The last month of summer break is slow, uneventful. Chuuya spends half of it stretched out on his bed, texting the boy he met, trying not to think about the

other one

.

And the

other one

spends it packing, but not for his own move. 'What 's in Switzerland, exactly? '

His mother pauses, pushing her hat back on her head, considering it. 'Well...a resort, Jean said it 's one of the best... ' her hands pause, skating frenetically over the purses on her closet shelf. 'Which Birkin should I take? The Evelyn is more practical, I suppose... '

Dazai isn 't sure that there 's any thirty-thousand-dollar handbag that you could call

practical

.

'That one, I guess. ' He sits back on the bench at the foot of her bed, watching as she loads up yet

another

trunk. 'How long will you he gone? '

'Six months? But if he actually proposes, I could be in London permanently. He has two boys of his own, you know, ' she glances up at him eagerly, 'Doesn 't that sound nice, having brothers? '

'I already have two, ' Dazai reminds her gently.

'... ' her eyes dim for a moment before she looks back down. 'Anyway, I 'm sorry I can't go with you next week, I know it's a big milestone."

Dazai shrugs, lukewarm on his upcoming move. "It's only forty-five minutes away, it doesn't matter."

"Still..." She frowns, leaning back on her heels, scarves in hand. "You've always helped

me

move."

Dazai still remembers the day his mother moved out of his father's estate.

He really doesn't like to look back on it very often. The fact that he chooses

not

to is the reason that they can still have afternoons like this. "I'll be fine," he pulls one leg up against his chest. "It won't last, anyway. I have every intention of dropping out after the first semester."

"And wasting all of that tuition money?" She glances over her shoulder, smiling at him impishly before she reaches over to pat his cheek. "

Good

boy."

Dazai rolls his eyes. "That's petty."

She shrugs, turning around to force the trunk lid shut. "Better waste it on education than some slut he met in an airport lounge. What's the name of the one he has now?"

Dazai shifts, slightly uncomfortable with the shift in the conversation. "Stella."

"Italian?"

"Canadian."

"How old is she?" She asks flatly, hauling the trunk up on its wheels, watching expectantly before he stands up, moving to help her roll it into the hallway.

"I don't think knowing that is going to make it '" her pointed glare is unrelenting, and he

sighs

. "...twenty three."

"...What a pig," she snarls, her face flushing for a moment as she shakes her head, her hands balling into fists. "That's almost

your age

'" Odasaku's age, actually, but Dazai knows better than to say his name around her.

"I thought your therapist told you fixating on him was a bad idea," he murmurs, the muscles in his back straining as he carries the trunk downstairs.

"He did...he did..." his mother sighs, her anger draining at the reminder. "I forget myself sometimes, he just...lives under my skin."

"...Has the therapy been

helping?"

Dazai asks softly setting the trunk down at the landing of the stairs, handing it off to the chauffeurs to carry out to the limousine waiting out front.

"Oh, I think so..." she muses, tapping one perfectly manicured finger against her lips. "With managing the anger, anyway. Why do you ask?"

Dazai is a little startled that she would ask that, but...if there's anyone he

could

ask '

"Well, I was just thinking..." he tugs at his sleeve, pulling it down over the bandages on his wrist. "If it worked for you, it might '"

"Oh, Osamu," she sighs tiredly, turning around to face him. "I got court ordered therapy because I tried to run your father over with my car." She places both hands on his shoulders, "What exactly would

you

go to therapy for?" She pokes his nose playfully. "You'd be better off going on a nice vacation. Oh!" She claps her hands together, excited. "Why don't you come with us for a week? There's skiing, and hot springs 'oh, you'll just

love

it, it'll be

so

much fun, we could bring some of your friends with us '"

"It

would

be," Dazai smiles thinly, patting her arms. "But I've got packing to do myself."

"Right," his mother pouts, dropping her hands to prop them up on her hips. "That miserable old man, he should have just let you take that gap year, then we could have traveled

all over,"

she spins around excitedly, bangles jingling on her arms as she gestures with her arms. "He just likes to make it

hard

for us to spend time together, because you've always loved me best--" she notices his pointed stare and sighs, shoulders slumping. "You're right, I hear it,

fixating

, fixating '" she grabs him by both sides of his head, hopping up to kiss his forehead. "You've always been looking out for me," she sighs, thumbs stroking over his cheeks, "my

sweet

little boy." She shakes her head, leaning back.

"You'll call, won't you? I want to hear

all about

your first day '

oh

, and I'll tell Jean you might join us for Christmas! He'll be

so

excited '"

Something tells Dazai he

wouldn't

be, but he smiles, nodding. "Are you actually going to

answer

when I do? '

"I

always

answer!" She pouts, grabbing her purse as she hurries out the door. "I just forget to turn my ringer on, you know how it is!"

The door slams shut behind her, and Dazai is left to glance around the Tokyo townhouse, left empty in a flurry of activity. He's pretty sure his father still

pays

for the place, what with the alimony. When his mother first moved out here from Yokohama, she made it seem like it was going to be some grand adventure. Like they were going to take on the big city together, as soon as she got custody from his father. She never did. She got

weekends

. Twice a month. She also said he was going to have a

room

, that holidays wouldn't change.

That never exactly

panned out

either.

That just seems like a lot of trouble when your father's house is

right

across the bay. Why don't you take the train, sleep there tonight, and come back in the morning?

When he

does

take the train back that evening, everyone else has already gone to bed. He doesn't mind. He's used to an empty house, at this point.

Chuuya's last day before he leaves for school is spent... Arguing. With

love

, but definitely arguing.

"You're crazy! I'm

eighteen years old!"

"It would just help with my peace of mind--"

"But a

tracking

app?" Chuuya frowns, pointing angrily at the

'find my friends'

label on his phone screen. "Dad, it's

creepy!"

"It's not creepy! Tokyo is one of the largest cities in the world!" Rimbaud protests. "And the last time I left you alone there overnight, you ended up calling me at five in the morning, hungover in some strange den of pleasure ' '

"Dad," Chuuya interrupts him flatly, crossing his arms over his chest. "It was a

diner

. '

"Whatever. It doesn't excuse the underage drinking. '

"Did you make Ane-san get the app?"

"..." Rimbaud frowns, crossing his arms over his chest, "I don't see why that matters, your situations were different '"

'She's studying

abroad!"

Chuuya throws his arms up, exasperated, "In

New York City! '

"Yes, but we have relatives there!" Rimbaud pleads, taking him by the shoulders, "You're

barely

eighteen ' '

Chuuya scowls, "My birthday was in

April

' '

' 'and, admittedly...I...sort of sheltered you," Rimbaud

finally

admits it, and Chuuya throws his hands up in exclamation, "So I'm worried that you aren't

prepared

' '

"So, your solution to sheltering me too much when I was a kid is to shelter me

some more

?! ' Chuuya frowns, throwing his hands up. "Dad, this is how people end up doing drugs."

"What?!"

"Yeah." Chuuya cocks his hip out, not dramatic

at all

, mind you, "They get sheltered too much by their parents, and they go crazy the first chance they get. Is that what you want? I could end up smoking

heroin on the streets

, you know '"

Rimbaud face palms, exhausted. "The fact that you think people

smoke

heroin is

exactly

why I'm

concerned

. '

"Wait." Chuuya pauses his eyes widening sheepishly in mid rant. "...You don't smoke heroin?"

"...No," Rimbaud doesn't know whether or not he wants to laugh, or

cry

.

"...Okay, maybe I was thinking of crack, or weed then, I don't know '" Chuuya continues,

very flustered.

"There is a

big

difference between those two things, Chuuya!" Rimbaud groans. "Honestly, I wouldn't care if you wanted to experiment a little with marijuana if you did it in a

safe environment

' '

Chuuya's eyes widen, "So I can?"

"No! '

Rimbaud shakes his head quickly, "Absolutely not!"

Chuuya 's father rubs his temples, pacing back and forth in the middle of their kitchen as he struggles to gather his thoughts. "

Look

, I'm

sorry

, I '" he turns to face Chuuya, "I

know

that I've projected my...fears, and anxieties on you, but..." He reaches over to stroke Chuuya's hair. "I just

love you,

and if something were to happen to you, I..." Rimbaud shakes his head, pulling his son into a tight hug. "You're the entire world to me,

ma puce..."

Chuuya sighs, hugging his father back. He's

overbearing

, but...then he glances to one of the pictures sitting on the mantle. The family, sitting on the stoop of their old house in Paris. Kouyou, straddling the railing, beaming at the camera. His Dad, holding Chuuya in his lap as the four-year-old clutched his favorite stuffed lamb to his chest 'and his mom, sitting in the middle of them all, laughing, smile lines around her eyes.

Chuyua still has the beaten-up sneakers she's wearing in the photo sitting in the back of his closet, carefully looked after, even if no one has worn them in ten years. He

gets

why his Dad is like this.

"...I know," Chuuya mumbles, pressing his face into his Dad's shoulder, his feet dangling a little off the floor as the older man holds him close. "But nothing is going to

happen to me

, you know." He reminds him gently, reaching up to pat the top of his head. "It's just...

a new adventure."

Rimbaud smiles tiredly at the turn of phrase. Something his wife used to tell the kids, every time they had to move again.

Don't cry, love 'it 's just a

new adventure

, that's all!

"I suppose it is."

The next day, objectively, was

apocalyptic

.

It started out nice. Like--

actually

nice, Chuuya doesn't even mean that sarcastically. They flew into Narita airport, got a nice lunch, and there was even a fun little run through a home furnishing store to find some last-minute things for Chuuya's dorm.

Then

, they moved in.

And even

that

wasn't so bad. The place was already stocked with basic furniture, Chuuya just had to bring his

own stuff

, and between himself and his father, it wasn't a lot of work. By the time afternoon was starting to roll around, Chuuya's side of the room was pretty much

done

, with Rimbaud fiddling with the last few cables on his computer set up on his desk, while Chuuya stands on top of his bed, stretching up to hang band posters on the wall.

"You

did

say you were going to have a roommate, didn't you?" Rimbaud frowns, eyeing the empty bed on the other side of the room.

"Yeah," Chuuya turns his head, his t-shirt riding up on his hips a little as he strains, hopping at times to fasten the last pin. (His Dad offered to help with the higher up ones, but the redhead refused--on principle.) "But check in was hours ago, and the RA said he never showed, so '"

But then, the door opens, and Chuuya Nakahara's lifelong nightmare finally begins.

At first, Chuuya isn't upset by the person sees walking through the door. Tall, kind of beefy, another redhead 'and

yeah

, he looks kind of old to be a first year in university but

hey

, Chuuya isn 't

complaining

.

"Osamu," Odasaku grunts, muscles straining through his t-shirt as he carries

three boxes

at once, "I said I'd

help

, not do all the work."

Osamu

?

"You aren't!" Dazai chirps from behind him, "I have a box too!"

Chuuya freezes, almost falling over when he jerks around, his feet sunken in the mattress, tangling in his bedspread, and then, just as he's

plummeting

towards the floor, he sees

that

face.

"You wanna go outside? It's kinda loud in here."

No. NonnonononononononoNO---

Luckily, somewhat

tragically

, his Dad springs into action, catching Chuuya in his arms princess style, which is even

more humiliating

than falling on the floor and breaking his entire face. Honestly, Chuuya wishes he had cracked his skull open. Then they would be rushing him to the hospital right now, and he would be sprawled in his Dad's arms like some

terrified baby deer

looking at the boy who was a

complete

ass to him in a bar one month ago, the one who stole his '

"Oh."

That's

all the stupid bastard has to say.

Oh

.

Dazai is standing in the doorway, one box clutched in his arms, trying to process the fact that, for what is quite possibly the first time in his life, one of the shitty, not-so-cool things he's done has actual

consequences

.

Consequences with big blue eyes that are

glaring

at him like he might as well be

Satan incarnate

.

All it takes is for Odasaku to take

one look

at Chuuya before he starts looking at

Dazai

accusingly, silently asking him,

'What the

fuck

did you do?

'

And, well. That's a

great question.

"...Do you two know each other?"

Dazai

recognizes

him. Just looking at him makes his stomach do tiny little backflips.

"Uh '"

"Nope." Chuuya crosses his arms over his chest, kicking his feet a little to indicate he wants down. "Never seen him in my life." The minute his feet hit the floor, he brushes himself off. "You're my roommate, right?"

Chuuya knows, for a fact, if he admits,

'This is the guy who basically romanced me when I was vulnerable and drunk in a bar, then ditched me because he didn't want to be humiliated by his friends seeing him kissing a guy,

' his Dad is going to do one of two things. First of all, he really might punch Dazai in the face. Which Chuuya wouldn't mind, but he'd rather do it himself.

Or two, the most likely option, he would drag Chuuya to the office of student affairs and

demand

that they give him a new roommate, fearing for his son's physical and emotional well-being. And for however well-intentioned that may be, it would also be

humiliating

.

"...Yeah," Dazai agrees, offering his hand. "I 'm Dazai Osamu."

Chuuya extends his own hand, taking it. "Nakahara Chuuya."

Dazai's memory flashes. Right.

Right

.

That was what he did.

Well, it makes a lot more sense then, why his new roommate is staring at him like he's the antichrist.

Dazai can live with that. It's not like it's the

worst

thing he's ever done to someone. He smiles, "Nice to meet you!"

Rimbaud looks back and forth between the two boys, and there's obviously tension, but... Dazai is well put together, in a white dress shirt, a cardigan, his hair combed--honestly, he looks like a nice, well-to-do young man. And his brother seems even more well-to-do, so...

"I think it's going to be a great year for you!" The Frenchman smiles happily, "Look, you're already making friends!"

Dazai can see the utter

loathing

hiding behind Chuuya's eyes when he beams. "Uh-huh! See? You had

nothing

to worry about." He reaches over to his desk, grabbing his phone, wallet, and keys, shoving them into his pockets. "Well, I'm sure you want to unpack 'we'll get out of your way. Dad, wanna get some dinner?"

Rimbaud frowns, a little surprised. Chuuya has always been

social

, it's not really like him to just flit off when he's just made a new

friend

... His son smiles back at him innocently, "I'm starving, we did so much moving today..."

Well, that makes sense.

"Oh, well, alright, ' Rimbaud offers Dazai his hand, and the teenager shakes it. "It was a pleasure to meet you, young man. Good luck with your studies."

Dazai smiles back at him, squeezing his hand before letting it go a little too quickly. "Thanks, I appreciate that."

And with that, Chuuya is bodily

dragging

his father out of their dorm room, and Odasaku is rounding on his brother, arms crossed. "What the

fuck

did you do?"

Dazai recoils a bit, pretending to be

offended

. "Why do you always assume that I

did

something? I'm your

baby brother.

You're supposed to be on

my side. '

Odasaku is glaring, not particularly moved, and Dazai huffs out a sigh. "...I was

drunk

' '

Odasaku wipes his hands down his face, "Oh

Jesus

' '

"Let me finish!" Dazai interrupts him, setting his box down on his bed. "...And I may have messed with him a little bit."

'Messing with'

is an interesting way to put it. Like Dazai was just doing it to

toy

with him, when...

Honestly, when Dazai looks back on that night he remembers

wanting

to kiss the shorty. And he remembers

enjoying

it. Which was

weird

.

'And by '

messing with him,

' you mean...? '

'I maybe pretended to be gay for like...five minutes? '

Oda 's jaw drops. 'Osamu... '

'I know. '

'That 's

shitty. '

Dazai cringes, 'I

know

, but I was really drunk, and he kind of looks like a girl ' '

'He really doesn 't. '

'... ' Dazai wipes his hands down his face. 'I regret it, okay? I was just having a shitty night, and... I didn 't... '

'Think it would have consequences? '

Dazai winces, and he wants to accuse Oda of being

harsh

, but...he can 't. Not when he 's right. 'Look, I 'm sorry, okay? '

'Don 't apologize to

me, '

Oda huffs, 'apologize time your

roommate

. it might make the year a little less hellish for you. '

'Of course I will! '

Whether or not Dazai

actually

would have apologized, the world will never know, because Chuuya Nakahara never gave him the chance.

He hears the door to their room opening and he turns around, opening his mouth, 'Look, I ' '

CRACK

.

It probably wouldn 't surprise you to know that Dazai Osamu has been slapped before. Plenty of times. Usually by crying teenage girls before they run off into the distance, shrieking,

'You 're

horrible

, Osamu-kun! I won 't forgive you! '

This, however, wasn 't some weak little smack. No. Dazai feels like he just got bitch slapped into the next

century

, falling back against his bed with a distinctly

not

manly Yelp.

Ow

.

He pauses for a second, frozen with shock. No one has ever really

hit

him before. Not like that. He reaches up to touch the immediately forming bruise on his cheek.

'...Okay, ' he smiles superficially, looking up at his new roommate, his

pal

if you will, all nice and sweet. 'Are we good now? '

Chuuya crosses his arms over his chest. 'Are you going to

explain? '

'I don 't know, ' Dazai glares, 'I just got

concussed. '

'Oh

don 't be dramatic. '

Chuuya glares, shaking his hand out 'and then he 'he notices '

Well, he notices a lot of things.

First: Dazai isn 't in the same, angelic, prep school outfit he was wearing when he showed up with his brother. Actually, Chuuya is pretty sure if he had looked like this when he showed up, his Dad would have shrieked and immediately thrown Chuuya over his shoulder, carrying him off to a nunnery.

From the metal band shirt 'one of Chuuya 's

favorites

but he would

die

before admitting that right now 'to the bandages 'and the

piercings

. Several in both ears, and, well '

Chuuya kinda already knew about the one on his tongue. And his hair is kind of rumpled, and when he 's glaring at him like that, he looks sort of like the sort of guy who might punch out a car window in a fit of jealousy or something, which is NOT a desirable quality in a man. His father has told him that enough times when Chuuya gets hot and bothered over that

one

Patrick Swayze scene in

Dirty Dancing

'

That 's beside the point. The

actual

point is that his roommate is an

asshole

, and he

looks

like an asshole.

Good for him. Why should Chuuya care? He

doesn 't

care.

'Look, ' Dazai rubs his jaw, straightening up. 'I 'm not sure which part you want me to explain here. It 's really not that complicated. '

'Excuse me

? '

Dazai has two options here: a fork in the road, if you will. First, there 's the obvious, much more

reasonable

response of,

'Hey. I fucked up. I 'm going through some issues in my personal life, but that 's not an excuse for what I did. I 'm sorry. Wanna go get some boba? '

But that isn 't what Dazai does. No. He goes...in a different direction.

'You haven 't been out for very long, have you? '

Chuuya recoils a little, surprised by how

snide

Dazai sounds, his eyes narrowing. Three months, one week, and four days. He 's a baby gay, if you will. 'Why does that matter? '

'Let me give you a little

life lesson. '

Chuuya is confused, glaring, his face heating up by the moment as Dazai rises to his full height, stepping closer.

'You probably already know this, ' Dazai reaches out, playing with one red lock of hair on Chuuya 's shoulder, 'But you 're

pretty. '

...

What?

'H

ow is that a life lesson? ' Chuuya sputters, leaning back, his cheeks darkening even more.

'It means that there are going to be a lot of drunk, curious guys that are going to use you as an excuse to experiment, and you better get used to it now. '

Now

Chuuya

feels like he 's been slapped.

The subsequent pause is

long

. Like,

really

long.

Chuuya would argue that he's generally a pretty reasonable person. Everyone always tells him that he's a nice guy. Pleasant. Fun to be around. But one thing about him 'something Dazai doesn't

really

know 'he has a temper.

Like...not just a cute little

'Oh, I'm gonna stomp my feet and call you an ass'

kind of temper. But like a,

'I threw my high school bully into a river because they called me a slur'

kind of temper.

In December, by the way.

"You know what?" Chuuya smiles,

"Thanks

, that's

super

helpful. I've always wanted some spoiled little

'straight,'"

Dazai's eyes widen when Chuuya does him the indignity of throwing up

air quotes

over that word, "guy to teach me a thing or two about what it's like, being gay. '

I'm '"

Chuuya cuts him off, "So, I'm gonna do

you

a favor, and give

you

a little...life lesson." Chuuya's hand grabs the front of his shirt, yanking him in close 'and Dazai isn't doing anything to

disprove

Chuuya's point, because his heart is

pounding

.

Chuuya's eyes are narrowed, and when he speaks, it's between clenched teeth.

"I don't give a damn

what

you're going through, or how

repressed

and

closeted

you are," each word hits Dazai like a knife, but he does a pretty good job at

hiding

it. "It's

not

my problem. Maybe get a therapist next time, okay?"

There's another pause.

"...You're about to hit me again, aren't you?" Dazai asks flatly, managing to sound unimpressed.

Chuuya's returning smile is nearly

feral

with anger. "Oh, I'm going to hit you a

few more times. '

Their RA comes when he hears what

sounds

like an MMA match in Room A5158.

Kunikida didn't really want to supervise a hall of eighteen-year-old boys when he signed up to be a Resident Advisor for this dorm. But. He also likes the idea of free housing and tuition.

So, here he is, kicking a door down to find one of his residents being...

Throttled

?!

"Hey, HEY--WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU TWO DOING

?!"

Which is how both boys end up sitting in Kunikida's room, sitting in bean bag chairs, arms crossed, glaring in the opposite direction of one another.

"So...let me get this straight..." Kunikida repeats slowly. "You got in a fist fight over..." he glances back and forth between the two of them, quite frankly in fucking disbelief, "...Who got to take a shower first?"

"I mean, have you seen him?" Dazai snorts, rolling his eyes. "Clearly, he needs a lot of time for that hair '

ow!"

He whines when he gets a sharp kick in the shin for that.

"It won't happen again." Chuuya grumbles, and Kunikida pinches the bridge of his nose.

"You literally just kicked him again in front of me."

"Did you hear what he just said about my

hair?!"

This is going to be a

long

year.

When they're back in their room and Dazai is holding an icepack to his swelling black eye, Chuuya is reclining back on his bed, arms crossed over his chest. "By the way, there aren't going to be any more 'straight guys' experimenting with me."

Dazai winces as he leans back in his deskchair, rolling his eyes as his

blatantly

naive roommate tries to pretend to

be Mr. Independent-I-can-take-care-of-myself-Nakahara

.

"Oh? Is that so? You have an eye for it now?"

"I have a

boyfriend

now, actually."

Pause. Click. Rewind. Say that again.

"What? '

"Yeah," Chuuya examines his nails, which are just a little messed up from beating his shitty, waste of space of a roommate's face in, "his name is Shirase. Real gentleman. Taller than you. Nose isn't crooked either."

Dazai glares from where he's holding a tissue to it. "It wasn't crooked until you

punched me

'" he winces, working harder to staunch the bleeding.

"Some life lessons are kinda

crappy

, huh?" Chuuya shrugs with a dramatic sigh, folding his hands behind his head.

And his dad was

worried

. Which is

ridiculous

, because look at what a

great

job he's doing already, looking after himself?

Honestly. Maybe he

should

jump on the whole marijuana thing, because he is

killing it

on his first day out in the adult world.

Killing it.

Dazai isn't exactly having a

crisis

. That isn't what this is at all.

Maybe, to some extent, he 's

curious

as to how Chuuya managed to get a boyfriend between now and then. But it doesn 't really

matter

. And really, he 's dropping after the first semester, so 'he only has to put up with the redhead for a few short, annoying months of his life.