Smoking and Some Smoky Flirtation - S4NSFLOWER - 文豪ストレイドッグス (2024)

Chapter 1: The coldest heart crash

Chapter Text

"Hey! You took too long...” Nikolai spoke up as soon as he saw the man hurrying towards him.

"Haven't even had time to scratch my eye today, what did you expect?" Approaching the albino and the other who had remained silent all this time, Fyodor spilled out, looking into the tallest's single exposed eye.

“Ouch! That hurt Dos-kun” Nikolai said, crossing his arms and looking like a spoiled child who has just been refused to buy what he wanted.

“What animal bit you?” The other young man who had been quiet from the start exclaimed, Sigma.

"No big deal, we'll just get something to eat and go home." Fyodor said in a calm tone and directed a quick glance at Sigma, who looked more tired than anyone at this point, after all she was “really working”, while Gogol remained unemployed but helped with the loft chores so everyone was fine.

The two nodded in agreement and headed for a cheap diner they exhaustively went to when they didn't have any crumbs in the cupboard. (Or when you just wanted to gossip).

[...]

It had been a long time since Fyodor felt inspired to do something, or felt that same thrill coursing through his veins when he played piano or cello (his old guitar too) but that was in the past, one that should have lasted longer. He used to think it was a passing thing and that some part of his young adult life would come along and find something new and cling on like a cat enchanted by a ball of yarn, wrong again. Not that it's wrong to 'not have something you like' but it gets frustrating when everyone is in front of you and you behind, or what the hell he's not the type to care much for this idiocy, but what if...

A fork falls to the ground. Pause.

Fyodor looks up at the real world again, the brightness taking over his vision, then seeing his Ukrainian friend stooping discreetly to pick up the silverware and his other bicolor friend hiding his face in his hands, giving Nikolai a light kick in the leg as a warning, of your shame.

“Nobody saw, little bird! It's okay.” With a smile on his face, the albino showed the fork that had dropped.

With his hands back on the table, Sigma looked at his boyfriend with furrowed brows and a smirk. They are always like that.

Since the albino took the initiative to address his romantic feelings for bicolor, they've easily found a way forward. It was kind of sickening to see everything literally in front of the brunette's eyes, but who is he to judge. they deserve each other.

But no one deserves to lose their right headset on the subway. Fyodor now lifts his head completely from the table, leaning his arms on it, looking in disbelief at his other cordless headset, 'Nikolai your son of a bitch, I'll never buy the things he recommends again' thought the brunette.

Gogol and Sigma were arguing about some photo shoot the bicolor was working on, Fyodor wouldn't be overheard. The clown was too focused on his lover spreading all the facts about 'how is it so wrong such a camera angle to be left as it only highlights the background not the model specifically'. The photographer was way too excited about the subject he was going on about. Impossible to get your attention now.

The brunette sighed as he took off his cap and released his hair from the small ponytail he had formed, tying it back up and putting his cap back on. Surprised that his arms still didn't creak once when he lifted them, after all, he had stayed with them in repetitive motions, not stopping even once, worth being praised by his instructor, and at the same time being a disgraceful wear and tear when he was just tie your hair, or do any other activity.

The lights of the cars pierced the window of the cafeteria, masses of people walked together, some looked at the musician with a serene look, others with lively scorn, while others had nothing but an emptiness, which the brunette was already familiar with. Like his two friends, they've seen it all, which Fyodor was flattered, as they weren't 100% surprised by the brunette. That was comforting.

Remembering the other two presences, the musician looked to the side hoping to see Sigma, but he was gone…

“Ah hi Dos-kun, how was the intergalactic thought travel you had this time?” With a golden eye turned to violets, Fyodor remembered again that he had a tongue and vocal cords to respond to the imbecile in front of him.

"Derogatory with a hint of why don't you go look for Sigma?" The musician spoke as he stretched and reached for his cell phone in the midst of the mess that was in the pocket of his backpack.

The albino gave a dry laugh and turned his gaze to some random spot.

"Well, aren't you going to tell the story of that new scar over there?" Fyodor said, gesturing to the Ukrainian's still reddened scar, a scratch on his jaw, or rather a penknife graze on the jaw. The russian knew about the fights that his friend got into, without his consent sometimes, worrying his boyfriend and the russian himself, but he no longer seemed to see a problem with that, as if it wasn't worth fighting against, after all, neither of them knew what to do. what Gogol did to get himself in such trouble.

“This one will be for later… Well, you will have to explain to me all your irritation with that boy from group A”

'Oh no. He knows. Unfortunately he knows.' thought the Russian.

"What? Now are you going to make up a subject to get away from yours?” With the face not being lost once since the beginning of the conversation, the brunette said. He was nervous.

“Are you going to tell me or not?” With raised eyebrows and a look that could kill one, said his Ukrainian friend.

About 6 minutes passed when Fyodor reluctantly gave a disbelief and began to speak.

“OK… The group he is in is ADA, he plays piano and violin, has serious mental problems, and his name is Dazai Osamu.” Looking away from the dusty table, the brunette sought permission to continue as he glanced at the albino, who was allowed with a raised eyebrow. “He's… awful, he has a very irritating smell of alcohol and books, he wears casual clothes, which doesn't make any sense since we're in the almost coldest place on the planet. He has a horrible habit of cracking his index finger before playing any instrument, and I had no idea anyone had such an uncertain smile as his. He wears some bandages all over his body, which is very abnormal, why should it be stuffed like a bitch? He has traces of a guitarist's bruises on his hands, and he also sings in the choir, but it doesn't seem like much because he wants to, even though his voice is very melodiously beautiful."

The clown took one last look at his flatmate and leaned close to him, almost climbing onto the table.

“Are you liking him? Dos-kun?” Slowly speaking each word, hitting the brunette loudly.

"No." Almost immediately Fyodor answered.

“You never fell in love right?”

"No?"

"So Dos-kun is confused?"

"No?"

He wished he'd never said anything about Dazai. The damn Dazai Osamu.

Rubbing his face with his gloved hands, Fyodor wanted to expel all his neurons to stop thinking.

"Look here" Nikolai said in a low voice taking his hands and placing them on either side of the Russian's slender face "I didn't mean to make you nervous or annoyed with this, just, you know, just out of your mind." Lifting his shoulder slightly in acknowledgment, the albino smirked.

Fyodor nodded, as the albino formed a forced smile with both of his thumbs on the brunette's face.

"Now I'm getting really irritated" With a somewhat robotic and paused voice, the brunette exclaimed.

With a chuckle the albino released him and got up from the old upholstered bench, awaiting the arrival of a Sigma with three lunchboxes to come to him, looking annoyed.

"Why did you abandon me there? Please don't do that anymore." said the bicolor, placing each of the plastic jars on the table and looking sternly at his chuckling boyfriend.

They argued some more, with Sigma emphasizing how pathetic it was for Nikolai to affectionately call him a 'bird'. (He didn't really hate that nickname, he just got too embarrassed when it came out of his albino boyfriend's lips). Fyodor rolled his eyes, got up, put on his left phone and disappeared into the darkness that lay on the snowy street that night. What was out of the ordinary on Thursdays was that he wasn't too concerned about making up an excuse to his roommates for not going to class tomorrow, but rather about the stupid young man from the ADA group, 'Why am I thinking so much about he? I don't want what Kolya said to be true!'

[...]

A good few hours passed. It was 22:18 pm, when the three of them were already seated watching a series that takes place at that time. Fyodor still hadn't showered, with the same layers of clothes and hair tucked into his den. Gogol was in new clothes but still had his hair braided. And Sigma being the only clean one, with wet hair, and new clothes. It was normal for this to happen.

The musician looked at his wrist, then at the lovebirds that were together next to him 'For God's sake' thought the brunette rolling his eyes and getting up going towards the table in the center of the room, taking his cigarette box and his lighter , walking towards the door, when he was interrupted by a whistle from the albino, of course.

“Where are you going at this hour?” Without turning to where the albino was talking, Fyodor answered, still with his back to him.

"Smoke"

“Dos-kun can smoke on the balcony”

"But Sigma doesn't like the smell of smoke"

“Sigma also smokes”

"Okay but..." Now the brunette turned around, to see his two companions looking at him curiously.

“I know, thanks dear Kolya but I prefer not to inflict my own law that 'Sigma doesn't like tobacco smoke even though he's still smoking some' ” With an apathetic smile, the brunette said opening the door, placing his battered all star on the feet and going soon afterwards when again it was interrupted by the albino and now the bicolor.

"Make sure you don't die" The albino said with a wink. Sigma looked at his boyfriend lying on his lap with indifference to his words.

“Just be careful, okay?” The bicolor said with a hint of concern at the end. Although Fyodor has always been an orphan, never having his parents inserted in his life, could his friends be that for them, even if it's something strange?

Without saying anything the Russian walked through the door.

[...]

It was boring to smoke. But when that becomes a way of rescuing nicotine formulas to keep you going, you can't complain.

The brunette never went after other substances, not alone. When it was just him and Nikolai, the two of them would go to some alleys and fix some, but doing it alone? seemed like a good joke to Fyodor. He missed the feeling at times, it just took the ADA young man to become one, not that he was a type of nicotine or serotonin, but it made Fyodor's feet come back to the ground and reminded him that this " passion” would never be returned. They never interacted. Until then.

Fyodor liked to go to the roof of his neighboring building, which seemed quieter than his, smoke and unwind about all his goings-on, once taking the risk of nearly falling 12 floors in one go but being saved by the janitor. A suck. His heart had its sluggish rhythms, slowly getting elevated when he remembered the boy in the bandages, it was already making him effervescent to the point of getting shades of red on both of his polished yellow-white cheeks (from impending anemia).

"Hey? Earth calling Dostoyevsky?” A melodious voice in his right ear (which was without the earpiece) triggered his senses back, his cigarette clung to his lips and fell from the 12 floors to the sidewalk, dousing its flames as the Russian's heartbeat did.

"Are you okay?" The other in the blue sweater and spiky brown hair said in an almost playful tone.

The musician entered a trance and did not come out of it, because:

1- Dazai Osamu was by his side now;

2- He needed his pump to breathe again;

3- WAS DAZAI OSAMU THERE NEAR HIM??

"What?" That was all Fyodor could manage.

Chapter 2: My New (Best) Rival

Chapter Text

It couldn't be that his bad luck, or luck, was that great. He had never broached the subject with him. What he likes? Should he ask about facts he wants to hear? What the hell could Fyodor do?

"Um, I asked if you're feeling okay?" The spiky haired boy said, with a low laugh at the end.

"я не хочу с тобой разговаривать" ("I do not wanna talk to you") The nervous boy blurted out without thinking, looking for the first time live and in color at the other who accompanied him, even with the yellow lighting of the streetlamps getting in the way.

Dazai looked like Fyodor usually saw him; knitted sweater with some bizarre shapes between them, a ripped jeans, his bandages bleached white, his lazily scrawled all star, his ear piercings, and by god those rings on his thin, skeletal fingers were perched on the ledge of the wall that Fyodor was standing next to. .

'How can he have this abused style that makes him look so cool?' The magenta-eyed one wondered, as that doubt had been lingering in his head since he first saw him.

“ So…Что ты собирался делать здесь один на этом уступе?” ("What were you going to do here alone on this ledge?") Of course Dazai could speak Russian, after all he was a prodigy. Fyodor was not surprised, he looked deeper into almond eyes and opened his mouth but nothing came out.

"Okay, you're very pale now, you look like a giant white crayon" The boy in the sweater said smiling "Pathetic" He scoffed then, looking away at the lights of the other buildings and crossing his arms.

Not knowing why, Fyodor didn't respond properly at the time. 'He's more intriguing than I thought he would be' crossed the musician's mind.

"I never thought of talking or at least interacting with you anyway" Fyodor finally spoke, shifting his gaze to the cars passing by on the cold street below.

“One day I would have to face my opponent.” Dazai said softly, even though Fyodor couldn't see his features he felt a smile form on the taller's face.

“Adversaries?” The musician leaned his arms on the sill that separated the terrace from the street, putting on half his weight and adjusting his coat to keep him warm from the cold that had begun to torment him.

“Yes, it is kind of logical until, Dostoyevsky. You're on the cusp of the best musicians putting all the classes together, and you seem to be the straight-laced type about going to almost every performance to earn credits later.” The spiky-haired one was now like his companion, watching him take another cigarette from a small metal box with drawings, which Dazai could identify as a cheat card. "So that makes me your rival."

“If I'm doing a hobby, let it be well executed, right? This is pretty dated and off-putting, but what can I do? Giving up without having a full justification?” The musician said, ignoring the other's last line. Fyodor had his principles, he didn't have a bank to say when to stop, but rather a huge river where he would only have his boat to get through it and get whatever he wanted.

“I see, you're the 'I fight for my plans so I don't look like a failure' type” The guitarist put on a more serious and playful voice, which irritated Dostoyevsky's ego a little.

The Russian chuckled and took a drag on his cigarette.

A silence ensued, which lasted longer than they imagined. It was uncomfortable. The sound of passing cars, people walking, the rustle of Dazai's sweater with every gust of wind that passed, caressing his curls, his pale skin. He was concentrating on watching a couple argue at a window in the distance, they were just shadows being cast in yellowish lighting, but it seemed to be serious. The boy's eyelids were almost closing, as he tried to see better (Fyodor had already seen him wearing glasses, when the boy was studying a sheet music. The musician almost caught fire at this vision of the gods).

Fyodor concentrated on watching Dazai unconsciously approaching him. 'It's just an idiot with no idea of the value of being validated, don't let yourself be shaken' thought the brunette.

“Love is a sh*t” Dazai began, still watching from afar “They put the view that this is something surreal and beautiful, an explosion of happiness and divinity, but it ends up being a complete waste of time.” Placing a hand to support his chin, the boy in the sweater rambled on, as if Fyodor knew what he was talking about.

“I feel the same way you do about this.” He added the black-haired one, blowing any remaining smoke from his nostrils. Dazai looked at the boy beside him, his eyes darting to all of his facial features, not once stopping his irises at some point on the other's face, rescuing every forgotten feature.

“I thought you smoked” Fyodor woke him up.

“I'm inexperienced in this, but occasionally I get some, I prefer the good old rum” The brown eyes gleamed as he remembered his bottle that was abandoned on his shelf.

“I can teach you if you're interested.” This certainly wasn't meant to sound like a flirtation, but by the time Fyodor realized it, it was too late. The other was already looking at him with a smirk and furrowed brows.

"As I told you..." Pausing to look at the cigarette in the corner of the other's mouth, he continued "I have no knowledge in this area"

The two looked at each other in surprise, as this was from a topic about 'You look pale, are you okay?' to 'Come take my only cigarette and let me teach you how to get your lung torn up and shattered'?

Dazai's crush (that's how he was ranked on Fyodor's list) became confusing. He was everyone's crush, no matter the genre, if you asked anyone in the music building they would eventually quote on how hot the guitarist of the group ADA is.

A dangerous Dazai territory has entered without realizing it. A lamb passing the fence and heading towards the wolf, a hen chasing the fox, a mouse chasing the cat. Next to the hot breath with sweet mint and cinnamon he was now, a well done contrast. Dazai was still in the same position, however, leaning more towards Fyodor's side, and his attention was totally focused on the cigarette that the other musician held between his fingers and directed towards the guitarist's bruised and reddened lips.

As his first drag entered his senses, the spiky-haired boy blinked his eyes over and over, his long lashes like butterfly wings twitching against his skin. He suddenly laughed, a half-choked laugh mixed with fear, lowering his head still with his eyes closed he stayed. The one in the bonnet was also amused and began to laugh softly, taking the cigarette from the other's lips and looking at him fervently.

“f*ck, that was weird.” Dazai's husky voice reached Fyodor's eardrums.

" Are you okay?" Fyodor was finding the boy's surprise reaction funny, but he still did something a little wrong? Insert a tobacco as if it were water?

“Well, now you're all worried, aren't you? Fedya?” Lifting his face to watch the astonished reaction at the distinctive nickname coming out of his tongue, he came face to face with a puzzled Fyodor. Being a mere stranger, now he looks like a boy who likes to get into trouble, a naughty boy.

This went on for most of the night. Laughter, shoulder jerks, sharp looks. Fyodor wouldn't say that Dazai was stoned but he didn't seem to be there at the time, so he wouldn't remember it all later, which snatched all of Dostoyevsky's expression, but Dazai didn't notice.

Crouched in the corner, the phone on, a few bottles of liquor who knows where Dazai got it, the ashes from the shared cigarette scattered through the air, where it was already filthy. At one point Dazai took off Fyodor's cap and put it on himself, then laughing as if this was the funniest thing in the world, the cap owner was annoyed at having his hair tied back (and not washed) on display. The spiky-haired one insisted on wanting to taste the cigarette on the other's lips, but Fyodor wandered off to the other side of the roof, where he was chased as a lesson. Unsuccessfully Dazai pouted and crossed his arms heading towards the brick sill again, standing on it, Fyodor's heart clenched.

“What the f*ck are you going to do?!” The musician had to raise his voice for the other to hear him.

"Visiting someone" He returned in response, arms outstretched, feeling the breeze passing through his sweater.

Fyodor didn't have time to think about what the other said, before that he quickened his pace and grabbed the other's arm, trying to pull him down. “Have you lost your mind?!”

"Not yet!!" Dazai yelled back

“Get down now!! I can't bear for the police to come and interrogate me for a case of suicide I didn't even want to deal with!” Fyodor said, still tugging at the other's sweater.

“Join me then!!” The guitarist extended his hand to the brunette below. Fyodor had heard rumors that Dazai was a suicidal maniac, but he didn't think he would witness one of those moments.

Before he could respond, Dazai sighed in frustration, seeming to have remembered something that had shaken him deeply, to the point where he gave up on his attempt to throw himself off a building and end his own life. He sat on the sill, weariness exposed in his features, as if there were thorns, piercing his entire being.

The musician leaned back on the sill beside the other young man, still clutching the sleeve of his sweater.

"Talk whenever you want about this, but please don't do it again, I thought I would pass out right here and die in your place" In a low tone the dark haired brunette said, Dazai snorted and looked at him quickly with teary eyes.

“I blew it, didn't I? Look, just forget about it…” Dazai said with a voice that choked with disbelief.

"Oh, right, I think it's better that way too." Blinking quickly, the one in the cap said. He didn't understand what was going through the guitarist's head, but how his current situation should be something of great relevance.

Dazai shook his head and looked at the 24-hour market below him, the LED lights interrupting his view. 'I need my contact lenses' Dazai thought.

An iron door being opened was heard, and a person in a huge dark coat was seen, still with his light pajamas underneath. It was Sigma.

Fyodor, before being interrogated, had already understood that he should go. Looking again at the thoughtful guitarist at his side, he wished the memories of that night lingered in his mind. One day, being able to strike up a conversation with him again, I got to see his smile again, share his cigarette with him again. Dazai felt the gaze over his shoulder, and he looked back, trying to put his mask back on, but damn it, he wanted to die now. Never seeing his own face in the mirror again, never feeling that flutter in his heart again, having his brain smashed with all those chords impossible to arrange in a sheet music, but he wanted to feel the sensation of Fyodor's cigarette again.

Sigma stood in the doorway, hands on hips, right leg slamming against the floor. His friend in the bonnet approached slowly, putting on his left earphone and walking with his face towards his own feet, 'What happened this time?' Sigma thought, he even wished he'd asked, but the other seemed too far away to answer. He resolved to respect the space his friend wanted, taking a deep breath he waited for Fyodor to pass him and close the door with a creak.

[...]

Nikolai was already in his fifteenth sleep, snoring softly on the sofa, a blanket (of sanrio) covering him.

Fyodor waited for his other friend to lock the loft door before heading to the bathroom, preferring to sink all of this night's information in hot water and steam. Sigma placed the key on the kitchen counter, which separated the kitchen from the living room, and frowned as he watched the raven-haired man walk down the tiny hallway, then veer off to his fast-sleeping boyfriend on the couch. Tomorrow he would surely need to be sure what the boy in the sweater did to his friend. He swore.

[...]

Did Dazai make it home, staggering halfway? Yes, but he went home on his own this time, not an ambulance.

Walking up the steps of the 2DO condo, he took the keys out of his jeans pocket (which luckily didn't fall out) and tried to find the lock, without success. A man in a dark robe and hair licked back in gel opened the door, Dazai looked into the other's green eyes and smiled.

“ Ango! What a good surprise!" He said throwing the key on the floor and lifting his arms for an awkward hug. The other rolled his eyes.

“Dazai, be aware, it's 2:30 in the morning and you said yesterday that you were just going to rehearse in the college building” Even Ango couldn't believe his words, after all, his friend made a fool of him whenever he could “Go take a shower and get ready to sleep, I shouldn't even be saying that, you're 19 years old, you can do it yourself” Leaving Dazai's grip, the man in the robe pulled the bandaged boy into the room, earning a groan of pain and disappointment.

“How irritating, everything is moving around!!” wailed the boy in the sweater, trying to get to his feet, he leaned his weight against the wall.

"Depending on what you sniffed at tonight, yes, it's all spinning." Closing the blue door of his residence, Ango headed for the stairs, intending to climb it before Dazai closed his eyes and slipped from the wall to the floor.

The jades green eyed man turned to see the scene, placing his hand on the left side of his face and closing his eyes, it was tiring living with this other guy ok? But even though he wanted to keep his facade of understanding for his companion, it was unfair, after all he wanted to have the same calm that the redhead had with Dazai, because he was a reckless little brat. Dragging him down to the first floor bathroom and leaning his head on the tub, he called out the name of the unconscious boy in front of him for a few minutes, his patience running low, he shook him.

“Come on, you tenant, wake up and shower. I am sleeping." Ango exhaled loud enough for the boy to roll his eyes and then opened them, feeling the light from the white wall lamp hit his eyeball, closing it again and rubbing his eyes with his hands.

“Yes, yes, yes, captain!” said the guitarist, with a (similar) military nod.

The man in the dark robe withdrew and left Dazai, deep in thought and warm water. The curls melted with the relative humidity in the room, his consciousness snapping back to reality, and her smiles at the musician he'd spent her night with, which had once been bitter but made pleasant by having the other pianist with her.

"Look at that filthy mouse, you can't get out of my mind."

Chapter 3: A new mascot, please?

Chapter Text

“What do you think of this one…” Gogol indicated with his finger on the screen of Fyodor's notebook (junk tin), who was lying on his back, finding his upside-down clown friend funny.

" What are you looking at? Come on Fyeda we need to work hard on this!” The albino perked up, pushing his friend aside looking for a reaction. Fyodor's black threads were scattered across the white bedding set, promptly placed on Sigma's mattress, the only one that had a double bed in their apartment.

“I think the one on the right is more convincing, we need Sigma to approve this as soon as she sees it.” Right, they were putting together a Powerpoint slide for the bicolor to let them have a mascot. urgently. The house was boring when there was no internet, or when Nikolai and Fyodor's malevolent neurons were completely exhausted, and they had run out of ideas for trolling people on the web.

And speaking of Sigma, he enters your room. Black turtle neck, brown overcoat, gray and white striped pants, hair in a messy bun, leather boots (clearly fake please). She was beautiful. Her albino boyfriend smiled at her arrival and jumped out of bed, quickly reaching his partner and hugging him tightly, distributing kisses all over his face. Sigma faltered a little under the sudden weight of his lover, tragically dropping one of his bags.

“Pity you idiot! Get out, I just got back and you already attack me like that?!” Sigma spluttered as he escaped the taller man's grasp. Adjusting his robes, he turned to the brunette who was watching everything, rolling his eyes and a frown on his face. The bicolor understood his grumpy behavior so he didn't get angry. Just smiling simply and waving a hand, he left his already occupied room and headed for the shower (unlike what the other two colleagues did when they got home).

“Kolya!!” Fyodor shouted, calling out to the friend who had left him.

"Hey!! I went back!" A white figure quickly passed to Fyodor's side. "Where did we stop?" The folded arms and the (full) legs dancing vaguely in the air, stirred the clown's senses.

“Um… What photo did we put here? The Siamese or the black fur?” Fyodor turned around and stood appropriately like his friend, his legs flat on the mattress.

“Now it's a cat—” Before questioning about the animal that has now been changed, Nikolai's mouth was interrupted by Fyodor's pale hand. The clown looked at him with widened pupils.

“Have you gone crazy? Want to spoil our plan??” Fyodor said, in a tone that was made clear as a threat.

“What plan?”

'Oh sh*t' thought Fyodor, a little loudly, reaching out to mutter this. Sigma was there, his wet hair being dried by a gray towel, in his pajamas (he spent the day working, so he was credited with getting home and putting on his favorite pajamas, okay?) with his iron gray eyes hardening his eyes. two on top of the house.

Nikolai was a born cheater, that's a fact, but no one would ever make him lie to Sigma. Fyodor knowing this, clasped his hand tighter to the other's mouth, hoping he wouldn't spill any more information about his brilliant, epic plan.

“We're…looking for a new guitar for me,” Fyodor said with a (scarily) forced smile.

"HM, OK…?" Sigma said, putting down his towel and going to his desk, looking for one of the photographs he took today. "Look how it turned out!" The bicolor showed a photograph of one of his models to the brunette, who nodded in agreement. Sigma had his own photography agency, being little known but always being well-spoken. He had just started, having to keep the rent in an arduous way, but worth having your own space. It was by far one of her passions, combined in: fashion and photography, what did Sigma want more? After so much struggle she managed to make her biggest wish come true, so why did she still feel this? Why did she still feel futile? Would this weight on her shoulders ever go away?

Her eyes lost a little, returning to look at Fyodor and her boyfriend. He left his work on his desk, still looking at his progress in the form of paper and colored folders, and asking for passage to join the other two. Standing in the same position as Fyodor, Sigma frowned as he looked at the screen.

Fyodor was frantically biting his nails.

“This is pretty flashy, what is it for?” Sigma asked innocently.

"That's just…"

"Just?"

“We're making a slide for you, honey, let us have a mascot here at home and we can have a fluffy polka dot relief. What do you think?" Nikolai's chatterbox freed himself from Fyodor's palm, licking his palm, letting a disgusted face form on the brunette's face.

Fyodor faked a vomiting noise and got off the mattress, facing the two, one remained confused and the other with a smile from ear to ear.

"I'll never touch you again, you disgusting bastard" Fyodor declared heading towards the bathroom. Gogol laughed out loud.

“So my sweet little bird, what do you say about that?” Nikolai turned his gaze to Sigma, waiting for an answer.

“Fine by me,” Sigma said, shrugging.

"Serious?!" The albino said, his golden eye shining brighter than the stars outside.

“On one condition…” The photographer added, with a finger raised in front of Nikolai. "He's going to be called 'Cookie'."

“Deal closed!!” Gogol said excitedly, already having in mind a small cat walking around in his living room.

“Tell Fyodor later, he will probably be in the bath for 2 hours.” Sigma said rolling his eyes. And looking a little closer he saw the slide, in the corner of it it said “Sigma my most beautiful flower in all of Eva's garden, please, I beg you, let a little puppy add to our miserable life :( ”. 'Nikolai who wrote That's for sure' thought the albino.

Smiling at his lover, he approached her face and sealed his lips in a chaste kiss, seeing his boyfriend's colorless cheeks turn bright red. He laughed at the surprise that the other passed, the albino hardly ever approached him this way, so Nikolai was justified in reacting that way.

The clown finally reacted and burst into laughter, infecting Sigma as well. They stayed there, hugging, watching some series they were marathoning, and soon fell asleep.

Chapter 4: Two Dumbs on a Video Call

Chapter Text

“ Hello, маленький идиот.” ("Hello, little idiot.")

"Stop being a fad, speak the language I understand on this entire call or I'll hang up on you, bitch."

“ Grumpy as ever, travel is stressing chibi.”

Chuuya rolled his eyes.

Now, Dazai was in his room, lying on his (unmade) bed, video chatting with his longtime red-haired friend. Nakahara Chuuya.

Being on the other side of the screen, the redhead was in the same position as the brunette; with his hair a bit unruly, his bronze curls going in all directions; his 'Queen' shirt caught Dazai's attention, very disheveled, as if it had been taken without ceremony; the freckled boy's deep blue eyes were written "I'm tired of everything, please God take me!!"

But in short, he was in good shape. Just exhausted from recent events.

“Certainly, at one point I had to swallow a bizarre tea that Akutagawa bought in order to sleep.” As the redhead adjusted his cell phone camera on the hotel room counter, he spoke slowly.

“Um, is Ryuu with you this time?” Curiosity was clear in Dazai's brown eyes.

" Yea? Obviously… Osamu, you didn't hear anything I said on the call yesterday, did you?!” Stopping folding the sheet on his bed, the redhead placed a hand on his hip and waited for an explanation from the guitarist on the other side of the screen.

"Ah chibi~" Dazai said, rolling his eyes and stretching dramatically, slamming his hand on the notebook (inadvertently) turning its rotation a little, showing off his dark and messy room. “It was 2:00 am, I was tired and sleepy, and Chuuya would be the last person to wake me up from my eternal exhaustion.” Dazai said in a lazy, mocking voice.

The redhead took a deep breath and adjusted his vision to his barely folded sheet again.

“What was going through that troubled mind of yours then?” Chuuya said, looking deep into Dazai's soul. 'Damn' thought the guitarist.

"Nothing important, Chibico wouldn't want to know" Dazai said almost in a whisper, making Chuuya even more curious.

"I clearly don't have anything to do until 10:00 am, I'm all ears for you now" Chuuya said, rushing to reach for the cell phone on the wooden bench and lying down on the bed (which looked much bigger than a human being in Red hair). With his arms in the air and the cell phone in his hands, the yellowish light of the room better showed the beautiful features of the freckled boy.

“But it's nothing!!” Dazai said, raising his tone.

"You look like a grumpy child now." Chuuya said, a sarcastic smile forming on his face.

" Shut up!!" Dazai approached the notebook screen, frowning. "I'll tell you, but swear now that Chibi won't tell Akutagawa." Now the brunette was with his arms crossed close to his chest.

The redhead took one of his hands off the cell phone and crossed his fingers, like an oath, and gave a quick peck, so as not to break the promise.

Dazai lost all faces. 'What do I say? That I can't have one more moment in peace without having the cellist on my mind? Chuuya will make fun of me for eternity!!' The spiky-haired boy started biting his nails.

“Why all this nervousness?” Chuuya said, with a laugh.

“Look,” Dazai said, unsure of what he might become if the words left his mouth. After all, he just thought about it, it had never crossed his mind to say that. Then to Chuuya. “This is still something not very formed, you know? When I have sure of that…” Dazai said this with a huge lie in his voice. Chuuya didn't notice. The brunette easily let go, without any security in maintaining a relationship, nor in being able to talk. Extroverted he was, but he never really opened up to anyone, to the point of wanting to make it permanent.

Chuuya noticed the confusion in Dazai's eyes. The redhead's screen turned, now he was lying with his cell phone propped on a pillow, waiting for some reaction from the brunette to be taken away.

“Osamu?”

"What?"

“Take that ass face off, I called you for a laugh not to feel like a killjoy, yeah?”

Dazai laughed. Burying her face in the sheets. Chuuya also laughed.

“Ah now I see the usual worry Chibi” Dazai wiped an imaginary tear from his face.

"sh*t" Chuuya looked at the brunette, even though it was very annoying, disappointing, tantrum, and many other offenses, Dazai was still someone the redhead managed to achieve friendship with. Even if he abandoned him in many of Yokohama's performances, or left him in a corner of the bar. After so many years away from his friends, he's lost touch with other people, and Dazai has broken through that barrier (whether that's a good thing or not).

The Soukoku, Double Black, were what they were known on the streets of Yokohama. The double sensation. The two boys who complemented each other in intellect and strength. Dazai, “the sad*st misunderstood by society and punctual guitarist”. Chuuya, "the dancer, who in sinuous steps, could draw you like a thirsty beast." Before they found these sayings very angry. Today they want to get into a manhole if someone recognizes them by those catchphrases.

"You know, you didn't miss it that much this time." Chuuya says, getting up from the bed and going to an elegant armchair with golden lines.

" I will always be missed, don't fool me because your smile tells me something else." Dazai lies down, leaning over the gray machine in faded, colorful stickers as a way of reminding others who the computer belongs to.

Chuuya laughs some more, his laugh was unique. His past thoughts also surfaced, making him shake his head in denial, trying to push them away.

[...]

“Damn, it's been five hours of calling already.” Chuuya says, as he looks at the call timer. His voice was already half drowsy, warning of the heavy sleep he would have later on the plane.

A dark silhouette appears in the background, with a large black coat, white Victorian-style blouse, black leather pants (fake please), several accessories that made him a little vampire, and his black hair divided into white streaks drew attention, no as well as his absence of eyebrows. Ryunosuke Akutagawa.

"Chuuya, the guy at the front desk said there won't be hot water until tomorrow, so we'll have to use the cold shower" Akutagawa said, in his low, monotone voice, he could intimidate a little lady shopping at the market like she was stealing candy. of a child.

Chuuya turned his face to where the voice was coming from, "What the hell, besides we're going to an igloo, we're going to have to dive deep in the sense of being used to being cold, damn it."

Akutagawa and Chuuya are dancers. They weren't colleagues in the specialization, but Chuuya takes him to all the presentations he participates or is called upon; he is also a temporal instructor of the youngest; after all, Akutagawa was also invited this time. For an obscure guy like him, this comes as a shock to other people, but he managed to find something in this elegant dance space. He was perhaps doing it more for his twin brother than for himself, the boy wouldn't deny it, but he wanted to make her smile with a little pride, and Chuuya was a great instructor, so his performance was being very well regarded, getting to be called to perform in the same position as Chuuya was, that was an honor. The redhead had been a dancer since he was 10 years old, becoming fond of ballet at the age of 12, then at 15 he was given a standing ovation in a school performance by a famous French critic, Rimbaud, “He has talent in his veins” That's what the critic of long hair told him as soon as he received his gold award. He even participated in campaigns in which Rimbaud offered him extra help for extensive training, gaining much more resourcefulness, but having many serious injuries and sprains, at one time having to stop for months because he could not even stand with a broken ankle, but the rain has passed and now he shines like a hot sun in the California summer. Still, Chuuya was very grateful that his instructor had given him wings to fly free.

The two dancers were invited by a letter in a white envelope and gold seal, coming from Russia, more specifically from St. Petersburg, where a remake of 'The Nutcracker', one of Chuuya's favorite pieces, would take place. He didn't even think to refuse. Akutagawa, in turn, was apprehensive about his first call for a performance in another country, where he would speak another language, meet new people, have more chances to follow this brilliant path that he could go, but something was stopping him, his brother couldn't go. Gin Akutagawa, twin brother (younger), also a dancer ballet and dancer, reached Chuuya's feet, the same number of awards, even having a great partnership with the redhead with two performances together, and having been trained by Chuuya's older brother, another big star in the dance world. But fate was callous and cruel before, Gin injured his hip in one of his performances, going to the hospital and discovering this fracture would be on sick leave for half a year until everything healed, they would still be able to dance again, yes, but for now would have a relaxed routine and no fuss. However, They had his girlfriend by his side in emergencies, Higuchi. Poor Akutagawa had to learn to trust Chuuya better with just 5 min of conversation, the two didn't have many points made there, they had never talked about long subjects, always being a nod or a weak "Hi", but now they had a better relationship, and they need to be in good shape as they will have to perform together briefly (Chuuya who told Akutagawa this, as he didn't want to look like a bad apple when they met in the studio).

This was a perfect invitation for both of them, as dear Dazai was willing to (maybe) go to the performance, and the albino newcomer to Akutagawa's life, Nakajima Atsushi, her long-distance boyfriend. The two met on Discord, coming to talk there, coming to talk here, when they realize that one was lost in the other, and saw that it was mutual, do I need to explain more? Chuuya had no faith in Dazai going to the presentation, but the brunette was very sentimental these last few days (why is it?

Atsushi was a young boy doing an internship at a flower shop in Saint Petersburg, having moved there when he decided to pursue an independent life and make his projects come true. He studied day and night to hold support meetings for people who were not yet in his path, either disliking themselves, or wanting to take them away from him as a penalty. It was hypocrisy for him, but you see, he likes to help others. Somehow he and Akutagawa worked out, the two loved each other, and their moons completed each other (Atsushi almost blew up Akutagawa's pc that day, with several excited and ecstatic messages, he loved subjects like that).

It was going to be an adventure for the two dancing partners, not knowing what awaits them in the icy lands just above the map.

Chuuya turned his head to her cell phone screen, “Osamu, your dryer better be working because it will need to defrost the ice shell that will form around me… Osamu?” Chuuya frowned, approaching the screen to see a Dazai sleeping soundly, still lying (on his stomach), one arm standing, his head wedged in the vacant spot his arm in the air left it, and the other resting on the keyboard, typing frantically several “jjjjjjjjjkjjkjjjjjjjjkjjjkjjjjjj” in the link chat.

Chuuya rolled his eyes.

“Brat, when is Kouyou coming?” Chuuya asked, turning back to the man in black.

Even though Chuuya was only 1 year older than Akutagawa, he insulted him by calling "Brat" variants.

"She's not answering calls, she's going to voicemail." The brat replied without giving importance to the nickname.

“That little girl pays me!! She said she would get there before us, can you believe it?” Chuuya said with disgust just remembering her again. Kouyo was his middle sister, having her, her older brother Verlaine, and her father for life, until one day her old man was killed in a cruel train accident, which was actually a bombing, but he only found out about it years later. The redhead was the type of woman that everyone saw beauty having been sculpted in detail by Van Gogh, she was a full-scale model, seen in magazines and well known, with one of the most talked about subjects at the moment being seen in the act with another wife, Yosano Akiko. She liked drama, doing it on purpose often. Chuuya hated it, he just wanted to be born a normal human being, not be the brother of a model world-renowned for her relationships being one after the other always, and a dancer who had married the French critic/his instructor? Deep down they still loved each other, supported each other and took their differences aside, she who told him it was okay to dance ballet and be a boy, he who took her to a parade and saw that girl's eyes shine brightly when he saw the tall women in unique outfits being dressed. Also well supported about their sexualities, like when Kouyou arrived in the redhead's room screaming saying that he wanted to be a cis boy so he wouldn't have to be so tortured about dating another girl, or when Chuuya found himself in love with Dazai without even realizing it and falling into despair after that. It was a difficult time for the Nakahara brothers.

"Whatever, I'm going to sleep" Akutagawa went to the other room, being separated by a screen, but before that he stopped in his step and looked over his shoulder, saying "And you're going to watch him sleeping?"

The redhead peeked at the sleeping bandage boy, "Wait let me just..." He took a screenshot of the screen "Alright, now I sleep peacefully and dream of the angels and wines that await me" Chuuya said with a devilish smile and a smirk. effect, typing a “Bye, sh*t Mackerel S2” and laughing even harder when he texted.

Akutagawa frowned and went to his bed. Letting Chuuya deliberate on the blackmail he could do to Dazai with that image that could be worth gold.

"You don't lose by waiting, bastard." He ends the call.

Chapter 5: I Could See You Through a Windowpane

Chapter Text

Sitting and waiting for someone, a bizarre concept, a little too corny for Dazai's perception. The boy never really had someone to wait for him after a heavy rain, he once had, but that's not true anymore. He was sitting on the floor, cold, leaning against the wall, at Pulkovo airport, doing what he'd promised so long ago, waiting for his Chibi to arrive from his trip. Headphones, a beat that Chuuya had been learning to complement his music played on both sides of the headphones, his hands were in the position of a drummer, playing an imaginary drum set, his eyes closed, too focused on what he was doing, Dazai couldn't play drums but he really appreciated the instrument, not being able to play it on his own because he found it too "noisy", which doesn't make sense. Dazai makes no sense.

"Tam tam tam ram ram" Tiny snippets of notes left his lips, making him smirk while still playing his invisible drums. What was being turned into a musical trance suddenly ended just as it began. A leather-gloved hand grabbed Dazai's bandaged wrist, causing him to open his eyes in a start, looking up to see the tuft of red hair, matted but kept in a mysterious (and dramatic) black hat and a silver cord chasing it every movement the man made with his head. His black coat marked a protruding curve of his well-groomed waist, but by far what was most visible were his thigh-high boots, his black spiked choker, and his corset (of course).

The red-haired boy spotted the bandage creature in the distance, leaving Akutagawa with the bags behind, following his instincts he even deduced that it was Dazai, because no one else would be like him in a public place like that, 'Frankly' crossed his mind. Chuuya. Going there he waited, waited for the spiky-haired boy to notice him. Nothing happened. He had his eyes closed, after all. Chuuya crouched in front of the young man and grabbed one of his wrists, finally bringing him back to reality. Big brown eyes opened, staring at him until he could process why this person was in front of him.

Chuuya looked back at the almond irises and used a low tone for Dazai to hear him clearly.
"I still couldn't digest the fact that you came to greet me dressed in pajamas, while I came as I am."

“You mean Chuuya dressed up just for me?” Dazai asked innocently. Taking off his headphones and putting them on his neck.

"I wouldn't be disgusting at that point," Chuuya said, almost like a growl.

Dazai laughed, enjoying the situation.

“But I'm dressed up too,” Dazai said, more seriously this time. It looked like a joke. He was wearing a gray blouse that might once have been white under a moss green sweatshirt, the sleeves of which were rolled up revealing his bandaged forearm, his classic ripped jeans, black scrawled all-star, and his hair even though it wasn't. there very big, had a little hair on the back, trying to imitate some conceptual hairstyle. Chuuya rolled his eyes and stood up again, then crossed his arms and looked around, looking for his temporary student and his bags.

"As soon as they arrived, one of the ducklings was already lost" Dazai said, looking down at Chuuya now.

“Be useful now and be quiet” Chuuya said, not bothering to look at the guitarist.

“What ignorance, this won't get you anywhere” Dazai said shaking his head slowly “You know, I wanted to know how Chibi reacts and communicates with journalists and fans, because if it's like this with me, imagine with others” The guitarist said tapping his shoes together absently.

“Stop being self-centered at least once in your life Osamu, is that too much to ask?” Chuuya said, in his voice, already showing his impatience coming.

"Chuuya didn't answer me" Dazai said.

The redhead fell silent, stamping his foot impatiently with Akutagawa's delay. 'By god, Brat, just look at the f*cking airport map' thought the redhead.

Dazai shrugged and closed his eyes again, putting his headphones to his ears again, humming a few notes melodiously.

About 20 minutes passed when Akutagawa decided to show up, with two carry-on bags, one on four wheels being kicked to walk, a backpack positioned in front and another in the back. He got to both of them. Chuuya crouched in the corner (on the other side where Dazai was), the brunette was half asleep (probably bad night's sleep). The redhead lit up when he saw his miracle arrive at the right time, getting up and immediately going to help him by taking his only 3 bags.

“Oh, hello Dazai…” The white-haired boy spoke up.

"Uhm, hello Akutagawa, we finally see each other after so long" The brunette said getting to his feet.

Akutagawa nodded and turned his attention to the red-haired boy trying to close his suitcase that had been opened at some point. He tried to help him, but the redhead put a hand up in warning before he approached.

Anyway, welcome to the newest dancers.

[...]

“Why is Sigma so insistent on things like this?” Fyodor asked with a frown on his face.

“That will serve you well later on,” Sigma said, smiling slightly.

"There we go again." Nikolai said, already thinking about how long this would take.

They were in a pawn shop. For no clear reason, but Sigma said there were times when they didn't leave the house together (even though they went every month to buy the missing items in the loft). Fyodor hated that, he liked his friends, but he hated being dragged into things that didn't matter to him.

Opening the door with the bell, Nikolai was the first to enter, giving way to Sigma who offered him a smile, Fyodor rolled his eyes and forced his ushanka harder on his already shattering head. The place was comfortable, had a nice guy who served people, Ranpo Edogawa, his partner Edgar Allan Poe and the other fellow, Karl, who was a cute raccoon and maybe they took him there just to gain more audience, wrong they were not. The first space was old-fashioned, the books, the rugs, the carpet, the lighting, everything.

Fyodor left the two lovebirds on the other side of the store and went towards the back of the store, there were good books there every now and then. Dust from the books flew as the brunette approached and brushed them off with one hand, shielding his face with the back of his other hand.

'Jane Austen? Nah I don't want romance'.

' Stephen King? I could get some of it if I weren't so upset with life.'

The cellist looked at other options, several, even asked Poe for help, but the tallest one was talking to Sigma about some kind of new scarf that he had released from some brand. Ignored again. He didn't even want to look for Nikolai because he knew he was in the same situation as him, so he didn't want to get mired in boredom any further. It remained only to go up to the second floor.

The store was huge (no exaggeration), it looked a bit like the Weasley brothers' trick-or-treating structure, small on the outside but huge on the inside (kind of cramped too). The second floor was darker, quieter, considerably more dusty, but there, she, the biggest of the biggest, had the Diamantina piano. This name was baptized by Fyodor, because he thinks this name is beautiful, also because this was going to be the name of the mascot, but they almost threw him out of the house. The one with the magenta eyes ran his thin, gloved fingers over the keys, feeling a little of the symphony even without actually playing them. A crooked smile was forming as he started to actually play a little, going through the 88 keys. It was refreshing to play the piano, even though he didn't have the focus of his specialty on it, but his passion for Diamantina was still very strong.

Nikolai once asked him who Diamantina was, but the cellist just laughed and didn't answer him, later Sigma told the clown who it was and he thought it was very funny too to the point of having a 5 min fit of laughter, everyone from the cafeteria stared at them for a long time.

When the pianist was satisfied with his sound, he left his beloved on the second floor, running his hand over the varnished wood one last time. If he ever found someone important like this piano, that person would be very lucky.

Arriving on the first floor he saw more different people in the place, it was Friday afternoon, anyway, nobody had anything else to do at that time. Sigma and Nikolai were at the counter on the other side of the store, talking about wanting to buy a ballerina lamp and the other wanting to buy a candle shaped like a penis. Can you tell who wanted which right?

Fyodor made his way towards them, standing behind Gogol as he always did, leaning on the wooden counter with his arms crossed, looking beyond the windowpanes of the place. A white dove landed on the doorknob, the clumsy way of landing made the dark-haired man chuckle. A sudden movement seen in the distance drove the dove away, and four figures were brought into the scene.

‘A bizarre haired albino, an emo, a carrot, and… Dazai?!’ Fyodor thought, frowning as he saw the figure alongside the other three, who were complete strangers to him. 'Who are? Where did they come from?' That was what went through his mind, the albino from afar was the one he knew, working in a local flower shop was easy to recognize, and the carrot he momentarily remembers seeing on TV. But it was a pain to think so worriedly about Dazai, the guy was loose in life and didn't care about what he had, so it was certain that Fyodor was being an idiot, after all he doesn't even like to think that way.

Being withdrawn in his own little world, the black haired man didn't even notice at first when the brunette on the other side gave him a wave with a frantic hand and a toothy grin on his face. Fyodor frowned at his friends, who seemed very focused on the subject they were discussing, looking back at the spiky haired boy, he nodded calmly (even though he was exploding inside).

Dazai seemed to have laughed, for a breath of air that was released as his smile widened, his eyes slightly crinkled from his laughter, which was now hidden by the knitted scarf he wore, 'He's so handsome' Fyodor thought, chuckling a little. little too.

The brunette looked at his friends already far away near another corner and turned to the pianist, analyzing a little on how he could communicate, he raised his eyebrows having an idea, and made a jewel sign, wanting a sign that the other understand him from now on, Fyodor signed with another thumb up.

Dazai laughed again.

The guitarist moved closer to the window and continued his “dialogue”, now he made a sign indicating that he was with the other people he was with, Fyodor signaled that he had already understood this. Dazai held out both gloved palms, signaling a pause, 'Does he want me to remain here?' thought Fyodor. Dazai looked at the ground looking for a way to demonstrate this, then making a roof of a house with both hands, 'He's going home…' Fyodor signaled that he understood. Dazai pointed at Fyodor, then at himself, and finally at the parking lot in front of the pawn shop, 'Are we supposed to meet there?' Fyodor was shocked for a millisecond, then shook his head in agreement with the guitarist's plan. Dazai smirked, and Fyodor swore to see that even though it was very cold outside, the brunette's cheeks turned pink, he felt his own getting too. The guitarist glanced quickly to the side, seeming to have been called or alerted of something, he looked at the other guitarist inside the shop and lifted one shoulder, signaling a sad farewell, 'Did he want to stay?' Fyodor thought, before formulating further, the carrot Nakahara from before pulled the bandaged boy by the arm, before being dragged away, Dazai threw a kiss in the air, Fyodor didn't rescue him but he felt the heat of that kiss, heating the minute stalactites of ice in his core.

Fyodor watched him go, then looked to the side again, Sigma was gone, Nikolai was on the counter with his head in his arms. The pianist saw Karl and began to caress the animal's ear, getting bolder and getting closer to Fyodor, then climbing onto his shoulder. Poe, who was packing the winning lamp from the previous discussion, almost screamed when he saw his pet in the arms of another, being noticed the raccoon went back to his bed and was looking at Fyodor.

Nikolai grunted in disgust.

“Do you want attention?” asked Fyodor, with a certain mockery in his voice.

"Yea!" Nikolai replied still dramatically.

"Then ask your girlfriend" Fyodor said, already anticipating the clown's response which was just as he predicted.

"She's mad at me!!" Nikolai said whimpering, burying his head in his arms.

"Sigma's always kind of mad," Fyodor said, looking down at his gloved hand.

“But he, he never gets like that with me, what do I do Fyfy?!” Nikolai said stuttering on purpose.

“Kolya, you would be a high-end actor, you should invest in that.” That was all Fyodor said before he went to get a can of coffee from the green fridge and hand it to Poe.

The clown considered the idea, and grunted in response.

The time for a candle to die was enough for Sigma to return, with a shopping cart, not so full but with things that were missing at home and were cheap compared to other places, as they were once used. Nikolai looked at the cart and then at his lover and went back to his denial phase, while the bicolor was happily putting everything on the counter.

They left there with an ecobag that Poe made available for them, and a raccoon made of knitting with Ranpo as an artist, he was trying a different branch besides the little shop, they even bought bubble tea and some boxes of Thai food (the three liked ) along with a piroshki (Nikolai begged for one).

There was still uncertainty in Fyodor's heart, having never fallen in love or felt any mutual relationship with anyone, it was strange to see this happening before his eyes, especially when the other person is a potential guitarist of his class, but other than that, he could try convincing Dazai and understanding him as a person, seeing Dazai from that night and what he performs every day are two totally different masks, it's ridiculous. Fyodor liked him, his aura, his smile, his tangled hair, his long eyelashes, his expression marks, the marks left by his guitar, how he held the pallet between his lips while he played the guitar, all the details of a human being had never been so well absorbed as this man had impacted the fragile heart of the Russian.

Chapter 6: Love Nerves Bloom

Chapter Text

Being demi romantic is a sucks.

So Dazai thought.

It was kind of a relief not to always have that feeling of falling in love with someone close or important, now it felt different, he didn't know if that would be defined as something permanent but he was overloading himself thinking about the cellist.

At university, the guitarist knew about Fyodor's existence. He was one of the best students in the area, being known in some departments, some for his lazy or intimidating style, others for his fullness. Dazai apparently was the only one who saw him as someone with personality, without caring about style or his way, he seemed free when he was with the brunette. The guitarist felt exactly that with the pianist.

Dazai found himself enchanted by the Russian rival he planned to have. He was f*cked.

The brunette was thinking about this as he lay face down on his bed, his arms unwrapped above his head, his amber strands scattered across the white sheet, his now exposed skin had the glow of his bedroom light on his torso, his scars (new and old) buffing his fair skin, and his ripped jeans were still on. Bath groceries were draped over the towel on top of the mattress, the boy had his guitar balanced on his belly, his pick was usually between his lips. The sound of the water falling from the shower could be heard like a waterfall, in the brunette's ears he could only hear a song from 'The Neighborhood' playing on his cell phone near his left ear, 'Nervous' invaded the guitarist's eardrums.

It seemed to have been purposeful at that moment to play just this one, Dazai rolled his eyes and closed them, taking the pick from his mouth and playing it against the rigid guitar strings.

'...Last year I fell flat on my face...'

He couldn't resist the thoughts the pianist dared to enter.

‘...And last month I knew somethin’ should change…’

‘What an idiot’ Dazai thought.

'...Last week I started over again
Ask me and I'll tell you how I've been…'

Dazai pressed his wrist too hard on the ropes, missing the rhythm.

‘…Mhm, don’t get me started…’

The guitarist pressed his eyelids harder, shifting on the mattress to find a more comfortable way to lie, he stopped and took a deep breath, picking up the rhythm again and playing along with the music.

‘...You’ve got me nervous to speak…’

“I thought you smoked” The slurred, Russian-accented voice echoed in the guitarist's mind.

‘...So I just won’t say anything at all…’

“I can teach you if you're interested” Notably the Russian continued to manipulate Dazai's neurons.

'...I've got an urge to release...'

The brunette felt the warmth of the musician's breath again close to his face. Eyes closed, lips close together, just as he thought about being with him again.

‘...And you keep telling me to hold on…’

Never should he have thought to go to that building. He wanted to throw himself out of there that night, momentarily met his rival, smoking calm and relaxed, the breeze of the night wind blowing away the smoke and the Russian fringe, the lights of the trade below ignited their magenta irises. Maybe if he had really committed suicide, he wouldn't have seen the full-on live and full color vision of the cold, calculating Russian they all had. Fyodor was warning him of danger, something about that sinister smile and exchange of glances made him shiver, but walking away from it would be considered a sin.

'...And you keep tellin' me to hold on
You've got me nervous to move
So I just won't give anything to you
You got me turnin' all around to be who you need me to…’

Dazai took another deep breath, his chest heaving, his auditory senses turning to the few words the musician had spoken to him, realizing then that Fyodor never said his name in front of him.

The guitarist awoke from what was further than his imagination could go, after feeling a very definite touch like the Russian's dark silk gloves on his playing hand. His eyes widened in amazement, sitting up in confusion, putting the guitar to his side and bracing his hands behind him, Dazai frowned, waiting for his heart rate to return to normal.

The spiky haired boy looked down at his bare feet, his trembling hand landed on his chest, feeling the scar that was once a deep surgical cut running through that area, his confused expression turning into a painful one, 'Why this time I I feel like this? I never thought this would happen, so why now? Then for the filthy mouse?!' Thinking about it, Dazai brought his hands up to cover his face.

A loud clatter of something metallic was heard down the hall.

Dazai clapped his hands to his cheeks and took another deep breath, getting up from the bed and going to see what was happening.

Before tripping over a pile of books in the middle of the room, letting out a curse he looked at the foot that was now red from the blow, seeing then a mist on the floor, looking to the side Dazai saw the door he had left open to his bathroom , wide open, with its hot tub.

"Aw, you're messing with me!" Dazai muttered and with a frustrated groan.

Knock, knock, knock!

His door was almost being slammed open without permission given, Dazai saw a Chuuya dressed in a light green bathrobe, his expression frustrated, desperate, and very annoyed, the guitarist looked at the two random situations and tipped his head back in exhaustion.

“You think you've become a f*cking alien now with all this fog?! Help me with this out here soon!” Chuuya had to scream as the shower water was too loud for each other to hear.

"What a mess you've made now Chibi..." Dazai said, walking over to the redhead.

Poking his head out he saw an aluminum tablet on the floor, a very fancy Ango flower vase on the floor, the house's tricolor cat on top of the bookcase dozing without caring about the situation, and the gran finale, a gray mouse landed. on the burgundy carpet in the hallway.

Dazai was in shock.

"That cat didn't do anything, can you believe it?" Chuuya said.

"I believe Chuuya, you know, he's an old man so he wouldn't do anything but be handsome in his corner." Dazai punctuated, finding it the most obvious thing in the world.

Chuuya looked at him with half-closed eyes.

The mouse scratched its ear.

The two entered the guitarist's room and closed the door.

“Question Chibi, how did you end up in this rather ridiculous situation?” Dazai asked, leaning against the door with his hands behind his back.

Chuuya walked around in circles in the middle of the room, too focused on trying to come up with a plan to get rid of the rat.

“Oh look, our little slug is trying to think! That's why I'm seeing smoke rising from that box of yours.” Dazai said, laughing a little at the end.

“I can think of something, come on.” Chuuya said, ignoring Dazai's mockery, dragging him out the door practically throwing him onto the beanbag chair with dirty clothes.

Dazai opened his mouth but nothing came out, his arms in the air as a form of redemption, and then another thud, Chuuya left the room to see what it was now. Akutagawa had rescued the mouse.

"Very well Akutagawa, now kill him." Chuuya said firmly.

Akutagawa had placed the mini rodent in an empty jam jar, the gray pet looking at the redhead seeming to have understood the death sentence that had been handed down to its fate.

“Chuuya who would say his apprentice friend serves very well.” Dazai appeared behind the redhead, startling him as expected, turning to see the guitarist smiling like an innocent child.

“The Brat is not a robot to say it serves Osamu.” Chuuya turned around completely to say that to the other, crossing his arms.

"Whatever, and don't kill the mouse." Dazai said, pushing the red-haired dancer away and bending down to the height of the pot to see the rodent inside, "He's just an innocent here. Chuuya's apprentice, let him out on the street." The guitarist turned to head towards his room, when the redhead stopped a hand in front of him.

“Since when did you become an animal advocate? I thought you took these little animals and tortured them in the attic.” The redhead said with his bright blue eyes staring into the taller's dark brown ones.

“What a disturbing view Chuuya has of me, my god.” Dazai said looking back at him.

"Go get that spaceship of yours then, and put on a shirt or else you'll be sneezing all night and as I'm going to sleep in front of your room I hope you become aware of certain things until I get an available hotel room .” Chuuya said, poking with his index finger.

The redhead didn't lie, when they left the airport everything went wrong, Akutagawa had a respiratory crisis, Dazai couldn't stop explaining that such a crisis would take the youngest to the grave too soon, Chuuya was sincerely pissed off about the whole situation, then going in a taxi they took them to a hotel but when they got there the attendant said that the rooms were all taken, that's when Atsushi came out and saw her boyfriend in the lobby, they hugged and had a cute moment before Dazai made fun of the two and they stayed mortified, Akutagawa was annoyed with the brunette, Chuuya had already lost hope having his hands on his hips the whole time, that's when the albino gave the idea of everyone getting distracted by going for a walk in the streets, everyone agreed and planned at the end of everything that the two dancers would stay at Ango's house until they found a place to stay. Ango didn't know until he got home that night. Long story.

Dazai took one last look at the baby rodent and went to his room.

It wasn't possible that even a baby mouse could bring back memories of Dostoyevsky, in fact it was, and Dazai didn't hate that.

Even though he was a whirlwind of things and emotions at the same time, he still wanted to feel the Russian's way in something, even if it was even in the situation just now. He wanted to see him, not looking forward to tonight's arrival and they going to the pawnshop parking lot, and who knew Dazai would have a chance to take another drag of the other's cigarette? The guitarist closed the door behind him and bit his lower lip.

"I'm really f*cking into you, Fyodor Dostoyevsky."

Chapter 7: The Flashes of Our Minds ( First Part )

Chapter Text

One absolute certainty for Fyodor was that he would never become something in the media.

Despite having this thought, his photographer friend still did it as a test.

This time, Fyodor didn't even have time to open his mouth and disagree, when he realized Sigma had already dragged him out and changed his shirt into a fancy blouse and positioned him on a stage in the living room. The bicolor had an indescribable strength when it came to trying to do something he persisted in, it was admirable but hateful to the Russian.

Sigma was facing Fyodor who was sitting on a bench, the albino focused on making a decent eyeliner for the pianist's eyes to stand out against the backdrop and white attire. The Russian kept his head directed where Sigma's hands took him, sometimes lifting without warning and smearing the outline, a murmur of frustration coming out of the albino's mouth as this happened.

"Can talk now." Sigma said, pulling away from the other a little and seeing his masterpiece.

“Why all this anyway?” Fyodor said blinking his eyes desperately.

“Oh yeah, I bought some new lenses for the camera and needed to test them before taking them to the agency, I don’t want to get any complaints.” Sigma said as he walked away to pick up his camera and put on the lens, he was a pro.

"And couldn't your boyfriend be the model?" Fyodor said, he particularly thought about saying this every time, but seeing Sigma excited about the photograph was a palpable thing.

“Kolya can't today, is he sleeping? I don't know, he was in the bedroom lying down the last time I saw him.” The bicolor said, distracted with his new materials in hand.

"And you instead of calling him ask your other friend who was studying the college's new collections and compositions?" Fyodor looked at him as he said it.

Sigma took his eyes off the camera and looked at his model, walking towards him once more, putting one knee on the side of the bench to get closer and see better (even though he was wearing glasses now), she spent a few minutes staring at him until she saw no flaws. and go to the previous location, adjusting the camera his face is gone, now behind the machine in his hands.

The musician sighed heavily and looked at the lamppost in the corner of the room, which should have been his focus for the photos to take place.

The first click of the camera was echoed, as well as another, and another, until it was counted about twenty clicks by the brunette's calculations.

“Okay, that was very wow” Sigma said again having his face shown with a shocked face “You were amazing as always Fedya” The bicolor now turned off the light, Fyodor felt his vision darken so that his eyes wanted to pop out. .

"Okay I have to go now" Fyodor said in order to get up being pushed back on the bench, Sigma pushed him and stood in front of him again brushing the shines from his hair that the brunette didn't even remember having them or when they were gone. added.

“Oh, are you going out in the middle of Sunday night?” Sigma dodged a little.

“Yeah what's the problem? Are you and Kolya going out?” Fyodor said trying not to show his anxiety.

"Maybe not, something is happening downtown and we wanted to go see it, but I'd rather watch a movie with him or we'll just cook something together, we'll see" The bicolor said, clicking his tongue and leaving the room, "But are you coming back late?" He yelled from the other room.
"I think so? But it's only a few blocks from here” Fyodor said as he shrugged and got up from the bench, when he was about to enter his room he remembered that he still had his eyeliner.

“Sigma, and the makeup?!” The musician struggled to raise his voice and at the same time not wake up the clown who resided sleeping in the front room.

“Stay with it” Sigma appeared at the end of the hall with a cloth in hand to clean the lenses “It looks good on you” He blinked and went back to his work.

The Russian raised his eyebrows thinking about it, deciding to keep her in the end.

He had to meet Dazai at night in front of the pawnshop parking lot, just as he was told. Fyodor took off Sigma's shirt and searched for his baggy shirt from the demonic teletubbies, it was gone, before he could react, a tall figure was placed at his door.

"Searching what?" Nikolai was there, grinning from ear to ear. He was dressed in the shirt.

"Okay give it to me soon and how did you get it so easy?" Fyodor said, making a gesture of curiosity, putting his hand on his chin and looking at his friend.

“It was in your bed in my defense, and I was shirtless and cold.” Nikolai crossed his arms and looked innocent.

“That Kolya would have taken one from Sigma, or taken a dirty one like you always do” The musician said still unbelievable.

The albino paused for a moment thinking about it and then smiling, “Um, no”. Fyodor knew the clown was a very experienced kleptomaniac, something of his own or Sigma's was always missing, but it wasn't something of much value, at least for the pianist.

"What a waste of time, let's go before I rip those stupid letters of yours off the wall that should be my posters" Fyodor said in a threatening tone. That was dangerous. Nikolai widened his eyes and ran to his own room.

Fyodor rolled his eyes and threw himself onto his bed with open arms. ‘And now…’ thought the musician.

“Here it is” Sigma appeared with Fyodor's shirt, somehow?

"But..." Fyodor said doubtfully but very pleased.

The clown appeared now with a black tank top with 'Slipknot' in bright red, the blouse was torn in some parts but it seemed to be his own. Sigma convinced him to change his shirt because he spent the night focusing only on his lover, he accepted right away, not always seeming to pull his boyfriend and want him for him for eternity. It was just now what Sigma did.

"Get out" Fyodor said taking the shirt and turning to put it on.

Sigma shoved the albino out and steered him down the hall, closing the door behind him.

Now the Russian had peace.

He grabbed his precious blouse, a dark coat with fur at the collar and a dark gray sweatshirt underneath, black sweatpants, a slightly frayed black outer finger glove (showing his gnawed curved nails) and of course his dark cap. The pianist felt that he was in much the same shape as when they had first spoken. He picked up his left phone and went to his… Dazai?

[...]

“Chuuya hurts!” Dazai whimpered.

“Don’t dramatize the already f*cking weird situation!” Chuuya exclaimed pulling the already dried wax that was around the brunette's brow.

Dazai closed his eyes and sighed, opening one of his eyes and seeing the redhead putting away his cosmetics in the bag.

"Won't Chibi let me do that to you too?" Dazai asked with a mischievous smile on his lips.

Chuuya stared at him and threw everything into the small red bag, pulling out of there, even fast.

Dazai took a deep breath and got up from the bed, wondering whether to shower or just move his hair in the sink and pretend to have taken a shower… He didn't care, after all, Fyodor was worse than him, who had longer and shinier hair for a long time. some inexplicable reason.

The brunette opened the doors of his closet and looked for a specific outfit, finding it he ran to the bathroom and quickly changed, putting on a black long-sleeved blouse, a white button-up shirt without long sleeves, a dark unbuttoned tuxedo vest. , your ripped jeans and your good old scrawled all star. He felt good in that outfit. He even thought about putting a black pencil under his eye, he did that too. His bandages weren't visible enough, but the guitarist didn't have the courage to walk around without them, he felt naked, ok? Finally, his many rings on his long, slender fingers.

'Wow, you're not so bad' The brunette thought when he saw himself in the big mirror in his bathroom.

Grabbing his cell phone and his headphones, he ran to the door opening the handle, stopping when he realized he forgot to ruffle his hair (already ruffled) and grabbing some cinnamon gum, he ran outside, not happy, not sad, but with a light in your eyes. 'How stupid I am' Dazai thought to himself as he closed the blue entrance door, now he was nervous, hands sweating and an invading smile was on his side.

It didn't take long for the two to be on the streets of St. Petersburg, the sunset comforted them with rosy and purplish tones in the sky, showing the small bright spots that were just disappearing with a cloud. The mood was uneven, but the excitement of the two musicians, even though they were shown in different ways, was still the same feeling.

[...]

The Russian felt much better when there was music, a melody, or a simple symphony, but his hypersensitivity to sounds was what stopped him most of the time, the phone could be at full volume but it still made him forget he had it. in ear. He walked looking at his feet, his boots were dirty, the sidewalk he walked on seemed to have seen water only when it rained, being a few months ago since it hardly ever rained there.

The guitarist felt the useless weight of the people who passed him by themselves, a mother with a crying son on the subway, a serious man who carried features tired of having to put up with his work and a probable affair with another woman (he had a lipstick mark red in the corner of his shirt collar), a teenager who was wanting to go to a party, several of these people Dazai unconsciously felt his regrets, of course, he didn't want to think that way, but when he finds himself in extreme boredom that there is no sense in staying alive everything seems more interesting, or not, he was destined to think about his death, his own death.

'Why this now?' The two thought at the same time, stopping in their tracks.

Dazai continued walking soon after, while Fyodor stood there with his hands buried in his coat and his face contorted.

"Oh" A voice was heard in the midst of the chaos that Fyodor was going through, turning to see the person who had bumped into him. It was Atsushi.

“I'm sorry sir!” He picked up the lighter from the musician, who hadn't even realized he had dropped it, "No problem" The brunette said softly, 'Wait, it's that albino florist from that day?'Quickly Fyodor looked up and down, realizing he was doing this without disguise and the boy felt ashamed.

“If you have a problem, just say so, okay?” The boy in the suspenders said adjusting the crate of lily seeds in his arms.

"No, I just think I recognized you" The brunette said slowly, he didn't want to continue this strange dialogue. Fyodor knew a radiant person in his life, Gogol, he had his dark days too, but nothing a TV cartoon can't solve or being pampered by Sigma, did this boy remind him of something... a tiger?

Fyodor tilted his head, black strands falling across his cheeks.

“Um, I have to go! I have to deliver these things haha” Atsushi said with a clear mistrust in his voice, even faking a laugh, pointing in the direction of the flower shop with a now free hand. 'He's strong' thought Fyodor a little impressed, he confesses.

Fyodor nodded, still watching him as he walked away, turning to continue his walk, adjusting his left earphone and checking that his cap was still on his head, now he would meet up with Dazai, which he hoped would be his rest. tonight.

The street lamps were already lit, illuminating some of the paths that the two were taking without caring about what awaited them on the crossing (Dazai was almost run over by a bicycle). The pawnshop at night looked creepy from the outside, a windowpane with burgundy curtains, a vampire vibe permeating the gray brick walls and old wood, everything the two brunettes liked.

The guitarist saw Fyodor already in front of the store, he was watching through the slits in the curtains something that looked valuable for his magenta eyes to be shining so brightly, he looked exactly as Dazai expected but his pupils still dilated when he saw the Russian figure there just a few centimeters away from him. f*ck.

Fyodor felt a presence beside him, not startled, already knowing who exactly it was. He got up standing next to each other, "How strange, I thought you wouldn't come" Lie.

"Dear Fedya, when it comes to you I can show up for you in a heartbeat."

Chapter 8: The Flashes of Our Minds ( Second Part )

Chapter Text

"What a liar, you are late for everything you go or do" Fyodor pointed out almost immediately.

Dazai looked at him a little, admiring something that Fyodor didn't understand in himself, he even thought there was something wrong with him, but was the boy with the bandages smiling simply?

The Russian frowned and looked back at what he was trying to get, crouching down again. The guitarist didn't immediately notice the other's strangeness, the cellist wasn't such an open book for him yet. He tried to find the treasure Fyodor was craving but his sh*tty vision didn't help in the darkness.

“Vision problems suit you” Fyodor said absently, pretending he had never seen the other brunette with glasses before in his room, “But have you ever thought about wearing glasses often?”

"I don't know, I look pretty with glasses on but something looks really weird, I look like Kunikida" Dazai said putting his hands in his pockets, Fyodor raised an eyebrow, he didn't know who Kunikida was, at least up close, he had bumped into him a few times in the hallways but he didn't run the same class as him, maybe he studied with Dazai.

“I find this name peculiar but very familiar…” Fyodor pondered, “Must be the guitarist of your class, right?” He asked. Dazai was surprised by the Russian's fond memory, 'For a tedious person like him, I thought he was lost in that performance'.

All classes had a day of lectures, all together in a giant campus lobby, rules (and other nonsense) were presented, most seemed not to have listened as they performed the complete opposite the following week. The students had a few separate (strategically separated) groups as acronyms, “ADA” went with the most apparently organized (even though Dazai was in the bunch) and smartest, they were the fittest in a short time after just two concerts done, “ DOA” (it already has a heavy vibe) all of her are gifted but very peculiar, being a group without a representative, since Fyodor refused to take it forward, he couldn't abandon everything when he wanted feeling trapped in that studio, honestly he just took it forward because he likes to play the cello.

“Kunikida also plays bass but only when I really insist” The bandage boy said.

Fyodor muttered a "yes, sure" and moved closer to the glass, he seemed to have found what he wanted.

“Let's rob this store” Dazai said, surprising the shorter one a little, “Take everything you want.” The taller one looked vaguely down, seeing a Fyodor with rosy cheeks.

"We could well but they would find us out" Fyodor said trying not to look like he lost his normal face, Dazai was amused when he was like that.

"As? You and me? Haha! We together can change the world, create a new religion, build a temple for our love, orgiastic dances, nymphs in a trance
Yes, we will be the envy of the gods above” Dazai said, a little too dreamy? Not so much…

Fyodor laughed, mocking him, he wouldn't deny it. But something stirred what he said because the f*ck would they be idiots in a big world like this together?!

The cellist turned to the other's height, still laughing with one hand covering his smile, realizing that until then the other was looking at him with irreplaceable admiration on his face. Dazai took a hand out of his pocket and scratched his nose, trying to hide his silly smile after realizing he was discovered, moving away a little to reach the wet asphalt and look up at the few stars amid the cloudy weather.

Fyodor, on the other hand, rolled his eyes and walked towards him, then passed straight ahead and followed a path that not even he knew where he could lead. Dazai followed steps behind him. That damn hot feeling in his cheeks wouldn't go away, the silly smile much less, he still wondered if he could feel that way about a person, afraid that it might hurt him or that it would cause him something to be uncomfortable with, it was his first time. falling in love with someone he had a lot to learn yet.

A little later they were side by side, the streets empty, streetlights lit, consequently cigarette smoke was flying in the air. Fyodor had lit one and given it to Dazai, trying not to laugh when the guitarist nearly burned his mouth (he laughed), Dazai didn't like being laughed at like that. As revenge he kicked the other's leg, who looked at him and stopping on the way waited for Dazai to take the lead in the walk to kick his ass, earning a loud laugh, 'Oh my god how can you—' Having his thought interrupted when Dazai decided to run back to only to kick you in the leg again and receive the same as before. Fyodor believes he has never laughed so much in a short period of time with anyone.

The two musicians ended up arriving at a 24h convenience store one part of the night, Dazai pulled Fyodor by the sleeve of his coat and pushed him inside the store when the automatic door opened, the black haired boy didn't even fight back, hear the laughter of the guitarist was more refreshing than a victory in a silly little fight.

They bought energy drinks, some hot alcoholic drinks (or whatever they looked like), more cigarettes, and some bizarre candy. Amazingly they combined their change and it was enough to pay the bill, for two lazy unemployed it was a beautiful thing to see. Dazai leaned against the counter with his back looking at the glass bottles being counted, a confusion forming on his face as he saw Fyodor take the two bags.

“Fedya no.” The boy in the bandages took (of course the lightest) one of the bags from the other's hands.

“Whatever” The other brunette walked right past the guitarist and went outside, was Dazai shocked? “You thought I was going to make a drama out of "Oh no, let me take it all' please eh"Fyodor said placing a hand on his chest pretending to fake pain.

"Better this way" Dazai said walking past the pianist smirking with his only bag in his hand.

Fyodor couldn't hide his muffled laugh, "You're such a tantrum."

[...]

It seemed like seconds had passed but in fact it had already passed more than estimated, it was already around 11:40 pm, and at that time you should be at home watching some romantic comedy show but there were two junkies who said they were smart at bridge (yes they ended up on a f*cking bridge). It was a suspicious place, especially at this time, but they didn't care anyway. A vast river was washed by mounds of dark pine trees, grasses already rising around some, an empty boat floated on the river, while the thoughts of the two could also be considered astronauts at that moment, for they were lost in the stars.

Dazai and Fyodor were lying on the wood of a broken bridge, on the edge of it to be exact, it creaked at every slightest movement but they couldn't stand to walk anymore, alcohol was already taking a little bit of their minds and the nicotine in their blood ran like race horses. Dazai's legs swayed slowly as they were almost touching the water, his arms were on his belly, his eyes no longer had a black pencil just a mess on his eyelids and a little under his eyes, his breathing alternated between fast and slow, leaving you confused about. Fyodor was like the other brunette but his countenance just seemed calmer, not agitated (surprisingly), trying to just have his vision focused, seeing now only smoky white dots in the sky, the blame could be placed on the clouds not his poor eyesight.

"What's your most secret secret?" Dazai struck up a conversation after minutes of not hearing his own voice which was now hoarse, asking softly like a whisper.

"This… is to be kept as it is a secret" Fyodor said taking his time to answer when he suddenly remembered a thing from the past.

“Um” was all Dazai asked, “I have one, it's not a secret… but he… might be shocking I don't know…” continued the guitarist amidst some sobs.

“And what would that big secret be?” Fyodor asked, he was curious even after the suspense.

“Careful, he's a government secret and might break some hearts,” Dazai said in a theatrical voice, which angered Fyodor a little.

“Speak up.” Fyodor pinched him on the arm.

Dazai squirmed a little and chuckled lowly before taking on a normal, "I've never kissed."

Fyodor was somewhat surprised and shocked, after all, Dazai was said to be a heartthrob so he thought that…

“Nobody, ever, ever.” continued Dazai, shaking his head from side to side.

"That's the secret"?" Fyodor said making quotation marks with his hands.

"Yea?" Dazai said looking touched that the other didn't care.

"Right..." Fyodor said too sincerely, Dazai raised his eyebrows.

“I think you're the first person who hasn't been so shocked by this information,” Dazai said without regret.

“This is something you have to decide for yourself, not for others and want to do what you clearly do with a close or trusted person” Fyodor pointed out, “But why have you never kissed anyone?”

“Well, I'm not interested in that, you know, people say they see me as a heartbreaking stud taker, but that's not it. There were times when I thought I might have really turned into someone very upset in society, but could that be normal? No one should ever force themselves to kiss the first creed cross they see in front of them, ugh.” Dazai said with certainty uncomfortable for saying that.

Fyodor now understood several points about the other brunette. He had never been seen with a boyfriend or girlfriend around, he had never had affairs at university, and he was always all innocent when someone made it clear they wanted to kiss him. Dazai was aromantic and this made Fyodor a little uncomfortable as he could be the first person the guitarist looked at in an "affectionate" way. This scared the russian.

A silence was broken.

Fyodor moved his hands nervously, his vision slowly narrowing, and he never thought he could be so glad to be able to look to the side and see Dazai's features.

"I once heard a rumor that you were dating someone from outside and that's why you always refused to be with other people" Fyodor spoke again after a certain interval.

"Impressive the creativity of the others, wow" Dazai said mocking the situation.

“Have you never heard that before?”

“No and I would have preferred not to know” Dazai said quickly, “But don't be hurt that you told me that” He offered a crooked smile.

Fyodor shook his head indicating that he understood.

"And you? Have you had a few bites yet?” Dazai said with his lips mimicking a kiss.

"Look this is weird so don't laugh" Fyodor said calmly.

" WHAT ?! DOSTOYEVSKY KISSED SOMEONE?? HOW MUCH TIME I WASTE OH MY HOLY GOD!” Suddenly Dazai yelled, echoing a little in the surroundings, causing faint swirling marks to appear on Fyodor's pale cheeks.

"Alright shut up" Fyodor kicked the other's shin who laughed a little at the other's desperation "Um, it wasn't a kiss you know it's more like a peck but that doesn't matter" Fyodor looked at him before turning around again.

"I already kissed my two best friends" Fyodor said trying to peek from the corner but Dazai already had his face up and his mouth open in a smile?

“Wow wow wow, that's interesting, it wasn't just one but two at once, tell me” Dazai sat up now pulling Fyodor's limp body to sit beside him as well.

"Stop it now" Fyodor scolded him when he was already seated and with Dazai's hand still on his back. "It was winter and Christmas had arrived, Sigma and I went to the house where Nikolai had moved in with his new parents, he was excited and very happy so we didn't refuse the invitation" Fyodor smiled a little remembering the feeling of the albino receiving at the door of your house.

“Jumping to the part that matters. He took us around to show us his room and some records he'd been given as a gift, who would have thought minutes later we'd be high lying on Nikolai's bed, laughing out loud and the whole thing. When he himself decided to put together a game that I vaguely remember being… of guessing.” Fyodor stopped for a while looking to see if the other still had his attention, Dazai was listening intently

“By the time we realized we were more than stoned and out of orbit, Nikolai leaned in to kiss Sigma, then did the same to me. There wasn't a weird atmosphere or anything... amazingly, we laughed a lot afterwards and carried on with our life that 13-year-olds had at the time.” Fyodor took a pebble from his side and threw it into the water.

“What…” Dazai started to say gesturing in the air as if trying to choose the right word for it, “Intriguing” He said with a finger in the pianist's face.

“Yes, even worse is that Kolya always reminds us of this while Sigma and I just want to forget about this moment” Fyodor said burying his face in his hands. Dazai ran his hand down her back, smoothing her coat up and down.

“Did you like them?” Dazai asked, curious and heartbroken.

"I don't know." Fyodor said, turning to look at Dazai again.

“Was your first kiss good?” Dazai asked, laughing a little awkwardly.

Fyodor looked away a little evil now because he was just saying this to Dazai, "It sure was awful, Kolya had eaten yogurt and I think the taste of that stuff was like vomit because seriously..." Fyodor closed his eyes as Dazai cried with laughter.

“But at least he was considerate about wanting to be our first kiss? Kolya is weird, maybe he did it because his greed had spread at that moment” Fyodor said, even though he knew they were high too but Nikolai had already liked him and Sigma a long time ago at the same time.

Dazai stopped laughing and the croaking of frogs near the river could be heard, some fireflies were absently flying over the heads of the two boys. Fyodor thought about everything that had happened so far, first it was just to go to the pawn shop parking lot and now they are in an abandoned river in the calm night that was left. It was surprising how they advanced in very potent ways, they had known each other a few days ago and suddenly they became "this".

Fyodor didn't register the exact moment when he had run out of candys from the bag or when Dazai took his hand away from his back, the pianist would not believe if someone said that the guitarist was the most beautiful person in the world because he would have to see that in front of his eyes to see if it was really true, because Dazai was looking like a princess from a cartoon movie. It must have been a rapid lack of oxygen in his body, or the cigarette was too strong, but Fyodor watched as Dazai's protruding lips moved, probably saying something to him, but everything was completely silent.

" What?" Fyodor asked closing and opening his eyes to come back to reality a little, really paying attention when Dazai looked at him with his dark almond eyes and said softly,

"Fyodor, I want you to be my first kiss."

Fyodor's eyes widened. 'Quick do something' thought one of the small neurons that were connected in the Russian's head.

Dazai looked very sincere, focusing between amethyst eyes and reddened lips with sugar still in places. It looked like this was an emergency, but he'd only been wanting to say that to Fyodor ever since he'd shared his cigarette with him.

Fyodor now heard a “beep” in both ears, he looked around and then at his bandage boy, scratching the back of his head he got up and picked up a bottle still half full.

"Wait, I just-" Dazai also stood up.

“No, it's okay” Fyodor took his phone and put it to his left ear, “I just want to go away” The cellist straightened his cap and walked a little way forward, before Dazai extended a tattered bandaged hand to the other. .

"I can go with you?" The guitarist asked, his face being as charitable as possible.

In response, Fyodor grabbed his hand and dragged him into the shortcut woods.

Dazai didn't know what to do halfway. He tried to say something but it was going to sound weird after the last thing he said, the guitarist was afraid to press Fyodor for the first or second time afraid of losing someone for his stupidity. His eyes stung thinking about it as the other walked quickly with his gloved hands pouring sweat into his, the guitarist couldn't see his face only his hair tied back out of the grip and letting go with each step.

'Holy sh*t why am I like this?!' thought Dazai, wiping away a stray tear.

[...]

Fyodor only stopped when he saw the balcony of his apartment with the lights still on, 'Nikolai and Sigma must have stayed at home' thought the brunette. Turning to Dazai he looked at him a bit then looked away, letting go of his hand.

“It may sound silly but what I said was true but… just don't be like that again please.” Dazai said almost imploringly to the other, "I'll let you have your space on this, but, Dostoy I don't know what you did, what kind of spell it was, but I feel like I can't...".

Fyodor looked at the floor, looking as if every book in the world had been opened in front of him. There was a strange tension, but still Fyodor hugged him, forming an endless loop of “what a fool, what a fool, what a fool” in his head, but the warm feeling of the taller one was very good for a person who hardly liked touch. .

Dazai seemed to have been congratulated for something extremely proud as he hugged the other back as if his life depended on it.

The Russian's arms were entwined around the guitarist's neck as he agreed to join his arms around the other's waist. An oath had been sworn at that moment, in each other's arms a truth could be expressed better than words.

‘I also feel like I can’t stay away from you, Dazai.'

The hug was left by the cellist, advancing to his building waving a farewell with his back, returned by the guitarist even without being able to see his face. Dazai stood there still not knowing if he would go home or if he would explode at that very moment. Fyodor climbed the stairs to his loft not feeling the weight he felt whenever he pushed up the first step, now he felt like he was flying.

When Fyodor entered the living room, he could still see Nikolai and Sigma sleeping cuddled on the sofa, the bicolor buried in the pale arms of the sleeping albino, the brunette threw the key in the key compartment and took a pack of headache medicine heading towards to his room, planning to swallow one and hibernate forever and dream of Dazai's warm snuggles.

Dazai in turn arrived in complete silence, having the quick impression of seeing the television light on and a tuft of messy red hair on the green checkered armchair in the living room, taking off his shoes Dazai walked calmly to the armchair (in his kitty socks) .

“Chuuya”

“Hey Chuuya”

"Chibi"

“Chuuya…” Dazai nudged the other's arm.

Chuuya slowly opened his eyes, looking like a cornered cat when he looked to the side and saw the guitarist, he straightened up, coughing covertly.

"What you want? Are you arriving now?” The dancer now looked more awake, but his voice was still sleepy.

Dazai just watched him, his face scrunched up, his hair matted, his sweatshirt smudged with hot chocolate, the white flower blanket covering him from feet to waist, the ashtray on the coffee table still with a cigarette sticking out of it smoke, a mug with "World's Best Drummer" scrawled in red permanent marker over the phrase that looked like "World's Best Manager." Dazai took a deep breath and walked back to the stairs.

"Hey!" Chuuya turned to look at the guitarist and call out to him. Dazai stopped and waited, “Did something happen, or did something happen to you?” The redhead frowned almost invisible.

"Chuuya, I just wanted to make it clear that I'm back home, no big deal" Dazai said calmly, looking deep into the sapphire eyes.

“Oh” The drummer sounded low to Dazai, who went upstairs without expecting a reaction from the redhead.

It stung Chuuya's eyes. 'It wasn't intentional, Dazai's manner was softened and he always thinks a lot when he's going to say things even though he's the dumbest thing in the world. What the f*ck' thought the redhead, he tried to concentrate again on the series that was on TV but it didn't go unnoticed how sparkling and relaxed the guitarist was.

'Must the bastard bastard have a crush on someone?' Chuuya laughed out loud as he turned the cigarette between his teeth.

Chapter 9: Ahead A Steel Door And An Invitation

Chapter Text

There was a violin in the corner of the room, the lighting gleaming from the oak on the stage, the students lightly packing their instruments in their respective bags and walking in search of going quickly to another room.

Fyodor reached for the bow of his precious cello as he sat on a bench, a slight desperation crossing his brow. 'How could I have lost sight of him?' He thought, a strand of his bangs falling across his face to show a obscurity on his pale skin, his ungloved hand brushing the black strands behind his silver-pierced ear. It turned out that the cellist was the last one on stage.

Dazai had his hand on the shoulder of his blond friend, Kunikida, laughing over something he had said and the taller one had believed it, as usual. A glimpse of the Russian passed through the almond irises, a glow was igniting the guitarist's field of vision until there was only that young Russian man a few kilometers away.

As Fyodor stood up, a hand patted his shoulder, the cellist turned back abruptly, his loose hair followed his movement causing Osamu to grow his eyes wide at the sight, 'He looks like a miracle' thought the taller brunette.

“Um, hi?” The lazy voice pulled by a strong accent reached Dazai's senses, who still remained with his hand on the other's shoulder.

“Yeah…it…um…” Dazai stuttered some more without even knowing the main reason for going to Fyodor, 'What am I doing?' A desperate thought crossed Dazai's head.

Fyodor looked at Dazai's strangely adorable and confused face and chuckled softly, picking up his last belongings, he got up taking his bag aside on his vacant shoulder, noticing an intense heat on his other shoulder, 'How pathetic, is he sweating?' thought Fyodor frowning and snorting a laugh.

Dazai wanted to dig a hole, get in there and never come out. He would only leave if Fyodor came to get him.

"It's just... it's hard to see you in that department right now, since you're such a star I thought you wouldn't join the poor mortals" Dazai said a little shakily at first but soon taking a more confident direction, as usual, and making more emphasis. to see the other boy's reaction.

“Oh, make no mistake, I just came by” Fyodor said raising a hand in a quick gesture, rolling his eyes “As soon as I entered I will leave the same way” The Russian pushed his hand from his shoulder, walking behind the curtains, being stopped by a dramatically feigned cough and the image of Dazai in his cream overcoat wanting his attention.

"Since the Phantom Lord wants to leave, let me be the poor mortal who will torment you."

Dazai smiled, running a hand through his curls, Fyodor hitched his breath and pushed the red cloths aside for a passage in a similar shape to his own. The Russian didn't think about how he wanted to continue this, Dazai and him, after all after their last night together everything turned upside down in a way that he couldn't even consciously think about. The misfortune of wanting to have what one cannot have is a present dilemma and Fyodor wanted to break that wall.

“Right” Fyodor said with a suspicion at his statement. Dazai looked uneasy as if he could transform into a rocket and blow away the remnants of appreciation he had for the other. "You won't regret it, Fedya!" The guitarist smiled more openly and was quickly passing through the passage formed by Fyodor.

Fyodor rolled his eyes, smiling sideways and passed right behind the other, entering a somewhat dark and stuffy environment; backup instruments, giant broken lights, old wood from the old stage, and other studio details could be described by the view from above; Dazai looked delighted to see some of the white plaster statues of Renaissance angels broken or missing pieces, a sound of surprise coming from the dark guitarist's throat.

Fyodor with no exact emotion on his face, went looking for a bow he had left there for another time. Dazai's more limited vision had him taking a few sloppy steps, bumping momentarily into the cellist, the one with the magenta irises muttered a "holy sh*t" in Russian and kicked one of the bandaged boy's long legs, who just laughed and stumbled forward. .

"Be careful, I don't want to be claimed after breaking in here and breaking things that don't even belong to me" Fyodor whispered in a harsh tone.

“I didn’t even see how it could be my fault?” Dazai said in the most innocent tone possible with his hands raised high in yield.

If Dazai could really feel Fyodor's deep gaze at this moment, he would surely have burned to death.

Fyodor rolled his eyes turning his attention back to his quest, removing an elastic band from his wrist and tying his hair into a ponytail with little success, having his bangs all over his face and only a small amount of his hair tied back. With a deep sigh he bent down and took several more old bows from a dusty chest, almost immediately a sneeze was exhaled and then another, and another.

"My God what happened?" Dazai raised his voice and ran, sliding across the floor to get to the Russian's side with a clear fit of sneezing.

"Just leave me alone, it's over" Fyodor whispered when the sneezing seemed to have stopped. He stood up with a bow in his hand and the other quickly brushing his reddened nose, sniffling a little.

“Wow, I almost thought about calling an ambulance”

"Do not be ridiculous"

“Please Fedya, I just care—”

"Shut up, you talk too much."

Stepping deep, the Russian grabbed his bag and walked to a set of two doors behind a giant wooden stake, pushing the doors open with effort, Fyodor held it with the weight of his body as he leaned against it. “Come on!” the Russian raised his voice enough for Dazai to hear him and then appear in his field of vision.

Without much question, Dazai took the bag that hung loosely over Fyodor's shoulder and slipped it around his neck, adjusting it between his torso and his shoulder, smiling with his hands on the old straps. Fyodor felt very analytical when it came to Dazai as today he was different enough to worry, not that it was bad he is more smiling but that he was in different clothes he was; a white button-down blouse, cream overcoat (he usually already wore it), dark blue scarf with white stripes, dark pants and an all-star in a scarf-like tone; Fyodor appreciated him anyway though.

“What did they do to you? Why did they force you to dress properly?” Fyodor questioned him without a filter.

The bandage boy was a little surprised and replied, "Let's say an insufferable roommate mixed my clothes with some strange liquids in the laundry room and I ended up with just this Christian look in my closet."

"But it's not bad, it was just a question." Fyodor shrugged and walked away from the door, closing it and walking forward with his hands in the pockets of his black overcoat.

They faced a huge gray hallway with white fluorescent lights on the way to another door at the end that would probably take them outside, it looked like a mysterious underpass that the staff only used but Fyodor discovered it and used it to shorten his time and not having to go to department socials. Dazai felt a tingle of excitement in his fingers and a silent smile formed on his lips.

“A really good point” Dazai walked easily to the Russian's side “You look like a vampire like that” The dark guitarist stopped a laugh with his hand reaching his mouth before “But it's not bad either, it's just that I'm still surprised by your style".

Fyodor raised his eyebrows in surprise, no one had told him this directly apart from his two friends, the Russian even thought this was something strange, but what could he do? He liked to dress in these clothes and the fabric fit his pattern perfectly, after discovering that this was yet another uncovered trait of his neuro-divergence.

“I'll take that as a compliment” The Russian feigned a mocking tone but it was more understood as a statement.

"How graceful" Dazai approached and whispered in the other's ear, a shiver went down Fyodor's spine who pushed him away with a light shoulder shove, even so Dazai stumbled theatrically to the side, "Thinking of all the people in this place, your style is very noticeable . Kunikida for example, he always wears those clothes that look like a uniform I've seen him wearing so many times”.

"Oh, that's very kind of you, but I have nothing to do with your compliments." Fyodor kept looking straight ahead.

"Fedya might think about the old offer I made at the last timer," Dazai suggested affectionately moving in front of Fyodor, walking backwards and with his hands just like the one in front of him.

Fyodor almost wanted to stop there and think about the whole journey of his life to see him here having to deal with a bandage maniac suggesting he be the first guy to kiss in his life. The Russian continued walking without changing his expression, just raising an eyebrow in contempt, "By god, Dazai should stop to think better about the things he says."

"Oh don't say that, I can never stop saying my thoughts to you" Dazai continued with his wooing, even seeing the other getting restless about it.

“You might end up falling walking that way and know that I would laugh a lot with your fall” Fyodor smiled frankly, gradually increasing his steps, making genuine fear pass through Dazai who luckily managed to adjust his inverted walk with ease as well, smiling back at the Russian.

A vein seemed to have burst behind the black haired's bangs, the urge to rip off his shoe and fly it to Dazai's shameless face was great but then he would lose and soon let the guitarist win this strange competition.

“So irritating”

“Do you think? How exciting to see that Fyodor has a certain feeling for me.”

"Not so fast maybe he'll turn into something else and end you up in a dismembered dark alley"

“How scary, haha!”

In the middle of the argument, Dazai's back slammed sharply on the dark steel door, a groan of pain was the bandage boy's expected reaction. Now, getting a Fyodor standing in front of Dazai.

"Get out-" Fyodor began, soon to be interrupted by an index finger on his slightly chapped lips.

“...with me on a date? Oh yes I do” Dazai said with a victorious smile.

Fyodor tugged on the other's bandaged arm and looked at him. "No! I wasn't going to say that, ever, we already went out once” The Russian said mumbling the last part.

The Russian could see Dazai's cheeks turn pink as he said that, "Was that really a date?" Dazai said softly.

“Um… Never mind, but I do go out on a date with you just because I have nothing else to do, just” Fyodor slowly said each word. Perfectly lying, after all, in a week the brunette would have to rehearse hard for a final presentation of a project “Young Musicians”, that he had been participating in since he entered the course. He was afraid that this good wave of the guitarist would be fleeting, therefore, rejecting him in any dialogue or whatever.

"Ok ok, give me your number" Dazai said quickly, taking the hand that was with an index finger on the other's lips to extend it open waiting for the Russian's cell phone.

Fyodor glared at him a little longer and pulled his cell phone out of his pocket, flipping through the contacts and handing it over properly. Dazai did a few quick digits, sometimes co*cking his head to the side trying to remember if this number was right, then handing it over again.

“Thanks for our little conversation, I wish it had lasted forever” The guitarist said tucking a curly lock behind his ear.

“Oh how I almost forgot” Fyodor said ignoring him “No kissing hints or anything ok?” He said it almost like he was explaining it to a child.

"Wow, how much dedication, right, I think it's fair" Dazai said rolling his eyes and getting out of the way, standing next to the shorter one again.

The cellist didn't say anything else, going straight outside, putting on his bonnet and reaching for a cigarette.

“Bye!” Dazai shouted when he saw him in the distance as a blur, waving an arm. He can see the Russian turning to look and then on his way again, leaving a euphoric, passionate Dazai behind.

Chapter 10: It's Bothering Us to be Apart

Chapter Text

A feeling of warmth flared throughout the interior, but the warmth was within Dazai, a sense of comfort and belonging. Leaves fell and failed outside, and a low voice could be heard if anyone got close enough. A silhouette was lying on the sofa, curled up fully hugging a pillow, a song the huddled boy had little memories of that made his vocal cords cast an angelic flicker.

The boy's pale hands were dug firmly into the pillow of his bed, as if he let go of that pillow and the large cotton fabric would disintegrate.

The room it was housed in had a simple but modern style, patterned in shades of gray and white; several paintings, figurines on the white shelf in the corner of the room, a pale carpet stretched out in all directions, a desk had two astronomy books perched on it, a dresser beside the bed had a yellowish lampshade being the only one illuminating the entire room. convenient; the boy's little luggage was lying near the bed, the pair of his all star could be seen almost under his bed for having been thrown anyway.

The night was already welcomed by a cloudy and orange sunset, a little light came through the curtains, the tears already dried on both cheeks of the boy had an extra glow from the light.

'Stop crying!! Stop wasting your tears for nothing!! It happens all the time to people in other parts of the world, you can't be that selfish!!!' Dazai's screaming thoughts could be heard over a sob silenced by a blanket firmly placed in his mouth.

“Is everything okay?” A deep voice was heard on the other side of the door, accompanied by two subtle taps on the white wood.

Dazai automatically fell silent, lifting his head to direct his attention to the door, it sounded like the voice of a man who had picked him up earlier from the halfway house.

"Hey…?" The man repeated, "I'm going in, okay?" And so the eldest did.

The boy in the bandages went back to having his face buried in the pillow, trying to clean up some past traces of his crying.

A tall red-haired man put his head and half of his body into the room, his face was full of exhaustion but something caught Dazai's attention, 'Is he worried?' The brunette thought, frowning.

“Um, I'll repeat the question… are you okay?” The red-haired man asked subtly, trying to appear as compassionate as possible to the other.

The brunette lifted his head, shooting a look out of his one left eye, looking indifferent. The man at the door stifled a chuckle with a closed hand.

"Sorry, it's not mean" The redhead explained entering the room fully, leaving the door ajar and putting his arms behind him.

"I don't know, whatever" Dazai said pondering over, getting up slowly, throwing the huge blanket of cats and pillows aside.

The red-haired man furrowed both of his brows at the other's answer, "It doesn't look like 'whatever' as you imagine, your face is showing everything" Said leaning against the wall.

The brunette sniffled, leaning against the bed's dresser, holding the pillow still in his hands and pulling the blanket up.

"I came to warn you that there's cake downstairs, maybe you could have something to eat" The redhead said crossing his arms and looking quickly at his wristwatch.

The bandage boy lowered his gaze, fixating on some random spot in the room, tucking his hands together under the pillow, biting his bottom lip.

The redhead seemed to have noticed something and went back to the door, when he opened it he felt a light blue medium plush penguin hit his back.

"Wait!" The boy curled up in the bed called out, “I need that… I just need…" His voice failed "nothing, just go…” The boy's voice trailed off until a heavy sigh was exasperated.

The redhead turned to where the voice was coming from, seeing the boy with his face in his hands and a murmur that seemed to be 'Get out of here'. From the file created by the redhead, Dazai could actually be in a greater state of sensitivity or misfortune, after being sent to a support house by a relative of his and having been treated in an irresponsible way, the house was of little use infrastructure and without much basic sanitation, being only offered to the most "prestigious" children (children who seemed to be kept there more like a daycare or something, still with relatives and money) while the others were in a less observed state. Soon after being sent there, he had the realization of being bullied for a while, being prevented from having this continuity by the very man who was now in the room, as he himself helped to benefit the house. When he found out about the boy and saw how he was treated, he managed to be hit by a very earthy feeling about something past, thinking not twice about telling his boyfriend about taking a teenager to his house, which had recently been renovated.

Thinking and remembering certain points, the red-haired man made his way over to Dazai's bed and laid a hand on the mess of brownish curls on his head, the movement being enough for the boy to look him up and down and bring his eyes, catching his knees to his chest. A caress was placed there on his head, helping him to return his breath properly, a serene feeling of being validated passed through his mind.

Imaginable could be the turmoil that Dazai would be in at that moment, but the pain that was dispensed just by that small stroke in his hair was enough to feel something, 'Home' thought the brunette.

When the brunette was about to adjust, the redhead crouched down to match his gaze with Dazai's, still with his hand on the bandaged boy's head. The redhead's deep blue eyes said something clear, even without any writing, "It's going to be okay", the brunette nodded even without seeing the real visions that the other man had.

"Not to be unsympathetic, but somehow you remind me of a black cat" The red-haired man said basically.

Dazai frowned, then chuckled, turning his head to the side.

“My goodness, I didn't expect this one” Dazai said softly, trying to look shaken but with a sincere chuckle, “By the way, you didn't even tell me your name…” continued the bandaged boy, turning to the man beside him.

"Oh, that's right, my name is Oda Sakunosuke, but you can just call me Oda" Said the crouching man.

“Odasaku” Dazai said, almost fumbling with another line, “I'll call you that from now on” He said happily to Oda, who only reacted by raising his eyebrows.

“I think it's fair, Dazai”

"How do you know my name?- Oh, you know of course, what an idiot of me"

"That's truth"

“Shh!”

Dazai slapped a fake slap across Oda's face, quickly faking it to the brunette's satisfaction, who had been strong, following the gesture and turning his face, earning a low laugh from the bandage one.

Laughter hurts, everything turns white and suddenly everything goes out.

Dazai wakes up with a start, a shock or relief at having relived that moment that marked him so much. Sweat dripped onto his shirt, one hand was on his chest and the other was resting on the mattress. The dark in the room reminded him to check the time, it was exactly 9:36 pm on the lock screen of his cell phone, which surprisingly had a message from Chuuya

“I'm going out with a group of dance crew, maybe I'll be back late ‼️‼️‼️”.

He hadn't come back yet so maybe Dazai would be alone, after all, Ango couldn't even say that he has a room and a bed, since from Dazai's eyes he never saw him there sleeping. Loneliness hugged him like an old friend.

Rising from the bed, the brunette stretched, taking his glasses and putting them on his face while looking for his slippers, then leaving his room with his cell phone in hand.

The house was always quiet, but today the level of silence seemed abnormal, being forgotten when the tricolor cat meowed as it passed Dazai's legs, which made the guitarist smile and pick him up.

A silly idea crossed the brunette's head, but it was out of the question, why would he do that? He wasn't desperate, was he?

Too late, the call was already being forwarded to Fyodor.

Tum, thud, thump, thump, thump, "Hello?"

A tingle ran through the guitarist.

"Um, hi..." Dazai said smiling sideways, heading towards the kitchen downstairs.

" 'What happened?' That would be what you wanted me to ask, right?” Fyodor said clearly mocking the other, who just mentally chuckled.

“I wish you and I had a telepathy” Dazai said putting his long arms under the counter in the center of the kitchen, placing the cell phone on his shoulder to hear it close enough to his ear and crossing his feet.

“This is new… What do you want?” Fyodor seemed to be somewhere that echoed like a staircase as he said it.

“Um, well, I don't have any human company in my house” Dazai said calmly “Even though there's a devil here who couldn't stand it anymore but he decided to go out with new friends so I only have one… cat” Dazai whispered with a hand of his. other side of the cell phone to muffle your voice only on the microphone.

"Oh, I don't see how I can help..." Fyodor said dragging his voice as if he was focused on something else, "sh*t" He whispered.

"Did something go wrong?" Dazai asked, trying to heighten his auditory senses to hear better on the other end of the line.

There was a silence accompanied by a vague noise from a central air unit before Fyodor spoke again in frustration "I lost my apartment keys" He seemed to have leaned against the door and slid it down to the floor.

"What a disgrace" Dazai said, wanting to sound worried, "But what a coincidence, I was about to invite you to my house..." Fyodor swore he felt Dazai's cynical smile pierce the call.

Another silence was established, broken by a deep breath.

"Okay, maybe I'll pass there, I really don't have anywhere to go" Fyodor muttered as he turned around and headed for the building's entrance.

Dazai shouted silently.

“Okay okay!” Dazai said, doing his best not to let a certain glee be passed over his lines, as the magenta-eyed boy had a lot more than just recognition of observant mannerisms but he seemed to have a book in his mind about the minute ways to act in such a way. Dazai.

“Bye then,” Fyodor said before hanging up.

Dazai, in turn, handled his cell phone, sending his address to Fyodor's contact, then setting his cell phone down on the marble countertop he was leaning against, biting his lower lip with some force to contain the silliest smile that could have formed on his face.

Fyodor whistled as he reached a very elegant street, with picturesquely similar houses, maybe it was a residential condominium. One of the most distinctive features of all the others was one particular house that had a dark blue door and a golden handle, and the symbol of '2DO' engraved right in the center.

The cellist passed through a small garden in front of the house, as soon as he reached the door, knocking it subtly, which around 2 minutes later was opened by Dazai dressed in stripped pajamas and changed socks. 'Lovely' thought Fyodor.

“Hello perfection bud” Dazai said moving to lean an elbow on the doorjamb while resting his other hand on his waist, posing lazily and fussy, just like he was.

Fyodor turned away, rolling his eyes, hiding the redness in his cheekbones, and Dazai for some reason couldn't stop laughing.

"Let's go inside, before you run away again" Dazai said breaking the pose, putting an arm forward as if he were welcoming some kind of royalty.

"Last time I didn't run away, I was just tired and had to leave before I punched you in the face" Fyodor said softly walking inside, passing the brunette.

“Oh right your majesty!” Dazai said in a playful tone, muffling her voice so she was now fully centered in the cozy, warm room; The living room had all the points for a person to arrive and feel really at home if necessary, a beige sofa with a checkered decorative cloth (or just forgotten there) sprawled in the corner, a checkered-patterned convertible armchair, coffee table accompanied by magazines, random papers, a heart-shaped ashtray and a desk clock, in the corner a heater on.

The Russian looked around, running a gloved hand over some objects, feeling the familiarity of the warmth present in the room. Dazai noticing the particular sensation of the other brunette, passed him and leaned against the wall beside him, now looking at him better he was more beautiful than all the other times he had seen him, it was impressive.

"Who is he?" Fyodor said softly pointing to a portrait with a man looking as if he had been photographed absentmindedly.

“Ah, this is Ango” Dazai indicated going to Fyodor's side, putting his chin especially close to the other's shoulder, seeming not to have noticed the other's “affection”, “A curiosity, this photo was not taken here but in the port of Yokohama” continued the guitarist, putting his hands together behind his back.

Fyodor just muttered in understanding, noticing another portrait, half-hidden behind a porcelain cat figurine, with an exaggeratedly smiling but happy-looking little boy (with a chipped tooth) in denim overalls and a white shirt, not missing a beat. makeshift eye patch over one of his eyes, holding a tricolor kitten. The cellist smirked at the photograph, it was adorable and percent cute.

Dazai also formed a smile, but with a twinge of sadness, Fyodor realizing this soon withdrew awkwardly, since the other was extremely close to him, almost hugging him from behind, 'Oh God' Fyodor thought putting a lock behind his head. ear.

“I was just finishing making a hot chocolate, do you want it?” Dazai asked, signaling to the kitchen, where the sweet smell of cinnamon and chocolate came from.

"Alright!" Fyodor said in a high, shaky tone, walking mindlessly to the kitchen. Dazai smiled and in a few steps he reached the one with the lilac iris.

There was a silent smoke from a silver pot with the aroma of melting chocolate, the place looking very homely but little used, probably just for making necessary meals. Dazai flew past Fyodor, skidding across the floor through his socks, arriving quickly at the stove looking around for a spoon. Fyodor noticed one near the sink, going there and picking it up, coming to Dazai's side and gently patting the upper one's arm, who, realizing it, soon took it from his hand and stirred the contents of the pot, smiling in thanks to the other. . The Russian smiled weakly back.

The guitarist continued to move the creamy chocolate into the pot slowly, with the lenses of his glasses fogged up by the previous smoke, the cellist realizing only then the use of the other of the glasses frames on his face, chastising himself for not touching his face. to see if it was real for someone to be so f*cking beautiful.

"You can look all you want, it's free for you" Dazai said in a tone of irony, noticing the other watching him.

“Shut up” Fyodor said as he leaned against the bench, “Since when does Dazai charge for his beauty?” asked the Russian.

Dazai chuckled softly, “Why, you should meet Chibi, he already had to pay me 50 коп! A complete idiot” rambled the guitarist, still laughing. Fyodor frowned at the mention of the name and the amount paid for such, for in the end, Dazai's beauty should be appreciated by the greatest artists, which even the Russian dared to look at.

"Ready! Get two mugs from the left cupboard, preferably get a special one with a crab design” Dazai said excitedly as he turned off the heat and removed the pan.

“Okay” Fyodor said in agreement, going to the instructed place and taking what he had been ordered, finding a cupboard with several types of mugs, one of them being the one that caught the most attention: one shaped like a rubber ducky.

The Russian walked towards the bandaged boy with both hands occupied by two amusing mugs, and placing them respectively on the center bench where the chocolate haired boy was waiting with a small steaming pot.

Clearly it was seen that Dazai was not very skilled in the kitchen, getting lost in putting the hot liquid into the mugs (spilling half of it on the counter), having the help of another inexperienced Russian, who carefully poured into each one. Dazai audibly threw the pan into the sink made of similar material to the countertops.

Now everything was kept comfortably, just as Dazai had hoped and craved, the dark haired boy's presence, even if silent and mysterious, was very pleasant and relaxing for the guitarist, like a laxative or chamomile tea on a Sunday morning. .

“Why are you so sentimental?” Dazai heard Fyodor direct him a lazy, observant question, "Since you called me I've felt a strange tremor in your voice, you're ok?" Fyodor seemed to be wanting to know the real reason of the taller one.

Dazai sighed, shaking his mug slowly, "Just a bad night's sleep" He smiled weakly as he said in depressing words. Fyodor didn't miss the way Dazai pouted sadly and looked at the floor.

The guitarist's bangs covered his field of vision, seeing only the white ceramic of small flowers on the floor, the memory of having already run happily around the island bench running away from the older redhead as he tried to drag him to take a shower made him a lone tear fall from her eye. It was customary to have these dreams, but if Dazai was to be honest he would never get used to how tight his heart felt when he had them.

The Russian didn't know how to act in states like this, people crying were ranked fifth on his list of 'things I couldn't act even if they paid me', but this time it was a person who was special, without realizing the cellist already he'd rested the other's head on his collarbone, his hand making weak strokes of ruffled curls. Dazai took a deep breath against Fyodor's neck, one bandaged arm passing around the other's waist, and before long the two were entwined in feelings.

Fyodor still had a lot of doubts about Dazai's life, but who was he to just ask without a filter? The one with almond iris had never asked him questions on this subject either, so it was something recognized by both of them, even without any comment about it. He didn't really need to know what was moving Dazai, Fyodor just wanted to comfort him as best he could.

Gradually Dazai steady his breathing and lifted his head, directing a look full of gratitude that Fyodor had treated him in such a way that it seemed to have stirred up some delicate memory, but his arm was still resting on the Russian's waist.

The cellist placed both his hands on either end of Dazai's face, the gloves preventing him from feeling the true heat emanating from the other's cheeks. The eye contact the two made was full of emotions and pleading still lost between passion and confusion. Fyodor adjusted Dazai's crooked glasses properly in place, "It was crooked" He said with a crooked smile.

Dazai chuckled, looking down at the floor and tightening his hold on Fyodor's waist, who shivered with the shock.

Before Dazai said anything, the sound of the door being opened and an amused laugh interrupted the moment of the two, who soon walked away as they looked at the door, seeing two boys, “Atsushi and Akutagawa? How long were you out there?” The chocolate haired one said getting back to the Russian, putting his long arms around the other's neck. Fyodor soon understood what Dazai was doing, for the two ducklings to get out of there he would pretend to be in an intimate moment, 'So you leave me with no choice' thought the Russian as he wrapped his hands on each side of Dazai's hips.

'Holy sh*t'

'Holy sh*t'

The couple at the door were mortified, as planned. Atsushi even more, for being just an acquaintance of Dazai and finding him like that in his house?! He wanted to turn into an ostrich and bury his face in the dirt!

“Oh my god, forgive me…forgive us! Let's go Ryuu” Atsushi said quickly dragging his boyfriend by the arm and leading him inside towards the stairs.

The two musicians heard an apologetic murmur from the eyebrowless boy as he was dragged along, both were also embarrassed for being like that.

With no sign of anyone else, the guitarist was the first to burst out laughing as he rested his forehead on his arm that was still entwined in the other.

“What the f*ck was that?” Fyodor said softly, surrendering to laugh a little because he was listening to the other's good laugh.

“Even I can't explain it,” Dazai said, wiping away a tear caused by his laughter.

Anyway, they still stared at each other like that for a while, with the same feeling of warmth in their core.

"Um, you know right you're going to have to sleep here tonight" Dazai said lazily taking his hands out of the lasso and resting them on the bench behind him, "It's too late to go home alone" He watched Fyodor's eyes close. realizing that what Dazai said was true.

"It is true. But I don't want to be a bother” Fyodor commented looking worried.

“Fedya is so funny” Dazai said with a smile, “Never would you be a bother” He said patting one of the hands still resting on his hip, signaling that he wanted to leave.

"Oh right" Fyodor muttered out of the way of the brunette who grabbed his gloved hand and laced it in his as he took him to the second floor.

Passing through a narrow corridor, Fyodor didn't even have time to analyze him, because when he realized he was already standing next to a door of a room that seemed to belong to Dazai, the bandage man soon entered, seeming to be looking for sheets and pillows.

A cat suddenly came out of the room meowing at the stranger who moved aside to make way for the furry one to pass.

"Do not bother yourself! C'mon!" Dazai's voice echoed in the room, calling Fyodor to enter.

"No way!" Fyodor said crossing his arms and leaning against the wall, looking at the cat that stroked his legs.

"Why not?" Dazai emerged again with pillows and blankets in his arms as he struggled to flip the light switch in his room, only to be turned off by Fyodor.

“The bedroom is the most sacred place a person could have, there are people who say it's like the entrance to the soul” Fyodor rambled as he was pulled by Dazai to the floor below.

"Um" Dazai muttered in agreement, "Ok, you sleep in the convertible chair and I sleep on the couch" The guitarist said as they both arrived in the living room, throwing everything in one of his arms onto the carpeted floor and the other still holding onto it. Fyodor's pulse.

"Alright..." Fyodor said a little disconcerted, he was really afraid of looking like a nuisance.

Dazai walked over to the armchair and dismantled it, now being a long “bed” in the middle of a room. The guitarist extended his arms to the object that he mounted with a smile on his face looking confident, the cellist smirked.

“We can watch something until we fall asleep, what do you think?” Said Dazai turning off the light in the room and turning on the TV to have lighting. Fyodor had already sat on the edge of his “bed” and picked up a very adorable plush penguin that the other brunette had brought.

Dazai automatically turned red from head to toe, “Fedya no!” He yelled when Fyodor started to laugh.

"Calm down, I just thought it was cute" Fyodor said through his laughter.

Dazai pulled the pet from the other's hands and brought it close, stroking as if he had a newborn in his arms.

"Fine, now snuggle up there" The guitarist said laying down on the couch and pulling the covers off.

Fyodor did as he was told, lying down as he pulled back a blanket, taking off his gloves and putting them in his pocket, realizing that Dazai was watching the whole thing unfold with curiosity in his eyes.

"What is it?" Fyodor said taking off his cap and ruffling his hair with his hand.

"Nothing" Dazai said quietly turning his face to the TV and hugging the penguin against his chest.

The Russian settled down.

In the middle of the night the two fell asleep, and in the midst of it their hands found each other, Fyodor swore he felt Dazai moving from the sofa purposefully lying down next to the stretched chair to be beside him. It didn't bother him. Never.

Chapter 11: Inevitable Hugs

Chapter Text

A sliver of sunlight peeked through the curtains, in the living room, the Russian was already awake, still wrapped in a blanket given to him, his legs together to his chest and his chin resting on his knees. The room had an orange tinge, the shadows entertain themselves by gossiping with each other as they fade from the walls to the floor, Fyodor's blanket had its half dragging on the floor and some of the pillows were now on the other side of the room, looking at it. , the Russian sighed turning to look at the other present in the room still heavily asleep, huddled in the corner of the sofa hugging the adorable penguin meaningfully.

'Even sleeping he manages to look like a Greek god' thought Fyodor, smiling sideways watching him distractedly.

Stealthy footsteps were heard coming from the stairs. Fyodor looked out of the corner of his eye and saw the flower boy with his green all star held against his chest with his arms. The Russian looked him up and down and then the boy discovered he was being watched, his cheekbones getting red, the albino boy closed his eyes trying to see with the light that invaded the place.

The silver-haired one quickly descended the stairs while tucking a darker strand behind his ear. “Um, good morning” Atsushi's voice was passed through Fyodor's eardrums.

“Доброе утро” Fyodor said in a gravelly tone and his apparent accent intimidated the other florist boy (just like he wanted to).

Atsushi was motionless for a brief moment before approaching the sofa and smiling shyly offering a friendly hand. Fyodor had met the boy before, he seemed nice and really a flower girl, his personality soft but something about him seemed to be much more than just this view he wanted to get across. The Russian smiled, trying to look as friendly as possible and shook the other's hand with a fear of being without the glove. 'I'm going to have to wash 26278 times and use gel alcohol so I can go on with my day normally' thought the Russian.

"Alright…um…I'm going now, let Dazai-san know if you can, who brought the lily buds he wanted, they're on the bench in Ryuu's room" The tiger boy said, pulling away from the handshake and heading towards back door, waving as he opened the door and then disappeared without letting a murmur be heard from the magenta iris brunette.

Fyodor shrugged and made the intention of appreciating Dazai's beauty again, until the almond iris were already enjoying the Russian's disheveled morning figure.

“Missed something?” The cellist said leaning his chin on his shoulder, running his fingers down his arm.

Dazai lay with one hand on his head and the other on his hip, his countenance still sleepy and lazy.

“My will to live, besides, is to go on with the day and not have you in it” The guitarist said hoarsely, sitting cross-legged.

Fyodor chuckled under his breath and continued to stand.

Dazai lowered his gaze following the Russian's bare feet until he stopped in front of him and lifted his face with one hand on his chin.

Fyodor fixed his gaze on Dazai's slender and handsome face, and he could end such a look to the point of the other blushing.

“Stop being dramatic” The Russian said quietly in a reassuring tone, knowing that even on a “I love you” paper he would still be trying to figure out what was behind it all.

Dazai's bandaged arms wrapped around the Russian's waist, still looking him in the eyes, bringing him close, a shiver ran through the cellist's body. Fyodor accepted the sudden contact, moving his hand from the other's chin to the back of his neck.

Dazai felt a comforting warmth in his core, enough to feel welcomed. Fyodor was his safe haven.

The Russian hugged him, without much ceremony, just joining their bodies and making sure that the other brunette felt all the affection and care he was giving him.

“See you at the university,” Dazai said as they parted, missing the comfort of the Russian's embrace.

Fyodor nodded as he adjusted his gloves and fumbled for his hair tie, looking very numb still from the morning touch received by Dazai. The black haired one picked up his shoes at the entrance and opened the door, when suddenly he felt the taller man's arms around his waist again, Fyodor turned to see Dazai smiling and looking pleased.

"Let's see you tomorrow idiot, just let me go" Fyodor said pulling out of the hug and heading towards the light outside.

“Noooooooo!!” Dazai exclaimed raising his hand to grab him but the door was already closing, his last sight of Fyodor being him on his back heading towards the sidewalk as he tied his hair. 'Goodbye my beautiful filthy mouse' thought the guitarist dramatically.

The boy in bandages was still propped up at the door for a long time, remembering moments that had passed and that he wished he had ahead with Fyodor, who would have thought he, Dazai Osamu having future thoughts with someone?

Abruptly the brunette was thrown forward, the door had been opened, a man in dark, neat clothes entered; the makeup stretched at the corners of his eyes slightly smudged marking his sapphire pupils, the black overcoat hanging off his shoulders, he wore a black turtleneck, leather gloves and boots, black pants, a thin chain on he usual hat, a chain across his belly along with other attachments to their thighs, and other accessories such as bracelets, piercings.

Dazai let out a sound of surprise and faked a pose of a worried mother waiting in the living room armchair for her son to return, Chuuya licked his lips while rolling his eyes already losing his peace of mind when he returned.

"Look, look, look, Chuuya... or should I say 'Red-haired partygoer'?" Dazai started before Chuuya took off like a formula 1 car up the stairs.

Dazai raised his arms in protest, following the redhead along behind.

“Your short legs are pretty useless at these times, you know Chibi?”

Chuuya didn't respond.

Dazai seemed to be more conscious that day, just crossing his arms and following him to his room.

The dancer opened a door, praying that the tallest one wouldn't go through the crack, but in a tricky way the skinny one passed without difficulty, reaching the side of the bed the redhead turned on the table lamp then taking off his hat, then the accessories he had under yourself, then going to your bathroom to look for micellar water somewhere in your toiletry bag. Dazai always following him.

Surprisingly the redhead hadn't fully shown his irritability yet but his unease was already showing.

With his makeup removed, in front of the mirror, the redhead saw the reflection of Dazai leaning against the door with his eyes lost in some distant thought.

Chuuya threw the cotton in the trash and ran his hand through the tangle of red threads, resting one hand on the sink counter and the other on his waist, the drummer bit his lip staring at the thoughtful boy.

"Hey! If you haven't noticed I'm going to take a shower, I don't want you to see my sculpted body" Chuuya exclaimed, catching Dazai's attention, who shook his head and dutifully looked at the annoyed redhead.

"Chibi" Dazai said more quietly than planned, Chuuya looked at him confused.

“Okay, just stay there in the corner and then we'll talk, okay?” Chuuya said slowly as he threw his overcoat into the laundry basket and undressed.

Dazai did as he was told and went behind the screen that divided the bathroom from the closet, sitting up against the closet, seeing only the slender shadow of the man on the other side. The brunette had been drawing since he learned what a pencil and paper was, and since he could remember, he saw Chuuya as a muse, his firmness in accepting to be drawn was very important to Dazai being his partner from previous years, that (in Dazai's mind ) strengthened their friendship. Not knowing whether or not the redhead kept the drafts that were presented, the brunette was not shaken because he knew that Chuuya had a soft heart when it came to handmade gifts, even though Dazai never said in words that the drafts were 'gifts'. .

Recalling the days gone by that he drew, Dazai pulled out a notebook that was lying on the floor with several notes of where 'Chibi' should go, after all, he was still a dancing star. With the notebook between his legs, the brunette began to scribble the figure that recorded in seconds Chuuya's curves, the sound of water falling from the shower echoed through the room and a light steam appeared along with the scent of roses and honey from the fragrances of one of the drummer bath products.

“So why are you looking so goofy?!” Chuuya asked echoingly.

Dazai thought for a moment, “Nothing!” the brunette exclaimed quickly, erasing a trace different from the direction taken by the scribble.

Chuuya laughed, "Are you telling me then that 'The boy with the pretty eyes' is nothing?!" The redhead finished laughing even more.

Dazai turned red with embarrassment, nearly breaking the tip of his pencil with too much force. "No!" The brunette said amid the redhead's laughter.

“Tell me, who is he?!” Chuuya said turning off the stream of water that fell.

“Someone special enough for you to have absolutely nothing to do with it!” Dazai said, stopping scribbling, tossing the notebook in the same place as before.

“Oh, right, right!” Chuuya said ironically, stepping out from behind the curtains and returning to Dazai's view behind the screens.

Dazai stood up, smoothing his hair into the little bun she had done.

“Hey bastard, throw me some clothes! I promise to listen to your idiocy about dinosaurs at dawn!”

“Not even with my eyes closed I would do that!” Dazai exclaimed.

Chuuya laughed even louder, it wasn't every day you could see Dazai in love.

Even though he denied it, Dazai threw some favorable options to Chuuya who deftly grabbed them in the air.

Dazai withdrew from the place as quickly as he could.

[...]

Gogol was at the door, next to him, crouched down waiting for one of the trio to arrive so they could open the door to his own house, which had been robbed of the key lying under the rug.

Fyodor stopped before slowly reaching the half-asleep Ukrainian. Not knowing what to really do, the Russian lightly kicked the clown, who staggered to the side waking up from a waking dream in a fright.

“Fedya! I thought I would never see you in my entire life!” Nikolai said theatrically with a hand resting on his chest.

“Shut up” Fyodor muttered, “Why are you outside?” The one with the magenta iris continued, slowly frowning.

“Um” Nikolai purred as he got to his feet, “Let's start at the beginning. I, Nikolai, went… yesterday! To the drama club and I ended up going to a get-together, a couple of hours later Sigma called me saying he was going to get up early in the studio, as he was editing the photos of the rehearsal he organized yesterday!” Each time the albino had the pleasure of mockingly exclaiming the word "yesterday."

“So… I came home because I was already exhausted and wanting my bed, when I realize that the key under the f*cking rug is gone… So! I thought about calling Fedya, but for some reason you didn't answer. The end!"

The cellist pretended to gawk at the clown's poignant statement. “Kolya dear, my cell phone went dead sometime during the night and for exactly the same reason I couldn't get into the house.” Fyodor continued towards the door and rummaged through his bag again.

Nikolai raised his eyebrows in agreement and went to the Russian's side. "Let's break in soon, she's really old" The albino said carelessly.

"Ok, if you want to have your limbs ripped out by Sigma and have them replace the door, feel free" Fyodor said, taking a small rusty key with a sticker labeled 'Home' and handing it to the tallest.

“Sigma is a sweetheart, he would never do that to us!” Nikolai rightly said, "Don't make fun of my boyfriend." The clown unlocked the dark green door and walked in, taking a deep breath of the homely air.

"As you wish," Fyodor said tossing his bag on the counter and heading for the cello bag leaning against the wall, taking out the bow he'd picked up earlier…with Dazai. The name mentioned in his mind made the bow drop audibly to the floor.

"Careful Fedya, we only have this one" Nikolai said mockingly as he flopped down on the couch between the cushions.

Fyodor released a middle finger and went back to picking up his bow and going to clean it, stopping in front of the porch and watching the small movement of children playing hopscotch, “I have 'Gogolphobia' you know?” The cellist continued while he was cleaning the bow of his cello.

Nikolai, who is sitting on the couch watching him, pretends to keep his head down.

Fyodor snorts and mutters something in Russian that only he and Nikolai know, and meets him going to the other side of the room he was in, and places a kiss on his forehead, still with the bow in his hand. Nikolai struggles not to smile at the act but he ends up contradicting himself, grinning from ear to ear and pulling the brunette with his sturdy arms into a hug not so tight but as far as Fyodor can bear, comfort.

‘After all, hugs aren’t so terrifying when it comes to comfortable people'.

Chapter 12: In The First Day of September Everything Changes

Chapter Text

The day was already turbulent.

The cause of everything was Chuuya, it wasn't his fault, but he woke up like a hot plate and could burn someone at any second, being then the desolate Dazai, who was pulled out of bed almost being dropped in the shower by the hurried redhead.

Not understanding anything but resulting in not arguing, because arguing with the redhead at those times was asking to be forgotten in the midst of so many words that the shorter one could recite in seconds, the bandaged brunette was now walking a few centimeters away from Chuuya, being further down the street, dragging firmly by the arm of Akutagawa, who was more lost than Dazai.

'If Chibi still doesn't have white hair in the middle of this orange nest, the Earth is flat'. thought Dazai.

Quickly scattering the thought as he bumped into the two who were previously at the front, now standing staring at the entrance hall of the theater department, looking quite distressed to see one of the notes written on a greenboard, Dazai wasn't really understanding absolutely anything at all. .

Chuuya trembled his parted lips with an expression between fright and desolation, one of his gloved hands was brought to his lips as he got closer to the painting. Akutagawa in turn, seemed stable and a slight worry passed in his gray irises, he immediately went to the redhead trying somehow to look sympathetic.

Dazai, who had been leaning against the wall all this time, yawned straightening his back and walked towards the horror show, getting close, he leaned forward with his hands on his hips and sharpened his blurry vision (from being without glasses), understanding a little of your former partner's frustration.

“Chuuya…” Dazai said almost in a whisper, realizing now that what was written on the small poster could change the dancer's life, like a ticking time bomb.

Chuuya heard someone calling him, but his mind was boiling in the midst of all the chaos that had integrated. Dazai's arms managed to easily reach the dancer and he hugged him with only one arm, trying to bring a kind of comfort, he also put his head against the other's. He was supportive today.

An internationally known performance would be presented in a few weeks, a remake of 'The Nutcracker' where Chuuya would be a main dancer and perform, as well as Akutagawa would also do the same. Until then it was just flowers, but everything changed with a piece of paper nailed with colored clips to a board, on which he heartily recited:

“Dear Actors, Dancers, Producers, Musicians, and Extras;
Unfortunately, we had to cancel our college's big 'Nutcracker' show. We ask for your understanding that we are having problems on our stage, where a renovation that was being processed ended up
being stopped, as one of the workers fell seriously from the light that was poorly adjusted.

Again we apologize profusely,

Unfortunately, Coordinators and Board. ”

Dazai was going to be at this show, under the stage, being one of the violinists, it seemed to be just a common thing when he was called to the performance, but this invitation could have meant a lot to a novice or someone who simply had faith in himself.

After the uproar, Chuuya broke free from Dazai's "embrace" and went inside a rehearsal room, still in shock, with Akutagawa soon going after a glass of water for the redhead (or even for himself), and the brunette looked around a little lost, without this being his department it was something completely different, even for the redhead and the one without eyebrows it was more practical to walk around and that's because they arrived in a few weeks.

[...]

In another place, it wasn't much different either.

Nikolai made breakfast early as he was up early, which resulted in a small fire, waking Sigma and Fyodor. In a short time it was resolved, Sigma was startled at first, but soon shouted for Nikolai to get the fire extinguisher inside the closet, but mysteriously the clown said that there was nothing there and had already used it before.

It all resulted in: a burnt pan, rock-hard scrambled eggs, a damaged stovetop, and a bewildered Nikolai.

As soon as Fyodor saw that the situation was down, he did everything he normally does in the morning before going to college, finally taking his huge bag that held his cello and walking back into the living room. Before saying goodbye to his two friends, Nikolai rushed out of his room with a bag on his side looking full, the brunette was curious but still rolled his eyes and headed outside.

“Dos-kun!” Gogol shouted for the Russian, who was already in the hallway.

“Fyodor! Wait!" Sigma appeared right next to the clown, calling out to him.

Fyodor being taken in the spotlight, he turned around putting his huge bag on the floor and pulling out his left earphone, his face clearly impatiently written. Nikolai stopped in front of him just like Sigma, the bicolor started,

"Kolya will go with you today" Sigma said as he tucked his huge hair into a messy bun.

"Yes, I will go with you today!" Nikolai said smiling as he brushed his bangs from his face, showing off his hospital eye patch with a black permanent brush heart design.

Fyodor exhaled a deep breath, “May I know why? You never went to college after all that” the brunette continued, respectively looking at the couple in front of him.

"Well, finally Kolya has recovered enough to go to class again, that's good, Fyodor." Sigma said a little nonchalantly with his arms crossed.

Nikolai just nodded and threw his arms back.

“Okay, okay. But don't disturb me in any way, today is important” Fyodor said firmly with a finger resting on the albino's chest, immediately agreeing.

Sigma watched them for a short while and then stood between them, "Thanks, Fedya" the bicolor said addressing Fyodor, then giving a subtle kiss on his cheek running his hand through the Russian's loose strands, "And you, be more amazing than naturally Kolya can be, okay?” The photographer said addressing his boyfriend who then gave a chaste kiss on his lips and smiled slightly with his lips glued together.

The bicolor walked away and waved good-bye to them both and walked back into the loft. Fyodor stood still for a brief moment until he remembered that he was late and was hastily picking up his bag and heading down the stairs, Gogol had no choice but to follow him and accompany him in the same way so he wouldn't get lost, as he just went only three times for the theater department. . .

[...]

In the rehearsal room, Chuuya had stabilized, sitting on the floor with his legs stretched out to the sides and hands flat on the floor behind him supporting him, having previously already changed his clothes into his rehearsal attire; a fitted black blouse with medium sleeves, black leggings, light-colored ballet shoes, and his black choker. Akutagawa was sitting on the other side of the room, leaning against the wall, properly in Chuuya's exact clothes (taking off the choker), absently browsing his cell phone. Dazai had made himself comfortable with a yoga mat, lying carefree on it with his arms behind his head for a pillow, looking up at the white ceiling and now and then at the redhead who stood in front of the many mirrors spread across the single wall.

The brunette realized not only that the dancer felt a great misfortune to have missed an important performance that would add a lot of prestige to his future career, but also everything seemed to be a main basis of pressure, perhaps family, or personal, Dazai did not know, but he didn't want to sound so insensitive and ask the drummer everything in the can.

Chuuya lifted his gaze to the mirror and closed his eyes, taking a deep breath.

“It could be a really crazy idea” The redhead started, “But I think with all this we can create our own show.” A glimmer of hope passed through the bright blue irises.

Akutagawa seemed to be perplexed for a moment before he thought for a bit and slowly shook his head, "How would that work?" The eyebrowless one questioned.

“Okay, think about it, Brat” Chuuya began, “With the advisors I have, we can form something at least watchable. I can't guarantee anything, but is it possible that I came to this sh*tty place for no purpose? This has got to be a win! Because 'they' would come and watch me..." The red-haired dancer said with conviction until he failed his line at the end and lowered his head placing both hands on either side of his head, ruffling his hair a little.

Dazai was quiet but he definitely knew he was talking about those friends of his from Yokohama, the ones he pulled away for a millisecond and in that time they were all gone, with his older brother's only explanation, “Don't worry little brother, they just go there and when you didn't notice they're back. Now focus on the training, okay?”. The brunette had to keep to himself the feeling of repulsion towards the other's blond brother after this happened, after all, would it be so difficult to explain that the friends had traveled far after having made their own plans? Yes it was difficult, for the 16 year old Chuuya it was, and will continue to be.

No one needed to go help the redhead to his feet until he himself scrambled to his feet, tired, and turned to the silver-haired one.

“Are you with me on this one?” Chuuya said powerfully.

"Of course, you can count on me" Akutagawa said throwing his cell phone into his bag and going to the redhead.

The dancers looked at each other and nodded firmly at each other, a thin layer of partnership already formed was slowly being strengthened, Dazai could see that.

The guitarist was looking at what was happening, without changing his expression, he tilted his head seeing the entire room upside down, suddenly the sound of the door having its latch open awakened the senses of everyone who looked at the door. A tall, long-haired figure appeared appearing to be accompanied by someone else, instructing that person.

“This is the PM room, a dance room… what are you doing here?” Kunikida changed his tone as he saw other silhouettes inside the room, “What are 'you' doing here? Dazai, you should be in the music hall” The blonde said gruffly with half-closed eyes in the direction of the dark-haired boy lying down.

Dazai smiled at Kunikida and turned around to properly meet his friend's green irises, "Ah Kunikida, that's not how it works" The brunette said rouge with his arms supporting his chin.

“You're going crazy” The one with the glasses accused massaging his temple.

"Now, I'm..." Dazai said, seeing the Russian in the distance, looking tired, and a taller albino boy with a certain fear.

The brunette he'd seen him a few times picking up Fyodor from the music department, they seemed to be close and had something intriguing that connected them.

The cellist reached halfway through the door and looked at the group of people gathered in that room.

“So…” Fyodor raised an eyebrow “Will there be rehearsal or not? Why are there just…you guys here?” He said uncertainly, dropping the cello in the corner and walking forward with his arms crossed.

Chuuya sighed wearily, placing a hand on his head.

"It's all been canceled" Kunikida said looking at the boy with the magenta iris.

Fyodor was surprised but a little pleased, he didn't exactly want to have to take center stage again, but that performance could give him some handling of the possible future shows he would have.

“Wow…” Nikolai exasperated with the same reaction as Fyodor, “Just the day I decided to come to rehearse, the whole thing is canceled, what a beauty thing” The albino said with a wry smile.

Chuuya looked up noticing the albino at the door, a light in him came on.

“Oh, you who are the performer?” The redhead walked quickly until he was in front of the confused Ukrainian, who nodded in agreement. Chuuya gaped and smirked, he kept looking in a random corner seeming to be thinking about something deep, pacing back and forth with that exact expression.

Dazai couldn't help but watch each other's actions, finally getting up off the ground, cracking his ribs and stretching.

“C'mon Chibi, you're going crazy” The guitarist said lazily, “It's possible to make this happen, but will everyone else besides us want to join in?”

Some went into a trance in shock and others were thoughtful, Chuuya stopped for a while and looked angrily at Dazai.

“Dazai…” The dancer started but broke off with his own pride “f*ck if people are still interested or not. This is all college entertainment, but for me and some other people it's a career mission, and I won't forever depend on my idiot brother who thinks I'm going to ditch the job I did to get here and back to Yokohama, to be having intense workouts without any exact reward that can change my perception of the dance world!” Chuuya spoke with a shaky voice and red eyes.

Dazai didn't say anything, just stared at the speaker. The brunette was no longer easily shaken by the dynamite that Chuuya directed at him, this was different now, it seemed more like he was saying it to believe in himself.

Nikolai was the first to act, walking up behind Fyodor and whispering in his ear without the headset, "This all sounds like a Mexican soap opera." The Russian had to bite his lip to keep from laughing.

Kunikida exchanged glances between the two ex-partners and clapped his hands together for everyone to hear.

“Nothing will be solved if we do nothing!” The blonde said in a serious tone, "What this can result in is just stupid fights and you'll end up being stupid after all, not making a show of it and losing your friendships!" .

Kunikida walked up to Chuuya and placed her hands on the younger's shoulders, looking him in the eyes. “This is especially true for you. Think hard about what you want to do, it may come at a very high price, not only in money but also for yourself, if pushing too hard will not lead you to a magical dance path.” The bespectacled one stopped, taking a deep breath, "I can say I'm with you on this one, I can keep running those two freaks over there..." He indicated to the two musicians in the room, "Whatever you're planning but don't lose your sanity over it, You are too young".

The blond man walked away from the dancer in a trance state and went to Dazai's side. The reality check was directed at Chuuya but it ended up serving everyone, entering the world of Art could be more intrusive than a thorn entering a sensitive skin.

The redhead took a deep, shaky breath and looked at the small crowd.

“Okay, this will happen one way or another” The dancer placed his hands on his hips, “What might be hardest about this is going to be my stress spikes as I’m going to make the show happen” He said firmly looking omnipotent .

“Does anyone want to get out of this?! ” Chuuya questioned in a lower, softer tone.

Waiting around minutes for everyone to agree, some there had their enthusiasm more than Chuuya. Each joined the groups they belonged to; Dazai, Fyodor and Kunikida as the musicians and Chuuya, Gogol and Akutagawa as the dancers/performers.

"We will go to the music department in search of some necessary instruments and we will return as soon as possible" Kunikida pronounced and headed for the door, the two other musicians looked at each other, shrugged and followed the taller one with their hands in their pockets. Leaving behind the dancers and a room full of proposals and hopes that their definitive careers could take a different direction as they accomplished the greatest feat of their lives, putting together a show impressive enough to draw the attention of larger companies and accept the interior. artistry of each, which is more important.

After crossing the campus, the three arrived at the music department. Dazai kept trying to get Fyodor's attention from time to time, but the black haired man just glared at him and went on his way. Fyodor felt that in the end he would have a bigger role than he imagined, Kunikida had been in charge of instructing them but still the Russian had more experience in this since he was 10 years old, but for now the recommended thing was to lower his head and just play the cello until someone powerful enough thought of our possibility.

Arriving at a huge dark hall, only the stage light being the lighting, with red upholstered chairs, and a huge oak stage, the boys descended the stairs of the third floor of the hall and reached the lower part of the stage where the due was. instruments. Instinctively they each took what they needed and went up to the stage, Kunikida stayed below anyway for being the pianist. The two musicians from above eventually met each other's glares anyway, it was getting weird, Fyodor felt a certain tension but not much, Dazai seemed more euphoric and a little anxious? There could be something going through that head.

Before formulating his thoughts on the guitarist, the pianist below let out a high note to get their attention.

"We'll do it like we always did" The blonde said looking at them, "But I need Fyodor to be the first..." The pianist said with some embarrassment.

Fyodor sighed, perhaps from relief, perhaps from pressure, but he set the cello's bow on the easel and walked over to the conductor's bench. The Russian has led an orchestra before, at age 16, it was different back then because he had the support of his old teacher, but now he was 20 years old and without a teacher helping him.

'This shouldn't be that bad' The Russian stated to himself confidently. Moving forward, the boy with the magenta irises picked up the scores and analyzed them one by one, the other two musicians' anxious eyes watching the Russian's every move.

"No." Fyodor said in denial and with a tremor in his voice, "Unfortunately this is too much for me, I can't go through this again..." The Russian added, bringing a hand behind the back of his head.

"Oh yes..." Kunikida muttered looking at the floor, "Alright I can do that anyway" The blonde said walking back to the piano in search of his sheet music and heading back to the conductor's bench.

Fyodor moved to the side and bumped into Dazai, who held him lucidly with both hands on the Russian's shoulders and smiled weakly. The cellist looked at him with embarrassment shining in his irises, slowly pulling away from the other and nodding in thanks. It was still something new to have the warmth of another person who was her crush on the ground with her heartbroken.

Kunikida didn't even notice the butterflies already loose where she was, delicate new butterflies from both violinists' core.

The rehearsal started as it always started. Dazai got the wrong notes but just said he was off-kilter, in fact he was looking at the sinful image of the Russian playing his dark cello.

“Damn Dazai, fifth time already!” Kunikida said angrily removing his glasses and placing them over his head, complaining about the bandages' lack of attention.

Dazai was a little disconcerted, especially when he heard the Russian chuckle. 'Is he doing this on purpose?' The guitarist thought leaving the formation pose to play the violin, getting a sulky face. Fyodor rested his head on the cello, unable to control his laughter. Kunikida could only watch with a curiosity and irritation running through her being.

"I huh..." The blonde muttered, getting their attention again with another high note and then everyone playing in unison.

It was a total of 2 hours of rehearsal, one hour they managed to focus on their tasks and played perfectly, as always. Dazai received a message from Chuuya calling them to the rehearsal room, the brunette frowned, 'Is it possible that Chibi has already lost his temper? Or has everything been resolved?' It crossed the guitarist's head.

“Chuuya is calling us to the rehearsal room” Pronounced Dazai answering the redhead with an emoji “😕👍”.

"OK? Come on, we're done, right?” Fyodor said with some doubt, looking at the blonde now standing adjusting his glasses on his face.

"Yes, let's go" Kunikida said taking her green notebook and leaving the hall.

The other two picked up their respective sheet music and went right behind their mentor.

“What a disgrace!” A high-pitched female voice was heard as the three musicians stepped into the hall of the rehearsal room.

Entering there, they saw the same people as before, except for a girl of average height and striking red hair (almost red) in long braids. The girl glared at them as they entered, crossing her arms as she walked to the other side of the room. Chuuya no longer looked so shaken, he seemed a little more mature about his idea and just took a deep breath with the girl's reaction, seeing that the others who were waiting arrived, he went to them.

"How it was?" The dancer asked the three.

“Well… we didn't change anything from the usual so it was good” Kunikida was the first to speak.

“But Dazai kept getting distracted the entire rehearsal,” Fyodor said in a low accusing tone, glancing sideways at Dazai, looking for the guitarist's reaction.

Dazai was still looking at the shorter one in front of him, but he was biting his lower lip, breaking through the sudden urge that suddenly appeared at the reminder of the Russian playing that cello fully…

Kunikida coughed, clearing his throat trying to ease the silence that stretched out.

“However, we still rehearse.” The blonde said looking at the new girl and another boy next to him next to Akutagawa.

"And around here, how's it going?" Dazai's melodious, gravelly voice was heard after so long.

Chuuya scratched his hair and indicated to the new girl, "She's the one in more denial than I was before..." The redhead said quietly, staying just between the four of them.

Nikolai, when he saw Fyodor, went straight towards him, jumping into his arms, circling him without much explanation. The Russian didn't even have time to reject it. The clown stood behind Fyodor, his chin on his shoulder and his arms around his waist. Gogol's rehearsal attire differed from the other dancers only by the loose red silk robe, black and white striped leggings.

"Hey!" Chuuya caught everyone's attention, who surrounded the dancer.

“I called some who were in the other department rehearsing to say I had an idea for the show!” The redhead picked up a clipboard from who knows where, "Let's do a shadow show!" He looked around at the whole throng of people, who were confused at first but soon became distressed.

"How will it work? If we're going to make a shadow one, we'd have to change the theme…” Fyodor started to say and in the end then understood what Chuuya was planning.

The redhead arched a smug brow and a confident smile at Fyodor. "He understood? It wouldn't make any sense to continue with the 'Nutcracker' theme if that was precisely what the college proposed."

“So how will it work?” A boy with silver hair and dark locks asked uncertainly.

Chuuya turned towards him, “I already formulated the entire synopsis and at least the title. We will make a legend, a fictional one that for some reason seemed familiar to me…” The redhead twisted his smile as he remembered the tingling sensation as he put his thoughts on paper, “Well, it will be called 'The Tiger Under the Moonlight', and as the synopsis is not yet fully formulated… It will be as follows based on what I have written so far, 'A tiger-man is reborn under a cold night of blue moonlight, on the bank of a river, where a girl had invoked him with quotes from an ancient poem written by such, and was found by the girl in a chest mysteriously hidden on the outskirts of the barn of her residence.' The story will tell about how the tiger-man discovers truths about himself in addition to uncertainly feeling human emotions again infected his wild heart. ”

Everyone was amazed at the redhead's ability to create something so well formed in a few hours, it was admirable.

Dazai went to Chuuya in the middle of the circle and peeked behind him to analyze the scriptures on the clipboard, seeing in the corner past what he already suspected.

“Chibi, my drawing that inspired you to do the shadow presentation?” Dazai whispered in Chuuya's ear.

The redhead, in turn, pretended not to have heard anything, continuing to adjust some drafts.

“For now I will only encourage you to continue practicing your due duties, as I still don't have a symphony or choreography for the thing. As soon as possible I will notify you of any updates. Kunikida! Come here!" The dancer warned them, commanding everything succinctly and very expertly for a first time, finally calling out to the bespectacled blonde.

Next to Chuuya, not only was Dazai glued to his neck reading between the lines, but he had three other kids in front of him eager (Chuuya named them; Brat #1, Brat #2 and Brat #3). The girl placed one hand on her hip and the other anxiously running her fingers through one of the braids.

“Nakahara-san, can I change the character I'm playing?” The girl said too impatiently and irritated in the extreme.

Chuuya looked at her tiredly, "By God, I feel like a finished British director" muttered the redhead slamming the clipboard into Dazai's chest, taking him by surprise.

“Miss Montgomery, why do you want to change interpreters so badly?” Chuuya asked with her hands together like she was talking to a child, which irritated the braided redhead.

"I don't want to be this goddamn goof's girlfriend here!" The ballerina exclaimed dramatically, pointing to the silver-haired, black-haired boy beside her, who looked at her with disdain.

“Now is that it?!” Atsushi exclaimed with his arms on his waist.

The girl understood this as an act of debauchery against her person, facing the florist the girl made an intimidating frown, before she could curse him somehow, Chuuya waved a hand at them.

"Hey? All is well? So that won't be possible, we'd have to take everyone out of their definitive places, because I've already done ALL the planning” The redhead said with a calm face and an intimidating voice, which made even Dazai shiver a little.

"Understand Miss Lucy, then we won't have any other way, so better this way because we would be doing a favor even for Chu...Nakahara-san" Atsushi said with a calm and touching voice. To his surprise, the braided redhead snorted and turned around, throwing her hairdo directly into the albino's face, “Nakajima Atsushi! Never dare call me by my first name!” Lucy yelled from across the room.

"Oh...I'm sorry Miss Lucy Montgomery!" Atsushi said innocently in a louder tone for the girl to hear him. Dazai laughed into Chuuya's neck.

The girl stomped her heavy foot on the floor, her face the intense color of her hair.

“You make me sick! Nakajima Atsushi!” Lucy yelled at the florist but everyone turned to look, the girl left the place going to the water fountains.

Atsushi, in turn, looked at the two ex-partners beside him and made a doubtful expression, exhaling: 'What have I done?', with his arms raised.

Dazai stopped laughing only when Chuuya stomped on his foot so heavily that the brunette screamed in pain. The redhead glared at him and snatched the clipboard from his arms, leaving dragging Kunikida by the arm.

The guitarist crept with his arms in his sweatshirt pockets to the cellist now alone, leaning against the wall cleaning his bow.

“Only I will always be the one to start our conversations?” Dazai questioned in a tone only he and Fyodor could hear.

The Russian frowned with a small smile forming, “Until you stop acting like a dog after what you want, yes.”

Dazai pondered, leaning against the wall beside the cellist.

“That was very strangely specific Dostoyevsky” Punctuated the chocolate curls, “It's not my fault if you can be f*cking splendid even playing an instrument” The guitarist confessed with no trace of weakness.

Fyodor stopped cleaning the bow to look at the beautiful figure at his side, eyes dark and mysterious but with a hint of light, that trait was the white outfit Fyodor wore. Only he reflected in those clouded irises.

The two stared at each other long enough for them to feel embarrassed and turned away, stifling intrusive laughter, wanting only to silence both thoughts and regrets with a passionate kiss.

Some voices were heard outside the room, Dazai leaned forward to see through the crack in the door, seeing Chuuya say goodbye to each of the members of the newest show and walk away…?

“Chibi forgot us?!” Dazai said gaping.

Fyodor laughed in surprise, "Wow, you're pretty special to him, you know?" The Russian said mocking the poor abandoned boy in bandages.

"If it's meant to be, then so be it" Dazai exclaimed, taking Fyodor's hand and pulling him away.

The Russian let it happen without any hindrance, it was Dazai.

Wandering through the corridors now lit by the fluorescent yellow lights of the theater department, the two musicians had crept hand in hand that night looking for a way out. Fyodor in a moment stopped, shoving Dazai roughly who was dragging him in front.

"What…? Has Fedya gone mad?” Dazai asked looking him up and down.

Fyodor was now the one dragging Dazai to a door that had access to the campus, objectively also leading out of college.

[...]

Right after passing the campus and walking through the intact streets, both musicians stopped in front of a sign, to rest, they were sedentary, ok?

Dazai took a deep breath stretching out his arms, Fyodor did the same. On the Russian's wrist was a watch, which read exactly 23:28 PM.

“It's late as f*ck” The Russian told Dazai that he had his hands on his spleen and his eyes were downcast with fatigue.

“I imagine” Dazai said, as he looked forward a glimmer of light flickered in his eyes, “Fedya would you agree to sleep at my house again?” The brunette proposed.

Fyodor looked in the same direction as Dazai and saw the street of identical houses on which one in particular the one with bandages resided. Without much choice the Russian sighed heavily, nodding in agreement.

Dazai smiled and suddenly created a new battery to walk quickly as he dragged Fyodor past the people who were walking around at that time, heading to their definitive homes in the condominium.

[...]

The same happened the last time he was here, the only difference was that Dazai gave him a “pajamas”; a dark gray 'Arctic Monkeys' ripped blouse defining her almost bare collarbone, light pink sweatpants with blue cloud designs, and black socks to keep from getting cold; and asked him to sleep in his room, Fyodor refused hundreds of times but the guitarist called him thousands of times.

After doing all the basics at night, Fyodor was leaning against the wall next to the bathroom door of Dazai's room, who was inserting a small pill into his mouth, swallowing it with bitterness plastered on his face, but soon falling apart and showing a face. smiling at the Russian standing next to him.

“Want to do something before bed?” the guitarist asked as he exited the bathroom turning off the light.

Fyodor muttered negatively shaking his head.

"Then nothing?" Dazai asked confused, stopping in front of Fyodor.

Fyodor did the same actions as before.

Dazai shrugged and turned to go to the double bed, standing beside her turning on a lamp to get a better view of the Russian's face.

Fyodor approached Dazai, close enough to see each eyelash, not far enough to just see the boy's silhouette. The guitarist looked at the cellist tenderly.

"I can...?" the boy in bandages asked quietly.

Fyodor took a moment to respond, just being sure when he looked intently at the taller's incessantly attractive lips.

“Of course” The Russian asked, his voice barely getting out, his hands clasped and his gaze followed the graceful action of the guitarist, who tucked a loose strand of Fyodor's messy ponytail behind his ear and placed his palm between the lobe of his forehead. ear and your jaw.

The silence was established, only the breath of both approaching could be heard, the intense beats of their hearts were in chorus. When Dazai felt Fyodor's breath close to his face, he finally realized that indeed the Russian's irises were matched by the burgundy tones, a detail so visible yet so hidden by those who couldn't get close enough to his face.

Dazai slowly sealed his lips, feeling another sense within him, a passion shattering all remaining lingering uncertainties, he had fallen in love with his considerable rival.

The two jerked away, both with their cheeks so red they looked like they wanted to catch fire.

"You kissed me?!"

"I KISSED YOU?!"

Fyodor laughed, covering his face, muttering a "Oh my god". Dazai followed him and laughed nervously, hugging himself, waited a few minutes until the nervous laughter stopped and asked.

"Again? I don't think I got the idea of the thing” Dazai said brazenly with a crooked smile. Fyodor rolled his eyes, "I am in disbelief with your ability to be so flirtatious" The Russian said approaching the bandage again, putting his feet almost on top of the other's.

“Oh! Fyodor Dostoyevsky calling me a flirt?! It's going to snow hard tonight—” Dazai was interrupted by a hot kiss, still unsure how to do it just like Fyodor, but the two of them made it work, both following movements that complemented each other subtly, making them dizzy with desire to have them. those lips on yours for so long.

Dazai's arms went around Fyodor's waist and the hand that was on Dazai's cheek moved to the other's collarbone, which with the slightest movement weakened the guitarist and made him fall onto the bed behind him. Dazai smiled mid-kiss and started to laugh at Fyodor's reaction, his eyes wide with shock.

"Look what you're doing, see..." Fyodor pointed with an index finger on the tip of the other's nose.

"Relax my dear, nothing you don't want I would never do, even if Andrew Garfield begged me" The bandage boy said stroking Fyodor's waist.

“I would if I were Andrew Garfield.” Fyodor said smiling at the guitarist's astonished reaction.

Before Dazai could give his opinion on it (which could have gone on for hours), Fyodor adjusted himself to stand next to the guitarist, lying on his side with one ungloved hand running over the facial features of the boy in love in front of him, it didn't take long. for Dazai to stay like the other, passing one leg to link with the other and getting closer to the cellist's face, who stopped an index finger between his lips drawn in a smile.

“You're beautiful, Dazai” Fyodor said astonished, anything other than the guitarist he wouldn't even pay his attention to such a thing.

Dazai watched Fyodor's delighted face, blushing in response.

The Russian noticed the way the brunette was embarrassed for more than just a reason to overhear the person he liked saying it directly, with his name being said at the end. Taking his finger from the other's lips, Fyodor placed his hand on the mattress and kissed Dazai gently, who responded in a few seconds, intertwining his hand with Fyodor's vacant hand.

Kissing him would bring problems, because he wouldn't know how to stop, lust would consume him completely, delay all his tasks. But what the hell he would be kissing his lover, reveling in the way his rosy lips fit with his, the way he snuggled him, the way he looked at him tenderly.

The two separated only after feeling short of breath, looking at each other next to each other, lying together in the same space. Dazai swiped a furtive hand to loosen Fyodor's dark hair, which graced the white sheets with scattered black threads.

“I'll never want to lose you” Dazai said softly, tracing his fingers through the black strands fondly.

"We'll never lose each other Dazai, I found what I've waited my whole life for in you, I finally felt something not just momentary and insignificant, but something true and that... I'll never want away from me." Fyodor said in a low tone comforting the bandaged boy, stroking the corner of Dazai's face with one hand.

'To touch him is so irresistible...' thought the Russian, amazed at himself.

Dazai snuggled into the other's affection and snuggled his head close to the other's collarbone, just like the time they were in the kitchen earlier.

From that day on everything changed for the two of them, the caresses and skills they guarded from each other were shown in naked flesh, now being themselves, who they wanted to be, and who they wanted to have. Each other.

Chapter 13: "Good morning, Fedya"

Chapter Text

The feeling of comfort was present in both boys who were lying next to each other. Not even counting a lifetime, they never had such a good night's sleep, especially Fyodor, who hardly got to sleep at appropriate times.

They at some point woke up, Dazai was the first. The time was already approaching midday, but that didn't matter, the heater in the corner of the room was still on, the tricolor cat had stealthily entered the room at dawn and was now sleeping soundly between the guitarist's and the sleeping cellist's feet.

Dazai slowly opened his eyes, still wary of waking up, looking completely comfortable being cuddled with Fyodor. The brunette groaned lazily, squirming as he stretched, when without realizing it, he ended up slapping a stray hand on the sleeper's chin, with an "Auch!" the Russian woke up unexpectedly.

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" begged Dazai, turning to look directly into the Russian's face, placing a firming hand on the other's chest and the other on the slender cheek.

Fyodor muttered a few things in Russian and finally looked at the disheveled boy, looking for the reason why Dazai was so moved by this incident.

"What…? Good morning…?” The Russian muttered as he tried to brush the messy bangs off his face.

“Good morning, Fedya” The guitarist for some reason got emotional with the “Good morning”, smiling simply at the boy in front of him, gently pushing back the cellist's bangs and kissing every corner of his pale face.

Fyodor smiled weakly at Dazai's gesture. One hand pulled the guitarist closer to him, the other was undecided between hugging him or holding his face, finally, he found his way to the other's neck, deciding to gently hold him there, catching the attention of the one with chocolate curls, the one with the magenta iris studied the way Dazai's eyes drank with his lips and slowly sealed them.

Not even if they had a clock that told when they actually stopped reveling in each other's presence, they only became alert when Chuuya's voice passed through the halls. Dazai sloppily got off Fyodor, and let him out, quickly going after his original clothes and removing the ones that belonged to the guitarist. Saying goodbye with a lot of resignation, Dazai managed to detach from Fyodor's already reddened lips and guide him to the window of his room, there was an iron balcony and a ladder that led to another balcony and so he would reach the backyard. Fyodor almost suffered a high-scale fall but was faster and leaned against the iron fence, smiling one last time at Dazai and the other returning him with a kiss thrown in the air, he went down the stairs and reached the ground floor without anyone noticed your presence.

[...]

Fyodor was already expecting complaints from Nikolai about leaving him outside, but when he arrived in the hallway of his apartment, no one was at the door and it was properly opened. An intuition stirred the cellist, little by little arriving in front of the door, bumping into Atsushi.

“Excuse me Fyodor?…Dostoyevsky? I don't know what to call him” The boy in the florist's apron said embarrassed, he was holding a cardboard box with several cardboards of paper similar to the ones Sigma used to texture the photos.

The bicolor appeared with another box in one arm and the other had his hand busy with a cell phone that was quickly dialed, realizing the presence that had been absent from Fyodor, Sigma smiled at him and approached.

“Fyodor! where have you been? Nikolai almost called the police” Sigma said good-naturedly.

Fyodor raised his eyebrows, "Why does Gogol treat me like an obsessive fanatic?" the Russian asked.

Sigma rolled his eyes and motioned for Atsushi to continue on his way, following close behind.

"Where are you going?!" Fyodor asked in a loud voice sticking his head out.

“With the turn of the show, I decided to help Chuuya!” The photographer said out loud.

Fyodor frowned. “Since when have you been close to Chuuya?!” the brunette asked.

“Ah, a little bird that told me!” It was the last thing Sigma said before heading downstairs with the florist.

The Russian shrugged and went into the house, ‘Do I take a shower? I don't want to take away his scent…' thought the brunette, sniffing the coat he was wearing. If Fyodor could, he could feel the feel of Dazai beside him again, feel his breath close to his again, the heat his hesitant lips passed between kissing him or laughing at the new sensation.

'It's been ages since I took a cigarette, I was so addicted that bastard Dazai left me'.

[...]

Chuuya had his face buried in his books, an awkward bun held up by a pen and thoughts about the dance steps had been flooding his head since dawn. It was being complicated, but not the seven-headed monster that everyone made him out to be, especially his brother, the redhead had a unique reach when it came to sticking to what he believed in. The hopes of a scenario were already being raised when Sigma and Atsushi arrived in the great rehearsal hall, the bicolor's astute countenance awakened more ways of seeing than he imagined, a huge plan like a cloth giving the vision of shadows to the crowd, the golden lighting accentuating the silhouettes, Chuuya seriously thought about the possibility of one day becoming a theater director.

Chuuya's concentration dispersed only when the image of a red-haired woman entered the room with a wide smile on her lips drawn by a striking red lipstick.

“Chuuya!!” The woman yelled at him with open arms.

Chuuya didn't even think twice when she realized that he ran to the tallest's arms and threw himself into her warm embrace on that cold day.

“Oh my god Chuuya! You are no longer that little boy I could squeeze like a teddy bear!” The red-haired woman said holding on to keep from falling as she hugged her little brother.

Chuuya when he noticed that he was being watched by different people, he became uncertain and stopped the hug adjusting his clothes.

"Um…uh…welcome Ane-san" The redhead said looking at the floor and with a low voice.

The model chuckled softly, "Thank you, Nakahara" The woman said wryly.

"How weird" Another dark haired woman commented looking at the two brothers, this was Yosano Akiko, Chuuya's sister's girlfriend.

"That's brotherly love, love, you wouldn't understand" Kouyou said laughing softly with Chuuya joining in.

The brunette looked more amazed and just rolled her eyes tossing her short hair, walking into the rehearsal space. The woman had great artistic taste as well, being one of Yokohama's best-known tattoo artists, not only because her designs and tattoos were enviable, but because of her longtime fame as a doctor who mysteriously abandoned her job one day; her clothes were definitive of her personality; an enormous black leather roll-up sleeves overcoat covered her white top that read 'She's a damn Lesbian', black high-waisted pants, big black heeled boots, delicate accessories for half her bare arm taken by a few tattoos, and her hairstyle. attaching two strands to a beautiful golden butterfly clip; the ex-doctor had a very admirable jaw-dropping beauty.

Chuuya already knew her when he went to get his first piercing out of sheer rebellion, she was hard on him for being very impolite with his relatives, especially his sister (Chuuya thinks they already had some thing since that time), but in a few minutes of conversation became intimate as if they had known each other since childhood and even exchanged phone numbers to meet in bars later.

Kouyou and Yosano is a mystery to Chuuya, however, the two seem to have a strong and lasting relationship, which the redhead admired a lot for his sister who changed women as well as changing makeup, finding someone considered even as his soulmate is something rare and should be well appreciated.

The tattoo artist came back drinking a cup of coffee, walking towards the dancer with an arm outstretched to hug him soon after, the redhead reciprocated by resting his head on the woman's shoulder and a hand on her waist.

“I missed you honey, and the wine addiction took a break?” Yosano said walking away still with a hand on the drummer's shoulder.

Chuuya sneered at her for mentioning that.

“Oh, I see not. That means we'll still be able to meet in bars here in this place” The tattoo artist said smiling, tapping the redhead firmly on the shoulder.

They at some point entered the hall, and Chuuya explained almost the whole situation and introduced the place to the people who were there. The women could not fail to be impressed by the dancer's accuracy, hence Kouyou, who was afraid that her younger brother would forever be scolded by Verlaine, but Nakahara Chuuya should never be doubted.

Chapter 14: Golden Boy

Chapter Text

"Aaah, what an injustice…!!"

"Don't complain because it makes me worse."

Dazai and Chuuya turned back to the vision in front of them.

It turns out that the redhead made himself understood that everyone should rehearse scheduled days and punctual times, everything was going well, until Lucy and Atsushi argued again. Most of the times it was because of a blunder, other times because of the tiger boy's fault, which were more present.

Lucy had one hand over the flower girl's ear who was screaming in agony.

"You are aware of the important role you are playing, Atsushi!" Lucy said almost screaming, every second the boy didn't respond, the grip on his ear warped more.

"We all make these mistakes! After all, I haven't played for months!" The tiger boy defends himself by trying to get out of punishment.

The redhead snorted. "Oh, your problem!"

"You don't boss me around!" Atsushi yelled at some point.

Lucy was staring at him with her jaw dropped, her clear eyes glaring at him. The florist boy regretted what he said, and the moment he did, he fled without a second thought running towards the exit, stumbling over Kunikida who was passing with some boxes of sheet music.

"What happened to 'Miss'?! Nakajima Atsushi I will kill you today!" The girl followed him screaming, her braids flying with his movement, then nothing more was seen of their whereabouts.

Chuuya and Dazai sighed, it was exhausting to see this kind of behavior in others.

"Now I understand how Hirotsu felt when I was going to do school projects at your house" Dazai said absently.

Chuuya shook his head in disbelief but a laugh escaped his lips, remembering the days when he was a teenager.

Dazai stopped and looked around, frowning he said softly. “Musicians not coming today?”

“Dazai.”

"I?"

“The only musicians that we have, is you, the four eyes and the vampire.”

Dazai snorted and turned to leave, "Asking is no offense."

The dancer crossed his arms, rolling his eyes and following to where the blonde was.

"Let's see here." Chuuya crouched down next to Kunikida who stiffened at the other's presence.

The plans were soon thrown on the floor, the papers were placed like this because the organizer thought he would be able to expand the visions of the show further.

[...]

On the second floor balcony, Dazai was smoking an old joint left in a pocket he didn't even remember, a symphony that wasn't even about bringing a violin again passed before his eyes, he remembered the boy from ushanka again, he remembered of what his posture was like playing that huge instrument but as delicate as a cherry blossom petal falling under the water.

The brunette dropped the cigarette on the floor and stepped on it, slowly putting out the cigarette, the cigarette he hoped wasn't the same as the emotion he felt for Fyodor. The boy had been her only hope lately, the rope that pulled her anchor, the flash of memory that she lived, he was everything, that could never disappear.

Would that happen to him? 'I can't think like that'.
Would he be able to follow him until the last spark of love went out? 'It's Fyodor I'm talking about, you might think we didn't belong together someday, but now it's different. I can't even forget the look in his eyes, the way it all developed. Maybe it's silly, but I can try to feel it forever for him who would still yearn for more.'

Shaking his head as he dismissed the smirk that formed, the boy in the bandages headed off to catch the subway to visit someone he had his admiration for.

[...]

Fyodor was lying on the couch watching some comedy that Nikolai had put on, until he fell asleep on the floor, covered by a long sheet, his knees close to his chest, and his head resting on the Russian's feet.

Feeling the humidity reach inside the room, the cellist looked through the crack in the window near the sofa and saw the raindrops, the sun was already hiding behind the new clouds.

Scratching the back of his head, the Russian moved his foot in an attempt to wake up the albino, who didn't even move, just patted his head closer to the other's foot. Fyodor looking at him in disbelief heard the door open, Sigma had returned.

"He is still sleeping?" The Ukrainian's boyfriend said quietly putting the materials that were needed for the show on the table.

Fyodor muttered positively and watched Sigma approach, getting crouched in front of Gogol and gently caressing the other's face, brushing his bangs away and kissing his forehead.

“I'll just take a shower, go back to the agency, get some other things and go to Chuuya. I won't be having dinner here, so if Kolya doesn't wake up, you can look for something in the cupboards, in the fridge, or order food, ok?” The bicolor said almost in a whisper, standing up again.

Fyodor nodded. Sigma glanced at him a little and made the same gesture he'd done for Nikolai.

"You seem more relaxed." That's all the photographer said to Fyodor before he left.

The cellist didn't know how to react to that comment but it seemed to be a good thing, so why that ecstatic feeling?

[...]

Everything went well on the way to the subway, until the first sign appeared for Dazai, the trains were all stopped. Going to the bus station, he took advantage and bought a bouquet of white camellias with some lilies, and some snacks to eat at dawn when he was watching videos of ducks learning to swim on Youtube.

The bus was not as usual when he walked, it was calm and with few people, which gradually slowed down each time the huge teleporter came to a stop.

Until a bell sound was heard in the distance and a noise of cows?

Dazai leaned back from the window and glanced to the side, seeing no one but himself and the driver in front driving. The outside was also different. There was little rain, the sun's rays were wider, lodgings made of stone and bricks, plowed green fields, in short, something you hardly see when you live in the capital.

The guitarist who was holding the bouquet faithfully lifted it and walked to the driver's side.

"Sir? Where are we?" Dazai asked placing a hand on the driver's seat.

The curly blonde looked startled. “Oh! Why didn't you tell him you were there? I thought there was no one else on the bus?”

Dazai frowned. "But…you didn't even warn me."

The blond young man parked the bus at a bus station just like the other houses, the difference being a huge old bell hanging in the corner and signs indicating where he could go.

"For God's sake, where am I?" Dazai hissed, looking in disbelief at the bus station. “Are you going to rest now?” The guitarist asked when he saw the one in the beret coming out of his armchair.

"Yea? And please don't call me 'Sir'. My dear friend, you look more like you're lost.” The blonde adjusted his beret and started down the teleportation steps until he felt the other's hand on his arm.

“Look, I can't wait until…I don't know, tomorrow! I have to do something important! Very important…” Dazai said changing from a manipulative to a low and lifeless tone.

The blonde looked him up and down and sighed, easily removing the bandage's grip on his. “Understand, friend, that we who work day and night to work must at some point stop to rest and serve you again. Unfortunately, that's how you were taught.”

Dazai froze at the suspended look the driver sent him.

“And call me John, John Steinbeck.” He walked out and stopped with his hands in his pockets.

The brunette still felt the weight that the other reminded him of on his shoulders, the serious frown meant everything for the blonde to smile dryly. It reminded him that there are books that can be judged by their cover, but a synopsis of it can burn.

“I can leave you here. An elderly couple and a kind child live here, they can offer you a roof over their heads for today.” John said walking away with his American accent.

Dazai got off the bus and looked around; it looked like any rural place with little civility.

Not knowing exactly why, or if it could mean anything, but Dazai sensed that Oda was far away.

'Alone again,' he reminded himself.

Bracing himself to look for a warm place, Dazai put one hand in the pocket of his overcoat and the other held the white flowers. Some birds in the distance were startled by the young blonde who walked a few inches in front of the guitarist, a wheat was chewed in the corner of his mouth that still had his sneer. Dazai felt sick.

Arriving in front of a slashed door and with samples that this place had already been flooded, John pushed a basket of milk bottles on the floor towards a small door, soon being returned with the full milk bottles and a bouquet of colorful flowers tied to it. a yellow ribbon.

John co*cked his head to the side, smiling simply as he saw a tumble of blond hair appear. Lifting his head, an infectious smile appeared on the child's face, who slipped deftly through the little door as if he did so every day, and stood in front of the two men.

“Old friend John! Did you bring new people?” The kid in the denim overalls said excitedly.

John laughed, probably mocking, but the boy didn't understand, Dazai rolled his eyes. “That was only one that was left behind, I'll take him later. But while I go pick the grapes, can he stick around? I don't want to be a nuisance…” The blonde said compassionately.

“Aaah! Old John, it's everyone's here, you'd never bother!" The boy said rocking back and forth.

"Great! So, excuse me…” The driver said goodbye, reaching farther, waving his beret. The golden child waved his hat back.

‘Son of a bitch’ thought Dazai seeing John.

“Did you eat a frog?” The boy leaned forward to get a closer look at the guitarist's face.

Dazai frowned. "Hum no."

“For a moment I thought so. It's just that you have a face…”

Dazai wanted to laugh at the child's genuineness.

"Lets go in! Want something? I was making a… Oh my god! The coffee!" The freckled boy ran inside, slamming his face against the door.

Dazai looked around before entering, like a cornered cat, then entered with his hands in his pockets.

The place itself was unfamiliar to him, but somehow he made himself comfortable walking into that kitchen and smelling home, that smell of something familiar, of something that once could only have been memories that were locked away.

The kitchen was not modern at all, it had several old items, some even unusable but very beautiful as decoration. The scent of the flower bed in the window made the air easier to breathe, the smell of coffee brought familiarity and calm. Dazai wanted to remain in this place as he wanted to have remained in his mother's womb.

"Look, it's still kind of hot..." The freckled kid said with a steaming cup of the brown liquid, eventually switching hands and blowing on the container to cool. “But you can drink it!” Extended to Dazai.

The guitarist looked up, chuckling a little. “Take that cloth from your shoulder and give it to me, please.” Doing as he was instructed, the blond boy smiled awkwardly at the lack of attention and handed it to the brunette, who wrapped the cloth in his mug and took a quick sip.

"Impressive! Only my grandfather can drink coffee this hot!” The blond boy's eyes gleamed.

Dazai smiled as he drank the bitter coffee. "By the way, what's your name, child?"

“Kenji Miyazawa, city boy!” The little boy said amusedly extending a sympathetic hand.

“No, my name is Dazai Osamu.” The brunette said looking straight into the golden child's face.

"Nice to meet you! Samu!” Kenji said smiling showing his middle teeth that were parted.

Dazai shook the hand of the little boy with the straw hat on his back and laughed. In fact, the boy in the bandages hadn't felt this sense of relief in a long time.

Suddenly an animal flew into the window bed, a chicken.

“Oh! See she liked you!” Kenji said aloud as the hen snuggled into Dazai's curls.

Dazai sighed and Kenji understood that it was to take it out, but the bird grabbed the other's hair and if the blonde had kept pulling it would have ripped the hair out of that area.

[...]

Good hours passed that felt like minutes for Dazai and Kenji. The two managed to have more fun than they thought they would, after all, they both had different tastes, but that only made them get closer, getting to know some of the things they liked the most.

Dazai showed some videos that no one had ever seen, of him playing the piano; some rock songs and bands he knew, along with a compilation of fun videos of crabs clapping their hands; talked a lot about what was happening in college, about the show, the difficulties they were having with some unconnected points, and a little about a mysterious person with magenta iris; the blond boy listened attentively, occasionally commenting something that made the guitarist laugh.

Kenji took him to his room and showed him his collection of stones, some looking ordinary but still the child seemed to make it more special than it should; he took him to the stairs and showed the family pictures showing his ancestors and the grandparents who had lived with him since he was little; they went outside when they saw that the rain had stopped and the sun had already set, going to the pen that had some cows, there lived a special one that was affectionately nicknamed by Kenji.

Dazai almost fell more than once into the same stream that ran between the ends of the land, because the chicken kept swiping at his legs like a cat. The boy with the straw hat even authorized to take the little chicken, but Dazai took a while to accept.

After all, the two of them now watched the sun go down, feeling the breeze that passed gently caressing the wheat and corn fields, sitting in the tall grass with their feet dangling. Dazai wore Kenji's hat, and the freckled blonde with his overcoat draped over his shoulders.

“I think that's Old John over there. There are a lot more things I would like to show you but it would end up taking a month!” Kenji said looking back.

Dazai followed her gaze and sighed. “I could stay here. But there are people waiting for my help, right?” The guitarist said getting up and removing the grasses stuck to his sweater.

Kenji got up, taking off his coat and shaking it to get the pollen out. “Of course, I'm glad you recognize it now. This is very admirable, Dazai!”

Dazai looked at the golden boy shining in front of him that shimmered against the sun.

“HEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEYY!” John yelled in the distance, waving his beret in the air.

"Goodbye Kenji, one day I'll come get you as promised!" Dazai said putting his coat back on and walking towards the driver with the chicken on his lap.

“Bye Companion Dazai! And don't forget to come here during the grape season with that red-haired friend of yours you told me about!” Kenji yelled with his hands to echo.

Dazai walked backwards waving at the boy, bumping into John who scowled.

The way back was smoother. Only a little uncomfortable that a faded figure with long, dark hair was sitting in the back of the bus, but everything else was pleasant. Dazai took the white and colorful flowers that Kenji presented to him from his pocket and tied them together with a yellow ribbon.

[...]

“Holy sh*t Osamu, I thought you were finally gone and said goodbye to this world, what a scare!” Chuuya said running up to the tallest one, facing him. “But…a chicken!” exclaimed the redhead, tilting his head.

Dazai saw two more female figures coming to either side of the redhead.

Nothing too new, just Chuuya absorbing his concern in dry words, but Dazai went there and hugged him. The redhead didn't even react, he just waited for him to let go and walk away again. Until, Chuuya said something that stopped the guitarist's senses.

“Fyodor has come looking for you!”

Chapter 15: Tumultuous Torments

Chapter Text

In a lost part of the mind of a little dancer, there passed a memory, once it had already been realized. It was a sunny morning, birds were singing behind the huge glass windows that occupied the room with mirrors and smooth floor, perched in the middle was Chuuya and by his side his older brother, Verlaine. There were curious moments when the red-haired dancer spent just strolling around the house or went to the library to read, now, after being noticed by Rimbaud, everything has gradually changed. Verlaine for some reason started showing up more at home, waiting for Chuuya in front of the school to take him home. He was weird.

Chuuya doesn't remember why or what it turned into, but in the last argument he had with his brother he could no longer look into those eyes so similar to his own, as if everything had lost his senses, the dancer had never felt so invalidated. by anyone other than yourself. The blonde never said bad words other than praise and orders, but it was always disguised by concrete manipulation.

Chuuya often had these nightmares, past memories, left in a locked chest that only turned to him to haunt him. He never expected to be afraid of his brother, never was, but he was afraid to feel that again, he had a bubbling rage at feeling it all again. The shame. Kouyou was there, but she seemed under too much pressure from the modeling agency, while her other friend Dazai didn't even visit him when he moved to France.

A jolt woke him, tragically hitting his head on the top bunk. Cold sweat dominated his wet room and it was impossible not to notice how his limbs were shaking in agony.

The redhead sat up in bed and took a deep breath, looking at the alarm clock on his desk. '05:21' Fixed Chuuya in his mind. The dancer got up surreptitiously, going in the same way to the bedroom door, opening it carefully, looking around just to check if Akutagawa was still sleeping, he was sleeping deeply wrapped in the sheets and the florist.

There was success until he reached the staircase, seeing his startled reflection in the hall mirror. It seemed to be someone different, someone he himself was afraid to see. His disheveled hair fell in his face, his dark circles grew day by day, his lips dry and cracked, his pupils blurred. 'What the f*ck…'.

Arriving in the kitchen, the redhead went to the cupboard getting the ingredients for a tea. He couldn't help but stare vigorously at the wine bottles arranged in the corner, but he was already too shaken up to get drunk and show up to rehearsals in front of everyone like that. Chuuya was grateful that Ango worked day and night as he wouldn't want to explain anything to him.

The cup was steaming with hot water in sweet leaves, the dancer didn't even give himself a chance to think anymore, turning the entire container and dropping it in the sink. His eyes burned again.

"Why all this right now? Right now?" Chuuya whispered, kneading his face with his hands. A sob escaped his lips and when he least noticed a stray tear unrolled down his cheek.

[...]

The Russian noticed Dazai's worrying absence when reading the group's messages from the members of the presentation, and Chuuya's tired way of responding to everyone in the audios, but decided not to comment or worry…for now.

A chin suddenly landed on his shoulder and strands of silver hair brushed her face.

"What makes you so distressed 'mon chaton' ?" The silver-haired one asked quietly, fixing his own messy hair from moving around so much in rehearsal.

"Now Kolya speaks French?" Fyodor questioned turning his head gently leaning on Nikolai's, who chuckled a little.

"My character is who speak! So since I have this accent…" He intoned his Ukrainian accent, a bit forced, “I have to train as Chuuya instructed me. But Sigsig is already helping me with my French! Don't worry."

Fyodor nodded and looked back at the floor. Gogol was still watching him, but didn't force him to say anything, so he left the approach with the other and before leaving he pulled the other's Ushanka. The Russian didn't react to the albino dancer's bad luck, but he was more focused on going after what Dazai was plotting for a time like this had not yet arrived. A cunning formed in the cellist's core, tying his hair in a messy ponytail, to reach the exit of his building and head towards the theater department.

'Why don't I go straight to your house? No, no, would that seem too invasive and…desperate?' thought Fyodor as he walked through the large doors of the rehearsal hall.

A woman much like him, the only difference being the golden butterfly in her hair, bumped into the Russian.

“Oh, sorry there!” The woman said tapping the other's shoulder shyly and leaving.

The cellist shrugged and searched the place for people he knew from the rehearsal, seeing a red-haired man sitting outside on a bench reading a book. “Chuuya!” Fyodor called to him.

Rescuing the other's attention to the book, Chuuya searched the surroundings for whoever was calling him, seeing the image of Fyodor already standing beside him, he was startled.

"Jesus!" The redhead exhaled placing a hand on his chest, “What…um, did something happen?” he said subtly, taking a stance with his legs bent over each other, his elbow resting on his thigh and his hand on his chin.

"It happened, I think. It's about..." Fyodor said, pausing to look away and take a deep breath, Chuuya arched an eyebrow. "... Dazai." The cellist finished looking at Chuuya.

Chuuya sighed heavily leaning against the bench. “What exactly do you want to know?” The redhead said with a suggestive tone, the Russian pretended not to have been embarrassed by the other's manner.

"He disappeared. Could I not get in touch with him or did he reply to a message?” Fyodor said restlessly biting his nails.

Chuuya chuckled under his breath. “Don't be like that, the bastard must be sleeping or wherever. Since a long time he hardly ever responds to people, believe me I'm a graduate of that.” The redhead said with a sneer in his voice as he re-marked the page of the book.

"Oh" Fyodor muttered, a little shocked by the redhead's mature sincerity.

“Well, then why does it seem like I'm the only one really worried about Dazai? What if one of those idiotic attempts of his has succeeded?” Fyodor said in a low, somewhat intimidating tone, arms crossed, foot tapping the ground anxiously, he might explode now.

Chuuya studied him, looking for any deceitful outcome in the other's pale face.

"Pardon me? Look, I've known Dazai for a long time, that must have been…” The dancer started to speak with intuition but soon he graduated and finally the worry shook him. Standing up abruptly, Chuuya swallowed hard.

“I didn't mean to remind you of anything or whatever went through your mind, but for lack of experience in caring so much about someone I met a few months ago, I ask that we can look for him properly, please. ” Fyodor said firmly and directly.

The Russian's burgundy irises glared at Chuuya's, an emotion of sadness and worry was noticeable in Fyodor. It had been a long time since the dancer had seen someone care so effectively for someone else, let alone Dazai. After all, the two seemed to be soul mates, the yolk of the same egg, so intelligent and unique that they easily found an opening to like each other and thus managed to understand what they felt. The drummer felt a pang in his heart to see that someone still had feelings for his ex-partner without being afraid.

"Right then. My sister's inside, I can let her know and we'll see if we can hitch a ride and look for the bastard around. Is that good?” Chuuya said carefully speaking word for word as a consolation for Fyodor to remain calm.

The cellist breathed a sigh of relief and nodded in agreement.

The dancer shook his head, gathered his things in his bag and walked inside, with the Russian following close behind. Entering the room, Chuuya briefly reported the situation to Kouyou, who studied Fyodor's face suspiciously at first, but soon got up and guided them to his car. On the way to the parking lot, they saw Yosano coming back with some bags, Kouyou called her and she followed without asking anything, just the heavy aura of worry in the car was enough to understand that there was something wrong or serious going on.

[...]

At the 12th stop, Fyodor noticed the time, even though he wanted to keep looking for his lover, he warned Chuuya that he would have to help Sigma with the scenery photography adjustments. The redhead understood and before Fyodor left, he said, “Everything will be fine. Promise. That way you can scold that sh*tty bastard, and leave him flabbergasted for caring about him.” The redhead's statement left the Russian confused between screaming or laughing.

The red-haired model did the favor of leaving Fyodor at her house and after saying goodbye they went again in search of the boy in bandages.

“If that's what it's supposed to be, let's put up some posters with this dog's face and that's it.” Yosano said nonchalantly as he studied the red-painted nails.

Chuuya wanted to laugh. “Honey, we can't, we need to do this right. After all, no one would look for a weird dog like that.” The redhead said ironically at the end.

Yosano laughed as Kouyou glanced sideways at his younger brother and snorted.

It was after 16:00 h when they decided to go back because they almost got lost even with the GPS. Now everyone is promptly seated on the beanbags at the entrance to the theater department, until the tall figure of a dark man appears holding a chicken under his arm.

“Holy sh*t Osamu, I thought you were finally gone and said goodbye to this world, what a scare!” Chuuya said running up to the tallest one, facing him. “But…a chicken!” exclaimed the redhead, tilting his head.

Dazai saw two more female figures coming to either side of the redhead.

Nothing too new, just Chuuya absorbing his concern in dry words, but Dazai went there and hugged him. The redhead didn't even react, he just waited for him to let go and walk away again. Until, Chuuya said something that stopped the guitarist's senses.

“Fyodor has come looking for you!”

Dazai was motionless for a brief moment, promptly masking it with a nervous laugh.

"Well, it looks like the filthy mouse cares..." The brunette said leaving the scene stroking the chicken's head, his heart leaping in ecstasy and an idiotic smile that only appeared when he thought of Fyodor, welcomed him.

[...]

The afternoon sun was hot but the temperature was about to turn negative, with this weather, Chuuya turned on the old heater in the rehearsal room and then addressed everyone with two claps.

“Third day of rehearsal! And we're almost there!” Chuuya said with a slightly brighter mood. “We now have stage and costume support from Sigma!” The redhead said clapping his hands which caused more warm applause for the bicolor in the corner of the room sitting on top of the speaker, who soon laughed awkwardly and thanking everyone with a nod.

“That's all we have for now, but that's a hell of a lot of help and support, so really thank the handsome back there. Okay, today I've already planned everything…” Before the redhead could finish his speech a tall, composed figure entered the room, one that had almost his exact features and hat, only his long blonde hair and height being his biggest differences.

A dull sound passed through Chuuya's senses, a tingle began to travel through his fingers and into his hair.

“Hello, little brother,” Verlaine said, coming in with exaggerated intimacy. Chuuya wanted to vomit.

"What do you do here?" The redhead said in a strained voice. The blonde was now facing Chuuya.

“Well, I came to see how everything my little brother is…”

“Don't call me little brother…” Chuuya interrupted him.

Verlaine nodded even though he seemed to have completely ignored him.

"I didn't come alone, Chuuya." The blonde said indicating where her husband, Rimbaud was, standing behind the door taken by the shadows, only his golden irises being seen by the redhead.

Chuuya scratched the back of his head. "Go away. I don’t remember calling you a single time, so please leave before I do it myself!” The red-haired dancer said pointing with his finger towards the door.

Verlaine feigned shock. “Your older brother can't even come to see your other brothers? who didn't even tell me anything about this “show” that you were going to direct? Kouyou didn't even tell me that she was coming to see you, if she had I would have come along…” The blond dancer said with an innocent but very accusing tone towards Chuuya and Kouyou.

“Verlaine!” Kouyou exhaled from the other side of the room, taking a step forward in order to defend her brother, but a hand left her behind, Yosano hugged her, placing her away.

"Get out! I'm ordering!” Chuuya shouted.

"Whait, what? Do you think you're the boss?" Verlaine said taking a more serious tone.

Chuuya laughed desperately. “First of all, no one should boss anyone around in this sh*t! You who always wanted this insignificant authority over me! Just because Kouyou can't dance ballet?! Was because of this? Tell me Verlaine!” The redhead yelled face to face with the tallest.

The blonde narrowed his eyes menacingly at the shorter one, quickly shifting into a helpless, dramatic posture. “I thought…I was taking care of you. That's just what you've been doing all this blessed time, Chuuya.” The man said only for the redhead to hear those words burning in a hot fire.

Chuuya felt the same stinging in his eyes as there had been before, those same precise memories taking over his being, as if projected by an old projector, with flaws in some parts but being clear enough for the redhead to want to scream until he had no breath left. .

"Hey! It's over, Verlaine.” A sinuous voice passed through the hearing senses of the two arguing men. It was Dazai.

The boy in bandages got up from the floor and walked towards the brothers.

“Understand by all that is most sacred that Chuuya doesn't want you here! You weren't even invited!” Dazai said angrily.

Verlaine stared at him, then looked at his younger brother, now with a firm face but tears welling in his now red eyes, his sapphire irises at some point lost their luster. The blonde tried to look into his sister's eyes, but the woman was being taken in by his girlfriend.

Feeling lost and downcast, Chuuya took a deep breath releasing a stubborn tear. “Do you think I will still tolerate these abuses? Do you think I do dance for you?! There is! Make no mistake, I even started doing it because I wanted to at first, but now I'm not even sure I want to keep dancing! It's your f*cking fault I've become a man with no direction! Following those underhanded orders of yours made me have changed my mind and now look at that!” The red-haired dancer yelled, gesturing impulsively with his arms.

The room settled into silence. No one dared to whisper about the Nakahara brothers until then. Few of the people, other than employees or even Rimbaud, realized the abuse and psychological pressure his older brother had on Chuuya. Shock and mistrust gripped those present in the room.

After a few minutes of reluctance, Verlaine left the room, heading out the door immediately, without looking back, but Rimbaud remained looking through the glass of the door. Dazai waited for the blonde to leave the place and then observed Chuuya's state, there were times when the redhead was totally taken by hatred but the brunette swore he never stayed long enough to witness how the dancer was desolate and looking out of place. yes. The guitarist didn't have the nerve to hug him, he was just a little curious about the other's mannerisms, never that Dazai would be repulsed by Chuuya, at that moment he needs support, and that's what he will provide.

Kouyou managed to free herself from Yosano and soon went running to his younger brother, cradling him in a hug.

Dazai after reconsidering some ideas took a wooden bench and climbed on top for everyone to see and pay attention.

"Everyone! Now I just need you to focus on me!” The brunette said, then looked at Chuuya, who was looking passed out but awake. “With Chuuya's possible state, we won't be able to continue with all this turmoil, right?! So before you think about it, I pronounce and resign that I will take over with Chuuya! He needs everyone's support and help!”

Everyone couldn't help but make a sound of surprise. Fyodor was the only one who still remained in a state of normalcy. The Russian suddenly clapped his hands, Nikolai who was beside him blinked in confusion a few times before Fyodor elbowed him in the stomach, causing the other to join in and clap as well. In a few minutes everyone was infected and clapped their hands to comfort that their director needed support.

With everyone cheering, they obviously got distracted by dropping a few words of comfort. In Fyodor's vision he could see the brunette smile directly at him and whispered a "Thank you". The Russian smiled back and co*cked his head to the side indicating “You're welcome”. Dazai made a heart with his hands and joined Chuuya again, putting a hand on his shoulder and saying something that the Russian could not decipher, suddenly several people crowded into the middle of the room.

[...]

Passing the strong wave, Chuuya was now in the college infirmary sitting on the stretcher, Dazai was sitting on the stretcher in front of him and Kouyou was next to his brother.

“I…thank you for doing that Osamu, thank you” Chuuya spoke after so long.

Dazai knelt in front of the boy sitting on the stretcher and placed his hands gently holding the dancer's arms. "That's what I could repay after so many years without having supported you in any of yours cunningly rehearsed performances." The brunette said looking at Chuuya from below.

The redhead sighed, leaning his forehead against Dazai's. "Even after all you still come back, vagabond."

Dazai chuckled softly.

Kouyou smiled sideways seeing the two, soon leaving Chuuya's embrace and getting up. “Chuu, I'm leaving now, I need to drop Yosano off at the tattoo parlor.” The red-haired woman said giving her brother a quick kiss on the cheek and waving goodbye as she closed the door.

"I never imagined that I would do something like this" Chuuya said in a low voice.

Dazai backed away, leaning against the desk beside the bed. "That was very clever of you, I can't deny it" The brunette said with his arms crossed.

Before Chuuya could say anything, the door was ajar.

"Oh, sorry I…" Fyodor said uncertain of his arrival; “Well, I just wanted to talk about the stageplay” The Russian continued to speak, entering the hospital room.

"Right?" Chuuya questioned more than stated.

The cellist glanced briefly at the bandaged brunette then turned his attention back to his target. “With what Dazai said in the rehearsal room, it made me think clearly that I also want to help him on this journey of ours.”

Chuuya was moved to see more people joining what should have been just a mere performance. "OK then thank you?" The redhead said laughing awkwardly.

Fyodor twisted his face in an attempt at laughter, failing a little but being a laughing stock to the two ex-partners. Chuuya soon froze his expression upon seeing someone outside, someone he knew. The guitarist reached where the redhead was looking and soon got a cold expression, coming close to Fyodor, he took him by the arm.

“How about we go for a walk? Hmm?" Dazai said already pulling the confused Russian out. Passing the European standing outside, he nodded briefly and dragged Fyodor down the hall.

Arthur soon entered, suspicious but with his usual rigid posture. The man was exactly as Chuuya remembers seeing him the last time; same garments for winter, being appropriate at that time; the long dark hair; exactly the same.

Sitting on the gurney facing Chuuya, the European critic sighed heavily, seeming to be taking courage or breath. Maybe even both.

"Chuuya, I have only a few words to say, so I'll be brief." Rimbaud said, adjusting his gloves anxiously.

The redhead, in turn, just pays attention to each movement and talks about the other.

Arthur looked at the redhead with affection, remembering a past that could have become the future. “Ever since I requested you to Paris, I've wanted to have you around to see all your development. See how your eyes sparkled when you managed to do an 'adagio' for the first time!” The one with the golden iris sniffed with an excited smile. "But then, all this happened...".

“I know that in the midst of all this there is a specific point. Speak to soon.” Chuuya said running her hand through the redhead's messy hair.

The critic looked helpless. “The point is: I'm sorry about all this! I was unfortunately not around enough at the time to see what Paul was doing to you, I'm sorry.” The tone he used was merciless, the rest of the glass covering his memories shattered.

Chuuya looked away, not that he was accusing the man who really helped him in the midst of all this fuss, but he didn't see him like he used to. It was something that was meant to be, the memories of both were lost by so many pressures on all sides, reaching Rimbaud wanting to retire.

The dancer stood up and hugged the dark-haired one. Arthur muttered “mon petit garçon” into the redhead's shoulder, who only allowed to smell the winter on the man's plaid scarf one last time.

After they parted, Rimbaud stood up, fixing his hair. "Unfortunately I have to leave, I have 'critical boring things to do' as you say." The man chuckled at a brief memory.

Chuuya accompanied him to the exit and watched him drive away, still managing to see his brother through the car window, but soon disappearing through the streets of St. Petersburg. “This was the last time, the last time I tolerated it.” The redhead said to himself, feeling the strong wind on his face, the redheaded boy entered.

[...]

The sky was already with bright spots, the clouds lazily gathered at the sunset and the stars, as well as the hands of the Russian and the guitarist intertwine as they both crossed the campus.

“Dazai is doing this on purpose. There's definitely a shorter way.” Fyodor said trying to hold his ground with the guitarist's warm touch.

Dazai laughed. "Are you going to say that Fedya didn't want some time with me after all this?" The brunette said softly, leaning his head on Fyodor's shoulder and snuggling there.

On one part of the walk they were both so focused on each other's laughter and flirting that they ended up backing themselves against a wall. Dazai bent down to Fyodor's height, still with his hands clasped, he tentatively sealed his lips.

Fyodor smiled at the other's fullness still wondering if he really wanted to kiss him. Seeming to have read the guitarist's thoughts, the cellist said, "Having him around will always be the wish I'll never want to let go of."

Dazai stopped looking vigorously at the being that he considers the most beautiful in the world, it still seemed like a mere illusion, to feel the fragrance of tobacco and the pleasure he felt in seeing the beautiful irises of mysterious color was a sin. The guitarist kissed him, in a way he had never felt before, an incessant urge to remain there just feeling his lips on the other. Fyodor suddenly smiled infecting the other, soon the two were wrapped in passionate laughter at the huge brick wall.

"My god I'm so in love with you..." Fyodor said looking desperate with his own words coming out of his mouth.

Dazai rolled his eyes, “What a cheap impersonator you are, as I feel the same.” The bandaged brunette kissed her lips and then her neck. Fyodor felt the wet kiss on his neck, lifting his face to feel more deeply the seals left by his skin. The Russian's arms encircled the guitarist, Dazai's silver rings were felt on Fyodor's waist, who believed he felt his fingers digging into his skin. The cellist for the first time did something by his own intuition and pulled Dazai's face for a warm kiss, feeling the desire of both of them from just minute ways to love someone was unbelievable yet, for both of them it would never happen without finding someone of their own. who would be blessed, and look at them now.

Chapter 16: As The Atom Bomb Locks In

Chapter Text

Sometimes everything still felt like some kind of dream, a mirage, or even the end of the world. Having a different coat - than what would normally be seen in your own closet - lying on your bedroom chair, someone else's shirt on your bedside table, and most importantly feeling a person's breath against your hair.

‘Behavior changes gradually too. I would never be with another person without feeling remorse…' Fyodor thought about that rainy and lazy morning. The brunette's thoughts ran wild when even he wasn't sleeping, his brain works perfectly well and that for Fyodor himself was something terrifying as it was so fascinating.

A good few weeks have passed after all the drastic change Verlaine has caused in Chuuya. At the same time, weeks went by that Dazai and Fyodor found themselves “in it”. The two have already talked about it and jointly preferred that the best thing to do would be just to stay without a compact relationship, for them it was great just knowing that one wanted to have the other. They didn't consider themselves good people, but having each other there was an act of luck. It was just their thing and it was good that no one interfered with it. The connection of both is unbelievable, what one has in mind, the other was already executing. This can turn into some kind of competition between the two - especially in college grades each semester - but at the end of the day they can't go without kissing each other.

“Hey,” Dazai said, his voice husky and low amidst Fyodor's messy black strands, snapping him out of his old, somewhat compulsive morning reflection.

Fyodor closed his eyes, hiding his face in the other's exposed collarbone, putting a hand to hold the chestnut's waist.

Dazai enjoyed every kind of caress that his lover passed, for that was somehow rare, for someone who was characterized as misunderstood and immaculate as Fyodor.

“Isn't today the day to go train Lucy and Atsushi? I'm sure Chuuya said something similar…” Fyodor interrupted Dazai, muttering something in denial. The one with the bandages chuckled softly, “Okay, okay, I'll stay with you a little longer…” Tenderly hugging his thoughtful beloved, Dazai kissed the top of his head and let himself fall asleep with the caress that had long been being given from his waist to his waist. your hip.

[...]

With a very troubled adolescence like Chuuya's and Dazai's, Nikolai was not much different. In addition to learning contemporary dance - as a certain sign of rebellion against his area for being something of American origin - he also learned to play the drums as a symbol of personal interest. The albino had his adoptive family until he was approximately 17 years old, then he was transferred to a Catholic boarding school located exactly close to his Russian friend, for having his very “chaotic” behavior as a very inappropriate way and being cured with some preaching - which it obviously didn't work. This boiled down to the Ukrainian becoming more omnipotent and showing everything that was once hidden even from himself, looking for freedom, a form of understanding, everything was arranged over the course of a few years. Now at 22, the man finds himself with a life he never particularly dreamed of, but very dear to him; have a stable relationship, a house to live in, not starve to death, live with your best friends, continue to dance and play, and eat piroshki every day.

Two drumsticks were in her half-sweaty hands, her braid was slightly twisted into an awkward bun, her bangs were covering half of her face covered in beads of sweat; the baggy tank top she wore with one side half falling off her shoulder, the sweatpants had one leg of her sample with one side rolled up to her calf, the black lipstick she wore was less airbrushed, the tattoos heavily characterized by circus symbols and birds were on display. in your arms a little toned. He was attractive and he knew it.

The albino was sitting on a bench in front of the drums that seemed to have cost millions of dollars - because the instrument didn't even seem to have been purchased in that area - behind him was the redhead, who had his hands guiding the Ukrainian's big hands to each drum set in an instructive way. From so many times without playing, Nikolai ended up losing a little practice, after all, the red drums he once owned had to be pawned at some point to be able to keep some food at home when things got difficult for his other two. flatmates.

The longer side of the redhead's hair fell voluntarily on the face that was next to his, making a light and graceful touch but that tickled the albino's nose, who laughed spontaneously.

"Your hair looks like cotton it's so fluffy" Gogol said pulling away to laugh.

Chuuya rolled his eyes and walked away pushing his hair back without commenting.

Both were doing it for pure entertainment because they were bored. It was Saturday and late at night, which meant Gogol needed to torment someone, and the red-haired dancer's number was at the top of his contact list. That was the outcome he delivered, but Chuuya didn't even argue much, just asked them to meet in the college's music department, where they have all kinds of instruments possible, including some drums.

Nikolai after composing himself, got to his feet and went to his boyfriend who was leaning against the wall in the shadows of the place the whole time, just getting a glimpse of the end of his lit cigarette. Arriving with his hands behind his back, the albino soon hugged the bicolor, who let go of his cell phone and almost let it fall to the ground.

"You're so cool" The albino said suggestively in the bicolor's ear, referring to the pose that the other was in.

Sigma just shook his head and kissed his boyfriend's dark lips. “Your lips are strangely more attractive than usual” The bicolor said with a smirk that made the albino smile more widely, before he could respond, they were both interrupted by Chuuya.

"I don't mean to be boring, but we have to leave soon because I saw a janitor passing by..." The redhead said, pretending to be concentrated outside looking for the old man who was avidly cleaning the rooms of the place.

The lovebirds looked at each other once more, Sigma patted Nikolai's arm. “Let's go Kolya” The bicolor stopped when he looked at the floor and saw his boyfriend's feet “Are you barefoot?! Where are your shoes?!” Sigma questioned looking confused at the Ukrainian.

"I must have forgotten, that's all." Gogol said simpleton with a friendly smile and heading for the exit.

Sigma massaged his temple while dictating some reasons 'everyone should know about going barefoot'. Chuuya took his hat and went with the other two and had the thought in his head: 'I'm glad I don't have any romantic relationship, because if I did, I'd end up killing the person without wanting to…'.

Without much haste they arrived at the couple's apartment. Chuuya went on his motorcycle, while Sigma and Nikolai went on foot talking.

“Will you stick around today Chuuya?” Sigma asked turning the house key and opening it.

Chuuya was leaning against the wall beside the door, with his helmet held by just one hand and the other lazily behind his head. "Well..." The redhead said a little shyly. "To tell you the truth, I'm exhausted, and despite everything I agreed to have dinner with you...".

“No problem, no problem at all. Come!" Nikolai said as he very intimately pulled the redhead he'd managed to get closer to in the last few days. Chuuya just let it be taken, but when he entered and saw the scene in the room he was slightly shocked but with a pang of 'I already knew!'.

Fyodor and Dazai were standing in front of the TV, transfixed watching some documentary, both of them with their arms crossed, the Russian with his head resting on Dazai's shoulder and the brunette with chocolate curls had his head resting on Fyodor's. It was a little different seeing them together.

The one with magenta iris was the first to notice the new people in the place, leaving the other's embrace, he didn't show any kind of embarrassment or anything like that. He just waited for the redhead's first step, who stood at the door, half surprised.

"Hello, little dancer." Fyodor said with a sarcastic smile. Chuuya smiled in response and entered the room, the other two following behind.

"Dostoy finally brought the street guitarist!" Nikolai said triumphantly, breaking the iceberg that had settled in the room. With an arm around Sigma's shoulders.

Dazai turned to the small audience "It would be interesting to know that I have a house" The brunette said in a melodious voice.

"Oh, no offense, I just thought…" Gogol started to say but Sigma discreetly stomped on his foot. The albino pursed his lips against the pain and glanced at his boyfriend.

"Let's go cooking, shall we?" Sigma said dragging Nikolai gruffly into the kitchen which was just a bar away from the living room.

With the two out of sight, Chuuya turned back to the two musicians in front of him.

"So this is where you were in these 2 days of disappearance" Chuuya said putting his helmet on the table and crossing his arms shortly afterwards, confronting the taller one.

"Chibi has become Ango now? You seem to forget that I'm of legal age"

"Please Osamu, we're the same age and the same notion - I hope - that the four-eyed one who lives with you cares a lot about you."

The brunette was silent for a moment, looking at the dark carpeted floor, looking for the right words to say to his ex-partner, but the redhead had already been hurt enough. Words now could be like a wooden stake through Chuuya's heart at that moment.

Dazai moved closer to Fyodor again, hugging him from behind, resting his head lightly on the Russian's and stroking there like a cat. "Chuuya, do you think I'm silly enough not to know this?" With a clear voice, the brunette said looking without the slightest bit of guilt or regret in his eyes. The redhead swallowed and firmly kept going to the kitchen to help the couple who were arguing about whether to put tablecloths or just leave the cutlery with glass cups. They didn't do anything in the end.

[...]

After a lot of talking, some arguments, and most importantly the food, everyone stayed in the living room sitting on the sofa or leaning against the divider bar drinking a bottle of wine that was in the back of Fyodor's closet - who said he didn't know why he had an almost empty bottle hidden in the back of her closet.

Some of Gogol's jokes were mixed with alcohol, when they least noticed the laughter took over the room. Fyodor already had his fifth cigarette lit, Chuuya his second, and Sigma wasn't much different with more than he forgot to count. Nikolai and Dazai were only left with a dark green bottle with an indescribable liquid inside, both of them wanted to stay “conscious” tonight.

The ones who were smoking and drinking were all sitting on the rug in the living room, near the open porch, giving a good view of the clear night with all those bright spots on top of the big dark sheet.

“Really this happened?!” Chuuya asked in the most relaxed voice as she waved her cup back and forth. The purplish liquid almost fell, it seemed that gravity was always in the dancer's favor.

Gogol, who was sitting with Sigma's head on his thigh, was ruffling his girlfriend's hair absently with his cell phone in his hand as he smoked a cigarette. "Yea! I will never forget that blessed boy who abandoned me at the stakes behind the parish!” The albino and the redhead laugh like they are drugged teenagers in a park - the only difference is that they really are drugged.

"Do you still remember that bastard's face?" the redhead asked with his cheeks red.

"A little. He looked like those Christians with mushroom hair” The albino said imitating a straight fringe close to his eyes. “But since he was my first flirt I was crazy! I didn't even care about your hair, or your personality. What mattered was that I was deceiving him all along. He would give me the parish wine and bread, later I would keep it.”

“f*ck” Chuuya exasperated in an impressed mutter. “I have never had a romantic relationship with anyone. No one has ever nurtured that much. But I realized I was bisexual only when I saw a ballerina with blue hair and… that garbage over there…” The redhead said pointing to Dazai, who was eating cereal from the box.

Nikolai gaped for a few seconds, then looked at Sigma to see his reaction, but he was still fiddling with his cell phone, looking very focused.

Fyodor, was silent this whole time, just alternating between: drinking his glass of wine, rolling his cigarette and looking at the brunette across the room. Standing up, the cellist staggered a bit but no one noticed, his direction being to head straight for the guitarist. Leaning shyly against the bench next to Dazai, the cellist coughed lightly with a hand over his mouth.

Dazai seemed to startle a little, banging his head on the cupboard above his head, looked at his lover beside him. With a mouthful of cereal, the guitarist wiped the corner of his mouth with his hand.

“Is Fedya stoned already?” Dazai said approaching, facing the black haired one.

Fyodor sighed heavily, "No." The Russian said in a firm voice.

“Um,” Dazai muttered, putting one arm on the counter behind the Russian, while the other hand curled a loose strand of Fyodor's ponytail.

Fyodor co*cked his head to the side and watched the person in front of him, looking like some kind of miracle appeared in front of him.

"Stop this."

"Well. Then. Stop. In. To be. So. Beautiful"

Dazai kissed him slowly while smiling. The sweet taste of the cereal mixed with that scent of wine and other substance in their mouths. The hand that Fyodor wasn't holding the cigarette in grabbed the guitarist's face closer.

“What kind of urgency is this?” Dazai asked amid the bouts of fervent kisses as he chuckled softly.

Fyodor responded by biting Dazai's lower lip teasingly.

Before the guitarist could blush with embarrassment, he heard a familiar laugh from the living room, vaguely reminding him that they could easily have been seeing everything. Moving away awkwardly, the wavy-haired brunette took the cigarette that Fyodor had put in his mouth while he was looking at other people's lives and put it to his lips, taking a long drag while looking at the Russian.

"Don't be ashamed, you stuck-up idiot." Fyodor said shaking his head and leaving, before Dazai could see how the tips of his ears burned red.

At some point Sigma got up and turned off the lights in the rooms where no one was present, and announced that he was going to take a shower. Saying goodbye with a quick kiss to the corner of her albino boyfriend's black painted lips.

Nikolai was already less euphoric, a little tired even. Chuuya was also tired, with the hat placed on his face, the redhead slept eagerly.

The clown got up, stretching his back with a snap, and turned off the light in the room, leaving only the lamp on the lamp next to Chuuya, who was covered by a blanket that Sigma wrapped him. Gogol thought of going to look for the other two weird musicians, but soon gave up. 'Leave them to their own time. Dos-kun will be obliged to tell me something later' thought the albino smiling like a proud father as he opened the door to his boyfriend's room.

Before he could close the door, he saw with his golden eye that the light in Fyodor's room was on. "How cute" The albino said softly in a tone of irony, then entering his room.

[...]

“Something in your kiss just told me…” Dazai paused along with the melody of the song “My sometime is now”.

The two were in Fyodor's room. The Russian has never taken anyone into his 'lair' other than his friends who happen to live with him. Dazai was getting quite a lot of prestige lately. In a part between kisses, the brunette started talking about some songs that were on his mind, Fyodor just listened avidly. When they least noticed, the Russian was writing a piano score on his desk and the guitarist had put on some old romantic songs, humming some softly but melodiously reaching the composer's ears.

“Sing with me you filthy mouse” Dazai said as he walked over to where the other was sitting. "Come on, it's not that hard!" The brunette lamented as he adjusted himself on the Russian's lap, who seemed to be very focused on what he was doing.

The music took over the guitarist at some point, who didn't even realize he actually started singing softly.

“Your love made it well worth waiting” Dazai wrapped his long, bandaged arms around the back of Fyodor's neck, bringing his angelic voice even closer to the other's auditory senses.

“For someone like you” The guitarist pretended to have a microphone in hand, mimicking one with his closed fist and directing it in front of Fyodor.

With no choice, he rolled his eyes and hummed low like a bird in the morning. “If I had it in my power…”

Dazai was excited. “I would arrange for every girl to have your charms”

Fyodor looked up from the paper in front of him, looking at the man on his lap. “Then every minute, every hour…”

“Every boy would find what I found in your arms” The two sang together.

Dazai drew a smile on his lips slowly. Fyodor put an arm around the guitarist, smiling without showing his teeth.

“Everybody loves somebody sometime
And although my dream was overdue”

If someone were present in the room, they could see little hearts rising over the heads of the two lovers. Drowning in each other's warm, warm gaze, as if they had no place to be apart from meeting each other.

“Your love made it well worth waiting" Dazai hummed melodically, touching the tip of his nose to the Russian's.

“For someone like you…” Fyodor finished laughing a little at the other's playful action.

The end of the song couldn't even be fully heard by the two, as they were already lost in hot laughter as both cheeks were feeling their mood being lifted so much. Momentarily, the musicians made a song, a score just for them, which means not only now, but one day in the future it can mean much more. They seemed like a new matter to be discovered, but not even the most educated scientists could understand the language these two could create if they were able to. As if in another universe they were stuck together.

Chapter 17: Lucky Strike/ “Appreciate me and see that you also love me”

Chapter Text

With less than a week to go before the show, everything was abnormally 'normal'. The old tension that gripped everyone was taken over by the initiative of wanting this to become their greatest achievements in life. In addition to other factors, the red-haired director had already planned absolutely everything in less time, so the adjustments should have been made earlier. But none of them expected Ireland's top plays director to notice a Twitter post from Fyodor, which contained:

"The giant f*cking easel fell on Dazai and the plague still hasn't died?"

There was also a photo of what had happened; Dazai with an easel a thousand times bigger than him, which accidentally fell and left a hole the exact size of the brunette, smeared with the still wet paint that fell on top of him. Of course, it also had half of Fyodor's face (his nose) in the picture.

Now it was all more than looking like a huge coincidence, but was she any good?

Chuuya didn't even know how to start this conversation with the others - much less with Dazai - deciding to keep quiet and just freak out on his own. The days were beginning more somberly, the laziness to get out of bed only increased when the light heat of the heater hit the sheet, it was comfortable, vaguely reminiscent of what a wrapped baby would look like in its mother's arms. The redhead had this little dilemma before he got up and went straight to the kitchen to prepare something - the other three residents didn't know (didn't want to) cook. A coffee, scrambled eggs, some pancakes with walnuts, were improvised so no one would be hungry.

The redhead's hands after turning off the burner of a lit stove, was brought to his chest, his eyes also widened with the brief fright of a person dressed in crab pajamas, sitting on the floor with his legs crossed and with a chicken in his arms. her middle being caressed like a cat.

“You bastard son of a bitch!” Chuuya cursed the boy loudly.

Getting a sneering look from the boy with the chicken, Chuuya got even angrier.

“What the hell are you doing up so early?”

"Huh? I didn't know I could control my insomnia so easily” Dazai said without meeting his ex-partner's eyes.

The redhead looked the brunette up and down. "You with that chicken like that is looking like you're going to hatch her."

Dazai didn't seem to care, but brought the omnivore closer.

The redhead made a disgusted noise. “That chicken” Chuuya pointed to the animal, “Whose gift was it?”.

“What do you mean present? I could have just picked up this cuteness here on the street and brought it here” The guitarist said, seeming to be the most common thing in the world, even though he lives in a city far from the countryside.

"That's why, you mule, there's no sign of a chicken here!" Chuuya exhaled with his hands, his bangs falling dramatically across his face.

Dazai looked up, "Is Chuuya saying I'm a 'chicken'?" The brunette frowned looking amused.

“It's nothing personal, but you just have a face. You can't even catch a fly” The dancer said ironically and laughing at his own speech. Of course that's a joke, a really good one...

Dazai faked a thin laugh, "What a refined mood your Slug...".

The redhead didn't seem to mind Dazai's playful and intriguing nickname. Suddenly Chuuya turned around with a spatula in one hand, with a wide smile on his face, gathering all the little dots of his freckles into one.

“Oh, I just forgot! You are really flirting with someone. As if that wasn't enough, it was just the weird Russian you chose.”

"Oh my God" What the brunette thought at that moment was to want to stick his head in the deepest well in the world, or an alien spaceship would appear and kidnap him far away from that situation "It's not exactly like that, ok? Dostoyevsky is a person who you have the same way of thinking as mine. And did we see it in a way that affected us? I don't know how to define it, but you get the idea!"

Chuuya looked at him with a sly smile. "What a more formal way of saying, 'I'm in love'." Without expressing it too much, the brunette got rosy cheeks.

"Well, I don't see myself like I used to" Dazai said looking at some random spot in the room, "You know, in that strange lost way... Fyodor changed a lot in a strangely good way" The brunette smiled weakly, passing his eyes more affectionately. long fingers through the pet hen's feathers, he felt silly "This may sound like a complete romantic drama, but I can't do without it?" For a brief moment, Dazai seemed to be asking the question more to himself than confirming what he felt for the dancer.

The redhead clicked his tongue and went back to his cooking duties, starting with getting some eggs from the fridge. Chuuya had never even seen Dazai like this. In recent times, after his return, things began to show that the boy in bandages was showing that he was feeling fervent emotions in his unaccustomed heart. At the latest, the dancer thought about wanting to directly ask “What the f*ck is going on with you?”. It would seem very intrusive in the life that the two of them agreed to keep apart - that they unwittingly intruded anyway as they saw the proper needs.

Even after a few minutes of conversation had passed, Dazai was still laughing out of nowhere and smiling very shyly - Chuuya swore he saw the other's cheeks turn red to the point where they could explode.

“Wow, did you see that Bram Stoker viewed and liked a post from your little boyfriend on Twitter?” The dancer started out looking still absorbed in his thoughts, trying to break the mood that had set in.

"Yes" The brunette said absently as he combed some of the animal's feathers in his lap.

Chuuya, losing the remnants of his patience, decided to put aside a little and just make the food. Well, now all he needed was just to be happy for his ex-partner in his new relationship, a new way for him to see life, even if it meant something...

[...]

In the smaller residence down a few streets from the condominium, three people were playing cards and eating sweet gums - only the red ones because everyone hated the other colors.

Nikolai was sitting cross-legged on the coffee table in the living room; even with the whole body shivering cold of 8°F, the drummer was wearing only a set of black sweats - his sweatshirt was open, showing a little of his torso - his hair was down, shining the pale strands in the lamp in the corner of the yellow fluorescent room. Sigma was always nicer looking, not looking like he would always be at home with his legs in the air doing nothing; he wore a sanrio pajama set, his pants were actually more velvety; the only break from the cute look was her black lace dressing gown. Fyodor, on the other hand, was comfortable in a jacket he took from the laundry basket and a pair of plaid pants charitably characterized by Gogol as: “old man's pants”.

"Damn, I just remembered that Shibu texted me yesterday saying he was going to come here" Sigma's low, already drowsy voice was heard by the other two present in the room, who looked up from the cards and fixed on the bicolor.

"How it is?" "WHAT?!" Fyodor and Nikolai exhaled in different tones in unison.

“That's right, I was also surprised. But the biggest reason is for you Fyodor” Sigma said playing his card with the hearts symbol on top of the others on the table.

Fyodor raised an eyebrow 'Me?' thought the Russian.

“The Dos-kun?” Nikolai spoke for the cellist who remained silent. “Oh please, he left us here right after he abandoned us and went to make his obsession with fashion a reality. There's no reason he wants to show up in our lives again” The clown said irritated and his tone with a certain jealousy, in which the other two noticed.

“Do you have something against fashion now?” Sigma said crossing his arms in disbelief.

Nikolai looked at his boyfriend, brushing his bangs out in front of his eyes. “Don't get it wrong, sweet little bird. The problem is not the fashion, but Shibusawa”.

Neither of them said anything about the last comment. The red iris albino was an assistant to Fyodor and Nikolai when he was employed as a sewing teacher at the former boarding school where the boys studied for part of their youth. In the beginning everything went well, he was a few years older, so he was seen by the two apprentices as someone cool and very jovial - even though he looked like an old man. By the time the students finished their school life and left for university, Shibusawa had mirrored the concept of fashion in himself, with everything he yearned for being about his work. By far everything was perfect for the ruby iris one, her clothing sketches were already being noticed by other top stylists. But no one expected another designer to accuse the albino for plagiarism, which did not occur, being just something to generate controversy and demean the man.

The whole turmoil was the subject of gossip for a long time, and in just under two days, the albino disappeared from the media. In addition to having abandoned his companions in Russia.

Until the present time, Gogol himself interpreted the lack of maturity at the time, so that no one actually interfered in a way that the albino would change his mind. The Russian at some point in anger spat everything at the clown, which caused a temporary departure. In a few months the two had met again, after all Russia didn't even seem very big when Nikolai had become a kind of wanderer, with no place to sleep or stay. Sigma was always there, watching everything, painstakingly devoted himself to the photography course, and lodged in a shared dormitory, hoping and praying that one day his companions would stop this irritating game. But at the end of it all, Shibusawa never showed up again, which made the two friends reconcile and see that they had both been abandoned in a not very fair way. What did it cost to have explained that he wanted to stay gone and not want his pathetic friends with bizarre accents that got in the way anymore?

Fyodor fidgeted uncomfortably with his vague memories that felt all too real at the moment. Unconsciously, the Russian moved closer to Sigma - who was beside him on the sofa - and began to weave his colored locks with the colorless ones.

The clown took a deep breath and carelessly adjusted the bandages around his belly. Sigma rolled his eyes and so that the magenta iris didn't stop braiding his hair, the bicolor took advantage of the length of his own hair and approached his boyfriend.

“Let me do it.” The photographer said as he skillfully made sure the albino's bandage didn't come undone.

Nikolai looked up with a greater glow in his different colored irises. "Thanks Sig" He said softly, smirking, looking stunned by all the bicolor's good will in wanting to help him.

Sigma, without taking his eyes off what he was doing, smiled returning a silent “You're welcome”.

Taking pride in the fine work he did on his friend's hair, Fyodor shook his head and stood up, heading down the hall to his room.

"The sheets are almost all washed, so you'll have to sleep in our bed" Gogol yelled from the living room - the Russian noticed his best friend's smile from where he was.

Again Fyodor appeared in the room, tying his hair with a rubber band. “I know we always try and it never works but” The Russian accidentally snapped the rubber band in the palm of his hand, the sharp pain made the brunette close his eyes and lick the bruised spot “Are we going to try to win the lottery?”.

The couple looked at each other and nodded in agreement. Laughter invaded the room with a certain nostalgia. With the new tasks that came up suddenly, not even they living in the same house could have the same contact as before, preferring as soon as they got home, going to sleep for the new day tomorrow.

The trio's economic situation was normal, only for the three of them to be able to pay their rent and electricity and water bills. But on the other hand, all the clothes and some furniture were all already owned by the three or rented from the pawn shop.

The albino frowned doubtfully. “Does Shibu still have that big hair?” He questioned fiddling with her braid.

Fyodor huffed, “It's unimaginable to see him with short hair. This is a fact".

Sigma didn't comment, getting to his feet, he patted his clothes and went to the kitchen to make his evening tea.

“Must be like seeing the devil without his scepter” Nikolai said dramatizing with a hand reaching to his forehead and rolling his eyes, as if he was in a Shakespeare play.

“Poor Shibusawa” Fyodor said “Come on, he's not a terror. He treated us very well. I remember the birth of Draconia well.” This being one of the biggest and most revolutionary creations by her red iris friend, a collection of dresses stylized with ruby stones, and one of them being very similar to the scales of a scaled dragon. It was magnificent.

Nikolai studied his friend standing in the middle of the room with a desolate look, seeing that Fyodor rolled his eyes already knowing what was coming next. “Ow Dos-kun, it is very relevant to remember our dear 'Tatsu' in such detail” The drummer rolled his eyes in affront.

The door suddenly slammed into three 'Knock-knock-knock' melodiously.

"Speaking of the plague it must be him," Gogol said, smiling listlessly at the Russian, who headed to answer the door, the thought of 'If it's him, how am I going to face him again?' hammering in his head. When he opened the door he uttered an “Oh” without his own conviction.

“Hello my dear beloved sewer rat” Dazai said with that Dazai smile – shameless – as he leaned against the wall beside the door, with only half of himself being seen by the Russian.

“By God” Fyodor said tucking a strand behind his ear; when did Dazai visit him of his own free will? "Why are you here?" With a little unintentional irritation.

Dazai looked offended, making a face of surprise. “Have I not made it clear enough? I came to see my favorite and sexiest cellist in the world.” The bandage one said, still with those wide eyes in shock, his innocence irritated what was left of humanity in Fyodor.

"Stop this. Come in, rob my house, do what you want, but tell me why?”

“I missed you, obviously.”

"Of me?"

“Who else would be so happy to have my much-needed attention in the 21st century besides you, Fedya?” Dazai said as he faced the Russian, his eyes looking into his, his hand playing with the loose end of Fyodor's old coat.

It would seem silly for a person not to realize the tension their feelings still had when they bumped into each other without warning, like an asteroid invading the ozone layer. It wasn't either of their faults. After all, Dazai was learning to talk and feel love less than a month ago, who would have thought Fyodor who never had his passion returned, now that the TV is being answered, he ended up feeling like a man full of lust.

With the warmth of the guitarist's gaze and the clear signs he was going through, the cellist couldn't help but be nervous, as he felt the same 24 hours a day.

“So,” Nikolai said from behind Fyodor, who jumped like a startled cat, “Will you come in? Sigsig has made tea and there is cake!” The albino said to Dazai gracefully, but clearly with his impassive mockery.

“Oh, how nice, isn’t it Fedya?” The one with the almond iris said, tilting his head to the side and looking hopefully at the impassive Russian.

Fyodor exchanged glances between his clown friend and his beloved guitarist. “What strange impatience. Did they kick you out of the house?" He said pulling Dazai by the arm, who was smiling with satisfaction. "Ah, Ango would never do that to this poor amateur of life here!" The one with the chocolate curls exhaled.

Sigma didn't even notice the agitated movement, it was good to see his friend with someone he shared intimacy with and had something real besides him and Nikolai, even if he didn't trust Dazai much. A proud mother's smile appeared on the bicolor's lips, who were concentrating on pouring the hot water into the teapot.

“I hope you're thinking of us,” Nikolai whispered into Sigma's ear cup, wrapping his arms around his waist.

Sigma just laughed. “I think it's not just us…” He said vaguely with mystery.

Looking into the living room out of the corner of his eye, there were the two brunettes talking or arguing about some silly thing that the couple in the kitchen couldn't quite grasp what it was.

“Want to bet?” Dazai said pointing to the deck spread out on the coffee table, speaking more spontaneously.

"Don't regret what you're proposing" Fyodor murmured, looking deep into the brunette's eyes.

"It is true! This crazy genius won 15 rounds AGAINST SIGMA DO YOU BELIEVE?!” Gogol yelled from the kitchen still looking disbelieved from his previous defeats.

"You weren't that bad either, Kolya" Sigma said consoling the albino while caressing his hand. Receiving a smile and a small seal of the lips, the bicolor looked so embarrassed that it turned red from head to toe.

Only several hours into the hype—of Dazai flirting with Fyodor for most of the game and distracting him—neither managed to beat the other. The two other viewers were almost slack-jawed, watching the games and chess pieces dance on the board as if this dance had been rehearsed before. The minds of both worked like gear machines or just two bags on a scale, where one bag was heavier and the other lighter, thus having the correct balance to follow their actions in an almost interpreted way. The two of them, moreover, didn't seem nervous at all, in fact they sometimes laughed to themselves and exchanged a little threatening looks but that with a little more attention it was possible to see an affection deep down. It's not easy to have a competitive lover.

The night was already welcoming some fleches of sunlight, the stars that once shone were dim. Just as the day was starting, the two chess players' hands were numb, similar to when you put your hand on ice and withdraw after a long time. Dazai took a deep breath, “Checkmate!” its last force being released when placing the piece on the other side of the board.

Fyodor woke up in a spasm, looking confused at what was happening.

“Are we still in it?”

“No more, I won!”

"But, let's see..." The Russian picked up the notebook in which they were jotting down their respective points. Dazai's side - with his face drawn cutely in the corner - had his 15 points. Fyodor's side - contained his face in the same way as Dazai but without the ushanka - had his 13.5, as the guitarist exhaled that he was cheating. "Oh sh*t".

“YAAYYYYYYY” When the Russian didn't even look up fully, the guitarist was dancing awkwardly but very engagingly on top of the board and celebrating as if he were the new Olympic champion. The pieces were already all over the living room rug. Fyodor's eyes burned a little at the image, he would have to pick up every piece made of rare and valuable wood - surely the most valuable thing in this house, not to mention the guitar - But nothing mattered but seeing the boy of bandages to smile and celebrate at something as silly as how the cellist's face was red seeing this.

“Come on Fedya, celebrate!” Dazai shouted as if he were on top of a tower and not facing the person directing his speech.

The cellist rolled his eyes and a smile formed on his face. It was funny how things happened so suddenly but at the same time so predictable for both of them. Nobody planned or thought that Fyodor Dostoyevsky and Dazai Osamu would start talking and exchanging scores in music classes together, or when they see them sitting together on the green lawn of the college campus talking about the many books that always surround him as if they were his own. indestructible castle. They were omnipotent against the world and that was beyond amazing to Fyodor.

For a blank flash, Fyodor was led by Dazai's skeletal hands to where the guitarist was standing, standing just a little taller than usual and still butterflies in his stomach hit him, but the other brunette was there to hold his hands. and smile at him as if he did this every day.

Dazai's eyes weren't even more noticeable due to the messier bangs of his hair than usual on his face, this being one of Dazai's most beautiful details:

1- Dazai completely;
2- How his eyes almost closed when he smiled;
3- His hands;
4- Your wild and beautiful hair;
5- Your voice;
6- Your intelligence;
7- Your smile;
8- among thousands of other considerable factors for Dazai's self-esteem.

Fyodor just didn't mention any of them in detail, because he knew that if he did he would never stop, and that would make the guitarist very embarrassed and even annoyed that the Russian was hiding things from him.

As close as they were now, the bandaged one held his lover's hand tighter, his typical smile plastered on his face. It was as if it was written on his face: "Appreciate me and see that you love me more than that." A line from a poem in which the Russian was becoming a born appreciator, a connoisseur of this soul so absurdly insane but so fragile with the recurring time of life.

The more the cellist thought and thought, the bodies of both were getting closer, until the guitarist stopped for a moment and released his hands to go to the back of the Russian's neck. Impulsively pushing his dark hair past the Russian's shoulder.

“What do you think about all this?” Dazai whispered, looking absently at the curves of Fyodor's face.

"This what?" Fyodor questioned in a normal tone - neither high nor low -.

The guitarist put an index finger on the other's lips, silencing him. With a "Shh" coming out of the back of his throat, he laughed at his act as if it was something very silly.

Fyodor rolled his magenta irises.

Dazai co*cked his head to the side, "I'm referring to this" the brunette signed to the score written in the notebook.

Understanding his passive-aggressive competitive spirit, if Fyodor didn't find that unfair he would pack his things and retreat from the Russian heat, heading home and telling Chuuya or Ango everything looking for some sort of relief. The Russian looped his arms around Dazai's waist, his eyes widening slightly at the other's touch.

"I think it's unacceptable" Fyodor said with a chuckle, looking into the other's eyes that gleamed when he heard the Russian's voice.

Dazai laughed until he was out of breath and unexpectedly pulled Fyodor into a fiery kiss, one that could never be forgotten or abandoned. Colliding awkwardly - because they were on top of a coffee table - the two fell on top of each other on the sofa that luckily was behind them. Breaking the fall with a kiss between laughs exasperated a certain nervousness that Dazai always showed when he got so close to Fyodor, not out of fear but because he never got used to the fact that now he could just kiss the lips of someone seen as so glorious for you.

“Why do you always have to do this? You're taller than me besides, what are you doing up there?” The cellist hissed, trying - and failing - to free himself from Dazai's grip.

“That was a good one” Dazai said laughing as he threw himself to the Russian's side.

Fyodor crossed his arms and stared at the ceiling, Dazai lay on his side and stared at his beloved thoughtfully. “What's going on in there?” The brunette poked the Russian's head

“The fear that tomorrow Gogol will come to make jokes of great potential that are very embarrassing for me”

"Oh dear, can you make up an excuse that 'we're in love'"

"But that's not an excuse..."

“Don't get hurt! Don't get hurt, Fedya!”

"Get away from-"

“Just one more kiss!”

"You're going to make me sick like that!"

“What a scream is this!”

“Oh, Sigma!”

“Fedya's fancy earrings friend! What a surprise!"

"My God. Forgive me. I will try to go back to sleep.”

"Sorry Sigma!"

“Sorry-”

“How dare you apologize when you were the one who jumped on me?!”

“How insensitive! I never come here if I have to go through this!”

"Do not scream!"

“Are you screaming too?!”

"He arrives! Let's go to sleep."

“Right, right.”

Silence.

"Come here"

“f*cky filthy mouse!”

Chapter 18: Matrioska

Chapter Text

3 weeks later

With autumn opening the doors, the curtains on the grand show that the team and Chuuya put on had been successfully completed and applauded. Everything was like a big dream, a realization, a unique feeling for everyone who was present. Reasons that were good or bad, turned everything into a moment apart, the actors and performers were the ones who had their performance and fun better declared. The criticism is not even mentioned, the other day in the morning, Dazai came running to Chuuya's room, throwing open the door and with the notebook resting on his other hand, shouting "Holy sh*t, Chuuya, holy sh*t, look at this!" showing the screen to the boy who had recently been sleeping deeply, satisfied with his own performance. When he saw it, he didn't believe it, he remained gaping and wide-eyed while the brunette laughed hysterically jumping on top of the redhead, hugging him tightly, looking strangely more affectionate with his ex-partner. There were incessant praise and new people wondering about the new area that the young Nakahara wanted to go into as a theater director, Akutagawa Ryunosuke was in the twitter threads too, along with the newest and discovered Atsushi Nakajima.

Fyodor had never felt so fulfilled in his life, it seemed that even with all the spotlight turning on the forgotten former Russian prodigy, there was something different, he wasn't scared. He wasn't alone in this, he had the whole team - Nikolai, Sigma, Akutagawa, Lucy, Atsushi and everyone else - and his Dazai, who felt like a skittish cat at first but eventually let go and let out his beautiful voice like the beautiful angels.

Time flew by and when they noticed the dancers were already leaving in two days. The thud was first noticed by Ango, one afternoon when everyone was on the backyard porch at his house chatting about some of the happenings behind the curtains.

“Wow, Chuuya, you're leaving in two days, right?” He said sipping some of the wine he had been served.

The redhead looked up when he heard his name, his expression a little strained.

"Yea . . .” He said reluctantly, looking slowly at the guitarist sitting cross-legged on the woody floor next to the Russian.

Dazai pursed his lips and frowned, his shoulders slumping as the tension set in. The brunette didn't know the date that his ex-partner would return, he honestly doesn't even remember the day he said he would go to Russia, those moments had been very fast to the point of not even realizing when it could end. Their friendship had been reinvigorated with just a few teaspoons these past few years as they lived their own lives, apart and with no other mode of communication other than snapchat and facetime, later finding out that Chuuya's older brother who purposely wanted to ' guard' and that he found Dazai's 'way' very harmful to the redhead. It was difficult to develop a conversation these days they spent at home, Dazai could count on his fingers the times he purposely dropped a book for the dancer to hear the noise and start a discussion full of ironies, after all, it had always been like that. The guitarist doesn't know how or where they got it, but he is trusted by the dancer, just as he thinks the redhead deserves his protection. Chuuya was difficult, like a great asteroid heading towards the habitable planet of the milky way, explosive to the point of destroying what lingers in his fear and kind to the point of wanting to receive the least friendly trace. He could apologize profusely for the stupid things he's already done with the redhead, for as Oda had once told him, "This boy might be a good breakup for your 'petrified heart that will never have a friend' way. Dazai longs to know what that friendship would be.

The brunette wanted to steady his breathing before anyone noticed, but Fyodor was literally by his side this time, so it was remarkable. The Russian just tightened his grip on the hand that was clasped in his and looked at him for comfort.

The red-haired dancer couldn't take it anymore and hinted that he would get up from the floor he was sitting on but stopped in his step and took a deep breath. Everyone was pretty confused.

Ango cleared his throat. "Forgive me, I didn't mean to cause this, really." He said softly as he walked over to Dazai and placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. “Are you feeling okay?”

Dazai shook his head.

"OK. . . I will go in. Dinner is in the oven and the cat stayed at Mizuki's house, I'll go get him." The one with the green iris warned, going inside, waved vaguely to everyone who was sitting on their cushions or chairs.

Atsushi was the first to volunteer to signal everyone out, getting up and heading inside. Gradually everyone dissipated, except for Sigma and Nikolai, who waited for Fyodor to remember that he too should leave.

"Dos-kun, let's go" Gogol said almost in a whisper, unlike his usual tone.

The Russian stared at him, took a deep breath and stood up, holding his hand only when he was too far away from where the bandaged's long arm could go.

“What if he does something to him? What if—” Fyodor started to say when they were on the front sidewalk, biting the nail on his right thumb. Sigma put his hands on his coat and sighed, hoping it wasn't one of those nights when the Russian had hallucinations or went around and only came back late the next day. Nikolai, who had lagged behind, ran up to the Russian and ran his hand along the flowers on the hedge to attract attention.

“What does Dostoy think about us going somewhere different today, hmm?” The albino showed his one yellow eye and a beaming smile suggestively.

The Russian arched an eyebrow, looking down at the ground he was standing on. “I really want to stay at home. Thank you, Kolya”

“Don't worry” The clown tried to hide his worried and sad tone. Seeing something shiny, the albino rescued a yellow flower and presented it to the cellist, who took it, swallowing hard and grinning. Sigma also offered him a shy smile, but with enormous comfort. "Why aren't all human beings like this way?" Fyodor said softly. Nikolai suddenly laid his head on the Russian's shoulder, stroking himself there lightly, like a cat. Sigma chuckled and did the same with some reluctance.

[...]

In the meantime, Chuuya had gotten up and walked towards Dazai, who inevitably had to move away so the other boy could sit next to him. It was a nice afternoon, the sunset making funny gradients of pink made the mood a little more comfortable, it looked like they were just 15 years old again. The brunette looked sad at the memory and sighed, the redhead rolled up the sleeves of his blouse and sat cross-legged on the bee cushion.

"I should have told you before, I know that" Chuuya started looking at the brunette carefully, couldn't guess if he would feel bad enough with a lack of warning.

Dazai leaned forward and put his elbows on the floor, placing his head in his hands. “Chuuya doesn't need to say that. Even I would forget to tell you something like that.” He said picking up a dry leaf stuck between the weathered wood.

Chuuya bit his lip 'Does he realize why there is always something between us?' he thought. It was difficult to understand Dazai, when he was confused with emotions it was even worse.

“See, if you're thinking that this was on purpose and I came back here just to make you think that our relationship could somehow be interrupted, forgive me.” The redhead leaned forward so that the guitarist could see him in his field of vision, the greater part of his hair spilling out in contrast to the pillows scattered on the floor.

Dazai took his gaze from the shattered leaf, the brown eyes in contrast to the blue ones, the shape of water mixed with earth, could form a beautiful clay mixture and create a statue, but just by a thread it would just become a meaningless mud. beyond your dirt.

“Our relationship was never certain. That way we may not even be able to form something…understanding?” The brunette was afraid to look into the eyes that were begging him for mercy, they wanted to understand each other but they didn't allow that to happen, it would be like the new big bang.

Chuuya shook his head indignantly. “Damn, how long will it be like this? What have I done to you?!”

"You did not do anything! That's the problem!" Dazai gathered strength and quickly turned around, as if an ancient flame had suddenly ignited, directing it directly at his former partner. “You just disappeared when I needed it most!”

"What a lie! YOU GONE WHEN I WANTED YOU AT MY SIDE! Do you know how long I had to work up the courage to look at your face again without wanting to punch you for your cowardice?!”

“Understand that I needed someone…that someone was you! Isn't that enough, Chuuya?” The guitarist's voice faltered, turning away and his bangs covering his facial expression.

The redhead took a breath but just huffed in exasperation, it was suffocating, stuffy. "The thing is, we both needed help, but we couldn't save ourselves." He said in a calmer tone, biting the inside of his cheek. “If you hadn't been sent to that shelter house you would have died, do you understand me? Why don't I think so.”

Dazai sniffed. “f*ck” he muttered into his sobs.

Chuuya scowled tearfully, his eyes reddened, his tears hidden somewhere that had never been drenched in sadness but despair. This was so rare that he didn't even know how he would react to crying or at least when someone in front of him was crying. He fell silent, head down and wiping his runny nose.

“This all hurts. So much so that I can't take it anymore. As if that wasn't enough, everything comes when there are good times, as if you're on purpose to look like a f*cked up idiot on purpose in front of others" .

“I lost my friends, I gained new fears, I started to be afraid of everything that chains me. I just want to be understood, to make some sense. And then, the only person who understood me more deeply was gone with death. I'm tired, Chuuya.” Dazai looked fully exposed, open like a newly blooming rose, in his least beautiful, most weathered and true way. He felt like a rusty old iron abandoned in a backyard of a house, every day waiting for that person to get there and take him out of this ordinary hell of life. When everything started to make sense in Dazai's life, suddenly this voice appeared, 'Come on, where's that desire of yours to die? Why don't you try to do that again?' she again frightened for days, months, years. Until Fyodor shows up. Everything seemed infinitely good, it started to make sense, it was strange but as he thinks, good.

The Russian wasn't a stopgap, Dazai knows very well what it's like to be made that way in life, but his cunning and way of thinking left the guitarist so ridiculously in love that he got drunk and made him fall into this paradise surrounded by good ways of seeing, which after all, once in a lifetime (or twice) there may be someone who understands you. This feeling was not love before, but admiration, a feeling consecrated to the oldest comrade, Oda was the one that Dazai managed to see as a super gifted figure that made him see that he could live without a blade around his neck all the time. days. Oda was his guardian angel who couldn't keep up for too long. The dark-haired boy felt himself collapsing as he remembered it all, his only memory was collapsing in tears, drawing his knees to his chest and curling up like a helpless little puppy.

The sob of old despair taking over from his ex-partner seems terrifying to Chuuya, who felt the heat of his tears on his cheek. Feeling vulnerable, he hugged that scared little mound in front of him. Shaky and full of more things to say to each other, would they ever understand each other? As if they don't fit together just by a missing piece.

Chuuya encircled him in a snuggle, running one hand through some of the other's messy curls. “Psh, psh, psh. Everything will be in order, I promise you.” He tried to reassure, trying to keep the other person fully involved in a human warmth that showed the affection he needed at that moment. “I don’t know how, I don’t know when, but you will one day be able to walk away from this regretful desire and you will finally be able to feel good once you are or are not with me by your side, understood?” The redhead swallowed a sob and hugged him tighter as he felt more tears soaking his clothes.

The death of Dazai's loved one was of great sadness, Chuuya couldn't even handle the loss very well because it was exactly at the time his brother privatized him of everything and everyone just for the ballet. Half of what interrupted their self-knowledge and discovery was this unintentional separation.

Dazai at some point managed to stop shedding tears and lifted his head, his eyes swollen and red with his expression totally given over to weariness. The redhead without least expecting it offered a smile and sniffled hard, shedding a few tears, which were wiped away by the brunette. "Oh, Chibi don't be like that, no, no." He laughed a little nasal and Chuuya accompanied him, still crying but pulled the guitarist for another hug. Duly, Dazai let the redhead climb a little higher and hugged him around the waist, Chuuya grabbed him by the back of the head and surreptitiously wiped his nose with his glove.

A while passed and both of them parted, it had been a while since they felt so close - literally - but felt friends, so to speak. Now, Dazai lay on his stomach on the cushions scattered on the floor and Chuuya sat cross-legged with a totally different posture than he used to do in ballet performances.

"I didn't even ask how you feel now with your new singer title." Chuuya said in a questioning tone as he reached for a bottle of wine and drank the rest of the bottle.

Dazai looked at him turning the bottle down his throat with disdain and muttered. “Not really, I didn’t even want that ‘title’. I don't like to sing for others I don't know.”

“And that silly dream you had…No, you have a band don't you? That one…” The redhead suddenly came back blinking for words.

“Decline of a man…” Dazai reminded him rolling his eyes. "Wow Chibi, I thought you paid attention to what I say."

Chuuya laughed out loud. "What the f*ck! That's white wine! Long time no get one of these…”

“You look like a muddy old man who likes to talk about women in bars and make potentially problematic mental health jokes” The guitarist said with a frown on his face as he snapped his neck.

The redhead licked the piercing that was located on his lip and ran a hand through his hair. "What an asshole you are, grumpy f*cking Osamu" He said with irony in his voice as he crawled into the next corner a few inches longer than Dazai.

Dazai rolled his eyes again. “If you're going to bankroll I think your damn money is in the hands of your advisors because Chuuya would spend it all on alcoholic beverages. Spoilers! In wines…”

"Shut up idiot" The redhead threw himself on the pillows, with an arm over his face and fell asleep.

"Please be less reckless" The brunette said seeing the trees sway. “Look at me saying something like that to someone! What a joke!” He chuckled low and glanced absently at the ceiling that covered the all-oak porch. “How is Fyodor doing? He would sleep here today. Dammit, I should have said a proper goodbye to him, shouldn't I?” The guitarist twisted his face in doubt. "Slug?" He called out to the boy beside him, to see him sleeping with his mouth half open and on his side.

“Right, right. So ok” The bandaged boy struggled a little to get a blanket from a hut which was a futile attempt as it had gone completely wrong, and to wrap him and Chuuya. Grabbing a few more pillows, the brunette let the drowsiness caused by late drunkenness get to him, sleeping facing the curled red-haired boy's bent back. A sense of satisfaction crept through Dazai's core, one that for a long time had never let him smile at such a thing, momentarily the constituent pieces of the puzzle from the good old days of Double Black could mean something. The friendship that was never stabilized or named for such, was degradingly reaching a meager level of miscommunication, which made them fall silent every time they could have the opportunity of a 'sensible' conversation - one could call the discussions that they had to talk to. By just a spark all was lost, Chuuya moved to France, would go to Paris to strive and become a dancer, Dazai was transferred to a foster home and adopted by a young boy, who was looking to entwine his emotions, this gift. teenager had helped him in some way. Memories are few and far between, but over there in the corner, far away but very refreshing, is a child, one of whom was no longer scared, not afraid to smile, was loved, and had imagined a world in an entirely imaginary orbit. Today, this child has grown into a man of many scars, with his mistakes shown between the lines of the finest writing on his complex scores, obsessed with wanting to find something of great value in his life. He didn't fit in what he yearned for one day, he felt in a different format, the world changed, his brain ended up giving in to the complete work of all his problematizations, everything changed, everything changed.

The idea made him sleep, his theories or mental calculations made him fall asleep, it seemed nerdy and very smart of him, but Dazai somehow just wanted to close his eyes and sleep, he couldn't break down in tears again.

[...]

The night passed and the two ended up sleeping outside the house. The people who were there before may have moved on, as they realized the atmosphere that had been left. With only two days after much defamation, Chuuya and Dazai came down with the flu.

“Hi” The pixelated image of half of the guitarist's poster wall appeared, along with his smiling face at the sight of his beloved.

“Hello, Dazai” The Russian placed the notebook in front of him, lying down and with a hand on his chin, he smirked inevitably.

"I was missing you"

“I was too”

“Not anymore?”

"Oh shut up, it's just a popular expression"

The two prodigies hadn't seen each other since this 'little accident', Fyodor was going to sleep there that day, but things were too confused in the bandaged boy's mind, who was distraught at the idea of maybe sucking up to the Russian too much to the point that he abandon it, or worse. Dazai was sick, which made Fyodor think he had a few options:

a) Being silly enough romantically and going to see your boyfriend-if he could even call him that.

b) Stay at home. Because he has a simple OCD motive, which in one of his cases prevented him from wanting to get close to germs, ie, no Dazai near him for the next few weeks.

Guess which one he chose. It's been psychological torture, but the guitarist was very understanding of it, luckily for Fyodor.

Dazai placed the notebook at an angle for Fyodor to see it, as he leaned against the headboard with his legs sprawled under his plant blanket. Stretching like a cat, the cellist pushed his long black strands aside, showing the languid shape of his face a little better.

“How has the devil prodigy been doing lately?” asked the one with the Russian accent.

“Terrible” The brunette on the other side of the screen rolled his tired eyes. “I hate being like this. It’s more exhausting than waking up and living every day, believe it or not.”

Fyodor chuckled under his breath. “Well, I didn't say I don't believe it. I just prefer to continue with these incessant symptoms of anemia, they are enough to make someone want a shot in the stomach.” The Russian bit his lip as he grabbed a pillow.

“Oh, how attractive is this disease, even though I think I have it too, it just goes undiagnosed”

"Why don't you go find a doctor then?"

“Boring” Dazai said at length in a childish tone, suddenly turning to face the screen.

Fyodor smiled, shaking his head as he wrote it down in a notebook that knows where and when he took it. "But, what made you stay with Chuuya the way they were, may I know?" he asked raising a thin dark brow.

Dazai made a strange noise, somewhere between a laugh or a murmur. "Are you jealous? Hmm?"

“What immaturity. It would be a tragedy to say that, since I treat Sigma and Nikolai as my eternal soulmates.” The Russian was surprised even by what came out of his vocal cords. What happened when he was with Dazai who always spoke whatever else he hid in the back of his mind?

“How methodical!” The guitarist echoed his voice as he moved away from the camera to pick up his cat, who meowed with his impromptu entrance, but soon got used to it and stayed in the brunette's lap. “Just had a nice chat with Chibi”

Fyodor looked interestedly at the other boy. “Did that make you…happy? Sorry, I don’t know how to define your status.”

Dazai laughed, the camera pixels following him, Fyodor wished he was by his side so he wouldn't have to depend on an electronic screen to hear that laugh live. “Fedya, this is more complicated than it looks. It was complicated, maybe not one day. I have no hope of when, but I know that Chuuya trusts me enough for us to try to reconcile our past indifferences.” As he caressed the cat a smile appeared with the words he said, in fact they can mess with his face. Fyodor realized this instantly. A silence has settled

"I want to be by your side now" The Russian suddenly whispered, what he wrote was still his main concentration but his true emotions were in a part of his heart.

“The universe should obey our favor in these moments” was all Dazai replied as he lay down and covered his face with his hands, hiding his silly smile.

The cellist nodded in agreement.

“Do you have anything to do?” Dazai asked, lying on his back with his legs stretched out against the wall. When Fyodor visualized this, he wanted to burst out laughing, but he just put a hand in front of his face, not just covering his smile. The other's position was upside down and the cat was halfway across the screen.

“At the moment, yes, but I can do it later, it's not very important” The Russian said putting the pen and notebook somewhere. “May I know why you want to know about my morning schedule?”

Dazai laughed again. “I just wanted to do something with you tonight.” He lowered his tone, as Fyodor almost didn't hear, due to the distance from the microphone. “Like a ‘programming’? A film perhaps, since we are far from each other”.

“Not a bad idea” Fyodor pondered, considering the idea. "We can do this until you get better." He said adjusting a lamp to his face, the lighting being just her, making the pale face have a more yellowish shape from the different light.

“Oh, yes, yes. Better, though, doesn’t change the fact that I really wanted to kiss you.”

“Shut up, bye.”

“Don't let me-” The call ended. Dazai returned to normal stability, getting a little dizzy at the normal sight of things in their proper places, but he laughed right away. “What an idiot” Cursing the other one who decided to love for the rest of the time he planned, the brunette at some point remembered how everything from some angle, even if tiring and mentally exhausting could improve his life, Fyodor was a blessing, even better, a sudden miracle. However, what Dazai most wanted to feel would be that his idea about life was changed so suddenly, after all, this new love was a good chance, but who knows, it could continue...

Chapter 19: Infinitely Gentle

Chapter Text

It would be a misfortune for Fyodor not to say that he was extremely relieved to see his “boyfriend” gradually improving, not just from the flu, but also his mood. The brunette had noticed this in a few video calls, the way he stared off into space, his strangely long laugh, the compulsive, nervous gestures. The cause he didn't know, nor did he want to be an idiot to ask it so sincerely (as he always does), but the worry and anxiety had been consuming him a lot these last few days. Sigma noticed first.

"Something happened?" he asked when the two of them were at an exhibition of articles at the faculty of history.

Fyodor looked up from the book that was flipping the pages quickly. "Um, no" He said promptly, not meeting the bicolor's eyes.

Sigma set XIX's paper aside and crossed his arms, looking questioningly at the dark-haired one. Luckily Nikolai showed up to break the ice.

“I think it's all very nice, but I don't understand this area very much… let's go Sigsig…” The albino started cheerfully, but soon became shy, tugging at the elbow sleeve of his boyfriend's shirt.

The bicolor looked at him for a few seconds and patted the older one's cheek gently. “We will already. Just let me catch an apprehensive mouse here.” he said intimidatingly.

The Russian didn't even move a muscle, clearly pretending that nothing was being directed at him. He didn't see anything terrifying about him. Nothing was wrong. So he thought.

"Okay, okay. Just, let's go somewhere else. It's very noisy here”

Sigma pulled Nikolai - who was confused - out of the venue with stalls scattered across the campus, all on many different subjects within world history, but mostly about everything that had transpired between Russia centuries ago.

The day was partly cloudy, freezing cold, some pigeons were walking around the square when the trio walked side by side, a strange feeling between them set in, as if they didn't know what to say to each other, especially Nikolai who was totally absorbed in the midst of what was happening with Fyodor. The Ukrainian cleared his throat. “Um, I'll go to the comic book stand over there. See you at home!” He waved goodbye as he reached the other side of the street.

Sigma smiled and Fyodor shrugged. The bicolor, wasting no time, sighed heavily and started more as a whisper. "So, what is happening? Can I find myself a little in the middle of all this? Do I have that right?”

Fyodor stared at the floor thoughtfully, his head felt like it was throbbing, his brains on the verge of exploding. “Let's go” He started in a weak voice. “Let's sit on a bench and talk about what you want…” He reached around Sigma's waist and led him to a bench next to a long-abandoned fountain.

What could not go unnoticed would be both dark circles that are located below the Russian's magenta eyes, his tiredness could not only be mental, but his body had also become thinner and consequently more yellowish skin.

"Let's see" Fyodor sat at one end of the bench and Sigma at the other, the space in the middle being just enough for them to hear what they wanted. The Russian fiddled with his glove anxiously. "I don't know. I don't know what's happening to me.” He took a deep breath, closing his eyes. “Since when I took the initiative to help with the show, I feel empty. No form of any kind. I feel awkward in the crowd, like I know the truth better than anyone else. I seem selfish, but in the end I'm selfish. I see myself as a statue, standing still to be appreciated, but there is no one there. But in the corner there is Dazai.”

Sigma doesn't comment when Nikolai suddenly appears coming towards them with a bag of candy. He wanted to hug Fyodor, but something was holding him back, always holding him back. He himself prevented himself from being true to those he loved. It took a long time for him to know what he felt, hearing it from someone else seemed like a form of relief to know he wasn't the only one, but coming from a person you love seems desperate.

The clown stops when he sees both serious faces looking into undefined places, not even seeming to be in this orbit. He sits down in the space where nothing lay and squats down to be level with those on the bench.

“Сосчитай до 10 и дыши, Федор” (Count to 10 and breathe, Fyodor)” Nikolai said quietly, taking Fyodor's gloved hand. The Russian's glove was slowly falling apart from his tics, which were poking holes in the thick fabric-wrapped fingers.

The cellist took a deep breath, swallowing hard. “Я больше не могу, я не могу терпеть все это.” (I can't take it anymore, I can't take it all.) He wanted to scream, his feelings all getting wrapped around his vocal cords.

Sigma willingly wrapped him in a hug, stepping over Nikolai. The bicolor's arms went around Fyodor's neck, his torso was close to Nikolai's, along his legs as well. The albino without much thought also joined in, hugging them both around the waist tightly, passing comfort as best he could. They all seemed to want to say something, but none of them were good enough with words to say it so openly. A breach just opened and it happened, what could happen if the three spoke what has been stored in their core for so long? They had their own reasons, their own pains, everyone does, it's something universal, so they think. Nothing is different, but they do become, being from nationalities so signaling something makes them seem suspicious at first, a transgender fluid bi and two gays, this unfortunately is always better perceived by people, their personalities and knowledge totally discarded like a banana peel.

[...]

Being 'You' is hard, being yourself every day can be a huge waste of time. Dazai thinks about it every day when he wakes up. This has always been the case, he himself doesn't remember the first time he wasn't attracted to death.

This came in moments like boredom, the feeling of having nothing to do but pursue what torments him most, an unbreakable, even unparalleled addiction, death.

'Have I ever stopped being real with Fyodor?' He thought in amazement. 'No, no, no. As? Fyodor is Fyodor! I would never lie to him! Would you lie?' The question recurred in his head. Rising lazily, the brunette turned his neck with a sharp snap, physical fatigue already being shown by his sedentary lifestyle. The bandages he wore were loose, without any clips or tape, just wrapped around what must have been his dark past, but nothing out of the ordinary; a cobalt blue shirt, with a print of a cute kitten saying “I say a lot of bad words” and a balloon with symbols indicating ugly words; dark gray sweatpants, colorful striped socks, and the added bonus that he isn't wearing any of his piercings because he's too lazy to clean them all. dazai's shirt

Stretching for the 12th time, Dazai puts his hands around his neck and gives him a brief massage where the pain bothers him the most, since surprisingly the lack of physical therapy was taking effect after months. Finally someone appears in the room, him being his kitty, the coolest little guy he considers after a few classified people. Dazai smiles slightly, still with his hands on his bandaged neck, he tilts his head in a movement that befits the tricolor cat to be allowed to sit on his lap. Being thus obeyed, the big furry cat enters the room, smelling the dusty carpet not cleaned for a few days and some clothes from the basket in the corner of the wall, reaching his successor owner, he meows softly as he entwines himself in the brunette's legs, deciding on some time to climb into your lap. The only being that was being his company after so long sick was this feline, already with a certain age, but very wise and affectionate, as well as its former owner, now deceased, Oda.

Feeling that time was passing, Dazai felt himself watched through the open door of his room, with the oldest and responsible man in the house, Ango Sakaguchi, leaning against the door. “Hey,” he said in his tired voice. His greenish gaze had purple marks visible below his eyes and some shaggy beard strands in some spots on his face, compared to what Dazai saw when he was 12 years old, the man had changed a lot. The bandaged boy looked back at the cat that was asking for his attention. “Hi” Dazai said softly, biting his lower lip.

“We can have cake for dinner, what do you think?” the bespectacled man asked.

Dazai's eyes widened, inevitably. “Oh, yes, of course, absolutely!” He said with some excitement. 'Why the hell am I so happy about a f*cking cake? How depressing that…’

An awkward silence ensued, and it was only possible to listen compassionately to the gentle purr of the cat being petted.

Ango cleared his throat. "That friend of Fyodor's called in the morning" He said putting his hand on the back of his head nervously.

"Serious?" Dazai's attention turned to the older man as his boyfriend's name was mentioned. “Which one exactly? Are two."

"Oh" The green-eyed one made a complicated expression, trying to remember clearly. “I think it was the one who did her makeup on the day of the performance that day…”

"Sigma!" Dazai said slapping a hand on his thigh that the cat was not. “But what did he want?”

“See how you were.” Ango took off his glasses and put them on his head. “This was Fyodor's request, but he seemed to be really worried, even though he doesn't like you very much…” He studied Dazai's face, who just rolled his eyes in agreement. “But I also heard from Fyodor. Looks like he's not very good either, his anemia has gotten worse and he had a bad asthma attack a few days ago."

Dazai opened his mouth but nothing came out, everything went through his head too fast, to the point of starting to feel a headache. “But-but how is he now?” He stuttered nervously as he lifted the cat from his lap and placed it on the bed.

“Stable, he is being cared for by one Ivan, a close friend of theirs who is studying nursing. But there's also Gogol and Sigma himself taking care of him as much as they can” He said, pausing in parts to see Dazai's expression turn from confused to understanding. "But I bet he'll be fine soon and anyway..."

“Yes” Dazai said, managing to imagine Fyodor in a hospital bed feeling sick, without having him there, without having his support. “Would he be hurt if…you know, I didn't go see him or anything?” He scratched his head, looking at Ango in the doorway, pausing on his way out.

"What? Of course not, Dazai. You are not well either. If he gets hurt it will be his lack of sense.”

Dazai nodded in agreement, even though he didn't think Fyodor would do that to him. “What about Chuuya?” he asked softly, as if afraid.

“Let's see” Ango crossed his arms “I haven't seen him since I got home from work, it seems he went out with his sister and Yosano. It's his last day here, so it's understandable that he's not here, visiting the city and all."

"I see." The guitarist said, ruffling his messy curls.

As the older man was leaving, the guitarist made a strange sound that made the man come back to check on him. “Um, yeah, who wanted to know if I can help make the cake?” Dazai said with a crooked smile and raised eyebrows.

Ango frowned confused but surprised. "But of course".

Dazai grinned and stood up quickly, following the man as he walked up the stairs.

Knock, knock, knock.

Dazai raised a curious eyebrow, as did Ango. It could be Chuuya and the girls, or someone they had no idea who they were, as there was no one different who entered the condominium where they lived.

“Let me get it.” Dazai jogged up the stairs and down two steps each—since he's got giant legs—and ran his hands triumphantly along the varnished wooden banister. Arriving in front of the locked door, the boy in the bandages pushed aside a pair of slippers thrown away and opened the door. He widened his eyes in surprise again after so long not being truly surprised by anything other than his own misfortune, but now here was his salvation.

"Oh my god" He snorted a breath of cold air as he hugged without a second thought the boy who was returning his hug. The boy had his most composed clothes, for him it was always winter; a huge black coat, white shirt with 'The Beatles' print, black weather-worn pants, and magenta winter boots that were darker than his eyes.

The black haired man breathed deeply into Dazai's neck, hugging him as if he were his lifeline, that could really be his salvation, his new version being shown to someone who wasn't superficial. Oh, how good it was to have that feeling of home again.

The brunette closed his eyes, burying his face in the other's collarbone, feeling some snowflakes caressing his hair, the dense fog dancing around them, standing in the middle of that cold and lonely night. Sniffling, Dazai broke away from Fyodor, getting a better look at his embarrassed face and with a cute corner smile. "What are you doing here…?" he asked playfully.

“I came to take care of you.” The Russian said decisively, putting his crimson crocheted scarf in a spot where his voice wouldn't come out so muffled. "You needed someone, and I came."

Dazai laughed. "Fedya, Fedya, you're never going to change, are you?" He said with a difficult expression, between thanks and suffering, suddenly the thought that Fyodor was reading his thoughts was going through his mind again.

"I hope so, but that it doesn't interfere with our relationship" The cellist felt frightened for having thought of a dawn while vomiting all the medicine that everything between them could end, in the midst of the triumph that he felt nothing could interfere with them, but the two of them. have a heart of glass, which means they can break at any second.

Dazai smiled as he nodded in agreement, and opened his arms again. Fyodor rolled his eyes and hugged him around the waist. "Take me inside in case you don't want to sleep with me coughing all night." Dazai chuckled against the scarf the Russian wore.

[...]

It was dawn when Dazai breathed in the sandalwood scent of Fyodor's perfume. He was finishing helping the Russian put on a shirt after he went to shower - Dazai insisted to help him in the shower, but Fyodor just denied him in Russian and closed the door. “Ready” Dazai said, patting some parts of his unstarched shirt. "Now let's go to sleep" The brunette looked into the magenta eyes that were already watching him, he grabbed the Russian's waist and hugged him. Before he could rest his chin on the other man's shoulder, Fyodor stopped him. "No, wait" He said in the strongest accent, getting close to having pronounced it in full Russian, he cupped his hands on the taller's face and smiled as he looked at those precious details up close again. Dazai cringed and laughed in embarrassment. “What is it, eh ‘Mister Know Everything’?” The guitarist said tilting his head to the side and opening his lips wider for a beaming smile. Fyodor smirked and said more in a whisper, "Nothing," and hugged him affectionately.

They were moved by each other's presence, it was as if that wasn't true, not just the fact that they hadn't seen each other for a month, but that all of this was happening within the core of both of them. Being considered the brains of a world that could be destroyed by a plan of both, this was considered a joke to people who saw it as the description of the beginning. They were humans, humans who still didn't understand their own reasons, but who have value for each other, that can be transformed into a new life value.

[...]

Everything was silent, a peaceful dawn, more than both prodigies had in those turbulent days of crises and part of the illness they had. Until the sound of the downstairs door was opened. Neither of them woke up, only Dazai came closer to Fyodor and patted his head on his collarbone, one of his legs was also passed over the Russian's under the layer of sheets that held them together.

[...]

The two boyfriends now had plans together, now they had in mind to make the relationship official, they didn't know when or where, but they knew why. That day, they were on separate sides of the house, Fyodor was in the bedroom, and Dazai had come out of the bathroom. The guitarist heard the sound of something heavy falling and followed where the sound could come from. Being directed to Chuuya and Akutagawa's room, which was now just Chuuya. The redhead was looking less heavy, his hair loose and a little longer - curlier too - wearing casual clothes; a black sweatshirt, pants made of a fabric that looked comfortable, and of course, his black chocker, but simpler. The dancer was packing his bags, some clothes were scattered on the beds and even on the floor. Pausing in the doorway with his hand on his hip, and looking suspicious, Dazai watched the redhead in headphones looking concentrated as he folded his clothes and organized them into his second suitcase.

“You are here?” Dazai was startled at the sound of Chuuya's voice being directed towards him. The redhead stopped doing what he was doing and took out a phone.

"I thought I wouldn't see you before you left"

"Serious?" Chuuya said sarcastically as he took a red flannel and folded it.

Dazai pursed his lips. “Really, Chuuya, I wish I had that chance with you right now to… get that connection and…”

“Sorry” Chuuya said softly but as if he wanted to scream right now, but he was too tired for that. “I don't forgive you. For nothing you did or didn't do, but neither of us owed each other anything, right? But I understand that you want to rescue 'what never happened', but if it really didn't happen, it's because it's not meant to be." The dancer formed fists with his hands, pursing his lips as well as he stared into the vacant gaze of the taller one at the door.

"Right" Dazai said firmly, walking towards the redhead and facing him. Almost immediately Chuuya hugged him and collapsed. Is what Chuuya really said true? Whatever happens, Double Black was more than a mistake, it was also a unique phase in their lives.

Chapter 20: It’s My Party, And I’ll Cry If I Want To

Chapter Text

“An old friendship is a precious treasure that we must keep deep in our hearts.” Someone said that one day he may have had his truest and most lasting friendship. It is not very different from what happens to two boys, one of whom is now carrying a suitcase hurriedly through the airport in Pulkovo, and another boy follows him, biting the nail on his left thumb and the other one with his hand clasped in his own. another escort, who looked nervous as well. It was 17:00 in the afternoon, the sky through the large glass windows had pinkish tints, the rain-laden clouds felt less inclined to stay and soon left, according to the red-haired boy, who as soon as he found his gate ran faster than a formula 1 car.

Dazai didn't know how he was feeling. Chuuya didn't know how he was feeling.

This entire trip was a sight that the two of them had no idea they needed glasses to see. It was so clear but so far away that they ended up basing their own versions and got lost in what the world calls "intrigue", of course, they had no knowledge of what a friendship was like. Chuuya, more than ever, saw that his potential has become very great, even finding another job position, and many advantageous proposals have already been offered to him. Still, the pain in his chest from the argument with Dazai had him shattering into a thousand pieces, as if this really was something important, something that should never have happened in his life.

‘But I always argued with this little sh*t. Why this guilt? f*ck! f*ck! What a hate for me, what a hate for everything!' He screams in his mind as he wipes the tears that widen on his face each time he wipes them away with his scarf, the heavy rock music in his headphones only doing so if feel more cornered, more debased than a human being should really feel in such a situation.

Dazai falsely felt good. He always was. Since Fyodor joined him a few days ago, everything has been fine. Nothing bad is happening. 'For'. He doesn't need help. 'FOR'. Chuuya will never stop trusting you. 'I DON'T MIND. I DO NOT CARE. I DON'T CARE ABOUT CHUUYA sh*t SOMETHING. CHUUYA…chuuya…’ This was going on in his mind ever since Chuuya broke down in tears as she hugged him and buried her face in Dazai’s collarbone. Guilt can be bad, but feeling unable to see how to fix it is much worse.

Feeling a hand tighten on his, Dazai noticed that his finger was now with a red mark - from biting his fingernail, he didn't notice when he started biting the skin of his finger - and his eyes were wet with hot tears, filled with tears. of accumulated pain. Fyodor immediately hugged him. Dazai returned the hug almost immediately, feeling the necessary heat, feeling his heart beat faster, as if all the sound vibrations around him were turned entirely to his poor, fragile heart. “I don't think I'll make it, Fyodor” The guitarist says in a shaky voice, his fingers tightening on his boyfriend's crocheted scarf.

Fyodor sighed heavily and drew him closer to Dazai, trying to remember that devil's voice in the back of his favorite guitarist's mind that he has his filthy mouse by his side, but he has the right to stay too. nervous, right?
“Come on, take a deep breath” The Russian said following what he himself had instructed.

In a few minutes having passed, Fyodor felt that the breathing that had been heavy and quick, shivering in his scarf, was now moderate. Leaving Dazai's grasp, the cellist studied the frightened face, looking tearful but with nothing really coming out of his bloodshot eyes.

“I'm fine here, okay?” Fyodor said pulling him back into a quick hug, which Dazai seemed to want to extend forever.

He just nods, leans forward, and quickly seals a chaste kiss on his beloved's lips. “I know that, but right now I need to say goodbye properly.” Dazai motioned to where Chuuya now stood, leaning against a metal wall, his stacked bags being carried by an airport worker, his attention focused on his cell phone, as he typed fervently fast and his right leg shimmered anxiously.

Dazai grabs the Russian's index and ring finger and calmly leads him to where the redhead is. Coming close to him, the two boys saw the dancer's sister and the doctor, who were also waiting to be called, sitting on the chairs next to each other, Kouyou as elegant as ever, and Yosano was with her legs bent, with one arm around her. around your girlfriend.

“Glad you arrived!” Yosano said with a tone between sarcasm and relief. "We saw you earlier, but we didn't invite you to come with us because..."

“Because we wanted to get dressed up and see other things in town.” Kouyou interrupted, looking annoyed into the magenta eyes of the woman beside her, who swallowed hard and muttered something as she turned around to see a puppy.

“Exactly.” The redhead's deep voice pierced the auditory senses of those present. Dazai studied him for a few minutes, Chuuya did the same, reaching the moment their eyes met and the feeling of being present on the Titanic as it sank became clearly more real. The redhead was suddenly startled and placed a hand on his chest, when he realized he was still wearing his headphones and someone was calling him. The name appeared, 'Brother.'

“Holy sh*t…” Chuuya yelped, closing his eyes and handing the cell phone to Kouyou, who took it and walked away from them all.

“What does he want? Aren't we already leaving? What the hell does this blonde bastard want?” Yosano said irritably, shaking her beautiful hair as she fumed.

“He looks like he's only going to relax when he's got me in his reins again! He's a s-o-n-o-f-a-b-i-t-c-h” Chuuya said while gesturing with his hands. The redhead momentarily backed away and went to the huge windows, watching the other planes land and go to different or new destinations.

Fyodor felt the hate that Dazai felt at that moment, the hate of not being able to intrude because it's something familiar, or because he just can't think that Chuuya's future will somehow always be disturbed by his older brother, even though the redhead is 19387 km away. The Russian still had his fingers entwined in Dazai's warm palm, which induced him to fully pass his hand through the other's.

“Chuuya, my darling! Take it here!” Kouyou's boot heels were heard, and the tall red-haired woman appeared, heading towards her younger brother, handing him the cell phone while wrapping an affectionate arm around the shorter one. Their voices couldn't be heard, but it was inevitable not to feel that Kouyou was comforting him, saying what only an older sister knows, saying only what even in the most haunting moment there will be someone who will say, "You are brillant! Go!” Moments later, Chuuya turned his face to look the taller one in the eyes, and leaned his head on her chest, soon after being fully enveloped in a warm hug from the older one.

“Do you want coffee? Wine? Or whatever, I don't know…” Yosano said in front of the two musicians. They shook their heads, but still followed the brunette to the nearby coffee shop and asked for flavored water. There, Dazai sat on a high stool, his elbows propped up on the dark counter as he thoughtfully sipped his second cup of chamomile tea. Fyodor stood beside his lover, sipping his coffee - as he's shivering if he doesn't have his cup of the day - and staring stupidly at the chocolate curls of the boy sitting next to him, who is luckily dating him... falling in love? Do you have any idea about it? Are they two dating? Wow. It crossed Fyodor's mind from time to time, it seemed unreal, but there they were.

“Frankly, capitalism is increasing coffee so much that soon we will have to grind the coffee bean to save more money” Dazai says almost in a whisper to Fyodor, who nods slightly, as the two watch the large panel with prices and various types of coffee. “It's been so long since I wrote a song that I feel empty” The guitarist says turning around on the bench, Fyodor wanted him to stop but he seemed strangely happier.

“We can do something together, what do you think?” suggests the Russian as she pulls out her ushanka and ties her hair into a messy ponytail.

Dazai stops turning just as he's facing Fyodor, with a smug smile. “Very good idea, Fedya” He smiles but soon becomes mild again. “I remembered that I was producing something with Chibi, but I don't know if we will continue…”

Fyodor puts a hand on Dazai's hair and lets his hand fall until it reaches the nape of the other, approaching him he hugs him, kissing where his hand used to be.

“Fedya is so romantic” Dazai's muffled voice against Fyodor's sweater, makes the Russian laugh his nose and walk away, picking up his bag and putting it on his back, leaving the other brunette behind.

"Hey! Not like that, Fedya! Fedya!” Dazai yells from the cafeteria and runs as fast as he can to his boyfriend who walks to where the other three are, going to board.

The ribboned sticks that separate passengers from those who are just there to watch their relatives, friends, lovers, children leave is heartbreaking. This is the dumbest and most sentimental invention in existence. What movie or series doesn't appear in a scene where a character says goodbye to another and you don't cry? Dazai remembered several touching scenes suddenly flashing through his mind. 'Talk to Chuuya soon and this nightmare is over' He thought and decided for himself, going under the ribbons and going to the redhead, even with the Russian wanting to tug at his overcoat. Chuuya looks airy, arms folded, trying to keep warmer - he's wearing a moss green jacket (yes, similar to fifteen's), a white blouse with dark blue stripes, red scarf, black beret, pierced ears, black chocker, baggy jeans, red all star scrawled with fan names. When he sees Dazai coming towards him, he huffs and waits for the other to arrive.

Dazai takes a deep breath and is facing Chuuya, with a raised eyebrow and a treacherous smile he's had since he was 15. "Don't tell me you came to say goodbye to me, because I'm not going to get killed, okay?" The redhead says compassionately as he tries to keep his face as serious as possible, but his lips have already drawn a smile. The brunette puts his hands on his hips, scratches his eyebrows and the back of his neck, he doesn't know whether to be happy or to scream with happiness to see that Chuuya isn't the seven-headed monster he appears to be after all, and he even now finds it ridiculous how worried about how Chuuya would look. “Je me sens honoré que je me sois inquiété pour toi” (“Be honored that I felt worried about you”) Dazai says crossing his arms and scowling smugly, as if he were a 10-year-old who hit a math question in class. Chuuya laughs and forcefully catches her breath. “Pardon? Les choses ne sont pas comme ça, Osamu. Tu devrais aller chier ("Excuse me? Things aren't like that, Osamu. You should go to hell"). Dazai laughs along with Chuuya.

The robotic sound of the girl saying that the plane to France is leaving at this moment, the redhead makes a noise of surprise and then jumps in fright when he feels Dazai hugging him. He stays still at first and looks like a scared cat, but soon he settles down and snuggles into his bandaged arms, climbing into the brunette's lap, who spins him around in the air, and they're both laughing.

"Let me go! I'm going to be dizzy, you idiot!" Chuuya screams before the brunette drops him to the ground.

"Goodbye!" Dazai waves frantically with his hand in the air, the redhead running with a wheeled suitcase and a backpack on his back, heading towards a giant portal that leads to another country, which Dazai will never forget. This is the last Chuuya presence he will have for a few years from now they meet, voluntarily, no, involuntarily, it seems more attractive and exciting. Osamu and Nakahara like to feel jealous of each other.

[...]

A quick trip of a few minutes by car was enough for Fyodor and Dazai to get home safe and sound. The taxi was almost free for them, as Fyodor discovered Dazai's art of haggling, though suspiciously, Fyodor finds this strangely more attractive in his lover so sly that it makes the Russian weak.

After a moment petting the tricolor kitten in their bed - it was just Dazai's, but Fyodor has gotten used to sleeping with it ever since - while waiting for Dazai to get out of the bath. "What is it?" The Russian sees his cell phone screen glowing from the desk next to the bed, saying in the call 'The Clown'. He fumbles a little, trying to get to his cell phone, while there's a cat lying on his torso, but with a lot of effort he manages to lift his skinny arm and grab it. Just in time, the steam of hot water reaches the room, bringing with it the scent of almonds and cheap shampoo, along with the presence of Dazai, with wet hair and pajamas. The brunette is without his bandages, drying his bangs with a little difficulty with the towel, he signals - with wide eyes of despair - that he is having difficulty for the Russian. Fyodor was communicating in Russian this time, so Dazai would have the goodwill to try to translate the conversation, but he was too lazy for that. Going to him, the guitarist sits on Fyodor's lap, wrapping his long legs around Fyodor's waist, and staring into the magenta eyes so similar to that liquid that the Russian likes so much.

A few seconds pass and the cellist drops his cell phone on the other side of the bed, now turning fully to his beloved. “Come on, Osamu” The Russian takes the towel and folds it, gently drying Dazai's freshly wet hair, which was just quiet and his eyes closed. After finishing, Dazai quickly kisses Fyodor.

"Stop stealing kisses, that's stupid"

"I'm stupid for you, my dear birthday communist"

Fyodor stops. "As…?"

“Let's just say I just know, because we're soulmates, and soulmates have telepathy, so we know hidden things about ourselves…” Dazai smiles in the middle of what he says, looking very euphoric. “Okay, okay. Sigma told me a few weeks ago when we were all gathered at final rehearsal for the show.”

'Oh. Of course, I thought I was Nikolai's gossip' Fyodor thought. "Then fine."

"Yea. But first, let me do something for you.” Fyodor adjusts, placing both legs side by side with the guitarist, who has now reached for something at the end of the bed, and picks up an instrument, wooden, medium, maybe the size of a 20-day-old newborn, a ukulele. The Russian frowns, but soon realizes what may be to come.

Adjusting himself as well, Dazai props the instrument between them so that he can play and still feel that Fyodor is close to him. "I can?" he asks softly, with a crooked smile that made Fyodor want to hide between the pillows. The Russian just nods.

Dazai starts singing the good old classic, Happy Birthday to you. But of course, with your beautiful voice, your vocal cords should be envied by the harps of ancient Greece, as they are so clear and still have beautiful sonar. A light rhythm, the voice at the right volume, the eyes on her ringed fingers that played the instrument deftly, the light from the lamp fully bringing out the beauty and opportunity of such an important moment for Fyodor. He wished he had spent more time with Nikolai and Sigma this anniversary, as they both helped him more than ever in this troubled year, they were his friends, his family, his halves. Maybe someday, but not today, Fyodor resolves to tell Dazai how hard it was to see him being dumped by Chuuya, as he would never want to go through that with Nikolai or Sigma. But now, what matters is that day, which even though it is not very different, only adds one more day close to his death, but at the same time it adds more time that he could spend with Dazai.

“Happy Birthday, Fedya” Dazai says at the end of the song, looking vigorously at his lover, who has tears in his eyes. “Oh, come here.” Dazai puts the ukulele aside, and pulls Fyodor onto his lap. “Feel free to do whatever you want from here on out, we're only human, unable to do everything right forever, but remember…” He lifts the Russian's red face to look at his face. "I love you".

Chapter 21: A Reason

Chapter Text

Everything started to fall when no one had noticed, time had not stopped, much less passed. It was a rain, it came with heavy, heavy clouds, with lots of thunder, just wanting to be freed from all suffering, but who knew, that it could before be just a fluffy white cloud.

Fyodor woke up at dawn, with a huge flash in the room, responsible for thunder. Everything was dark, so it was difficult for the Russian to even see where his beloved was, who groped on the sheets, finding Dazai's tuft of curls. He was fully covered, somewhere in the night he had moved away from the shell with the Russian and turned to the other side of the bed, curling up, leaving only that pile of sheet in the corner of the bed. The Russian smiled with the subtlety that the other brunette was, he had such a peaceful face when he slept. The Russian got up and, stretching, heard a crack from his back. 'Is it possible that I will never stop feeling pain?'.

Another thunder clarified the room, in the distance it was possible to see the tricolor cat, looking at its sleeping owner. Fyodor jumped in fright when he felt the hairs from the cat's tail passing over his legs, which were already out of bed, in search of a possible slipper or anything to walk around the house without getting electrocuted on the way - he hates walking with shod feet. Tying up his hair, the Russian sighed tiredly, his movements seemed to be becoming more and more limited, why?, he didn't know, and he was sincerely afraid of discovering another illness or disorder running through his veins. “Come on, stockinet.” Fyodor said picking up the big cat and sniffing the top of the furry head. The naming of the cat's nickname was because, one day Dazai was pestering Sigma when he came to visit Fyodor, and he happened to be knitting something in the exact colors of the big furry cat - orange, brown and white - so the Russian when he compared the cat who was sitting on his lap with the unfinished scarf that the bicolor held in his hands, he whispered to the cat "Stockinet?", immediately the feline looked at him. Stockinet has since been established.

When the cellist left the room, the wall lamps were lit in the corridor, illuminating the path that was necessary to pass in the dark dawn. "If you can go ahead, I would greatly appreciate it" Whispered the Russian in his still sleepy tone, but that was enough for the tricolor cat to know that he was being instructed. Dropping the cat to the ground, the feline walks in front, elegantly placing each furry paw in front of the other, with the Russian close behind.
If by any chance there was only Fyodor alone at home - which is rare, since Dazai always manages to stay close to him - Stockinet acts as a 'bodyguard', staying by the brunette's side and always keeping him company. In addition to the chicken, which Dazai had left sleeping for 3 days straight in a box under the kitchen sink.

The direction that the Russian thought was best was to go to the kitchen, being a place, even with those yellow lights, it seemed cozy and warm. It was tempting to sit on the piano bench in the living room, but knowing that everyone was finally asleep made him roll his eyes at the silly thought. In the kitchen, the cellist in white pajamas looked for some ingredients for tea, it could be anyone, anyone who calmed his nerves in the middle of this storm outside. The Russian walked slowly with the cup of hot chamomile tea to the sink counter, his temple seeming to deflate as he drank each sip, bringing some feeling of peace, and longing for his friends, who had 'tea parties'. A subtle smile appeared on the Russian's lips, which soon after turned into a laugh full of past happiness.

A cluck was heard from below where Fyodor was standing, tilting his head slightly - he has a pain in his neck, okay? - to see a small chicken of brown colors, wrapped in a light pink cloth. 'For God's sake, Dazai, did you go so far as to cover up a chicken?' Fyodor thought, laughing softly again, and properly washing the flower cup he took from the cupboard, which contained things that caught the Russian's attention. His sixth, sharpest sense awoke when he saw pill packs, placed in such a way that it appeared to be hidden but being missed, some loose white pills nearby. The hairs on the back of Fyodor's neck stood on end, his throat suddenly going dry. 'But of course. It wouldn't be possible for Dazai to start having peaceful nights sleep without some… help' It hurt even for himself to think of his boyfriend first instead of Ango. The clues were obvious, as Dazai wouldn't be so stupid as to let Ango see it.

With no further reaction, Fyodor licked his lips, his irises glazed somewhere, swallowing hard, going back to the stairs, he saw the tricolor cat lying on the third step, probably tired. The Russian climbed the stairs holding onto the railing, not knowing how he would react, did he? But already? He didn't feel dislike for Dazai. Arriving in the room, still dark, with the same pile of sheets where the boy in bandages slept, Fyodor closed the door before the cat could enter and slowly walked to the bed, ducking under the duvet, his hair now messy, he got close enough to the sleeping guitarist, who had his face clear out of the duvet, his long eyelashes closed, his lips parted. Fyodor leaned on his elbows, and smiled every time the other brunette chuckled in the middle of his dream. “Explain to me, please, the difficulty you're going through… Dazai” The Russian whispered with his lips on the other's cheek, his voice was muffled, but that didn't seem to go unnoticed, when a tear fell from his magenta eyes. Fyodor was startled by his own reaction, as soon as he realized it, he cleaned this fragility remnant and returned to the place where he was previously sleeping. Without another word, the Russian fell asleep as the rain began to dissipate.

[...]

“ Some kind of night into your darkness

Colors your eyes with what's not there

Fade into you

Strange, you never knew

Fade into you

I think it's strange you never knew”

It was past 1:00 pm when Dazai was singing, guitar in hand, sitting on a tree stump. He, Fyodor, Kunikida and some people from the group - Atsushi and Akutagawa - got together for a camp, in a forest, where, yes, there was supervision by forest agents. It ended up being simple, arranging some last minute random tents and emergency equipment, something that only they wouldn't be able to complain about as they had nothing to lose. Everyone at that moment was arranging something, being then their own tents, sleeping bags, or the cooler with the drinks to keep them at a stable temperature. Only Dazai, as usual, was doing anything but what he should really be doing at the moment, deciding to take his guitar and sit on a wooden log - which had some mushrooms and probable toxic fungi, but who cares? - and began to sing, clearly to Fyodor. Where he was putting a coat of heavy fur, for a much more freezing cold than it was now, stopping a little when he listened better to the notes and the beautiful timbre that came from that person so majestic.

'f*cking hell, how can he be so perfect?' Fyodor found himself thinking, as he approached the singing boy, with a crooked smile and red cheekbones.

Dazai looked up only to meet his lover's piercing eyes.

“You put your hands into your head”

Fyodor's hands were tucked inside his coat, his ponytail undone as he bent down to give Dazai a quick peck on the lips.

“Hey, Dostoyevsky! Kunikida is asking where the sheets are!” Atsushi's voice was heard on the other side, which was getting closer, until he was beside the two lovers.

Fyodor murmured something in Dazai's ear, which made the one in the bandages chuckle and lightly kick the Russian's leg as he took off with the tiger boy.

[...]

By nightfall, everyone had already eaten, having made a fire with the help of a nice old man who was a forest guard, they ate ramen noodles and marshmallows, with the help of a small steel pan that Kunikida took from his pocket - ? - They still had time to talk, laugh, see a little more performance of Dazai singing, and Kunikida complaining that Dazai was too close to the fire and that he was neglecting Atsushi too much to bring the blankets for himself.

In each one's tents, everyone had slept, except the couple of prodigies, who even in the dark, lying facing each other, still managed to feel each other's heartbeat, and especially, the look they had on each other.

"Hey"

"Hey"

The two continued to look at each other.

“How bizarre, isn’t it?” The guitarist says, getting closer to the Russian, taking a dark lock of the other and twirling it around his finger.

Fyodor watched what the other did. "Which?"

“How do I think you're so unbelievable” The boy in the bandages says whimpering, which makes Fyodor burst out laughing. "Don't laugh, bro!" Dazai complains, kicking the other's leg under the blanket.

After recovering from the crisis of laughter, Fyodor wipes away a tear and looks back at his boyfriend, he would always seem to have something new in him, even if it was dark, just the fading light of a camp pole illuminating opaquely inside the hut, the smile of Dazai could still be seen up to 982764789 km from here if Fyodor was even in Indonesia.

Taking the side of Dazai's face, Fyodor placed a kiss on his cheek, which made the brunette chuckle at the caress. "Good night, Osamu".

“Good night, Fedya” The guitarist snuggles close to the other and sleeps like a newborn, calmly, not wondering what tomorrow will be like, not even if there will be a tomorrow, but still, his beloved Fedya's embrace would never be enough for the disturbances of life to surface.

[...]

Scorching a few words out of drowsiness, Dazai stayed in the car, speaking inaccurately to a doll that moved its head in Kunikida's car, he had taken a pill, one that was white, this time it was white, not yellow and red like the one that time. Nor did he remember what he had done with all the boxes of medicine, and how he would justify it to Ango, since he was very concerned about it. Chuuya could have already cut all this vicious progress, he always did.

Remembering the redhead complaining, the boy with bandages shook his head back and forth, eyes closed, feeling the sonar of something far away, that not even a whale would be able to hear. No one listened to him but he still sang doped up.

“A stick, a stone, it's the end of the road…”

Turning his face he saw Akutagawa coming out of the convenience store, with bags that were a little empty inside, but there were things that looked like cans of corn and energy drinks. The brunette murmured an "Ooh" and got out of the passenger seat, going back to where he was before. Kunikida's car wasn't that big, but it looked like the car of a divorced mother who has 4 children to take care of.

“Nobody's supposed to have that kind of thing…” Kunikida gets in, taking the driver's seat.

Soon, everyone else got into the car; Fyodor next to Dazai, Akutagawa in the other backseat, and Atsushi next to Kunikida.

[...]

When they were delivered home, Akutagawa manifested himself to go in first, the other two prodigies staying behind, bringing some bags and the tent that they borrowed from the neighbor.

As soon as he entered, Dazai threw himself on the sofa and stretching, Fyodor threw a bag on top of the brunette, who yelped with forced pain and raised a hand in return. The Russian rolled his eyes and went into the kitchen, where Akutagawa was concentrating on keeping the cans of corn in the fridge, getting startled when he saw the figure in white clothes and messy black hair.

“No…I saw him there, for god's sake…” The boy with no eyebrows said in his gravelly tone and put a hand on his chest.

“I just wanted to help” Fyodor wasn't pathetic, he wanted to ask why Akutagawa hadn't left with Chuuya. Coming close to where the white-haired man crouched, the Russian stopped beside him, hands behind his back and co*cking his head to the side.

"So, I'm not accidentally asking you to leave here, but, why didn't you leave with Chuuya?" He didn't know Not to be direct about things, sorry.

Akutagawa sighed heavily, coughing softly, the boy stood up, closing the fridge door and taking another deep breath. “Um, ok” He started biting his lip, he was nervous. “Nakahara-san, he went to a different destination. He had said he was going to France, right?” Fyodor nodded in agreement. “Yeah, well, he went to San Francisco, where Kouyou-san and Yosano live. After all, if he went to Paris, Verlaine would be there so it would be total sh*t again.” The white-haired boy explained calmly, sometimes nervously fiddling with his locks or his piercings.

The Russian was a little surprised, but he had already stopped to think about it one day at night when insomnia attacked, Chuuya wasn't an idiot to go back to his hunter's lair being such appetizing prey for his brother, this way. shape sounds like a sick thing, but if you haven't noticed, it is.

“Okay, thanks, Aku-ta-ga?

“Akutagawa, Lord Dostoyevsky”

Fyodor wanted to laugh at what he heard. "Oh, no need for such formality" He crossed his arms and smiled intimidatingly, teasing enough that the eyebrowless bat bowed in respect and headed towards the stairs.

“What did he want with you?” Dazia's lazy voice came close to Fyodor's earlobe, and he covered his alarm with a look over his shoulder.

"So beautiful, my love" Dazai said trying to kiss Fyodor, who leaned forward, in time to escape the hug around his waist.

"What there was? This time…” The cellist said rubbing his temple.

Dazai was surprised by this, no, shocked, he didn't know that Fyodor already knew this. 'Has he noticed already?'

"What exactly?" The guitarist grinned, which only made it worse.

"Actually nothing, forget about it" Fyodor didn't want to argue with Dazai, because he knew how Dazai worked, just like the toys that come with a manual, Dazai will always work the same way, if he changes one day Fyodor will get the hang of it again by magic. The best thing to do now is to wait, wait until when the whole charade will last, or even until how long Dazai will last.

The boy in the bandages shook his head and scratched his head, going to the other cupboard, grabbing a bag of crab snacks and heading outside.

Fyodor went to the room quickly, he wanted to scream, kick himself, because it's only once in a lifetime that you have the chance to cry desperately, and that time is wasted, because it only happens in your own birth. It's suffocating to realize that everything is changing, for good or bad, but he didn't want to get on the bad side. The first intuition was wanting Sigma and Nikolai here, right now all I wanted was them.

Thinking about it, he ran to the desk drawer and there he found his cell phone, discharged but with a small battery saving strip on, he had exactly 3 minutes of connection. Eagerly clicking on the video call on Nikolai's contact - because he knew he would answer it without hesitation - his hopes returned when he saw the familiar faces of his friends.

“You…” Fyodor said in the lowest voice he managed to get out of his vocal chords.

Sigma and Nikolai were sitting on the couch exactly as they had been when the Russian first left the day he had rescued Dazai from his attempt to get away with it. The bicolor had already made a worried frown on his face and the albino took a deep breath. “Fyodor?” The two said in unison.

The Russian grinned, his eyes swollen with weathered tears.

"My God! What happened, Dos-kun?” Nikolai asked putting the phone closer to his face, angled it at a funny angle but at this point it didn't matter.

“I just wanted to see you, that's all” The cellist shrugs, sniffing voluntarily, now looking at the ceiling and taking a deep breath.

"Everything is fine?" Sigma asks this time, picking up his cell phone so that his face is shown as well.

The Russian shrugs again and hangs up.

[...]

Downstairs, while Fyodor had gone upstairs, Dazai stood outside, looking up at the overcast sky and petting his chicken.

“What can I tell him?” He mused, sitting on the steps leading to the small grassy backyard, with the chicken in his lap, a mug of hot chocolate and a crumpled empty bag of crab cakes. I love you so much" His voice became soft as he spoke my name. "It's so good to know that he loves me, he's so unique" The chicken got up, but the boy in the bandages crouched her down again so that she would stay insistently. "No I want to lose him, I can't lose anyone else.”

The light of a taxi car illuminated the fence, Dazai looked at the bird that was already looking at him, putting it aside, the brunette went to the front, putting the hood of his sweatshirt.

In front of the house, Ango was getting out of the black car, wishing the man good night in Russian and closing the vehicle door. He was wearing a suit, so Dazai assumed he was returning from work as usual. Spotting Dazai, the green-eyed man walked towards him.

"Hey"

"Hey" Dazai replied with a tired little smile.

"How are you? What are you doing out here?” Ango asked one after the other, coming close, and putting the black suitcase he was carrying aside, which disturbed Dazai.

"I think I'm cool?" Dazai made a confused face.

Ango looked at the sweatshirt the boy was wearing, the sweatpants he always wore, but his feet were wearing slippers that looked new. “You're really cool” The older man said ironically, going to the door of his house taking his briefcase. “By the way, when you get my pills from the psychiatrist, let me know. I don't want to always have to ask for medicine prescriptions so quickly one after the other, so, if you want, I'll send you to the same psychiatrist that I go to. It is most recommendable.”

Chapter 22: A Little Bit Too Much

Chapter Text

4 weeks later

“ They say spring will come again.But only my soul is so bitter.
What if that time comes?
My child will not return to me.
I remember last May:
Zoo... Embracing you, I'll
point to the elephant - in response "nya",
And the reaction to the bird - "nya".
When you finally saw a deer,
You were so fascinated by the horns,
That you only silently examined the beast...
And at that very moment, I am sure,
Only in the radiance of this world
You stood and looked at the beast…”

In the best part of Dazai's head and brain it said that he was losing his 'best' senses. His behavior had changed and was uncertain the fit of any society. This all happened before I went into the ambulance, unconscious, disoriented and totally numb from PCD (angel dust).

17 hours before

With difficulty, Fyodor stopped to sit on the canvas that was on the tatami floor, the pain in his lower bones felt like they were going to break in half and his arms were softer than pool noodles, but still, Dazai and Nikolai managed to keep him laughing at this moment.

He had started doing physiotherapy after a recommendation (obligation) from Sigma, a few weeks ago. At the mall, a few km from the condominium, it seemed to be a closer and more appropriate place for such an unusual task for Fyodor, who couldn't believe that this was really happening to him. A punishment to realize that even at such a young age they already had such damaging bone problems.

"Imagine a duck saying 'f*ck, f*ck', it would sound like he's saying 'duck, duck', because he has a broken voice!" Nikolai says while walking with an arm linked in Fyodor's, that he had already left the treatment room and they were now leaving the establishment.

“That was good, wasn't it?” Dazai says into Fyodor's ear, who rolls his eyes in annoyance. “You are getting very cranky, Fedya.”

“Oh!” Nikolai says before bursting out laughing - some ladies passing by looked startled. "I knew there was a right term for it, but I didn't know it would be a classification for an elderly person!" He said excitedly, leaning forward to look more widely into the Russian's and his boyfriend's face, which had one in bandages chuckling softly and the other scowling somewhere between anger and pain.

“Oh, please, Nikolai!” Fyodor grumbles as they pass through the automatic glass door, and head towards the car, where Sigma is outside, smoking a cigarette while looking at a lady with a child laughing happily.

The bicolor looked pensive and melancholic if he noticed how one of his legs was nervously trembling, but as soon as he saw the trio arriving, he put out the cigarette quickly and threw it in the cigarette can that was beside him. "Let's go!" He yelled and got into the car.

[...]

The path had been turbulent. A song was playing on the radio, which Nikolai ended up remembering the words to and sang the entire way. Fyodor fell asleep as soon as he entered, and Dazai held the other's head on his shoulder until he reached Gogol and Sigma's apartment.

Everyone sighed with relief as they entered the room, especially Fyodor, who hadn't entered this place that was once his home for months. He feels he needed an escape formula, and it was in front of his eyes, but, there was always that thing, that thing that pulled his hair when he felt he wanted to return to the arms of a more comfortable life with his friends, maybe she it was the desire to always want Dazai around. Standing at the door, looking at the room in front of him, the Russian watched his friends come in and sit on the sofa, turning on the TV and watching a cartoon.

He took a deep breath and went to his room, squeezing the ears of his ushanka, he saw every spot unchanged from its former resting place. Fyodor always remained in this room, leaving only when he was really threatened with aggression or when he was so hungry that his stomach threatened to come out of his mouth. Seeing some black pen scribbles of drawings that were once meaningless, he crossed his arms and analyzed them, all of them for this current Fyodor did seem to make sense, he would be despair. The window was still closed, the two-screen computer was still there, his notebook lying on the bed, the hangers he desperately grabbed before going to Dazai's house were still lying on the floor, making a path to the bathroom door, which had been cleaned probably yesterday, from the scent of lavender and sandalwood in the place. Fyodor analyzed it some more, sneezed and went to join his friends.

Everyone seemed fine, Sigma had adapted to Dazai, at least what the Russian hoped had happened, even if the bicolor still looked in disbelief every time the boy in the bandages said something stupid. Nikolai and Dazai got along well the first time, of course, the clown had been inflated with jealousy, but it passed when Dazai said he liked poetry.

Dazai stopped laughing at something Gogol had said, and turned to his boyfriend, who sat next to him, snuggled and took another deep breath.

"Everything is fine?" The guitarist's low voice caught Fyodor's attention, who just nodded.

“Are you staying for dinner?” Sigma asked while Nikolai was still laughing. Sitting with one leg over the other, arms crossed, he looked intimidating.

Dazai automatically looked at Fyodor waiting for an answer. Fyodor looked back and shrugged. “Um, we don't know” Dazai replied to Sigma.

Sigma nodded and went inside the hall. The clown bent down, reaching easily to a desk near them, taking something from the drawer, a lavender talisman. “Well me and Sigsig, we got this for you two! Because… because we thought you would like it?” He kept changing his expression with each thing he said, with uncertainty at the end he smiled crookedly.

Fyodor smirked and Dazai was so surprised that he formed a perfect 'O' with his mouth. “I didn't have to. Wow, me. Wow, Haha” The guitarist said nervously as he looked at Fyodor. “Thank you…” He took the talisman.

Nikolai shook his head and stood up, going over to the Russian and hugging him tightly but gently. “Мой дорогой Дос-кун, я надеюсь, что ты навсегда, бесконечно счастлив с этим мальчиком, и что он достигнет всего самого святого, чего ты желаешь! Потому что ты самый близкий к Богу, которого я когда-либо видел за всю свою жизнь! Я тебя люблю" (My dear Dos-kun, I hope you are forever, infinitely happy with this boy, and that he achieves all the holiest you desire! Because you are the closest to a God that I have ever seen in my entire life! I Love you.)

Fyodor hugged him back and nuzzled his head against the collarbone of the albino, who chuckled softly into the other's shoulder, and tightened the hug a little more. “Enough, Kolya” Fyodor said quietly in a nasal laugh..

Sigma returned with a violet blanket, emblazoned with a few mice, of different colors and fluffy ways they were positioned. Automatically Dazai let out a sound of surprise and laughed. Fyodor, as soon as he separated, turned red from head to toe with the other's gesture.

“Now it's my turn I guess, look I'm not good at saying and gifting people like that, you know, but take it!” The bicolor stretched the sheet towards the Russian.

“Thanks, Sig” The Russian said with a sad look but with a different glow, which Sigma had never seen since the Russian got his first and only cello from the music teacher at the orphanage.

Time passed, and they stayed longer than they should have, arriving at 11:48 pm, ate piroshki and had red wine - two bottles. Fyodor and Dazai went on foot, the other couple insisted on accompanying them to the nearest subway, but the two musicians didn't want to disturb them. They walked through the streets, darkened with little lighting, the cold giving both of them the opportunity to allow themselves to walk hand in hand - for the first time -, the gloves of both had glaring differences, because Dazai's while he had the new material of crocheted, Fyodor's was velvet, weatherworn, punctured in places by his nervous twitches, and never, ever soiled. They felt like a silly couple, when they exchanged glances in the streets and were embarrassed, but Dazai's giggles calmed the atmosphere a little more, becoming more welcoming to Fyodor. When they descended the stairs to the underground subway, they analyzed the map in detail, without exchanging a single word, they entered the train, which moved quickly and mechanically as they were used to. The path they took was peaceful, there was no one besides them, a couple of two black women with a charming child sleeping in the lap of one of them, an elderly gentleman sleeping in the front seat, who happened to be far from the two prodigies, who were in the last banks. Fyodor, before sitting down, checked for something degrading for him and when he saw that he hadn't, he settled down, pulling his scarf closer to his nose; Dazai looked around and sat on the floor, close to Fyodor's boots, who looked at his boyfriend on the floor and muttered a curse in Russian, which the guitarist translated as "f*cking careless". He laughed softly, passing a few minutes, he extended a hand and automatically the Russian took it, intertwining their thin fingers, and staying together until, again, Fyodor felt drowsiness come on.

As time passed, Dazai stayed awake, watching the light blink, turn off, and turn on again. Until, a person that he didn't even see coming through the door, sat in the chair he should have sat in, which was facing Fyodor. The person looked around and handed over a plastic bag.

Dazai stiffened, he felt all his senses failing him when he saw that what he had written in blue school markers was Angel Dust, my dear. When he remembered to make sure what the person's face looked like, he was already gone, leaving only a bag of phencyclidine in Dazai's lap. 'What the hell do I do with this sh*t?' He swallowed hard.

“Why don't you smell it?”

'Hi?' He heard that voice, the same voice that tells him when he should get up in the middle of the night and steal Ango's artery or depression meds. This time it was a high-pitched voice, it was feminine, tempting, seductive, tempting the sweet, darling little lamb to take the path where the wolf was lurking. Dazai thought of looking at Fyodor, but if he did he would want to die right then, he feels guilty. 'NO! NO! YOU WILL NOT DO IT!'

"But why not? It's literally right in front of you! Let's go… He's sleeping, he must not even remember where he is with so many medications that the nurses gave him to ease his pain!”

“Oh! Does that mean we will have more medicine at home?” Another deeper voice said.

Dazai was breathing audibly, it felt like he was running a marathon, he was sweating everywhere possible, his vision becoming blurred. He felt like complete sh*t.

"Do you remember? When did you feel so happy that you thought you were going to die?”

‘No…I don’t remember…but, no! I remembered.' That was the last thought before Dazai took a deep breath and took a cigarette from Fyodor's overcoat pocket and opened it, desperately taking all the nicotine and dust present inside the paper, opening the package with just one hand, he took it with the inside of the package upside down and placed everything inside the wrapped paper. He took the lighter from Fyodor's pocket, put the cigarette between his lips, and lit it. Everything calmed down, seemed to be quiet for a few seconds, until everything came back quickly like the noise of a racing car, his heart was beating slowly, his brain was changing colors just as the lights seemed to change when 5 min had passed that he inhaled and exhaled that .

He let go of Fyodor's hand and threw the cigarette away, he wanted to scream, but since he couldn't and there wasn't a pillow nearby, he got up abruptly and rubbed both hands over his face. 'sh*t, sh*t, sh*t, sh*t, sh*t, sh*t, sh i t,, shi t tihssssss' His thoughts changed direction, at some point he seemed to hold the window latch. Closing his eyes and opening them again he took a deep breath, waiting for that wretched voice that reminded him of happiness to appear again, but it's there, he never felt happy like before, before when?, when he had Oda, Chuuya, or even when he met Fyodor for a reason so infuriating to himself that he wanted to punch himself whenever he remembered that he would tell the others when they asked how the couple met.

One stubborn tear fell, two, three, until everything seemed impossible to control, he wanted to keep his heartbeat normal, but even forcing himself he couldn't, he was honestly f*cked.

“Calm down.” He said quietly as he got out and looked down the aisle of the train.

Everything suddenly distorted, spun, and flashed back, Dazai saw, at the very end, the tricolor cat. He co*cked his head to the side, What is Stockinet doing here?

The cat looked different, the eyes, they were shining white, and its mouth could be seen as a smile. Dazai exhaled in fright, a spasm running down his spine, he scratched his head and then ran outside as the metal doors opened.

It was humid when he walked through the streets, from a place he didn't even know he was, because the streets were exactly like Yokohama. The Lupine bar was just ahead, the illuminated sign of a friendly old man with a monocle offering a drink, it would never leave Dazai's mind, so much so that he apologized and promised Oda that he would go there when he was of age. Even though he drank his first glass of whiskey at the age of 14, he didn't care, he didn't even want to, but something inside him wanted to satisfy that hunger. It just grew and became a tricolor cat with white eyes and a bizarre smile, he didn't want that, he didn't want to be considered crazy.

Dazai walked a little staggering when he passed in front of the establishment, it would be up to him to want to enter and join the group of three people sitting on wooden benches, looking directly at him through a crack in the entrance door. He wanted to go far. Arriving at an alley, he stopped, breathing hard and too fast, he burst into tears, his hand in the shape of a fist hid his eyes from the darkness, his sobs seemed desperate, the pain in his chest and that of a knife in his legs. they faltered and let him fall to the ground. The alley was empty, just mud puddles, and potentially the chance of leptospirosis, but he didn't care. Cars passed, went, returned, parked, and Dazai remained weak. His heart missed a beat, and it all made sense to the boy in the bandages all of a sudden.

"Did you see? That was the happiness I had said before! Haha! Do you believe me now? Hmm? Huh? BELIEVE??” The voice only increased and made everything more uncomfortable, but still, a final smile formed on Dazai's lips.

He landed hard on the floor.

[...]

Current time; 05:24 am

Unfortunately it was quite a scare. Fyodor couldn't even say anything, it was his fault, he put it to the bottom of his heart, stuck in a kitchen knife, rusty and rotten, just like he felt, why couldn't he protect Dazai? Because he's an irresponsible piece of sh*t. He went over everything in his head, he thought and degraded literally every moment as he ran back to meet his two friends, the sun was already showing an amazing sight of a reddish pink in the middle of the dark rain clouds that carried all night . Sweat trickled down his forehead, onto his neck, and he thought it might soak the scarf he was wearing.

“What did he do this stupid thing for? how pathetic!” He muttered in confusion as he climbed the stairs to the apartment's floor. His breathing failed on the 12th step, the Russian leaned on the iron railing, passing the other hand over his sweaty face, speaking of his face, he seemed to be melting, from so much salty water that he was perspiring, and finally he felt weak. Thank heavens, a boy he had a brief memory of seeing a few times when he was obliged to pick up the mail, was passing by at that moment, going downstairs with a violin bag, until he saw Fyodor and exhaled a surprised sound.

"My God! Holy crap! What happened?" The boy with Asian features and shaved hair crouched down next to the Russian, taking his arm and checking his pulse, he was going a mile a minute. "Where- where are your friends? I'll take you to them!" The determined boy took the fainted Russian by the waist and wrapped his arm around his shoulder, taking the weakened and pale body to follow two more flights of stairs.

Finally and desperately, the boy knocked nervously on the door, trembling so that he accidentally dropped Fyodor's ushanka. “Damn it…” When the boy grumbled to the ushanka lying on the floor, a familiar figure with braided white hair, and a hospital eye patch, opened the door, after unlocking all the locks on the door, seeing the image that he once imagined would happen but discarded it as soon as he saw that it was potentially large. Nikolai shouted Sigma's name several times, and said indescribable words in Russian that the Asian boy didn't fully understand. From afar, the one with the two-colored hair, running from afar, practically ran over Nikolai, who stepped aside and caught Fyodor like he was a dove with an injured wing.

“We have to get him! Fast!" Nikolai screamed and ran down the stairs.

Feeling his vision returning, Fyodor felt the wind on his face and a strong light from the sunrise passing through his vision. His body felt limp, and he resented not being kidnapped and taken away from it all, but when he heard the Russian-language curse in his friend Gogol's high-pitched voice at a taxi driver who didn't stop when he waved, a calm passed through his eyes. senses, until he breathed a little air and that was enough for his lung to hurt radically, with the pain reaching, expressively he squirmed, his eyes closing tightly retracting tears of pain. Again he felt the numbness and sleepiness of before and fell into a deep sleep in pain from the decays of untimeliness.

[...]

With the blood rushing through his veins, and breathing fast, Sigma, Nikolai and the Asian boy, were running through the streets of St. Petersburg with a young man passed out and pale in the lap of a tall, burly man.

"Let's go, damn it!" Sigma screamed as a car passed quickly and dangerously, dragging his coat a little.

"Fast! FAST!" Nikolai repeatedly shouted as he passed between motorcycles and cars, bicycles.

“What’s the use of screaming?!”

“I DON'T WANT TO LOSE MY PRECIOUS FRIEND, SIGMA” The bicolor gulped and just kept running as fast as he could.

In a few minutes, they made it to the hospital. Some of the nurses at the front, arriving from their shift, saw how desperate the three young adults were. One of the women took it upon herself to get a wheelchair and shout instructions to the others on what to do. Quickly, everything seemed to resolve itself, seemed to fit together, but at the same time moving away, like an abandoned boat in the Pacific Ocean, at the other end, there was a man, tall, thin, huge and wavy hair that hid his eyes and half of his face. face, along with a short young man with slanted eyes like a cat and spiky hair, with, of course, the missing guest, Dazai.

He was unconscious, being carried inside a supermarket cart, pulled by the tallest. The shorter one caught Sigma's gaze, and raised his eyebrows vantageously. “Oh Sigma! Hey!" He shouted waving as he approached him, and his escort entered with the cart and the boy in bandages unconscious and in a bad state. "What the-" The bicolor looked confused. “Ranpo? What was that bastard- What did he do? I demand to know!” He started out in a soft tone but changed to a more demanding one and pointed an indicated finger in the direction in which a larger man placed Dazai on a gurney, heading to a different ward of the hospital.

Ranpo looked around, he took off the cap he was wearing, and took off his glasses. “Look, what I'm going to tell you is a little…” He blinked before focusing his gaze on the gray irises. “Complicated” He sighed. “Um, Poe and I were heading to a friend's house, when we turned a corner and looked into the alley where we usually feed a black cat, there weren't any cats…” Sigma swallowed hard. “But yes, Dazai mumbling words like: ‘Don’t come close’, ‘Tricolor’, ‘Come, please come back’ and ‘Lost’.” The bicolor rubbed his temple upon hearing the details, he was seething with disappointment and irritation for Dazai. “OK, thanks, Ranpo. But now I need to go after Fyodor.” Before running into the establishment, the bicolor waved to the boy who stayed behind, still wondering how the hell the two of them took a shopping cart and walked so many streets to get here.

[...]

Fyodor woke up in pain, sniffling through his oxygen mask, looking around, seeing the environment he least liked and unfortunately was more familiar with than anyone else. To his horror, his clothes had already been replaced by that bag nurses call clothes. His gloves had probably been discarded, which made him panic again. Sitting down, he felt pain, but it seemed that they had given him an anesthesia that prevented him from feeling the pain at all, it seemed that he had fractured his entire bones. The white fluorescent light of the white-tiled room, and the smell of bleach and bleach mixed with 70% alcohol, made him totally uneasy, and pulling the mask over his head he shook his head, ruffling his already disheveled hair and without his ushanka.

The feelings stopped trying to make sense, but he missed the guitarist, why did he need to know where he was, and why did he abandon him? A bit obvious, but Fyodor wanted to dismiss the idea that he knew they were being stalked and watched by a scaly, disgusting figure in the streets. It seemed like something from a suspense movie, but he just didn't want to tell Dazai because he knew he would want them to go home. Now everything has turned into a huge black hole and terrifying, just like the nightmares I had when sleeping in the dark.

Panting, Fyodor felt around the bed until he found the small, two-button remote, and unplugging the bed cord from the remote, the Russian got out of bed. It was something that could be considered a crime, but he just maybe lost that person he felt he knew, not that he thinks Dazai is a complete and dumb idiot for just a single time deciding to head off to the outside world without Fyodor he would die the first time, but the problem is that every, every little thing could be the sharp, mute chance of a dying cry for help from within Dazai, asking him to hand him over to the heavenly forces and remain there forever. ever.

Thinking, rethinking, formulating, wishing, the cellist staggered with difficulty to the bedroom door, noodle-shaped from the anesthesia wearing off, Fyodor's entire body was vulnerable, that is, even a hospital door was looking like he was trying to move a train out of his way. Opening the door and going through the smallest crack he managed to open, he walked with difficulty down the corridor. He knew where he was, he was in the emergency ward, which was strange because the lights in the huge white corridor were off, only the sunlight through the large window at the end of the corridor could be a target of vision. Seeing a corner he could turn, Fyodor walked a little further. Arriving at a door white like the others, but somehow different, he opened it, and saw inside a room, entirely white and camellias somehow falling from the ceiling, with only an object bed, and a body, rotted and extremely disintegrated, somehow he didn't smell a bad odor, but a smell of red roses, or wet grass. It looked familiar, unfortunately, but suddenly, Fyodor woke up.

With a start, the Russian woke up, screaming desperately. He was sitting in a blood draw chair with saline flowing through his veins. He still wore his ordinary clothes, only his ushanka still remained missing. Beside her, Nikolai was holding the hand that hadn't been punctured for the IV tube, and he was stroking the back of the gloved hand with his thumb. The albino was momentarily startled but then he ran a loving hand over the Russian's cheek. “It's okay, Fedya, it was just a nightmare.” He said calmly, holding his hand tighter, and passing his hand from his cheek to tuck a strand behind the other's ear.

Fyodor was breathing with some difficulty, but he tried his best to control himself and not let it show, as he didn't want to worry his friend anymore. After a few minutes passed, he leaned back in his chair and felt embarrassed that he had randomly yelled. “Um, where is Sig?” He wanted to ask about Dazai, but he hadn't told his friends about what happened yet...

Nikolai was looking at him intently. “He went to solve some things, because like there wasn't even a vacant place for you to stay” The albino rolled his eyes sullenly. “So, after insisting a bit, we got this chair for you. Fyodor was astonished, for he realized now that the place he was was the place where the elderly and children went. 'This stupid system really impresses sometimes' The Russian thought as he looked around the room, and saw that there were other chairs just like his, some occupied, with elderly people, but none with crying children - thank goodness.

"Do you wanna eat something? Do you need something? Want to drink boxed juice? Over there is a machine to-” NIkolai was interrupted when Sigma arrived muttering something.

Sigma stopped in the doorway, looking at Fyodor awake and letting out a breath that could have been held since he was unconscious. Moving closer, he crouched down in front of Fyodor, and ran a hand over his arm. “Good to see you awake!” He said biting his lip right after, as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders.

Fyodor pressed his lips together and nodded. "Everything is fine? Like with the whole hospital thing and…”

Sigma chuckled sarcastically. “Even I can't tell, Fedya. These people are very ignorant, even in moments like this of despair.” The bicolor shrugged. “But you were at least rescued. It's been about 2 hours since you were unconscious." Fyodor opened his mouth and closed it again, but his curiosity wouldn't let him act normally. “Guys, I need to talk about Dazai. He ended up disappearing and… I haven’t heard from him yet.”

Nikolai looked into his boyfriend's face, and Sigma lowered his face. Fyodor looked confused at the situation. "But what happened?" He was panicking again.

Sigma looked up again, rolling his eyes, he snorted. “Your boyfriend, he is also here at the hospital.”

“Oh. That's what I suspected, but what happened to make him disappear? No, I'll ask him myself later” Fyodor seemed to be talking to himself more than he was talking to Sigma. “Why is he here at the hospital? He hurt himself? Or worst?" He looked serious, and mature about what he wanted to know.

“We saw him coming in just as we got here with you, but I didn't go to find out about him” Fyodor expected that from Sigma, he didn't like his boyfriend very much. “But if you want, I can go after information later, but now I want to stay here with you, okay?” Sigma ran his hand again through the Russian's arm, who smirked.

[...]

It was already night when the cellist managed to receive a treatment to remove all the medicine he had in his body, he had received more than 4 medications that were difficult to compress in a human being in a single round. As soon as they thanked him, even if in a forced way, as they had to be humiliated by decent treatment, Fyodor wondered where Dazai Osamu was.

An elderly man instructed the Russian to the rooms that were on another floor, not knowing for sure, the cellist just followed him through the corridors. Arriving in an open area, looking like a courtyard, with people sitting at tables or on the mat, talking to some hospital agents or playing logic games, or just interactive ones.

“He's over there” The man with the name tag saying f*ckuzawa pointed, so as not to be too conspicuous, to a person in hospital clothes, sitting with one knee close to his chest, his face lying on the top of his knee, looking out the window at the movement of his arms. cars and street lights.

Fyodor nodded to the man and walked, heart sinking, to Dazai, nervously biting his fingernails. Facing him, the Russian stood up straight, looking at the person who had left him earlier, was he upset? Not even he knew it, as he never once got angry with Dazai, but he actually felt like a stone. Snapping his fingers in front of the guitarist's face, Dazai slowly lifted his face, envisioning how Fyodor's face looked tired, his eyes dead, and his lips dry. Dazai licked his lips.

“Fedya” He started. "I do not remember anything. I forgot what I did and everything a little bit, but I still remember before what happened we got on the train. We were being chased, weren't we?" The brunette said at the end with a crooked smile.

“This…” Fyodor looked away in disbelief. “I'm going to believe you forgot about this, because I don't deserve to go through such horrendous dishonesty that you, Osamu, are making me think about you.” The Russian pointed at the bandaged boy, his lips pursed and his eyebrows drawn in despair. "I want to meet you now Dazai, because I feel like I'm with a stranger now."

Dazai took a deep breath. "Right. It's not like I wasn't also feeling like myself doing what they described me as doing."

“Did you commit any crime?”

"No. But the people who were present on the train said that I was hallucinating, and I ended up having a seizure right away, and I also overdosed” Dazai was looking so lifelessly at the plant next to the sofa, that it could wither from just this to look.

Fyodor nodded, licking his lips. "You were on drugs and I didn't know-"

“You didn't have to worry, okay? I'm a sh*t, and you know it, why are you still trying to worry about me? This is useless, Fyodor!” Dazai waved his arms, his expression tearful but no tears were coming out and his voice was in a normal tone, as if his easy expression didn't depend on his real feelings.

Fyodor scratched the back of his neck and pushed his hair back completely, only his bangs falling forward again. "It's because I love you? Understand that I love you, okay? It is always necessary to say this? I prefer not to.”

Dazai suddenly got up and hugged Fyodor, tightly. “I'm sorry I made you want to worry about me all the time and tell me you love me so I'll believe it, but I know how much you care now and I will never, ever, forget that I have your love.” He whispered in Fyodor's ear, while running a hand over the Russian's back. Fyodor closed his eyes, smelling the horrible smell of the hospital, and even a whiff of whiskey that Dazai has in his overcoat.

[...]

2 days later

After spending two days in the hospital, Dazia was discharged and released to go home. At that time, Ango went to visit him as soon as he got home from work, spending time chatting - which they rarely did when the older man wasn't at work -, playing chess, watching B99, and remembering the recipes they saw on the reels of Instagram. The one with bandages was optimized, he still felt like a living dead person, he would never forget what he had gone through, but he didn't want to explain what had happened to everyone, after all, how would people from the college react if they knew about it. For the first time in a long time, Dazai worried about what others would think of him.

He was now in his room, strumming the guitar strings with one hand, sitting exactly as he had that day in the hospital. His clothes were now exactly like the ones he wore when he was at home, only the fact that he was wearing a Fyodor sweatshirt, black in color and the fabric inside the hood is greenish checkered. The day was pleasant, although every day seems the same in Russia. Something caught Dazai's attention when Fyodor entered the room with a black backpack.

"What is it?" Dazai asks quietly, changing the notes to higher notes.

Fyodor noticed him sitting on the window sill and put his backpack on the bed, going to the guitarist, he leaned against him and was stroking his curly hair. “A few things I need for the university semester”

Dazai muttered.

“You are in a bad mood, what happened?” Fyodor asked taking a feather from his boyfriend's hair. “I already told you not to put that weird chicken on your head! That takes work to wash, Osamu”

“I'm not grumpy, I'm just quiet” It's scary to see this not-so-hyperactive version wanting some attention, but that had been since he got back from the hospital, understandably, as Fyodor was still feeling down as well.

Fyodor murmured back, pulling Dazai to the corner of the window so that the two of them could stand side by side - even though one of Fyodor's legs was sticking out. “Chuuya is connected with Ango” Dazai let go of the sheet music he had in his head for a few seconds. “He said it would be good if we showed up, actually you” He said jokingly pushing Dazai.

Dazai smirked. "Wow, Chibi calling me is actually something he's wanted to say to me for a while" He looked at his boyfriend, kissing his cheek, he got up, still carrying the guitar, putting it down properly where it was before, and walking out the door.

In the living room, Ango was sitting in the middle of the sofa, Ipad in hand, laughing at something, and Chuuya's voice rang out as Dazai came up behind Ango and placed both arms on the back, waving from behind. The redhead smiled. “Look, what a vagabond! You said you'd call me any day, remember?"

“Oh, my memory is poor, Chibico”

“I know it's not, Osamu” Chuuya looked different again, and again in a good way. He was more smiling, his hair was curlier, and he was in a sunlit place, so his freckles were all forming constellations every time he made some facial expression. Fading the smile, the redhead looked up, as if there was someone there, and he again started to smile again. “Okay, okay. Is Osamu listening to me?” He asked, sounding like a rocket ship that could fly away from the Milky Way at any moment.

Dazai was suddenly anxious. "Yea? Yes, I am." He nodded suspiciously

Chuuya nodded and adjusted the camera so that it was leaning against something that was supporting it, so that the redhead had free form to move. The dancer sat with his legs over each other and rolled up the sleeves of the green sweater he was wearing, and waving his hands as if a magician would appear, he began to laugh. Osamu was infected and started laughing too, Ango handed him the Ipad and made room for the brunette to settle down next to him.

Then, Kouyou appeared, standing and wearing a long black dress, her hair tied only on top in a bun and the bottom part of her hair was dyed more pink than red. Her black eyeliner was perfectly angled, and her tattoos on her pale arms could be seen through the strapless, high-necked dress. She looked smiling just like her brother, and standing side by side now, Dazai and Ango realized how similar the two were in terms of happiness.

"So, without further ado" Kouyou said tucking a strand of his hair behind his ear. “I'm pregnant” The woman turned to the side, and impressively she had a small pregnant belly. Dazai couldn't contain himself and let out a noise of surprise, it was so genuine that even he was startled. "My God! How?... Does Yosano know?” So many doubts, but he just wanted to laugh with happiness.

Chuuya kissed her sister's belly and hugged her now by the waist and with her cheek against Kouyou's belly. “So” The red-haired woman began. “Yosano and I have wanted a child for some time. So, as I have an egg problem and she no longer has a uterus, I decided that I would make the effort and resort to egg donation” She said looking proud. “I had a procedure done before we went to Russia, IVF. And then, when we got there, literally at the airport, we bought a test and did it right away. He tested positive.”

“Well, I told Chuuya when he got here to our apartment and he only had one child left at the time” Dazai laughed and Chuuya scowled at her sister. “But, I'm so happy about it and I hope it works out well going forward.” She hugged Chuuya.

“How many months are you?” Ango asked, adjusting his glasses.

“Um, about 4 and a half months” She made a four with her hand.

“BUT ALREADY?!” Dazai was surprised. “Wow, did you hide this from me?”

“It's not like that, Osamu” Kouyou said laughing.

Chuuya rolled his eyes and gently patted Kouyou's stomach twice, she left and the redhead was in the center of the camera. “Well let me tell you something I was in shock! I met Roof”

“Who is Roof?” Ango and Dazai asked.

“Yosano's dog! He's a very friendly Golden Retriever, but he's not here because Kiko went for a walk with him. She also has a cat and Ane-san has a cat, it's Carol and Artemis, they're kind of angry but they're really sweet.” He picked up a black cat with yellow eyes and stroked it.

Dazai was happy, happy to see his friend well, Chuuya was well in a place he wanted to be, just as Dazai also felt in the house he was. But, as always something is missing, and now he didn't know, what else would he do, because he thinks he can't stand to see a tricolor cat in the same way again.

Chapter 23: Haunted By The Ghost Of You

Chapter Text

After receiving so much news, surrounded and filled with happiness, it seemed that a third of the dissatisfactions had retreated, to a hut, still dark, full of horror and darkness. The current time was one that should always be said to be natural. It was cold, the night had already welcomed, the sky was cloudy and dark, a light mist gave a comfortable climate. Dazai wondered if he really needed to take the initiative in wanting to talk to Ango about what happened, as he had done nothing but transfer more concern and anguish to the older man. This reminded him of Fyodor, who wanted to protect him until the end, and which he barely managed to do, since the guitarist, in a few minutes if he had not been rescued by Ranpo and Poe, could have finally been taken away by the graceful, and his cunning Death . Chuuya appeared from time to time in his thoughts, sometimes a memory, or a desire to want to see him, but when he realized that the redhead was in so much happiness, his heart sank more as he wanted to say everything he felt in relation to trust from your ex-partner. The tricolor cat was now being increasingly removed from the house, not that the residents of the house wanted it, but by doctors' orders and requested care, the right thing was to keep the cat a little further from Dazai's memories. When the brunette got home at dawn still with the bracelet indicating that he came from the hospital, coming from the stairs below, the shaggy cat went directly towards him. Ango soon went to Stockinet and placed him on his lap, taking him to the kitchen, while reciting words of affection and passing his hand over his ears of ambiguous colors. At the memory of this, Fyodor felt a pang in his chest that gradually turned into relief, as he saw that now Dazai had settled down, in just a few days of rest.

“When will your semester end?” Dazai asked Fyodor, throwing his head back, looking upside down but getting a great view of his lover.

Fyodor sighed “I don't know yet, but I hope it's before we go visit Chuuya” The cellist rubbed a wet hand with a few traces of foam on his beloved's forehead.

The boy, who was now without bandages, was immersed in a bathtub, surrounded by warm water and foam that covered him completely, only from the shoulders up being possible to be seen. The Russian was sitting on the ledge of the bathtub, legs bent, his body leaning against the wall of greenish tiles, which surrounded in an arch to the other side of the bathtub, reserving only a space for someone who wanted to unwind in a bath. Dazai insisted that he didn't need help taking a measly shower - so he said - but when he realized the Russian had pushed him into the bathroom and taken off the shirt the guitarist was wearing.

Dazai laid his head on Fyodor's thigh, the Russian didn't mind that his hair was wet and lathered, but he straightened up and washed the soothing guitarist's hair - every now and then he curled it absently. The guitarist lifted a hand full of foam and analyzed each bubble. “I was thinking of something…”

Fyodor murmured for the other to continue. “When are we going to live together, Fedya?” The Russian frowned unintentionally. "Why this now?" Dazai shrugged, the water making some movements. “I don't know, I just, I just thought it would be nice for you and me to live together. I think it's because I feel like you do me a lot more good than I thought you did." He said stuttering a little, turning his head to look like before, running a hand through his hair and shifting it to the other side, now looking directly at the lilac irises.

“That's intriguing,” Fyodor says, smirking and raising an eyebrow. “I feel like we should try this ourselves, I think we could plan better while we go to meet Nakahara” He gets up and goes to the sink, taking a jar of hair cream, he saw the silver rings of different types abandoned in the corner of the worktop. marble. “I always wanted to ask where you bought those rings, but I never had the opportunity” Fyodor returns to meet Dazai, who wanders to the corner where the Russian crouches and placing his arms on the edge, he rests his head between the space of his arms, looking at the cellist, who carefully caressed her curls with the strawberry and oak cream.

“You can find it in any bazaar if you have good taste,” the guitarist says calmly, closing his eyes as he enjoys the caress he receives on his scalp.

“While our savings? I imagine you don't work, and I didn't even have the chance to be accepted by any company even if it was small” The Russian said seriously, looking worried but soon forgetting when he looked at Dazai enveloped in his caresses.

“Let's take it easy” Dazai began, holding up a finger. “Um, I think I can get some help from the savings Oda left me, even if it's just a little bit…” He gritted his teeth reminding himself that he wouldn't have any way to pay for everything, about the house, the groceries, and gifts for Fyodor once in a while.

Fyodor chuckled sarcastically, caressing his lover one last time. “Why don't you take a shower with me, Fedya?” He was interrupted by a low voice and by Dazai watching him get up. Fyodor breathed heavily. “My own brain won't let me. It would be very demanding to get into a bathtub with water that is with someone who is taking it to wash away the day's germs, so there is nothing that would make me take a bath with anyone, least of all you, dear Dazai.” He lightly kissed the brunette's forehead and walked away to grab a burgundy towel.

Dazai pouted but nodded in understanding. “I would never force you into anything, right.” He heard the Russian mutter a quick 'yes' and stop in front of him with a surprised expression. “Oh by the gods, I forgot about the cat.” Fyodor tossed the towel to Dazai, who almost dropped it into the foaming water, and before he could object, the Russian had closed the door. “Fyo…dor” He whispered, lowering his voice until he rolled his eyes and moaned in anguish.

Fyodor went to the bedroom and looked for his phone, seeing that it was under a scarf, he took it, and biting his lip, he went to Sigma's contact. At the same moment, the downstairs door rang.

Knock, knock, knock.

The Russian did not even care, he kept typing deftly. By the time the creak of the door is heard, it must have been opened by Akutagawa. Fyodor threw the cell phone back where it was and went to the dresser, opening a drawer and taking out a set that Dazai strangely keeps ready for when he's home.

“You abandoned me…” Dazai started, entering the room with wet hair, the waves of his hair were more apparent, his eyelashes looked slightly wet too, and he was in a fluffy yellow robe with sunflowers. The guitarist entered the room, closed the bedroom door and sat on the edge of the bed.

Fyodor looked up when he saw him but ignored him and continued tidying drawers. "I was just confirming to Sigma that he could take Stockinet for a few days, stop being such an idiot" He said in a whisper, unintentionally crumpling some clothes, which caused a pang in his chest.

"Oh, that's fine I don't care I just got used to it when people stay away." Dazai said turning around suddenly with a crooked smile. “Give me that roll of bandages over there in the corner” The boy indicated with his eyes, where Fyodor followed and took it.

Going to the brunette, Fyodor sniffed quickly, handed his beloved what he wanted and turned to continue his task. "Aren't you going to get dressed?" He asked tucking a strand behind his ear - his hair was getting too unruly.

Dazai didn't answer, he just kept putting his bandages where he thought best. The Russian hadn't turned around yet, but he picked up a clip that Dazai had attached to the bandages and tossed it to him. “Thanks” The guitarist said softly. "You can turn around, after all you've already seen me without clothes" Fyodor frowned and stopped what he was doing. “Inconvenient.” He said looking at a Dazai with his Dazai smile. "I'm just polite and not perverted, I should be grateful for that, there are horrible people out there." The Russian said closing the drawers and laying down on the bed so that his legs were still outside of it. The guitarist as soon as he finished analyzed his own arms and legs. "Right. Sigma will come here?”

"I'm afraid not. She said she's been working a lot lately, as she managed to sign up for a dress modeling magazine." Fyodor was extremely proud and happy for the first time by someone in a long time, Sigma deserved to have his work applauded, mainly because one of the photos that were selected had been those for which Fyodor was a temporary model, they didn't show his face, only half of him , being more mysterious and superior than imagined by the two.

Dazai got up and picked up the clothes that Fyodor had placed on top of the chest of drawers. “Oh, I saw it on her instagram and on Gogol's twitter. It’s exceptional to have artist friends, don’t you think?” He said smiling which for some reason made Fyodor smile too.

“I never told you this, but I imagine that one day I can work with art other than music” Dazai said while putting on the black striped shirt. “I only take this course because I like to play, but singing for other people is invasive for me. I imagine that showing my artistic powers formed by pen, ink or any other instrument is better than my voice.” He removed the robe underneath and was left with only his dark gray boxer shorts and an inspiring smile on his lips.

"Interesting." Fyodor said looking at the ceiling, seeing only now that there were some clouds painted in gray. Dazai must have done this at some point of inspiration.

“I felt that way with Chuuya, after all, I was never interested in dance, but he managed to make me read books about ballet or watch exceptional films about the style.” The boy with the bandages ran the towel over his hair to reduce the drops of water that obstructed his vision. “Do we deserve to have art in our hands? Does that kind of get in the way or make it all about her?” Fyodor looked back at Dazai, who was now looking out the window at the cloudy, dark sky. “A good cue for me to say that I have a lot of opinions about it, but I feel like we don't live for her but she lives for us. Art is a style, it can be considered life or not, but I force myself to say that the person who does not consider art a style of beauty, inspiration, construction, and rewinding, is really f*cked.”

Dazai looked back at his beloved, with a low look he went to him and settled down beside him. “Do you consider the galaxy an art style?” He asked in a whisper, close to the Russian's ear. "Yea." The Russian murmured close to Dazai's ear.

“I consider you, Dazai, an art style.” Fyodor said still looking at the ceiling, which Dazai was impressed with, as it seemed that words always seemed to be written when it came to Fyodor. He was speechless at the comment, no one would dare call someone that, could they?

“That was very sweet of you, Fedya” Dazai said nudging the Russian with his elbow, the other flinched and let out a “pfff”, sitting up he pushed his hair back which was useless as all the strands blacks came back in front of his face.

Dazai laughed nasally and went to the two pillows positioned at the head of the bed, wrapping himself in the huge sheet, he snuggled right there. Fyodor turned off the lights and still stood there, thinking about how art collided in one huge impact like the Big Bang on Dazai.

A few good hours of sleep passed. Momentarily, Fyodor woke up because of the extreme cold it was, since he slept the way he was - without any blanket and sitting up. Cracking his back, he scowled in pain, stifling a low sigh and looking around the darkened room, missing Stockinet came to mind at that moment, he used to show up at these most inopportune times. The Russian was startled by a yelp coming from his side, when he looked he saw what he never wanted to witness, Dazai was convulsing.

Without an exact reaction, Fyodor quickly stood up, then took a deep breath. “Ango!! Ango!! Dazai is convulsing again!!” He screamed as he rested his hands on either side of his head, looking at the people who squirmed incessantly, it looked like some kind of tilt, which Fyodor has already gone through a period of his life but which thanks to not light medications and many therapies he managed overcome - so to speak, clear. Quickly, a man with slicked-back hair, but somewhat messy, in a robe of a color that it was not possible to see, and without glasses, came in, already kneeling beside Dazai. The man wasn't a doctor, but he somehow managed to quickly learn how to control the seizures the brunette was having on some days of the night. A few minutes passed, and Ango remained with his hands tight on his bandaged arms, pinned to the bed. Fyodor had moved closer, his knees drawn up to his chest, one hand in Dazai's curls. When Dazai had returned to stability, he was still asleep, or that was to be expected.

"I'm going to call Mizuki over there, she must be awake from the shift" The green eyed one said as he got up, passing his hand affectionately on Dazai's arm and then leaving the room.

Fyodor continued to stare. Everything happening, the woman with the hair dyed blue entering the room and taking Dazai, with the help of Ango, to her car that was outside. ‘Probably go to the hospital…’

Ango even asked at the bottom of the stairs if Fyodor would like to go, but the Russian upstairs just shook his head and the older man understood.

The Russian was alone now, in the dark of the house, a rain was hitting the outside, it was cold, and even if he went back to bed, it would still be cold and incomplete without Dazai. He sighed, realizing now that his hand was shaking. “Does the smallest thing I’ve ever been through affect me that much?” He wanted to slap himself for saying that. “What nonsense, Fyodor” He replied. Going to the bedroom again, he took his cell phone - even in the dark, he sees better - and went to the bathroom, got into the bathtub, closed the curtain, and stayed inside. With the phone between his shoulder and face, he stared down at his foot, his toes skinny and somehow the palest, whitest part of his entire body.

“Hey, what happened?” A tired and somewhat robotic voice from a caller, Fyodor lit up for a few minutes and then became anxious again.

“Um, hey, I…I just need you here with me…I guess” He stuttered as he said it, the other person also stuttered a few words and seemed to get up from wherever he was.

“Wait, I'll go there with Kolya. You're on Dazai, right?" Fyodor nodded, but then remembered that he was on a call and mumbled a yes.

That was the call, lasting about 2:34, but enough for them to understand each other.

Fyodor staggered with pain in his hip bones to the floor below. In the living room, he sat on the couch, looked up at the ceiling and took a deep breath, his hand where it hurt the most on his hip. Miraculously, the door slammed shut, and Fyodor turned around so that he could see through the window were the silhouettes of his friends. “f*cking hell, why all those locks on the door?” He swore as he staggered over and opened all the weatherworn locks.

Then Sigma, with his hair swept back in an oversized black overcoat, and Nikolai, with new bandages and a matching sweatshirt outfit. “We're here” The bicolor said looking anxiously at the Russian. “I see” He whispered and made room for both of them to enter, when Nikolai passed last, he took a good look at the cellist and smiled comfortably.

When everyone settled down on the couch, there was a steady silence, not uncomfortable, but much needed. Nikolai was the first to speak. “Are we going to sleep here or in your room? Just a question…” He was lowering his tone when Sigma looked at him.

Fyodor nodded and got up, heading towards the stairs, and climbing each step with some difficulty. Nikolai was close behind to support him, and Sigma grabbed a backpack that the albino had brought in case he needed it and to change the new bandages on the clown's face.

In the bedroom, Nikolai put Fyodor on the bed and wrapped the sheet around him, passing over his legs, he crawled to his side and snuggled there. Sigma was the last one, because he accidentally watched the house, but when he realized that he looked like those boring ladies who gossip and judge everything, he stopped immediately while tapping his fingers on his lips. She looked at the room, clean and without any traces of Dazai, which was just fine with her. "I'll put it here in the corner if it's not too much trouble and I'll change my clothes over there in the bathroom" The bicolor took some clothes that looked like pajamas, and as he walked, he unfastened his hair from the hairstyle.

“Have you been working all day?” The hoarse voice, muffled by Nikolai's embrace, was heard from the bathroom, where Sigma was trying to untie the lace knot of the corset he was wearing. "Oh yeah! I spent the whole day walking back and forth with that disgraceful corset. Urgh” The bicolor rolled his eyes and took a deep breath. “But it was worth it because I got a new area to take pictures, so that I can still work independently of being affiliated with a company.” Fyodor closed his eyes again but was still listening as he ran his index finger over the arm Nikolai had clasped around his waist.

Sigma took a deep breath in relief with his pajamas already on, putting all his clothes in his backpack, he turned off the bathroom light and went to bed. He looked a few times to see where he could lie down, tilting his head, he nudged Nikolai's shoulder. “Kolya? Hey, come here…” The bicolor pushed the albino by the shoulder, the other moaned in protest and stayed clinging to Fyodor. Sigma rolled his eyes. "Let's go, I don't have all night, you idiot" He passed gently between the two, and reached the other side of the bed, staying on the Russian's side, Sigma sighed in relief and before he lay down to sleep he kissed the top of his forehead from Fyodor, also his boyfriend's hand that still remained on his friend's waist.

They managed to sleep like that. Possibly the Fyodor of a few months ago would grudgingly hate sleeping with someone like that, and so many people around him, he hates it, but when he wasn't feeling well, he managed to stay like that on the couch with his two flatmates. The Russian was still between a dream and reality at dawn, looking at Sigma's sleeping but still tired face, and feeling the albino's breath that was sleeping near his neck. He cracked a small smile and snuggled in. Nikolai stirred at Fyodor's movement, but soon returned to his former self.

[...]

“I got fired today.” Nikolai told Fyodor on the cafeteria bench that they used to meet before in the past considered distant.

Fyodor frowned, not sure if it was about the situation or the huge glass of beer Nikolai had downed. "Wow?"

“Well, right? The boss was so nice to me, but he said there was no other alternative, I was missing too much the last few days. All this because some motherf*ckers picked a fight with me… and you know how I am, right?” The albino who had one more scar near his eye was previously hurt by another scar. He had changed little since lately, his hair looked longer, still braided, his eyepatch alternate between some more kid-core alternatives or just a hospital one who knows where he got it.

The Russian looked down at the glass of lemon water he'd ordered just so he wouldn't look like he'd come with an alcoholic to a bar on a Wednesday afternoon.

“And what about Dazai? What really happens?” The albino asked with one hand resting on the chair and the other tapping on the table.

Fyodor rolled his eyes and ran a hand over his ushanka on his head. “Well, this appears to be some sort of condition left over from the massive amounts of medication he was able to take in a time that the doctors themselves said seemed unbelievable.” He became a little fidgety, running a hand over the back of his neck and rolling his neck. “But, I wasn't there at the time, in the house I mean, so Dazai probably took advantage of Ango spending the day working and taking some of his medication to try to 'retreat from reality'” He shrugged when he finished, in the same At that moment a man in waiter's clothes appeared with a tonic water with lemon for Fyodor, who waved at the man in thanks.

Nikolai just watched Fyodor and shook his head. “Damn, this must have been pretty messed up for him…” The albino cringed, having some of his own reminiscences. He wasn't an addict, but when he was spurred on to do drugs, he took it as soon as beginners never do, methamphetamine. “You noticed when he was high because you remembered me, didn't you?”

Fyodor pursed his lips and co*cked his head. “As a matter of fact, yes.”

Nikolai shrugged. “Okay, I know that at the time I was just too troubled… forgive me.”

“Why are you apologizing? You never did sh*t to me, or anyone else.”

The albino fell silent and laid his head on the table, putting his arms up to hide from the yellowish light and excessive noise. Fyodor watched him do this, and momentarily, picked up his metal straw and drank his tonic water while reading a book Dazai had borrowed - The Master and the Daisy.

The sunlight streaming through the window woke Nikolai from a nap he didn't even realize he'd taken. Raising his head, confused, the clown saw his friend, Dostoyevsky, reading a book that was open on the backpack he was carrying, and he had the glass in both hands, with the straw in his mouth and the drink already exhausted.

Noticing his albino friend awakened, Fyodor raised the black eyebrows that framed his pale face, and gestured for the exit, as the place had just filled up at some point. Gogol nodded to an acquaintance at a passing table, settled the bill with the waiter, and left.

The walk was calm, the two walked side by side, with their hands in the pockets of the overcoat they both wore, and had the orange light of the sun caressing their features. When they arrived at the condominium, Fyodor did not fail to analyze whether the neighbor's car was in front of his house, as that always meant that she was checking up on Dazai. Opening the door with the key he had, the Russian went upstairs, analyzing the hallway, which had the wall lights on and the door to Akutagawa's room was open. Nikolai bumped into Atsushi, who got scared when he left Dazai's room, seeing a 1.84 m tall man. “Oh, you have arrived.” He smiled nervously and moved out of the way, heading to his boyfriend's room.

Fyodor peeked through the crack in the door, Dazai was sitting on the bed and beside him was Mizuki. ‘As I imagined…” The Russian thought and muttered softly, Nikolai just nodded, already knowing the whole situation, as the other explained it to him at the bar. The guitarist was looking directly at the floor, his hands wrapped inside his sweatshirt, and the doctor beside him seemed to be saying something serious to him, as she looked into the boy's lost eyes intently. The boy in the bandages would nod his head sometimes, just to agree, puff out his cheeks and then let it all out as if it was some kind of relief. Fyodor frowned, the situation he saw could mean something but as perceived Dazai seemed to be just agreeing that his fate could be clouded, which the one with bandages wished for some time, but when looking at that boy sitting on the bed, it was noticeable the horror he could be witnessing. He looked at Fyodor, smiling weakly. The Russian smirked and sniffed. “Let's go downstairs.” He left pulling Nikolai into the kitchen.

In the dining room of the house, Sigma and Ango were eating something of a vegan origin that Fyodor could not discern - even though he is a vegan person. The table was long, made of dark wood, with elegant chairs, in the corner of which a penknife had carved ‘Ango & Odasaku :)’. Fyodor sighed and sat on the opposite side of Sigma, looking at the person who had the cell phone in one hand and the other with a fork full of spinach, when he saw that he was being watched, he gasped quickly and coughed. “You… I didn’t even see you coming, what a scare.” The bicolor rolled his eyes, the older man beside him chuckled softly.

Nikolai settled into the chair next to Sigma, resting his head on his shoulder to see what the other had been reading intently earlier.

“Ango, Dazai and I plan to move in together.”

The one with the glasses blinked and looked at him. “Oh, he told me that yesterday at the hospital”

Fyodor rolled his eyes. “That idiot with the big mouth…” He mumbled and Ango laughed nasally. “No problem, after all, you're of age…” He took a while to say the age of majority, looking like he had remembered something. “I feel like only you take care of him, just like he takes care of you.”

The Russian nodded and took a deep breath, looking at his friends in front of him. "But what?!" The two said in unison, sounding more shocked than angry. The Russian shrugged and got to his feet. "I'm going to smoke outside." He opened the back door and closed it behind him.

The wind was light but it announced a possible rain, the sky had already darkened, the clothes that were on the clothesline were moving, the smell of washing powder and the neighbor's flowers gave an air of familiarity. Fyodor drew on his cigarette. It was weird smoking after so long, but he was nervous and not sure what to do, so the only thing he could think of doing now was to grab a joint and roll it until his fingers burned. Leaning against the wall beside the door, the Russian reached into the pocket of his black overcoat. The light that was passing through the kitchen window suddenly dimmed, that's because Dazai's figure appeared.

“Booh” He whispered in Fyodor's ear, who just stared at him and smoke came out of the corner of his mouth.

Dazai smiled and looked at the grass that danced alongside the clothes hanging on the makeshift clothesline. The brunette had his arms on the windowsill, his legs were in the air, as he had ventured to climb first on the kitchen counter and then open a window that had been jammed since the boy in the bandages remembers its existence. “Are you scared?”

“Certainly, Osamu.”

Chapter 24: War Is Over

Chapter Text

Finally, Christmas is the event where capital takes the most advantage of its workers to buy and distribute gifts to their loved ones. That's not a hate of Christmas, but seriously, who would believe an old man with a beard, dressed in red, who flies overhead in a sleigh, carried by reindeer? For all that can be most sacred. Fyodor and Dazai spent December 12 talking about how heavy the holiday weather is and how manipulative this holiday season is to make you buy crocheted socks and put them on the fireplace, hoping that the next day are full of sweets.

Dazai was lying on the bed in his room, on his stomach, his legs dangling in the air now and then, one hand was on his cheek, his head bent over the hand that held his overloaded brain, and the other hand was placid, without complete access from the bandages to the wrist, as it was occupied by a pipe, through which the liquid better known as physiological saline passed.

“How much longer do I have to be drilled to get this out of me?” he asked dramatically, putting the hand that was on his cheek to his face, and making a little cry.

Fyodor bit his bottom lip as he concentrated on packing Dazai's messy clothes into the old suitcase. “Until your vasoconstriction is complete, Osamu…” He tilted his head when he saw an empty microwaveable crab can in the back of the cupboard.

The guitarist looked at Fyodor between his fingers, and threw himself on the bed, becoming like a starfish, with his arms outstretched and his legs too. “As if I were a doctor to understand what the f*ck that would do…” He growled irritably closing his eyes.

The Russian took the hangers containing Dazai's sweaters and threw them into the suitcase. “That is, your blood vessels temporarily close so that finally, dear Osamu, your organism recovers from the sh*t you did.” He turned to Dazai with a pair of gloves on his hands and a smug smile when he finished speaking. The guitarist nodded as he looked intensely at the one with magenta irises. “Fedya should work in medicine since he knows so much.” He said quietly, looking at the large saline holder. It was gray and a little weatherworn, but the smiley face stickers and other cute things kept the feeling from wanting to settle for pain.

The Russian chuckled sarcastically and just shook his head. “I am not interested in that area. Even if it is intriguing.” He closed the wooden closet doors. “And I’m not really into needles.” He smiled wryly and sat on the ottoman that was in the corner of the room, near the window.

Dazai followed his gaze where he went, seeing how tired he looked now, he sympathized, but it was too late as he couldn't make many moves with his pierced arm. The guitarist looked up at the ceiling and snorted. “Are you going to say goodbye to your friends? Or is that not necessary?” He turned his face to look at the Russian, who was looking at the street below, seeing Mizuki come out of the house with a suitcase, probably with medicinal instruments, and with her hair sloppily tied in a bun. “I don't think so” Fyodor looked at Dazai. "We're not that sappy and sentimental."

There was silence, for an indeterminate amount of time, until Dazai noticed that Fyodor was sleeping in a sitting position, his head co*cked to one side. He smiled weakly, it was reassuring to see a mind as untouchable as the Russian resting, the one with bandages knows very well what it's like, not being able to sleep for an indeterminate amount of time due to thinking too much about everything, or simply getting day-to-day paranoia at home. head.

With the arrival of Mizuki, the boy in bandages managed to free himself from the pipe that inflicted on his skin, finally being able to walk around the room after 2 hours lying in bed. After thanking his neighbor doctor, Dazai jumped out of bed, stretching, came close to Fyodor, standing face to face, he crouched between the Russian's legs and took the cigarette box he left in his overcoat pocket. With the cigarette in hand, the brunette fumbled when he tried to sit next to Fyodor. Almost falling to the side, the guitarist leaned with one arm on the window sill, and placed Fyodor on his torso, with an arm passing through his beloved and caressing his chest slowly. He swallowed the joint between his fingers, his organism reacted quickly, trying to remove the intravenous smoke in the form of a dry cough, which Dazai managed to retract and inhaled everything. Closing his eyes, he licked his lips, and as if nothing had happened, he continued smoking his cigarette, looking out at the setting sun, just as his senses turned to soup.

[...]

Snowflakes slowly fell from the sky as the wonder couple left the house with their suitcases. Ango had said goodbye the day before, before going to work, taking a while when he realized that Dazai had his mind in a distant place, which he remembers very well, since he lived with that thought for years, that person . Sigma and Gogol on the other hand were happy with the trip, the clown even more so, as he now temporarily had a pet cat, which he pampered twenty-four hours a day, and Stockinet loved it.

In the taxi, Fyodor took care that the climate in San Francisco was not so hot, and even if it were, he would stay in cold places. Dazai, on the other hand, seemed calmer, a little anxious to say the least. When the taxi driver removed their bags from the trunk, the two walked into the Pulkovo airport, scanning the signs to arrive faster at the gate that would take them to where the redhead was waiting for them. It was dawn, so the movement was a little less, on the side where they were there was just the two of them and another couple with a child. With only a few minutes to go, Fyodor put on the wire earphones, lending one end to Dazai, who placed it in the ear where his piercings were all in. Time passed and a girl entered the room with several chairs, with only a few occupying them, and called all the passengers who were going to California, San Francisco. As soon as they settled into their seats, Dazai took Fyodor's hand, who turned to look into his eyes, a nervous smile beneath the mask he wore. The Russian chuckled under his scarf, climbing the back of the chair that momentarily separated them, he opened a space for the other to snuggle into his grip. Wasting no time, Dazai lay down with his legs tucked in, becoming like a snail hidden in its shell, the brunette inhaled the winter smell that Fyodor would always carry with him, and adjusting the phone so that it wouldn't move, he kissed the Russian's waist and he passed an arm over his abdomen to hug him, being certain that he would never let go, and never go away from here, away from him.

The Russian managed to stay awake long enough for his playlist to end, he looked up at the ceiling, where there was an extended screen with the starry sky. The feeling of comfort was calming, more so than the laxative he'd had to take in the bathroom before coming here. Looking down, the now black mound of curls was asleep, its chest rising and falling, and its breath sounding soft close to Fyodor's senses. With an opportunity like that, the cellist took his cell phone, which was in his pocket, and took a picture, from a slightly bad angle but good because Dazai was in the picture, the blue light from the digital ceiling gave a unique highlight to the boy from bandages, and as Fyodor typed in his tweet 'A big idiot sleeping in my arms :/' , he realized what it was like to be able to rescue these moments a few times, he finally pressed tweet.

[...]

Stupidly, Dazai had to wake up feeling sick. With self-hatred, the guitarist leaned back in his armchair and crossed his arms, looking out the window, seeing the gray clouds, apparently it was raining as soon as they arrived. Fyodor couldn't sleep, he spent the night writing in his notebook, and researching something on his cell phone.

When they landed on solid ground, the two left plummeted, it seemed that gravity had messed with the two. As they descended the stairs, Fyodor placed a hand on Dazai's shoulder, who went down first, as his hips and one of his legs had already given way to the cramp. They just felt everything was fine when they heard the robotic voice and typical American English resonate in their ears through the speakers. “How are we going to find Chuuya in this place?” The Russian accent whispered close to Dazai, who laughed sarcastically.

Seeing the taller's mockery, the Russian rolled his eyes and looked around himself. "Don't worry, Fedya is just spotting a red head in a ridiculous hat." He squinted falsely, and the Russian walked on, looking to where a person of short stature could be seen autographing what appeared to be a painting of someone in an elegant ballet pose. Automatically, Fyodor pulled Dazai by the arm.

Chuuya had a sizable fan base, which settled in many places, mostly concentrated in his native Paris. But with an oversight of posting a photo of Roof - Yosano's dog - on his instagram and getting more than 1k questions in his dm of where he could be now. He had now just signed his own name in the corner of an oil painting by a fan, who had left a few minutes ago and the redhead was still delighted with how impactful his movements were on people. Sensing a person coming up from behind, his body went before his senses, catching the other person's hand quickly.

"Wow! calm down, Chibi” Dazai said quickly taking his hand away, which had been twisted when the other turned away. The redhead snorted, lowering his head to grit his teeth and looking back at the two in front of him. “You don’t change anything, do you?” He said analyzing each one. From Dazai's cream overcoat to Fyodor's black overcoat, the Russian's red scarf, to the bandages' green T-shirt, from the cellist's black boots to Dazai's shabby allstar.

The two looked at each other and then shrugged. “Chuuya looks so different in more…summer clothes?” Dazai said in a mocking tone, one hand on his hips and his head tilted to the side.

The redhead was wearing a cobalt blue long-sleeved blouse, with the sleeves rolled up after seeing Dazai arrive. High-waisted, dark tailored pants. Boots on her feet, and her black hat on her head, gilding the fire that was her red curls. Amidst the clash of eyes between Dazai and Chuuya staring at each other with murderous gazes, Fyodor realized something, Chuuya had a different eye. He without noticing approached and tried to see better. The redhead made a bubble gum, which he kept inside his mouth when he saw the other with black hair approached. "What there was?" He sighed looking into the magenta eyes. “Your eyes…are they…different?” The Russian masked his fascinated surprise at people with heterochromia as he walked back to Dazai and put more weight on one leg than the other.

Chuuya furrowed his orange brows in confusion, and when he understood he rolled his eyes and hummed in understanding. “Oh yes it is, I have heterochromia in only one eye.” He put a finger under his eye with a two-color iris - blue and brown. Dazai raised an eyebrow and rolled his eyes. “I guess you never noticed, now I'm surprised you never noticed before. I'm the only rare one in the family, since I was born with this orange color in my hair and one eye with different colors, it's bizarre but really badass to be like that." The redhead smirked and turned around. "Let's go, before I regret letting you stay in the same house as me."

[...]

After the redhead dragged them to the giant airport parking lot, they put their bags in the trunk of Chuuya's car. “Does Chibi have a car?!” Dazai practically screamed when he heard the unlocking noise of the doors that the controller Chuuya had in his hand resounded.

Chuuya turned his head enough for Dazai and Fyodor to see her smirk. "This one isn't exactly mine, it's Kouyou's." He opened the driver's door and got in. “But now Kiko and I are more available to use the car.” Satisfaction crept into the freckled boy's smile. He was vastly happier, finally after years Dazai got to see the rescue of the redhead's sunshine personality. Inside the car, the Russian remained in the driver's seat - as Dazai refused to go up front with Chuuya out of sheer envy - and the guitarist went in the back seat. After the car had already driven a large number of km on the asphalt road, an awkward silence also fell on the seat next to Dazai, and a huge elephant appeared in the 'room'. Clearing his throat, Dazai stretches out enough for his huge arms to reach the car radio and turn it on, playing a song that was playing on an unknown station. Chuuya stared at him for a brief moment, but then relaxed as the music intoxicated him and he hummed softly while drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. Fyodor huddled by the window, one arm resting his head as he watched the other cars passing by, or some clichéd American view of California. They ended up stopping at a red light, and suddenly they heard two taps on the driver's side window. Dazai lay down fully on the backseat, so he just lifted his head enough to see a biker, red haired, and with a band aid on his nose. Chuuya smiled and opened the window, starting a small talk with that guy in the green leather jacket and an extremely cool motorcycle. Dazai felt a slight start when he saw a pale hand grope his face.

“But what?-” Fyodor put his head in the gap between the seat belt and sighed heavily as his bangs fell fully into his eyes, expelling them with a huff of air. “Hey, you took my gloves, I just remembered. Give it to me.” He reached with difficulty across the small space. Dazai dug into his overcoat pockets and pulled out a pair of red velvet gloves. “Here you are, my angel” He said sweetly as he winked, Fyodor just grabbed his gloves, rolled his eyes and went back to sitting modestly forward. Chuuya noticed the light changing to green and climbed the car window, giving a quick punch on the glass that was reciprocated by the biker's fist, who laughed and took off. The redhead shook his head and accelerated the car, turning the corner, to find a street that faced the most famous bridge in The city by the bay, the Golden Gate.

The street sloped down with a path for a cable car, and even so far from the sea, you could still hear the sound of the waves crashing on the rocks on the shore. Fyodor raised both eyebrows. His surprised reaction left Chuuya with one more reason to smirk. “Beautiful isn't it? I am always amazed by this view.” The redhead maneuvered the car to park it in front of the building. Climbing the gear lever, he sighed heavily and looked at the two others in the car. "We will?" The two brunettes opened the car door together, and as they got out, they felt the beach breeze mixed with a comforting feeling. Looking around, Dazai approached Fyodor, who was putting his backpack on his back and picking up his stuffed mouse with purple button eyes. “The difference here is stark next to that huge fog we live in and call home.” He muttered to the Russian, who smiled mischievously and walked behind Dazai, resting his head on the other's shoulder and just breathing. "Are you okay?" The guitarist asked looking over his shoulder, and receiving a murmur of agreement.

Before he could add a self-deprecating joke, Chuuya slammed the trunk shut with his own weight, and looked at the bandaged boy who crossed his arms with wide eyes. "Which?! It wasn't closing dammit!" He had two bags in his hand and walked out into the building. It was a very elegant place, suitably good for a successful dancer, a magazine cover model, and a famous doctor to live, to be sure. The lobby was large, with a huge chandelier at the entrance, it had some green spots with plants of great value, the reception desk was in a square island style, and the whole color palette was beige, gold and brown. Dazai and Fyodor stayed in the corner watching how low Chuuya looked next to the agent carrying the bags, even wearing big boots.

“Chibi seems so close to him, why isn't he like that to me?” Dazai had his hands around Fyodor's waist, playing with the hem of Fyodor's shirt.

“Is it because you don’t try to do that too?” The Russian snapped, arms crossed and putting his weight against Dazai. The other behind him sighed heavily, and Fyodor swore he could have seen its hazel eyes roll up. “But, it's not like that, okay? I try now, but it doesn't work anymore. That's all.” He began to sway slowly in a strange dance, which Fyodor wanted to break free of at once, but for some reason it became such an intimate gesture that he blushed. The Russian hid his red face with his hair as he leaned forward, the guitarist had his typical smile, a suggestive and charming way that couldn't be stopped by anyone. “Stop, that’s enough.” Fyodor turned his head to take a good look at his beloved, but immediately, the other brunette was faced with the magenta irises, which hypnotized him, invading his brain and destroying all his neurons. “Do you really want me to stop?” He bent his head, close enough that he could feel the Russian's breath next to his. The cellist raised a defiant eyebrow and tugged the other's scarf so he wouldn't come off at all. “Never defy me or you will regret it, yes?” Dazai smirked and made the gesture of wanting to kiss him.

At the same moment, the redhead walked on the other side near the elevators, spotting the couple, he made an indignant gesture with his arms and Fyodor rolled his eyes. “By our f*cking lord Jesus Christ.” He left dragging Dazai by the scarf until they reached the elevator.

When the automatic door closed, Dazai coughed dramatically on the other side of the elevator, leaning against the mirror that had three sides. Fyodor and Chuuya were leaning on the opposite side, with only the bags that the two tourists had brought with them on the plane and a stuffed animal in the Russian's hand. "Stop sucking up, you bastard" The redhead cursed, taking his cell phone out of his pocket and quickly typing a message. Looking like he remembered something, he hummed to get the attention of the other two. "Our apartment is the last one, so every time you happen to go out, press this one" The redhead went to the buttons and indicated the one that glowed in blue - because he was the one selected. Dazai, who was sitting on the floor, looked at the button and then at the redhead and vice versa. “How interesting! Look, Fedya, we're staying in a top-notch penthouse.”

Fyodor murmured and began to pull his hair into a ponytail, pulling it forward, the long black hair slipping over his huge black overcoat with the white fur on the hood. The elevator finally opened its doors, with the only surprise - or not so much, Fyodor and Dazai couldn't stand so much wealth anymore - that they found the area for storing shoes and umbrellas in the apartment. Chuuya walked in first, throwing her boots on next to beach flip flops and a pair of black high heels. Dazai did the same with his all star, deliberately bumping into the redhead, who cursed and kicked his leg, the brunette just laughed. As Fyodor wasn't used to taking off his shoes as soon as he entered the house, he spent some time looking at the shoe rack, having his thoughts silenced with a scream from Chuuya. “How idiotic.” He removed his boots and placed them next to Dazai's all star pair.

The apartment had windows that went from ceiling to floor, with a beautiful view of the Golden Gate Bridge, a noise of surprise came from the Russian's throat. The entire floor plan of Fyodor's old apartment would only fit in the living room, and this is far from the largest room. There are two other bedrooms - one is a guest bedroom that will be used by the wunderkind couple. The fireplace and wall-mounted flat-screen TV are just icing on the cake, other than the video game console, which looks like it's been put there recently—probably by Chuuya. Not to mention all the floor-to-ceiling windows and the balcony with the hot tub that stays warm even thirty-two floors in the winter. And the kitchen? It's straight out of a western-style magazine with dark granite countertops, two ovens, double sinks with a flex spout, center island with cushioned seating stools, and top-of-the-line stainless steel appliances complete it. The style of everything is sleek and minimalist, yet comfortable, Fyodor and Dazai think it will be very easy to feel at home here.

Looking at the two people who were at a considerable distance but Chuuya could easily jump over the dining table that was between the living room and the kitchen, and grabbing Dazai's neck was very easy. The redhead had his hands on his hips and was looking at the view in front of his eyes, the misty morning light bathing his freckled face, and letting his hat accessories and ear piercings shine silver. “So, make yourselves at home.” He walked into the kitchen, opening the fridge. “Here's everything you need, I think, and if you don't have something, we can buy it in the future. For today it's just the two of you and me, Ane-san is inside doing an interview with some guys who, why am I explaining this? Anyway, I'm going to take a shower." He made a face and walked to a wheeled door, which separated the entrance from the hallway with the bedrooms, one being the couple's, the other for the future child, and the guest room. Fyodor felt Dazai close to him again. “Let’s put our stuff in there, shall we?” The Russian shook his head and just grabbed Dazai's index and ring finger that were behind his back, shouting for Fyodor to grab them - because the one with bandages knew that the Russian liked to walk with him like that.

In the slightly dark hallway, Dazai located the room while muttering some things he remembered about the house to himself. "Have you been here before?" Fyodor asked when the other opened the door, and they found a very minimalist room, and even though it was considered a guest room, it had some books piled up in the corners. "Yea. After all, do you think I would torment Chibi only in Yokohama and Russia? I spent a summer vacation here, it was strangely good, even with Chuuya in those memories…” Fyodor laughed nasally as Dazai lowered his voice until it was inaudible. Stepping past him, Dazai threw himself onto the bed, taking a deep breath and letting it out, swinging his arms and stretching his legs.

The Russian screwed up his face at the sight, between finding it funny or wanting to get out of there because of the embarrassment of others. “What the f*ck are you doing?” He placed the bag on top of a chair he had next to the dresser and hugged the stuffed mouse to his chest, getting used to the vibe of the place, as he had a certain difficulty with changes in scenery that were so rewarding. “I spent most of the trip with my legs wrapped up because I never stay in places that fit me.” Dazai said in a sleepy voice as he stretched out like a cat on the bed. “I hope I can sleep decently tonight. Mizuki tells me that I've made a lot of progress over the past few days, and along with that I've started to sleep well! My insomnia finally took the piss out of itself and went off on its own without me.” He sat up when he heard the door crack open.

“Oh, you are here already!” A red-haired woman whispered as she waved hi. "They are well? Do you need anything?” She asked putting half her body up for them to see. The orange-pink-toned hair was currently loose, with a few curls at the ends, and the red lipstick on her lips, the woman had the gift of being born ready to walk the runways.

Fyodor and Dazai looked at each other and shook their heads. “No, we don't, and are we ok? I think." The guitarist responded by laughing at the end. Kouyou smirked and looked back as if he was checking something. “I need to go back, these interviewers won't leave me alone!” She declared as she closed the door. The two in the room laughed for a moment, and then, Fyodor left what he had in his hand on the corner of the bed, lying down with his legs over the side of the bed.

“We need some plan.” Fyodor said in a low but serious tone, he seemed to want to ask something, 'What did Mizuki tell you that day in the room?', he kept circling his mind until it started to hurt and he realized that Dazai could have gotten better, or had been chewed up deeply by the medicines.

The guitarist, however, seemed relaxed, having crawled to the head of the bed, where there were several pillows, and laid down between them. He was looking at Fyodor's mane, spread across the white sheet, looking a little airy. “Our plan from now on will be: I make you even more attracted to me.” The one with almond irises said smiling in the corner, curling a lock of his hair. Fyodor buried his head on the mattress to look at Dazai's face, and he laughed, teasing a little, but he wanted his beloved to know that what he wanted for this trip already happened every day. Sitting cross-legged, the Russian studied the other. “But seriously, I don't want to think about anything either. Let's try to make this worthwhile, and follow Chuuya in this, okay?"

Dazai made a boy scout gesture in affirmation, Fyodor shook his head and stood up. At the same moment, Chuuya's voice can be heard from behind the door.

"Are they here?..." He seemed to be asking Kouyou. Appearing to have received an answer, he knocked twice on the door, then opened it. “Okay then, shall we make some music?” The redhead had damp hair, a smug smile on his face, and a suggestively raised eyebrow. The two musicians were intrigued, but before they could ask anything, Chuuya left the door open and left. Fyodor frowned and followed, picking up his coat and draping it over his shoulders, before he stepped through the door, motioning for Dazai to follow.

[...]

Some streets further down had already been traversed, people passing by, the movement seemed to be a little less than the bustle of St. Petersburg, Fyodor thought he saw a group of hippies in a nearby alley, which was not very different from where he lived , the only difference being that there was something more rigid. When they came across a building with a large guitar as a sign and a huge name written 'MUSIC', Chuuya braked, right behind Dazai whistled in satisfaction with the place, and Fyodor thought that of all the possibilities Chuuya could have carried them, this one it was the third option he accepted.

It was a great diner, bar, karaoke, and everything you could want. It had a good aura, after all there were few people, because the sign on the door was that it was closed at the moment. Chuuya as soon as he was illuminated by the yellow light from the spotlights on the small stage in the corner, some people who were sitting on the chairs stirred, calling for him, and he just smiled and waved at just a few. Behind him, Dazai had his hands in the pockets of his overcoat, looking at some of the people and recognizing them, mainly the biker they'd come across on the road, along with a girl with double braids and red hair, Lucy. Fyodor just looked at the walls that had posters, pictures of some singers, autographs, and on the wall behind the bar counter, there was a polaroid photo of the entire cast of the show that participated a few months ago.

“Damn, I never thought I'd see your faces again, what a pleasure to see you again!” Lucy said going up to the three and hugging Chuuya on one side and Dazai on the other. “Wow, I forgot to say those months, but you helped me a lot to be able to see this artistic world better, and I can only thank you.” She smiled at both of them and pulled them into a hug again. With her head resting on the girl's shoulder, the two looked at each other and let out a nervous laugh at the same time.

“How gratifying, I think.” Dazai said giving her a quick pat on the back and moving away, Chuuya did the same and looked back where Fyodor was.

Lucy smiled at the Russian, who tried to bring a friendly smile back, but he didn't even have the chance when another redhead with spiky hair came up behind the girl and had a smile on his lips. “Hey Chuuya, the wine bottles have arrived, and they are just the ones you like.” The boy with the band aid on his nose saw Dazai and let out a noise of surprise. “How did you get to be 1.80 tall?” The brunette laughed melodically and tossed his bangs aside with a shake of his head. "We grew up so fast that we didn't even notice, Tachihara."

Tachihara nodded in affirmation and smiled familiarly. "Okay, let's go over there to where the guys are, it's actually just me, Jouno, and Tecchou, Lucy arrived a little while ago, didn't she?" He ran a hand through the red-haired girl's bangs, who huffed in irritation at her messy hair. "Get out of here you idiot, don't treat me like a child!" She murmured fixing one of her braids and staring at the biker who looked at her with fake indifference. “Hey, aren't you a child?” He asked sarcastically, putting his hands in the pockets of the dark gray sweatshirt he was wearing. She took a deep breath and walked past him hitting his shoulder hard. “I'm f*cking 18!” And he dashed upstairs.

Chuuya and Tachihara looked at each other and laughed. “That girl never changes!” The dancer said as he walked away with the biker. “Come on, you two there” He called the couple, who were walking between the tables with the chairs resting on top, they were probably cleaning here.

The bar was all wood, the counter, the shelf with the drinks, and the red dyed walls made everything look more favorable. Dazai coming close to Fyodor's ear said. “It looks like a cabaret here” and he made a noise of surprise when he saw a pole dancing pole next to the bar counter, centered in the middle of a circular stage. “You've got to be kidding me…” The brunette placed both hands on Chuuya's shoulders who turned sharply to look into his eyes. “Why didn't you tell me that you continued to practice pole dancing even though you were banned for doing so? Chibi is getting rebellious.” He tried to put on a straight face but a chuckle escaped at the end, which made Chuuya wish no one was here to witness Dazai's murder.

Fyodor chuckled from under his scarf, and having been poured a glass of red wine, he took a sip and looked across the top of the glass at Dazai.

“Leave me alone, will you? Or is it an impossible task? Look, is there a whiskey you don't like? Get one." Chuuya quickly turned and went behind the counter, grabbing a bottle of whiskey and pouring a moderate amount into the glass with ice. Dazai sat on the upholstered stool and swiveled around on it until he spotted the Polaroid photo attached by two magnets of cats to the beverage freezer. Pointing at Fyodor, who was at the back of the photo next to Nikolai, Dazai smirked and spun around. “Look at you!” He said smiling and Fyodor offered him another smile.

Chuuya crouched down and appeared again with a bottle of purple wine in her hand, and with her mouth she pulled out the cork and tipped the bottle in her mouth. Lucy appeared behind him, a rag in one hand and a sponge in the other. “Are you going to get drunk before we open here?” She asked watching the redhead get up and sit on the counter with his legs crossed. “I'm just enjoying it now.” He offered her a smile. Lucy rolled her eyes and started cleaning the glasses.

Dazai looked at each polaroid photo of landscapes, buildings, birds, plants, the sky, and one with a 15 year old Chuuya, with a skateboard in one hand and a grinning with his eyes closed. “You rescued my photos from Yokohama, how exciting, Chuuya.” He took a sip from his glass, the redhead just looked at him and tipped the bottle again. "Oda's, where are they?"

The dancer sighed and looked at the brunette. “At the halfway house, they preferred to stay with them, because they thought it would be better for you.” He used a softer tone and the eyes looked reassuring. Dazai chuckled and twirled a finger around his glass. “As if they knew what was best for me.” He looked at the golden color of the drink and breathed heavily, suddenly an anvil was placed on his head and no one, not even the strongest person in the world, could even move that piece of iron.

Fyodor was now sitting beside Dazai, leaning forward, propping his chin with his hand, his lips slightly reddened by wine. Rubbing a hand on Dazai's back to comfort him, the bandaged boy looked at him and smirked in thanks. Chuuya licked his lips and placed the bottle on his side, putting his feet back on the ground, he stayed beside Dazai, but nothing came out of his mouth and not even a gesture was made, what he could try to do now was just silence himself and let it go, because it is fleeting, and Dazai is a great messenger, who no one wants to see get lost in the streets of their memories, with bitterness and disappointment.

Chapter 25: We’ll Be Old And Weary Friends

Chapter Text

Simple, the night went well, the couple decided to leave when the movement increased, and after so much melancholy, the best thing was just to think about home. The redhead accompanied them, carrying a crocheted plush in one leather-gloved hand, looking at it and then turning his gaze to the side to see Dazai looking straight ahead, absently, if not for Fyodor's hand in his, with sure he could get lost in the night streets.

When opening the elevator doors, all the rooms were dark, only the vague moonlight coming through the large curtains. Dazai went towards the sofa and lay down, with his face buried in the cushions. Fyodor watched him near a pillar, and Chuuya went to the kitchen, returning with a glass of ice water and offering it to the two. The guitarist didn't drink, and neither did the cellist.

"Go take a bath in ice water" The redhead said as he hung his hat on the stand. “I'll go check on Ane-san, soon Yosano is likely to arrive. And, I sleep in the living room, so Dazai get out, now.” He pointed to where the brunette was, sitting awkwardly.

Dazai groaned and lay face down on the couch. Chuuya sighed and went inside. Fyodor licked his lips and felt dizzy, stopping beside Dazai, he looked at him and then held out his hand. "We are going yes?" The voice was low as the sound of an old radio, his curiosity exploding about everything he didn't know about his guitarist.

The boy in bandages took the other's hand and leaned on him, with difficulty Fyodor managed to lead him to the bedroom. Turning on the light through the switch with a little difficulty, the Russian placed Dazai sitting on the edge of the bed, going to the workbench where his clothes and other necessities were organized, picking up his respective pajamas. “Fedya?” Dazai muttered. "Hmm?" Fyodor muttered in reply, going to his side and placing the clothes on the bed, folded neatly. The guitarist looked at him carefully, as if the other was made of crystal and could break at any moment. “Why must things always end up like this?” His eyes were deeper somehow, the dark brown of their irises. The Russian didn't answer, he just looked away and scratched the back of his head.

Grabbing a towel from his suitcase, the Russian went to the door, looking over his shoulder at the other brunette. "I'll go first than you, I need a shower and then I'll go find some medicine for my headache." When he left only a gap to close the door, Dazai called out to him with a choked yelp. “Fedya, I'm here, whatever.” Fyodor shook his head and walked out of the other's sight.

[...]

The other morning, everything looked like heavy weather, the cold and light breeze. Yosano was the first to be seen when arriving in the kitchen. She was wearing an enormous white shirt and her hair was slightly disheveled, but she was still standing next to her girlfriend who was delivering the coffee ingredients to Chuuya, who was making breakfast. Fyodor slept in the bathtub, which was normal for him, but waking up in the morning in a huge marble hole was strange and painful. He only realized when he got to the round and relatively small table in the room that Dazai hadn't taken the promised bath, mentally cursing himself, the Russian snorted.

"Hey, good morning." Yosano said with a crooked smile to the cellist, who smiled back slightly and walked over to the counter.

"What we have for today?" Chuuya looked over his shoulder, an indescribable feeling in his eyes, maybe he and Dazai had an argument, or worse. “We have food, what do you think?” He forced a smile and looked back at what he was doing, only to be interrupted by a kick in the calf from his sister, who was beside him, drinking a glass of bubble tea.

A large silhouette appeared behind Fyodor, hopes of being a human were dashed when the St. Bernard dog licked the Russian's hand, who wanted to die in that exact spot. Yosano took a quick run, sliding his feet on the smooth floor and taking Roof out of reach. "You fool!" She kissed the dog's forehead and dragged him into the kitchen.

Right after they started to eat, Fyodor felt dizzy that almost made him faint, which made the doctor present apprehensive. Having only swallowed a remnant of yogurt, the Russian was taken to the two women's room, which made him uncomfortable as he didn't even feel completely well in different places. The woman took some things from the drawer that Fyodor associated with blood pressure devices.

"Wanted to ask that over there, but Chuuya didn't look too good so I didn't want to be a pain in the ass, but where's Dazai?" The Russian was looking at some random spot, the urge to just run away from there growing by the minute.

“Oh, he…Yes! I completely forgot, Dazai and Chuuya had a fight yesterday. It wasn't a fight, it was more of a deep discussion between people like them who don't know what to say to each other."

“I figured, he didn't look good yesterday, how is he now?” Fyodor felt sorry for Dazai, and he hated that feeling, because he was always called 'pity' and people are the devil incarnate when they treat someone in an unwanted way. The woman checked and found that the Russian was not in the best of conditions, but still did not recommend going to the hospital - which was a relief for Fyodor - but handed him a glass with water and sugar in it.

Fyodor felt small, colorless, expressionless, which was a huge chagrin for himself, as someone with an overly inflated ego ends up feeling miserable, it's a completely toxic thing to watch. The self-sabotages, the way of just not caring about what could really be what you felt, it can all lead to that. He wanted his cello now. One day, he told himself that he would never be a fool in this world, but how could he carry it out? He wanted to feel at home again. Why so many doubts? Why did he decide to keep it that way? Is this all his fault? In the future, no, that's too strong a word, but, he wanted to have an infinite feeling, but he can't be infinite.

Taking a walk while thinking about it helped, looking at the people walking that morning, the seagulls flying or stealing chips, children playing with their pinwheels, it all seemed so endless. It was strange to tell himself that he doesn't feel that way, it's hard not to see himself the way he always has, he's someone vulnerable to life, from the beginning, the illnesses, the disorders, the events of his days that were counted as if on a chain they seemed indeterminable to end. Even putting his feet on sand contaminated by other people, he couldn't feel anything. Even looking out to sea, he didn't give him any answers.

Before he felt more afraid than he could if he continued to think like that, he headed the same way and came home. Upon arriving there, his first sight was his beloved, Dazai. Sitting with his knees pulled over his chest, the brunette stared at the magenta orbs. "Hey!" He said with a small smile and tucking a fresh curl behind his ear. The Russian smiled slightly and walked towards him, sitting down, he supported himself on his bent knees and appreciated when the other ran a hand over his cheek. “I just wanted to see you.” He declared getting a little absorbed as he looked at Fyodor's features.

This left him thoughtful and curiosity took over again, as he looked at the other, he furrowed his brows and bit his lip. “Osamu, why did you never call Ango father?” The bandaged boy chuckled, clearly becoming embarrassed. “Well, because he is not my consideration, I see him as a friend not a father, god forbid.” He looked up at the ceiling and Fyodor laughed.

Fyodor bit the inside of his cheek and leaned closer to Dazai's chest, who tucked him in and took off his ushanka. “Are we going to the bar we went to yesterday again? And promise we'll sing!" He suddenly perked up, grinning as he bit his lip and tapped his feet on the couch. Fyodor frowned at the other's sudden joy and chuckled softly. "Certainly not! I can play something from there, I remembered that it’s been a while since I picked up a guitar.” He declared as he fiddled with the fur on his hat. Sensing a movement from Dazai, he sat back down, seeing his boyfriend with a raised eyebrow, he wondered if he had said something strange, as he tried to remember properly what he said, the guitarist took Fyodor's hand and placed it on his waist. “Well, you have a guitar in front of you…”

“For God's sake…” Fyodor turned his face and laughed while the other was between laughing and asking what had just happened. “Stop being so shameless!” The Russian looked at him with pale cheeks now rosy and brows furrowed. "What?! That's not shameless, okay?" He said breathlessly while wearing an openly amused face, he was enjoying the situation. “Fedya has a very dirty mind!” He crossed his arms and forced an angry face, but the situation only got funnier. Fyodor didn't even have a chance to contest as he was moved down, lying down, with only Dazai laughing above him. “What is it now?” The Russian muttered as he tried to contain his laughter. The guitarist rested his head on the other's chest, then fell to the side, lying beside Fyodor, while he writhed with laughter. “I can’t, calm down!” Dazai screamed as he grabbed Fyodor's neck and tried to kiss him. “Why can’t you?” The Russian got around the situation faster than he thought he would, his face in real doubt. Dazai after catching his breath, looked at Fyodor, his face completely red. “It's because you're so beautiful, every time I go to kiss you I have this dilemma in my head: 'Do I deserve to kiss you?'”

Fyodor made an appeased face, rolling his eyes in understanding, he moved closer to the other's face, who fell silent and looked at his lips. Before the two could feel each other's lips, Roof barked at the elevator audibly. Standing up momentarily, the one with the bandages muttered something, which made the Russian stand up too, seeing a figure similar, if not the same as the same blond man that appears in Nakahara's nightmares. He adjusted the hat on his head and smiled in an oddly elegant way.

Dazai had a frown on his face, a mixture of disgust and a lot of bitterness for this falsely kind man. He took a step forward and looked at Chuuya's hat hanging on the wooden stand. “Where are my dear brothers?” He didn't maintain eye contact and his voice had a passive-aggressive edge. The Russian looked him up and down. "Why are you here?" The blonde chuckled and walked across the room. "A simple visitor thinks he has enough authority to throw me out of my beautiful sister's house?" He placed a dramatic hand on his chest.

“Stop pretending! You just want to torment them! As you always did…” Dazai raised his voice but lowered it when he saw the elevator descend again, the others should have arrived, and that thought made him tense, because the blonde would get what he wanted. The brunette shook his head and looked at the Russian, who didn't even look away from the new guy in the room. “What do you know about my family, Dazai?” His name being pronounced by him seemed to be intoxicated, the guitarist felt his insides close.

Upon opening the doors of the gray elevator, Chuuya looked around, when he saw his brother, he took a deep breath, going towards him with his arms crossed. "I thought I made it clear enough that I didn't want to talk to you for the next few centuries." The redhead had a bloodthirsty gaze that could burst into flames at any moment. The blonde looked down at him and suddenly grinned with pride, making the gesture of running a thumb across the freckled boy's cheek, he walked away, looking at Verlaine as if he had just insulted his entire family. "What are you doing-" The redhead was interrupted when he felt a hand on his shoulder, Kouyou's hand, who was looking at the other at the same height as his, eyes on his pale face. “Don't worry, Chuuya, go get some fresh air with Dazai and Fyodor, yes?” She offered a welcoming smile, and as the redhead was on his way out, she kissed the top of his head as she ran a hand down his arm. Chuuya's look was enough for the two musicians to get up and go to the exit of that burning oven.

As the elevator took care of taking these three boys to the bottom floor, they remained silent, Chuuya was looking more relaxed than the last few times he met his older brother, which made Dazai and Fyodor a little more relieved, but the tension they carried in them was screaming. As they left, they stopped on the sidewalk, some people avoided them, others watched, and those who had no interest in showing politeness bumped into them. The cellist looked up at the sky, blue, immense, and without end. “Can we go to the bar?” He asked as he bundled up in his black overcoat. The brunette and the redhead shrugged, following Chuuya, who had quick and sure steps in his boots.

Arriving there, the place was open, but there was a considerable number of people inside, and the yellow light of that day no longer existed, there were now blue and green lights. Opening the door, he received the sound of the bell positioned above the door, quickly, Chuuya passed between the people and arrived at the bar, deftly passing over the counter, he opened the back door, looking for any remnant of his friends. Unsuccessfully, he turned his gaze to a person who was performing on stage, his eyebrow rose and he took it upon himself to look for something among the liquor bottles. Dazai felt tense just by seeing the situation he saw in Russia, given the chance to repeat it again, he grabbed Fyodor's shoulders and guided him in front of him to where Chuuya was. Crouching low enough to see the mane of red hair and her appreciable ass, Dazai cleared his throat to get the other's attention. The Russian was beside him, standing with his hands on his own shoulders, smelling the unmistakable smell of pot from somewhere. “Chibi? What is it?" Dazai said but neither of the other two heard because the sound of the boxes stacked in the corner was louder.

The redhead turned and scowled at Dazai as he had a cigarette in his lips and lit it. "Shut up!" He yelled, but it sounded like his usual voice, so the guitarist didn't care, he just rolled his eyes and looked at the stage, which had changed the shape of the lights to circles and stars. "I wanted to ask this earlier but I completely forgot, how is Ryuu doing?" The redhead sat on the counter and crossed his legs. Fyodor sat down next to her with no effort to rise and pulled her hair back, falling back into her framed face. Dazai swallowed hard and looked away towards the stage. "He is fine? I don't know, I don't have contact with him, he's never at home anyway, and when he is, he's with Atsushi, who's a good boy.” The brunette leaned against the rack of bottles behind him and crossed his arms, running a nervous hand over the back of his neck. Fyodor had his eyes squinted to see the stage, the lights were dazzling whatever his thoughts were, so he took a cigarette from his overcoat and Chuuya handed him the lighter. They were never close like that, Fyodor felt strange, not that he was intimidated by Chuuya, but the redhead seemed to have a less heavy aura in San Francisco, which was strange, but the Russian understood him, as he feels comfortable in Saint Petersburg.

“How long have you two been dating anyway?!” The redhead waved his cigarette as he exchanged glances between the two brunettes. They looked at each other, Dazai laughed and Fyodor stifled his laughter by biting his lip. Chuuya was confused and took a deep breath. “I thought you guys had already been through this dilemma…” He drew on his cigarette. “It's not a dilemma! We just don't think… Oh, I don't know!” Dazai said meaningless things when he was clearly in a dilemma, it was funny, because the boy had all the answers on the tip of his tongue, watching him break down was Fyodor's pleasure, imagine Chuuya as his greatest mortal archenemy. Fyodor pulled his leg to his chest, resting his chin on his knee, as he remembered Sigma and Nikolai, what those two missed in memorable moments was breaking your nose while you were in a football championship. He exhaled the smoke and closed his eyes. Dazai was enjoying - or trying to - the show of performances on stage, feeling a strange longing to have his beloved guitar in hand.

When the cigarette went out, the redhead blew the smoke into the air and took a deep breath. Blowing out the ash residue in the ashtray, he placed his feet on the floor as he stretched, his leather jacket following his movements. “Are you going to the stage?” He said in a louder tone, looking a little more refreshed after his cigarette.

Fyodor took an appreciative drag on his tobacco and watched his boyfriend, who was enjoying the music that ended with nods. Chuuya took a deep breath and walked ahead, being careful to ask permission from those in front of him, as the place filled with more people. Dazai paused for a brief moment with a doubtful frown. “What, what did Chibi do?!” He went to Fyodor, long ago the Russian is putting his feet in his big boots on the ground, now, face to face - almost burning Dazai's chin - the cellist lowered his cigarette and looked into the almond-shaped irises, illuminated by the lights and starry beams . “I can see the entire universe from here.” Fyodor said with a surprised face, as if he was seeing Dazai for the first time.

The guitarist smirked, his cheeks turning red and his hand behind his neck. “I like to think that when I die I want to become a shining star” He had his eyes full of tenderness but something still remained unclear. “Or the fireworks! Wow, you, I need to take you to the Yokohama festival one day, it's beautiful.” His bland manner left Fyodor with a raised eyebrow and a crooked smile. “Okay, okay, Dazai, I understand.” He tapped the taller one twice on the chest and he walked away, with the space open, the cellist took Dazai's hand and squeezed it. “You remain brilliant, always will be.”

The guitarist had a lot of things to say but none of them were really lip service. He squeezed the pale hand clasped in his. The boy was young, already in his young adult phase, but realizing that he would have the love of his life at such a young age, so simply, is a beginner's luck, especially when talking about the name Dazai Osamu.

With what little determination he had, Dazai pulled Fyodor, walking towards the stage, he turned his head momentarily to smile at his boyfriend. Arriving onstage, there was a girl with no hair singing her latest song, there were large speakers stacked at the far end, and dark red curtains. The redhead was watching the girl, with a brief smile and hands in his coat pockets. Dazai took advantage of the other's fragility and got behind him, almost falling down the small steps, he even managed to scare the other, who turned his face into a complete horror at what he saw. The Russian, who watched everything from afar, crossed his arms and walked over to the duo, who already had the redhead whispering. “What the hell is going through your head?!” The brunette smiled and put his hands on his hips mockingly and pointed to the girl saying goodbye to the audience. Chuuya sank his hat onto his head and walked towards the stage.

"You are very boring." Fyodor said as he climbed the small steps of industrialized material and passed close to Dazai, who squeezed the other's waist in response. The cellist just dodged and smiled as he walked past to a black Flying V guitar. The boy in the bandages went to the middle center, picking up the Telecaster guitar and adjusting the microphone. He turned to where the redhead was, and waved him over. Chuuya stood backstage, watching as he sent a middle finger to the one with bandages, who smiled and formed a discreet middle finger and returned to the audience. It was gratifying and at the same time terrifying to see so many people present, not just to listen to Dazai, he can be eccentric but not to that extent. The turquoise blue lights next to the green ones formed a beautiful background, when he sing.

As they returned from the stage, hearing the applause, they spotted Chuuya's friends. There were two other people, an albino with red streaks at the ends and a taller one beside him, with long, spiky hair, contained only by the winter cap he wore. Dazai went behind the counter and picked up the bottle of rum, pouring a generous amount into a glass tumbler positioned on the varnished wood.

"Did Chuuya's brother leave?" Fyodor snuggled into his side, elbows braced and hands nervously holding back. The guitarist watched him and pulled his lip back in a doubtful frown. "That idiot? Probably not." He offered a short smile, which the Russian just watched.

Tachihara approached while laughing. “Where is Chuuya? Or has he already left?” The band-aid redhead changed his smile to one of impending concern. “We don’t know either.” The two responded in unison. The one in the green leather jacket shook his head, downing the cup of coffee he was drinking. “Dazai, weren't you the one who shouldn't stop drinking?”

The aforementioned brunette pretended not to hear as he sipped the hot and golden drink, turning the glass with his hand, he laid his head on Fyodor's. Tachihara shrugged, muttering "Weird bro...".

[...]

Arriving home, Fyodor noticed as soon as he entered that everyone's shoes were in their places. The brunette went ahead, seeing that everything was dark, he looked for the switch.

“How strange it all is, don't you think? It's Christmas Eve…” The Russian murmured to Dazai who was beside him, who turned on the light without realizing it when he went to lean his back against the wall. Fyodor took off his ushanka and big coat, pushed open the sliding door, and was relieved when he saw the light in the two women's rooms on.

Going directly there, without a second thought, he saw an image that someone unaware of the situation would be in complete shock. Kouyou was sitting on the bed, holding her belly, breathing deeply, or rather, gasping for air. Chuuya was crouched beside her, holding her sister's hand, looking at her with great attention, and if she looked with great definition, she could see her lips trembling. Fyodor slightly widened his eyes and walked slowly across the room.

"What's going on?...." He asked with a low and slow voice without even realizing it.

The red-haired woman opened her eyes and gasped. “That's…it's just—” She moaned in pain, suppressing it all by closing her eyes and cringing. “Ane-san!!” Chuuya screamed. “I'm going to get help! Calling an ambulance is better!” he yelled as he scrambled over his words. Fyodor grabbed his cell phone from his pocket and searched in record time for the basic contacts on his phone, realizing too late that his phone is of Russian and not American origin. “f*cking hell…” He swore softly, looking at the desk there was someone's cell phone, which, without thinking too much, the Russian took.

“That's Yosano's phone! Her password is Roof's birthday!” Kouyou yelled as he panted audibly. His agony was infecting the other two who were in the scene, it looked like it was a theater, you could even see the audience talking to each other about what was going to happen. The cellist shakily pressed the telephone symbol and called the ambulance, which happened to be answered by Yosano herself. The conversation was very short, a little scrambled, the Russian almost dropped his cell phone on the floor twice, and his voice was so close to the microphone that on the other end of the line it sounded like a scene from a thriller movie.

“She is already coming!” Fyodor said as he placed the black cat cover cell phone on the bed. Chuuya sighed in relief and went back to stand close to her sister, who grabbed her arm and moaned in pain and called Yosano's name several times, as well as cursing bad words in all sorts of ways, and if it was good enough, it had a few phrases. French there too. Chuuya bit his lip, tossing his hat onto the chair, he leaned the redheaded woman onto his torso, hugging her. The cellist swallowed hard and stood drying his hands on his blouse. Looking around, he noticed. “But where is Dazai?”

[...]

The boy with the bandages knew what was there, he knew that in the room there would be someone, full of agony, but still he would have the courage to later say how grateful he would be to know that he went through that for his dear and beloved son. A very disturbing way to think about it, yes, but perhaps Dazia's mind is just filled with melancholy feelings.

He locked himself in the hall bathroom, it was the first thing that crossed his mind, a voice can never be silenced, especially when there are more than one that are surrounding it. Sitting on the toilet, knees drawn to chest, hands on head, feet rubbing against each other for added warmth, even wearing woolen socks. “Why are you so weak?”

"I don't know."

“Why do you always hide from normal, human things and never try to see them with your own eyes?”

"Ha, that's no use to me anymore."

"As you know?"

“When a living being no longer feels human, there is no point in wanting him to see insignificant expressions.”

The bathroom no longer had just one person, it seemed that Dazai was talking intently with another person, a friend of many years, or his greatest enemy, not even he knows, but he keeps him company, and even in difficult times, he still remains for remind him that there is a way to get worse and that it is no longer worth it. There is no fruit on a tree without flowers, there is no sweet smell without flowers. Everything is part of a cycle, and nothing else seems to follow that in Dazai's mind. Your tiny neurons would rather be worn out by nicotine than think about crossing the street properly. Ways of not living are formed more easily than being, having, or wanting.

The dog with the blue collar was lying next to the toilet, its eyes glazed over on Dazai, and when the other one looked at him, he pretended that he was sleeping. Chuuya trained him to take care of people, be good company, and longer than it seems, but Roof is 3 years old, so he has a great attachment to the redhead to let him down in any way.

The brunette curled a specific curl behind his ear, frantically kept his feet scratching the other toes, his gaze lingered on the white tiled floor. Did he feel that feeling that someone was passing close to him, but, wasn't it scary, was it something comforting, as if he were an acquaintance?

“Odasaku?” Dazai whispered through dry lips, the orbs of his eyes glazed over the ground, which seemed to get more and more blurred.

A warm, comforting hand rested in the middle of her curls. Dazai held his breath. ‘Is he, is he here? Here and right now?!' he thought. The shapes of two formal shoes were in the former view of just a translucent floor, a casually worn outfit that that man wore were exactly the same. When he took courage, the brunette looked up, and saw, that corner smile, those dark blue eyes, some remnants of a beard, the red hair strong as the heart that that man took from himself to grace someone else.

The hazel eyes filled with tears instantly, her breathing hitched, and a strangled sob came out of her mouth. “ODASAKU!” He hugged him tightly, feeling that everything could collapse at any moment, the house, himself, the oda, all dissipating. The way he was being enveloped reminded him of when some children teased him about his eye patch, and then, there he was, the man who had chosen to abandon his comforts to shelter a 'problem' child, who never knew what it would be good for you. Oh, I miss you.

He didn't feel his heart beating, he didn't have a heart anymore, and this reminded Dazai that this isn't true. The brunette groped the man's back, tightening his grip, hiding his face in the other's beige overcoat, who only comforted him, squeezing him tighter. Until a noise resounded in the distance, like the sound of an elevator, and a few hurried footsteps. Dazai opened his eyes, wide open, filled with so many emotions never shown, it reminded him that he needed to get out of the bathroom. “I…please…” He mumbled, taking one last whiff of the scent of old library books, before getting up and unlocking the bathroom door, stepping outside and seeing nothing but himself in the hall mirror's reflection. .

[...]

The interior of an ambulance had been erased from Fyodor's memories, which was unexpected even for him, as half of his teenage years he spent inside these vans covered in other people's germs. The fluorescent light flickered at times, the two nurses had all the equipment placed around Kouyou, Yosano being his girlfriend's supporter, with her head on his chest as he stroked the already disheveled hair from the redheaded woman's bun hairstyle. . The dancer was at Fyodor's side, one leg dangling and a hand on half of his face, seeing only through the slit his fingers formed. The Russian would have preferred to have gone looking for Dazai, or to have gone to his room and connected to a video call with Sigma and Nikolai, it would be very different if that were the case, he could be less nervous, he would be more willing to want something. It seems far off how excited your insides are about wanting to have what you crave the most. Your own peace? A place to think only of the best? He doesn't have the plan in hand, he can no longer think of anything he can formulate in a way that amounts to the greater good just for him and his two other flatmates.

When they are transferred to a huge waiting room with white chairs, a counter that has a tired woman behind it, and a clock, which does not stop making the irritating 'tic tac, tic, tac, tic tac'. The redhead went to the pediatrician's door, but Yosano squeezed the boy's hand and looked him in the eyes full of tears, "Don't be afraid.", she said and went inside.

Fyodor sat in the last chair in the last row, with a cup of cheap coffee full of hospital germs. A vase of flowers beside him made his nose itch with pollen. Chuuya came back from his 48th walk, sitting next to the Russian, took a deep breath and threw his head back, placing both hands on his face.

“She has chances of losing the child.” The redhead said quietly, drawing Fyodor's attention away from his possible allergy to daisies. The Russian raised both eyebrows, looking now at Chuuya, he realized, he had a crooked smile and the pet that had been crocheted earlier at the bar by one of his friends. “So dreamy, and brave. She is a great woman, always will be.” Fyodor said in the same tone, seeing that the dancer formed fists. "She has a condition, from a very young age, even at 13, she found out that her ovaries were about to burst and that if she didn't operate, it could lead to the most painful death a person can go through." The smile disappeared, he pursed his lips and swallowed hard. “I thought I was going to lose her that day, I thought I was going to have to put up with Verlaine longer, I thought…I was going to lose everyone again.” That crying face appeared.

Fyodor let out a sigh and looked painfully at the other. It was hard to demonstrate, it was understandable that Dazai would always act like a movie actor, as it's really bad to advise people at such times. Looking around and sniffing through his nose, the Russian handed the coffee cup to Chuuya, who just looked at him and offered a small smile with almost non-existent brows furrowed.

“Hey, look at you here!” The guitarist had his hands on his hips and a smile on his face, strangely with a red nose and puffy eyes. He went to Fyodor and crouched down in front of him, hugging him, he looked at Chuuya over his oblivious shoulder and tried to comfort the redhead with his gaze, which could be worth more than many words of affection for Chuuya. “Where have you been, Osamu?” Fyodor asked, hugging the other and stroking the brown curls. "I've been waiting for my big call!" The bandaged boy broke free of the hug and took a good look at his boyfriend, who only had a tired but relieved expression. Chuuya took a deep breath and took a sip of her coffee. “Are Gogol and Sigma coming to spend Christmas here?” The cellist shrugged at the redhead's question, who made a doubtful noise and continued drinking his coffee. “I think so, I spoke to Nikolai recently and he said he was going to bring his circus here!” Dazai said jokingly, "Sigma also showed up on the roll call and said he could come as he wanted to talk to you personally Chibi."

Chuuya just blinked, the Russian was a little surprised that his best friends risked going somewhere else just to spend Christmas together. The other brunette smirked at Fyodor and sat beside him, putting an arm around the man, he brushed the hair away from the Russian's face, so that he could look into those eyes so mesmerizing and charming. “Please don’t kiss, please.” The redhead said as he got up and headed back to make his walk through the hospital.

[...]

It was okay.

The next day, Kouyou had confirmation of his exams, and everything was fine with the baby on the way. She would have to spend a few days in the hospital, but everything has its time, even if it meant that she could spend Christmas in a hospital room and decorated with storks holding baskets with babies inside.

The disturbing thing about that day was the way in which everything seemed to have no rhythm. Dazai was acting weirder than usual for Fyodor. Chuuya would ask if everything was okay, but the guitarist would circumvent the answer with an irritating, self-deprecating joke. Fyodor eventually gave up too - he pretended - and it worked according to what his tired brain told him to do.

The meeting with Sigma and Nikolai was only a few minutes away by taxi, and the Russian was very anxious, it seemed that a lot of time had passed, and that if they met again everything would be changed. He bit his nails the entire way.

“Dos-kun!!” A familiar voice shouted from somewhere in the airport, when suddenly, the form of the white-haired man with the eye patch appeared, picking Fyodor up and hugging him in the air. "It feels like we haven't seen each other in months!" The clown said as he released him.

"Especially because it's been a few months since we've been apart, Kolya." Sigma said while coming with only two suitcases with four wheels in each hand, that having open space, he quickly hugged Fyodor and offered him a shy smile.

“I don't even know what to say.” The Russian had a disappointed face with himself, putting his hands inside the sleeves of his sweatshirt. The couple looked at each other and smiled at Fyodor, Nikolai burst out laughing. “So does Sigsig and I leave you speechless?! Haha!” He was laughing in a funny way, with his hand on his belly and his eyes closed, a way that Fyodor was longing to see. The bicolor pursed his lips, putting one hand closed over his mouth and the other hugging his waist, he looked sideways at his totally hysterical boyfriend. The Russian was relieved and, if you will, happy.

[...]

“What do you mean we have the same number of shoes?” Dazai asked incredulously, dropping his wineglass on the rug.

“Yes, we do.” Fyodor replied calmly, drinking a good amount of the purple drink in his glass.

They were in Kouyou's office, sitting on the floor, leaning against the wall, having a bottle of wine stolen from a Christmas dinner that was taking place in the other room, they allowed themselves to do what they did best, being chosen to be invisible when could.

Dazai wore a nice Christmas sweater, it fully accentuates his still slightly wet hair, the baggy pants made his boxer shorts unintentionally show, but the two were a little tipsy, so they didn't even fully notice. Fyodor remained in his white sweatshirt, his green plaid pajama bottoms added a more malevolent edge to his magenta irises, his black hair fell messier in some places than just a few minutes ago he's been busy with Dazai's lips on his.

The guitarist was banging his head lightly against the wall, his mind a little clouded but alert enough to keep noticing his boyfriend with a slightly wine-stained cheek. “Here is dirty, Fedya.” He approached quickly, giving the Russian a brief fright, the boy in the bandages chuckled softly and wiped the other's face with the edge of his sweater sleeve. “You'll get your clothes dirty…” The Russian muttered through clenched teeth, totally ecstatic. "Oh sh*t, that sweater shouldn't even be worn anymore, it's only for 15 year olds." The brunette looked intently at his work being done, being careful not to hurt him. Fyodor made a confused frown, "Well, did you know I still have 16 year old clothes in my closet?", he flinched and closed his eyes, enjoying the caress. Dazai loved it when the Russian was under the influence of wine because he spoke absolutely everything, when he drank a lot of brandy he got very sleepy, when he drank vodka he got very absorbed, the guitarist knows everything the other goes through.

“Do you have any gift ideas for me?” Fyodor laughed at Dazai's question. "What? I'm not going to tell you you imbecile." The Russian muttered rolling his eyes. He didn't even move when the other finished removing the stain from his cheek, Dazai didn't seem to want to leave either. Looking at the delicate features, he seemed to have a greater depth under his eyes, maybe it was the insomnia, but he just recently didn't complain about anything, and looked much better, superficially. Adjusting himself with a little difficulty due to his hip pain, the Russian smoothed his hair with his fingers, getting the strands less messy, he cleared his throat and licked his lips. “Osamu, I have something I wanted to ask you, but please, I want you to be as sincere as possible.” He couldn't look at the other, focusing on the child star lamp that was a gift from the model's son.

Dazai shook his head with a certain reluctance, already knowing that he could ask about that and that means a lot to him, but, he is the man he swore his trust, his love, his time, his subtlety, and in moments like this, it is necessary to know that Fyodor is not a hallucination.

“Well, what's going through your head right now?” Dazai was confused, looking indifferently at the other, who was now firmly holding the cup that had contained wine a few minutes ago.

He laughed humorlessly, disguising his morbid feeling of running away. “What do you mean, Fedya?”

Fyodor took a deep breath and placed the bottle on the table behind him, returning to the front, he tucked his bangs behind his ears. "I know. I know you are not having a good time.” His tone was low but with a level of seriousness and concern. “Dazai, I want to know when we will finally find out what is going on here.” He points to his own head and then places his hand on what is supposed to be his heart. “Well, I know that later the consequences will end up here.”

Dazai bit his lip. It looked like he was a dictionary, his words were written in a messy way, but Fyodor, he understood everything, absolutely everything. Ever since he was very young, Dazai had wondered if one day someone could have the courage to love him, put their hand under his and tell him they would be there when he needed him. Fyodor already does that. He should kneel before the heavens and be grateful for having this man in his life, because without him, if he hadn't appeared that day, Dazai would have been vegetating in a bed for having fractured a bone that gives passage to the brain. He loved him, he loved him so much that he wanted that feeling to last forever, but those voices were screaming too loud in his head, they always get in the way of everything, he just wanted the silence again, the peace and calm from before.

Taking a deep breath, the boy in the bandages stretched, his huge legs stretched out on the large velvet rug. "Right." Fyodor rested his chin on his hand, listening, fear sinking deep within him. “I think Odasaku might be missing me. I always see him. He doesn't call me or anything like that, but I feel like I'll never get to see his eyes again. Nothing has the same meaning as before. I think I'm going crazy.”

“You're not going crazy, you just can't have any diagnoses? I think it's strange, that with the follow-up you're having with Mizuki, she didn't suspect or charge you with anything?”

“Fedya, remember that day? When you were with Gogol, and you saw me through the crack in the door? Mizuki, she was talking to me, right? She told me that I could sign a contract to be admitted to a psychiatric hospital.” He smiled. “But I didn’t.” His gaze met Fyodor's, his chest heaving, and his head ached.

"Why not? Osamu doesn't want to heal or make it less worse?” His tone was almost turning tearful, but he doesn't like crying, because it keeps those incessant tears running down his face, his nose turns red, he wanted everything to be okay, between him and his Dazai.

The aforementioned bandaged boy had a tired smile, his eyes had frown lines. "It's because, my dear Fedya, I don't want to live in such a place like this again..."

Fyodor stopped, 'So that means…no, it can't be'. “Dazai?”

“Fedya, never existed a halfway house. I made this story up when I realized it was weird to say for someone that I lived half of my pre-adolescence in a psychiatric hospital. I was young when Odasaku was interning at the hospital where he took me in, and then he somehow managed to adopt me when they realized they couldn't take care of me in there anymore. When Oda volunteered, they practically threw me into his arms.”

Nothing had ever fit so well in Fyodor's mind. Their gears stopped for a moment, as they got tired of always being surprised by the unexpected. The world is an open book, depending on the people they can be, but, Dazai, it will definitely always be a book with a plot twist.

A silence ensued, the Russian had his eyes begging for more answers, the guitarist held Fyodor's hand and on his face he had his characteristic smile.

“If so, then, in due time, but, I care about you…”

"I know."

“And I wish you well…”

"I know."

They looked at each other for a while longer, Fyodor approached and kissed Dazai's cheek. “Come on, maybe the others are already starting the hidden friend.” He whispered, running his thumb down the side of the guitarist's face.

[...]

It was a beautiful Christmas day, a night with only new confirmations, new confessions, new ways of looking at the other. Gradually, even if it takes time, everything can adjust, only time will tell, and whatever it says, it can be arduous.

Dazai got a keyboard from Kouyou, Yosano got a golden butterfly dress from Chuuya, who got a free photo shoot from Sigma, who got a ball of yarn in Stockinet colors from Chuuya. The night was surrounded by gifts, exchanges of laughter, wines and champagnes, Christmas lights. And when midnight struck, everyone celebrated to the sound of victrola music, dancing with bare feet and Santa hats on their heads - even Roof. Dazai wanted to ask how Kouyou got rid of Verlaine, but he didn't want to spoil anything, he wanted to enjoy it, and this year he had Fyodor who stayed on the couch watching everyone and laughing when someone tripped over the dog lying on the floor. Even though the couple didn't remove each other from the secret friend, Fyodor was surprised with Dazai giving him a new earphone, which, by the way, was just the right side that one day was lost in the crowded subway of St.Petersburg.

“Is this a Merry Christmas?” Asked Dazai side by side with Fyodor when everyone had already been wasted, leaving the bowls to wash along with other dishes in the sink, which the Russian was washing and the guitarist had the cloth to dry everything in hand.

“Yes, this is our Merry Christmas.” Fyodor said and soon after sealing his lips to Dazai's.

[ . . . ]

Chapter 26: Nothing’s gonna heal these scars

Chapter Text

Song of a Summer Afternoon

The blue sky is motionless,Without a single patch of clouds.

In the silence of a hot summer afternoon

Even the sheen of pitch becomes crystal clear.
There's something in the summer sky,
Something that arouses sweet compassion.
At the small village train station
I see sunflowers blooming, burnt and daring.
Like a mother who takes care of her children,
The train whistle resounds
When running near the mountains.
When running near the mountains,
Like a mother, the train whistle resounds
On a hot summer afternoon.

By Chuuya Nakahara;

What becomes enchanting is not just the way in which Sunflowers are always the things taken to be beautiful fragments, but the way in which the Sun is always forgotten. The Sun, the great and greatest of all those around it, is captivated by Sunflowers, always adoring them, admiring them with eyes full of passion.

Oh, how can you? It could even be something that God, or whoever came up with the idea to create something like this, so poetic, so insightful, and so sickeningly beautiful. Fyodor thinks the world should have ended more than once. One of those times, a simple trainee of the Great Divine, had the idea of honoring his lover, creating the bond: Sun and Sunflowers.

“If you think about it, that's exactly what it is, isn't it?”
Fyodor, with a freer and more serious voice, said it as if this were a secret government mission.

Dazai looked at the drawing he was making, the pencil with a worn tip, which he passed over the page a little rough, to make the scraps of the drawing better produced. His attention was on the squiggle in the folds of Fyodor's pants, but he muttered an “Hmm,” knowing exactly that this discussion would lead to something Fyodor was sure to say later one way or another.

Fyodor sighed and propped his hand on his chin, elbow on the bench, facing Dazai, legs bent elegantly, his senses focused only on the sun sinking below the horizon. The violet orbs turned pink, which was charming, but somber when Dazai saw that he would never be able to reproduce such a thing on paper, it was so unique.

The brunette coughed weakly, he felt that rhinitis was probably attacking him. "We should have gone to get more brushes..." An unsatisfied moan escaped the brunette's lips, he looked at the lights that formed from yellow to salmon pink. “I would have brought the paints too if I'd been more careful…” As Dazai mused over his actions that didn't take place, Fyodor felt the universe fall from under his shoulders, or that nature embraced him so tightly he wanted to cry.

The bench they were sitting on was made of stone, some moss was in the corners, darkened by the shadows that the two bodies left. An old backpack but with many painting and drawing instruments was thrown beside it, where Dazai's shoes were, the two red Converse. Dazai wore a pair of glasses, which hung on a thin silver chain, their slovenliness ranged from charming to irritating to Fyodor. This suddenly reminded him of something, which made him look sharply at Dazai.

Dazai looked back at him, confused. "Don't tell me I'm dirty again-"

“Shut up, I think we should hurry.” Fyodor tried to get up, but Dazai pulled him down again, which made the Russian look at him steadily and with a frown.

“Relax, nothing will happen, okay? We’re fine, let’s enjoy it, hm?” Dazai murmured, a small crooked smile that crinkled the corners of his lip. Fyodor studied that face, he wanted to know how deep he feels whenever he looks at him like that.

Dazai pulled him in for a kiss, their lips lightly together, then released, enough for them to see each other's gaze, and then they came together again, tasting what could be a summer sky.

. . .

Fyodor and Dazai were in Venice, on the go, or just as Dazai wanted to emphasize that he wanted to see Fyodor walking among the colorful and majestic stones and paint them from memory. The couple was already more than two lovers. As Nikolai once said: "You are conjured."

Since the last events, neither of them has returned to torture themselves for the misfortune world they live. So they decided to create a world just for themselves to be “happy”, between thousands of quotes, but the way they wanted to look. The way they shook each other's hands, explored each other's skin, and strengthened what they felt was right to conjure. The roots they cared for, and treated every day, were being effective for a future, which Dazai never expected to live.

Of course, neither one forgets fear, that dark, cold shadow, which always whispers your name and all the atrocities that life can offer you in less than 24 hours. From one morning coffee to the day when Dazai finally decided to visit Oda's grave, all the stars that lingered in the back of his mind, reminded him of how hard it can be to want to create a single world with someone you love. A friend, a father, an elder, a strong name to say and inevitably smile. Oda Sakunosuke. Dazai, he always felt grief as a nightmare greater than all the violence he had ever suffered in his life, like a petrifying power, it always comes when he least expects it. Even the grief of a pet fish becomes complicated.

Time is never a friend, it's fake just like all those who say we'll be the same since we were a kid. Bullsh*t. Dazai swore, and he swore, in front of a wooden altar, when he was just a brat, that he would never let himself be hurt again. If you understand that, he would hug you like he was himself when he was still the lost and bitter child he once was. Maybe he still is, maybe he will never stop being the biggest trauma and undoing he was.

Despite the shadows, Fyodor remains in the light, he wants to be divine, he wants to have everything. Even if the light burns him, even if it burns him hideously and irreparably, he still wants the pain of a sin to be repaid by a greater power. Maybe the word isn't power, maybe it's just forgiveness.

It doesn't just become the old cliché that "Everything passes", because when you are in a phase of life where responsibilities fall on your shoulders, all you can think about is how the waves scream and warn louder of destruction. of the world. Close your eyes, don't be afraid, wait for the monster to go away.

“Oh, but it’s okay, you can give me the money later.” Nikolai said simply and quietly to Fyodor. The albino had a hand on the Russian's shoulder, who remained neutral, looking at him as if for the first time. Maybe it's a soul mate thing.
Dazai thinks he wanted to have the same thing with Chuuya, maybe the redhead was just a shooting star, like a huge train that goes from station to station, just waiting for you to cross the street, with your hands together the person you love, and destroy it with the greater love that awaits you. A snake would be easier to pet than to stay that way, Chuuya thinks.

Soukoku is a funny name to define the two who never were, they were just two people who caused more than torment and memories together, but who nurtured and took care of each other's intrusive thoughts. From the marks of ancient scars beneath Chuuya's thorn bracelets, the various ones Dazai has across his body and neck, perhaps the rope was too loose, or the blade too blunt.

Small conversations are precious to Fyodor, who can't even form a long one for more than 15 minutes. For Dazai, he could pass a list in front of him, as if he were Iron Man, and select who he is allowed to talk to. Would be easier.

"The point is, I don't think you should have so many people spending on a useless thing like a cat scratching post, but kitties like it, so there's nothing wrong with that." Dazai's voice was low as he spoke, his head resting against the wooden headboard of the bed, his feet dangling back and forth, and he was wearing only an oversized Deftones shirt.

Fyodor didn't say anything, he was busy reading something about a criminal case from the 60s. The new hyperfocus has become criminology, he even wants to take a course. He had his cell phone in his hand, he was lying next to Dazai, his hair loose on the sheets, his black pajama set made him look like a grim reaper.

The one with the bandages didn't give up, he sighed and rolled his eyes, running his hands through his semi-moistened curls. “Why don't I become something you'd be obsessed with in seconds?” He looks accusingly at Fyodor, who looks at him and sighs.

"Sorry if you're a crybaby who needs attention all the time, you're like a child."

“What if I need it all the time? What's the problem?"

“I don't know how to pay attention to people…” Fyodor says quietly, he blushes a bit, he never started a conversation like this, and he never wanted to talk about it either.

Dazai chuckles and licks his lips. "Don't worry about it, I just enjoy tormenting you." He turns to Fyodor, one arm supporting his head, as he appreciates his beloved beside him. “You know, I was remembering Ango. There is no why, but I think he must be very lonely.”

“Why do you think that?” Fyodor said, frowning, both for the morbid conversation it would lead to and also for the way the article develops the serial killer.

Dazai makes a vague noise in the back of his throat and he stretches, accidentally hitting his hand on the headboard, he makes an “ouch”. “Well, I was the only one there, the only one he had reason to be there. Ango is very rational, I wouldn't think that I would suddenly give in to feelings so easily, I think that was the plot twist for him. He didn't expect me to leave all of a sudden.”

“But although he should have known that one day you would leave, you are a young adult and you know your way around.” The Russian suddenly felt uncomfortable in this interaction, remembering how he had left Russia, taking only his two friends and leaving what he called home behind. No answers. A huge gap in the place where little Fyodor of years ago was.

Dazai was silent, he didn't speak anymore, he seemed to have noticed that Fyodor felt strange, just in the tone of voice. “Fine, you have a point.” He said as he wrapped his arms around his beloved and snuggled his head into the space of Fyodor's neck. The Russian put an arm around Dazai's waist and pulled him closer.

The atmosphere became heavy, or at least it seemed to have that suffocating feeling of always having to shut up in a moment, because the huge guillotine of the vulgar way of talking about feelings was threatening to fall under the heads of the two.

Apparently things haven't changed that much. The scars may still be healing.

Chapter 27: Blue

Chapter Text

Quando fazemos tudo para que nos amem... e não conseguimos, resta-nos um último recurso, não fazer mais nada.
Por isto digo, quando não obtivermos o amor, o afeto ou a ternura que havíamos solicitado... melhor será desistirmos e procurar mais adiante os sentimentos que nos negaram.
Não façamos esforços inúteis, pois o amor nasce ou não espontaneamente, mas nunca por força de imposição.
Às vezes é inútil esforçar-se demais... nada se consegue; outras vezes, nada damos e o amor se rende a nossos pés.
Os sentimentos são sempre uma surpresa. Nunca foram uma caridade mendigada, uma compaixão ou um favor concedido.
Quase sempre amamos a quem nos ama mal, e desprezamos quem melhor nos quer.
Assim, repito, quando tivermos feito tudo para conseguir um amor, e falhado, resta-nos um só caminho... o de nada mais fazer.

When we do everything to make them love us... and we can't, we have one last resort: to do nothing else.
That's why I say, when we don't get the love, affection or tenderness that we had requested... it would be better to give up and look further for the feelings that we were denied.
Let us not make useless efforts, as love may or may not be born spontaneously, but never by force of imposition.
Sometimes it is useless to try too hard... nothing is achieved; other times, we give nothing and love surrenders at our feet.
The feelings are always a surprise. They were never a begged charity, a compassion or a favor granted.
We almost always love those who love us badly, and despise those who love us better.
So, I repeat, when we have done everything to find love, and failed, we have only one path left... that of doing nothing else.

Clarice Lispector;

Music for the chap

Failure is something that is not discussed when it comes to an unstable mind, ideas are already so distorted that it makes little sense to try to put the pieces together yet. A baby would never try to think about why his mother put him into the world to watch him be swallowed by melancholy. Dazai was that child as soon as he came out of the womb. It doesn't matter that the child's crying is actually due to the pain and misfortune of breathing the air, the impure and poorly constituted O2. Full of lies and ways for the patriarch to strengthen himself.
Dazai is smoking his cigarette, thinking about whether he should try again or not. He can't sleep so he prefers to go for a walk and smell the early morning snow. He thinks he's doing something good for himself with this, he fools himself to make it easier. Not for Fyodor.

The Russian feels impatient and as if he were a ghost, not because he does not feel alive, but because of an intrusion of a spirit of superiority. He looks at himself and Dazai, wondering if he did something wrong, or if there's a piece that...he hasn't figured out yet about his boyfriend. For Fyodor it doesn't make sense to be so insecure about crying, or about wanting to scream in the middle of the cliff how much he feels about something he will never know happened in the life of the person he loves most. Dazai is followed by a horrible creature behind him, who puts his hand on his shoulder and tells him that he must drown more in this darkness. That creature is himself.

"As tiring as it sounds...I don't think I'll ever want to go back there." Chuuya mutters, fidgeting with the sleeve of his overcoat, swinging one leg under the chair, and not daring to face his therapist.
The old lady accompanying Chuuya watches him, she sighs and smiles slightly.
"You feel obligated to go back there."
Chuuya stares at her, his distinct blue and brown eyes are enough to give him the irritation.
"Well, I don't see any point in going back. I'm going there because of...what?"
Chuuya adjusts himself in his chair, he smiles in disbelief.
"Wow, I would go there just to feel the freedom of remembering a past that I tried to have. It's as if there wasn't just one sky, it's as if I were a small grain of rice that is in the wrong sky... man The sky is blurry and without anyone."

"Do you think that because of what Dazai did, or because of your brother?"
Chuuya looks at the old woman and then at the hourglass on the table. He sometimes thinks 'why the hell am I even here?' but he remembers that it's really for his "good", which hasn't yet resulted in him getting into a motorcycle accident or drowning someone. He looks back at the therapist and takes a deep breath, a strand of his hair falling in his face.
"For me. For myself who just doesn't want to face these two bastards...especially the one that's gone."

Chuuya's head hurts as he leaves the clinic, he really thinks it must be because of a terrible migraine that always attacks him at these times. He goes faster on the bike, the tires rumbling as he tries his best not to go into the snowiest areas. He knows he can't stop thinking.

It's kind of hypocritical when he can spend the rest of his day with his nephew in complete peace and feeling like someone. Watching the night outside the LA window, he sighs and looks at the stroller in front of him with the little one inside, in his fifteenth sleep of the day. Chuuya lies down on the couch and looks closer at the small face. He remembers when he was little and saw a baby for the first time, he asked Hirotsu why they were toothless and bald, but in addition he asked why they were always so inactive. Hirotsu replied that it was part of the process of life, when you hide a lie with a smile for the first time, or when you lie in bed knowing you did something bad but no one noticed. Chuuya thinks he shouldn't have asked that at that time, after all, to this day he doesn't know the answer.

The little one moves his arms and turns to the side, making a face and crying. The redhead looks at him still and then puts an arm inside the cart and rocks it a little. He smiles slightly when the little one kicks his arm lightly.
"Okay, boy."
Chuuya mumbles and laughs a little as he lies down again, he puts one arm behind his head and looks at the ceiling. Little discomforts are always funny.

"Everything f*cked up" Fyodor mutters when he hears the shampoo bottle fall on his foot, he curses three more things in Russian and he opens the shower door, and is surprised to find Dazai sitting on the sink counter. He closes the door quickly and leans back against the wall.
"For the love of god, Dazai, what are you doing?"
Fyodor doesn't think he's ever suddenly felt so wet after a literal shower, or when he felt like he could dig a hole and climb in and it wouldn't hurt him at all.
Dazai looks at the boxing and takes off his headphones.
"Fedya, I was feeling alone in the room."
Fyodor sighs heavily and looks at the water running down his feet. In these last few months Dazai seems like a 5 year old child who can't go anywhere in the house alone and feels lost. He knows that if he opens the door and goes to Dazai, he will have those same black, opaque eyes with 0 morals. He feels like a criminal, a scoundrel who miscalculated when he ended up here at one point.
"Have you taken your medications yet?"
The Russian's question echoes a little through the humid, closed environment. The one with bandages takes a while to respond but Fyodor hears a sigh first.
"Sure."
'Of course'

Fyodor feels himself biting his lip without any intention and then he turns off the shower and opens the shower door a crack, enough for the violet eye to look into the brown ones. Dazai has his knees bent, his sketchbook between his legs and his headphones around his neck.
"Osamu..."
"Fedya, I'm not lying, why would I lie?"
"So you don't have to argue with me? Or anyone else who cares about what you're going through?"
Fyodor feels bad about always having to look much older than he is around Dazai, and it really tires him out. Is it tiring enough for him to think that if he were 60 years old, he would be in an asylum in the interior of Russia, without any danger, and he would be fine?
"If you want, you can do as before and check the weekly pots, they will be empty anyway."
Dazai mutters and looks at the paper and the draft he made and tears it up and throws it in the trash, he puts his feet on the floor, opens the door and leaves. Leaving Fyodor there literally with his opinions and facts naked in front of the bandaged one. He sighs and pulls out the towel to dry himself.

Later, when Fyodor was on the computer and checking to see if Agatha had sent him something in the mail, Dazai walks past him and wraps his arms around the Russian's neck. He runs his nose along Fyodor's neck and kisses it.
Fyodor purses his lips and puts his hand on the side of Dazai's face.
"I don't think that's going to happen."
Dazai groans in frustration and opens his eyes to Fyodor.
"Why not?"
Fyodor feels tired just without facing the frustration in front of his eyes again. "I'm literally trying to fix a problem."
"Will you solve it later?" Dazai murmurs and sits on the Russian's lap.
Fyodor rolls his eyes and looks at Dazai. "That's boring..."
Dazai smiles and kisses Fyodor. "I know"

When Chuuya finally manages to beg for three days off from the ballet school he teaches to go to St. Petersburg, he regrets it as soon as he gets on the plane and presses his hat on his head and snorts. He doesn't want to please the therapist, nor his guilty subconscious. No, he just wants to know what would be so different about seeing Dazai than seeing Verlaine. Not that there is a parameter, he thinks he is in the role of anti-hero in this story, after all, he doesn't need to listen to what others say, he thinks too much, that already counts as more than one person.
He doesn't want a surprise but he remembered that he didn't say he would see them, so he calls Fyodor, not Dazai.

The Russian looks at the vibrating phone on top of the piano and he puts down the cello, and closes the sheet music, he picks up the cell phone and analyzes the name 'Chuuya' a little. on the screen.
"Nakahara?"
"Hey, um, how are you?"
Fyodor purses his lips and frowns, he gets up from the bench and puts his cell phone between his shoulder and ear and crosses his arms.
"Um, well."
Chuuya pauses a little, because he hears in his voice that no, it's not.
"I understand... well, I know it's very sudden and I know it seems unanswerable because I know the consequences of a lot of things I cause and blah, blah, but..."
He sighs.
"I'm going to come visit you there and spend some time, would it be good for you two?"
Fyodor tries to find something out about whether Dazai already knew this, but he remembers how Dazai seems a little less brat than he normally does.
"Um, okay, you'll just have to stay in the room. Is that okay?"
Chuuya responds too quickly.
"All good!"
He is grateful that he is alone in the car he drives because no one can see him red.
"I mean...sure."

"Good." Fyodor mutters and looks at Dazai, who is sleeping on the couch, almost falling and with the blanket already falling too.
"I think this will be good."
Chuuya nods and turns a corner as he looks.
"Okay, I'll hang up. Bye-"
Fyodor takes out his cell phone and looks at his lock screen, still not knowing exactly what happened, but he puts the cell phone on top of the piano again and puts his hands on his hips. He looks at his cell phone as if it were a riddle he was going to solve. He knows that Chuuya spends almost 6 months without seeing them, maybe that's the reason. There's also the one he doesn't want Chuuya to discover or suspect: the fact that Fyodor doesn't know how to tell Dazai that enough is enough.

It was weird but Fyodor managed to put Chuuya at ease (he thinks at least). The redhead left the suitcase in the couple's room as Fyodor instructed him. He quickly returns to the living room and looks at the bastard who is looking at him from the couch as if he were some kind of alien.
"Since when has Chibi been here?"
Dazai says sleepily and with a hoarse voice.
"Since when you were sleeping, you bastard."
Chuuya mutters through clenched teeth and smiles fakely. He goes to the balcony, and opens the glass door, he puts his hand on the enclosure.
"It's a good place."
He says as he looks at the obviously darkening day as it always feels like night in St. Petersburg.
Dazai nods and gets up from the couch. He runs a hand through his hair and looks at Fyodor's cello.
"This was supposed to be a touching surprise?"
Chuuya closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, he no longer knows if it was really a good idea, but he wants to know what the hell is happening that he feels so strange.
Before he could say anything, Dazai laughed and stood next to Chuuya, his arms limp on top of the steel fence.
"I liked it, Chuuya."
Chuuya looks at Dazai with a certain mockery but still surprised inside. "Right...." Chuuya mutters at length as he turns and heads inside. Fyodor appears with a pair of sneakers that Chuuya follows right after and the Russian hands them over.
"The last time you left, you left them."
Fyodor puts his hands in the pockets of his sweatshirt and looks at Chuuya, analyzing what he thought he would never see again in his life.
"Thank you for real." Chuuya says quietly and awkwardly, he looks at Fyodor and smiles slightly. Fyodor wanted to know how to respond to this spontaneously but he just nods. Dazai wraps his arms around Fyodor's neck and clings to him.
"Chibi would you like to tell me something?"
Chuuya looks at Dazai, and he's scared, for some reason.
"What?"
Dazai approaches Chuuya and puts his hands on the shorter man's shoulders, he looks at him. Chuuya sees that he hasn't seen Dazai in a while, time is short, he feels like he doesn't even know him anymore. The bandages suddenly look worn out, and Dazai's eyes shine a little, he smirks.
"Wake up."

Chuuya takes air into his lungs again, he feels like he's been drowning for weeks. He coughs and looks around. The place is familiar, the college infirmary. He doesn't see anyone, but he knows there was someone, as there is a tranquilizer on the stand next to the stretcher he is sitting on. Chuuya breathes heavily and he sees that the clothes he wears are different.
"It was all a dream."
He mutters and runs a hand through his hair, he groans in frustration. "sh*t..."

Chuuya puts his feet on the floor and it looks like his legs are made of modeling clay, he walks to the door and opens it. He looks at the empty hallway, the open windows and he can hear voices. What this reminded him of was the many times he had gotten up in different places than he had slept in when he was younger. The redhead walks down the corridor until he reaches the balcony, and sees some people, some he remembers, and then he sees his sister. Kouyou has her arms crossed and with the black fan in her hand, she looks beyond the fence and the sun.
"Ane-san!" Chuuya puts his hand on her arm, he feels like he was sweating this whole time when he touches her and he slowly takes his hand away. "What...what the f*ck is going on? I feel like I smoked a big one." Chuuya says trying to read his sister. She looks at Chuuya and sighs, the essence of calm she carries is inviting for Chuuya to hug her, and that's what he does. He doesn't know why, he feels like he's numb, after all the dream he had was totally uncomfortable and very sickening. He feels like he might vomit at any moment. Kouyou hugs him tightly and strokes his hair.
Chuuya feels like he's in a vacuum when he waits for an answer, just for a conversation, but it's all very quiet. He can't wait until he can hear something, something that releases something that is so strong and loud that he wants to explode. When he goes further in front of the stick and goes down the stairs, he goes to the lawn, going under one of the trees, he sees two people. Fyodor's back is turned, but you can tell it's him by the anemic color and the ushanka, which he holds in his hand. And the other person is someone Chuuya hasn't seen in a while, Ango. Both wear black.

When a sheep sees something that still seems ambiguous as to whether it is prey or whether it is going to attack, its paws turn back and watch. Whether out of distrust or fear, the sheep still goes there. And when he gets there, alongside two others encouraged by devotion, he sees the sympathetic feeling of noise in his throat, the desire to ask if what he sees is true or not. He remembers the Flags, but he also remembers his father, he also remembers himself when he was forced to change to make it tougher to cope with his own brother.
"Blue..."
Chuuya whispers and walks forward, he looks at what was supposed to be just a coffin surrounded by flowers and which was actually once his ex-partner.
"He's wearing blue."