thought that he finally learned to act norm…
Nope, it still took him a few seconds to come to his senses when he saw the outfit Chuuya wore for their date a few weeks later. In an oversized black and white bomber jacket and a black baseball hat (of course, from Chuuya’s stupid “workplace” if you could call mafia that) he radiated such effortlessly cool energy, that for a moment, Dazai felt like he was 15 again, crushing on the boy he’d just met
“You look like a delinquent,” Dazai croaked nonchalantly and took a swig of water out of his bottle. His eyes were fixed on Chuuya’s choker, a fancier kind, black leather so smooth, Dazai wanted to reach out and touch it. Or lick.
Chuuya smirked and tilted his head, his ponytail falling off his shoulder. “Oh, really?”
“I’d be afraid to meet you in a dark alley. You look like a guy who’d beat me up.”
“You didn’t mind me slapping you last night though.”
Dazai choked on his water, and Chuuya, still with the same cheeky expression on his face, fixed his hat.
Needless to say, this date was cut short, too (even before it started).
Dazai adored this new style on Chuuya. And he held a special place in his heart for the exciting feeling of taking these bulky clothes off, too.
And as for Chuuya - maybe it wasn’t exactly his style. Maybe he would never trade his tailored clothes for the world.
And still, seeing Dazai act like this… Chuuya would say, it was a great fashion experiment. Nothing wrong with some street style clothes in his classic wardrobe.
