Chuuya has never been particularly good at getting over things. He holds onto grievances, picks them apart in his head until he feels like he can move on. But heartbreak isn't a grudge, and Chuuya doesn't know if he

wants

to move on.

It's the worst Christmas

ever

.

His father hasn't asked him many questions on the car ride back 'and Kouyou's curious glances have mostly been silenced with pointed looks, while Chuuya does his very

best

to seem normal, his face buried in his phone in the backseat, trying to see if Dazai texted him during the flight.

He didn't.

Chuuya bites his lip, his fingers tightening slightly around the edges of it. Why does it even matter? Is he really

that

pathetic? Why should he

want

to hear from that jerk, anyway--

"Okay," Rimbaud sighs heavily, "I have to ask '" Chuuya is half expecting a comment about the tears, because his father has been decent enough so far not to