Work Text:
Chuuya’s phone buzzes with a call from Akutagawa on her nightstand. Akutagawa, at what, six AM? No, the clock says it’s five forty two. Akutagawa never calls unless it’s life or death- can Piano Man get mad at Chuuya for breaking her rest if it’s a force majeure?
Spitting her hair out her mouth, Chuuya sits up, the three puppies she’s fostering for a deceased mafia grunt- she was never meant to even learn about them, the grunt who owned them was a nobody, but he died protecting his team which Chuuya likes to be notified of and the rest is history- tumbling off her chest. The smallest, Choko, whines and tries to scale her like a mountain. Whatever happened, Chuuya will rip and tear whoever is responsible, puppy needs his sleep.
“Yes?” Accepting the call, Chuuya tries to blink residual sleep from her eyes.
“My apologies for interrupting your rest, Boss, but there’s an intruder in the headquarters. The weretiger says she came from your office.”
Ah. No identifying details, this must be someone new. Why when Chuuya is meant to be resting? She’ll never hear the end of this. Couldn’t the stalker- a damn good stalker, Chuuya still has no clue who they are- pick a different goddamn day?
If it’s them. It’s probably them.
Biting back a yawn, Chuuya pats Choko sloppily and shifts out of the sheets. “Thanks. On my way.” She hangs up before Akutagawa can answer.
Out of bed, she stretches with a whine. Huffs. Might as well dress to impress for a date with the bitch Chuuya spent half of her career as boss trying to catch.
. . . . . . . .
First thing Chuuya notices when she walks into the dungeon is the blush on Atsushi-chan’s face and the furious glare on Akutagawa-chan’s. Second is the intruder, staring at her with black-hole doe eyes round and wide, jumping from her face to her boots to her thighs to her scarf and to her face again, all over her body, as though trying to absorb the sight. Wow, someone’s obsessed and probably horny. Chuuya kind of wants to flirt to test the theory, obsessive stalkers always fluster very funny. If her theory on the identity of this bitch is right, though, that may not be who she’s facing, and she’s got to keep it somewhat professional for now. As professional as she can without hurling.
Plus, Atsushi and Akutagawa don’t need to see their Boss’ bedroom eyes.
“So an intruder, mm?” Putting on her most unimpressed face ‘cause obsessed people hate that, Chuuya looks the woman up and down. Cheap loafers, mismatched socks with one a fish and one a weed pattern, tan pants- shot a little short on her long legs- a dark brown waistcoat, a blue pin-stripe button up, bolo tie with a seemingly real deal turquoise pendant, bandages peeking out everywhere. Not the outfit Chuuya would’ve worn to break into the most secure damn building in Japan. At least her black hair, clearly long and thick, is up in a simple bun. Looks greasy.
“Chuuya-san.” Atsushi raises where she bowed- while Akutagawa stays rigidly down, odd, Chuuya thought they were past that- and walks over with the politician-dirt document, good proof this is exactly who Chuuya thinks it is, “I held onto what she took since we didn’t know where to put it, I hope you forgive this initiative. This is Dazai Osamu, twenty-eight, a professor of Japanese Literature in the Yokohama Public University of Arts and Science, according to her files. From what we’ve seen, she didn’t disturb your office beyond taking this, so she must’ve known exactly what she was looking for. Would you like Akutagawa-san and I to leave for the questioning?”
Masculine first name, a professor in the university with quite a few undercover ability users, knew exactly what she was taking. Damn, no clues to who she could really be other than the Port Mafia’s most annoying stalker, impressive. Still, Atsushi and Akutagawa have done a good job on such short notice. Smiling, Chuuya walks over and ruffles Atsushi’s hair. “Good job, kiddo. You too, Akutagawa-chan. Keep the document on you until further notice, and dismiss the bow, you know I hate formality. You can stay for now, shit’s a learning opportunity.”
As Atsushi nods and Akutagawa straightens, Chuuya steps away from them, facing this mystical, dangerous, potentially useful Dazai Osamu. The woman’s ogling her again. Damn, someone’s very desperate.
Anyway, gotta start the questioning somehow. “Out of sheer curiosity, why’d you have a masculine first name? Do they not give out matching backstories to their subordinates in whatever organization you work for?”
Focused on Chuuya’s face now, Dazai grins. “I don’t work for anyone, Nakahara-san. The name’s mine in the same way as you are short- it’s a fact of life.” Oh wow, ballsy.
Despite wanting to grin back, or maybe smirk, the invitation to a game pulling at her with a delightful itch, Chuuya keeps her face unimpressed and crosses her arms. “Mhm. Are you a contract worker?”
Childishly cheerful, Dazai swings on her toes. “Nope! I’m an employee at Yokohama Public University of Arts and Science, just like Nakajima-san said. Does the chibi need things repeated for her? Did her hat eat her brains, I wonder?” Oh, she’s trying to provoke, she’s a brat. She wants Chuuya to snap, and it feels like a genuine desire for some fun, not a manipulation tactic- but either way, brat, a fun brat. Can Chuuya reasonably tell her worry-wart friends she wasn’t working but rather having down time if she accepts the challenge?
Dragging a sigh despite her urge to step closer and play, Chuuya turns to Atsushi and Akutagawa. “Atsushi-chan, Akutagawa-chan, change of plans, please leave us. Lock the door behind you.” After all, Chuuya won’t be getting any information out of Dazai without a little dirty play, the woman weasels like second nature. She’ll probably need to use the truth serum, and not even Atsushi has clearance for that information.
Plus, Chuuya wants to flirt. She wants to bring this bitch to heel, tame the brat, win. That was fast; maybe Albatross is right, and she needs to get laid more often and talk to people for things other than work. In Chuuya’s defense, this particular bitch could also be an excellent tool for the mafia, if brought to heel properly… Maybe that proves Albatross’- and everyone else’s, to be fair- point about Chuuya being a workaholic, but well, why not connect purpose and pleasure?
As Akutagawa and Atsushi leave, Dazai bounces on her toes again with her head cheekily cocked. “Awww, I’m getting a private audience! You’re just so nice to me, Nakahara-san!”
In place of answering, Chuuya pulls her stun gun out of its holster on her thigh. “You didn’t answer one of my questions, you piece of shit. Why is your name masculine?”
The slightest, almost imaginary change passes over Dazai’s face, the crinkle of her eyes hooding by barely a couple millimeters. It still changes the intensity of her face, enough to be readable. A masochist? Those are always fun.
“‘Cause changing it would be too much paperwork.” Dazai shrugs.
Ah, so she’s likely trans. Interesting. Chuuya twirls the stun gun on her finger. “Is it your deadname, then?”
Dazai shrugs. “Eh, I don’t really mind, some of my coworkers call me it. I wouldn’t choose it today, though.”
Choose. Interesting wording. Chuuya twirls the gun again as she stalks closer. “Are you on the run from anyone?”
A soundless giggle. “I’m a professor, Nakahara-san. Who would I be running from, the concept of having to grade all my students?” Dazai’s eyes follow the stun gun as Chuuya strikes, “Augh!! Unnecessary!” And heatless, she glares at Chuuya, like she wasn’t fully expecting this. What a brat, damn, Chuuya really is winning.
Flirting could bring her to heel faster, and then she’ll be not only fun, but useful. Plus, Chuuya wants to; bitch’s attractive, tall and well-built even if not very curvy, and an absolute dolly in the face with her slightly crooked nose and round eyes. Not to mention, she’s interesting. Chuuya pulls the stun gun away and smirks. “How else to train an insufferable little bitch into telling the truth?”
Dazai pouts. “You’re so mean, Nakahara-san! You know I have a lecture today, right? I can’t be skipping to get tortured, the dean of my faculty won’t believe me and she’ll have my head.”
Light, Chuuya snorts. “Call me Chuuya, I fucking hate formality. We’ll getcha out of work, don’t worry your pretty little head. Gotta make sure you actually work there, you know?” She twirls the stun gun again, the weight pleasant around her fingers.
Pouting harder, Dazai is a baby princess brat, isn’t she? “You’re still mean, Chuuya! This is animal abuse.”
Chuuya smirks brighter. “Oh, I’m fostering three puppies and I wouldn’t dream of hurting them, you are a special case.” Should go over well, giving Dazai that little bit of special attention, “Now, are you on the run?”
Again, Dazai’s eyes, which she seems to have the least control over, betray the effect the words have on her, widening barely a smidgen for barely a tick while the rest of her face stays pouting. “Technically from my parents, I suppose. But I assume you’re asking about the mafia?”
She hasn’t lied once, yet, not that Chuuya could tell; she only evaded. Chuuya twirls the gun. “You’re a perfect liar, aren’t you? Talking to you like a civil human being won’t be of any use.” And she puts the stun gun back into its holster.
“Is Chuuya gonna torture me?” Cocking her head, Dazai asks. Such a puppy, damn.
“Don’t need to.” And Chuuya takes the truth serum- well, it’s really just a control-breaker serum, but that makes it all the better when it comes to Dazai- out of her vest’s breast pocket, “Now, will you open your smart ass mouth for me like a good girl, or will I have to force it?”
The slightest hint of vacancy passes quickly over Dazai’s eyes, and she opens her mouth. Oh, she’ll be so easy, won’t she? Crossing the last step and a half between them, Chuuya breaks the packet open into Dazai’s waiting mouth. The bitch swallows easily. Delicious.
“So what does it do?” Cocking her head, Dazai asks.
As Chuuya goes to answer, a look of torture breaks on Dazai’s face, and she doubles into herself with a choked breath.
What- Dazai chokes again, in agony, eyes shut, already breaking with shivers. What the fuck?? Is she allergic? What would she be allergic to, all the components of this thing are what the body produces naturally- Dazai’s breathing stops, and then she painfully, slowly filters a controlled breath through her teeth. How?? What the fuck kinda ability did Chuuya stumble upon here?? Who the fuck is this woman???
Dazai opens her eyes. “It impedes my self control, I see.” Her voice tremours, “I’d much rather you torture me. Fuck.” She looks gut wrenching, and- is that her heartbeat?? Can Chuuya hear her fucking heartbeat?? This shouldn’t be happening-
Chuuya can use it while it is, though, she can use it, okay, okay. “What the- shit. Shit, okay, can you answer one question? I’ll immediately give you the antidote afterward, this thing never- no one ever reacts like this, are you like, fine??” Shit, Chuuya rambled.
A shaky breath. “Fukuzawa-sensei made me take a quick depression evaluation once. I got twenty six out of twenty seven. I’ll answer any question to make this stop.” Dazai continues filtering her air, but her eyes slip tightly shut again, “Fuck, please. Fuck. I wish I was begging you in other circumstances. Sorry- ah, shit-” Seemingly effortless, she breaks out of the cuffs, what the fuck, and sinks to the floor, pulling on her hair, “It hurts.”
Yeah, it clearly fucking does! Dropping to sit in front of Dazai, Chuuya studies her, studies the pain she’s slathered with, fuck she’s hurting so bad and it’s because of Chuuya and Chuuya isn’t stopping it- “Shit, shit, okay- who were you before you went on the run?”
“Demon Prodigy.”
Demon- oh, shit, that explains everything.
Dazai continues. “Worked under Mori Ougai, former head of the Port Mafia. Ouch, fuck, I- killed so many people, I didn’t care, I tortured and demolished all hope for those who went against Mori, I trained up Kyuusaku and Akutagawa to be weapons, fuck, I only stopped because I had a taste of losing everything! Chuu- Chuu ya-ah, I ran like a coward even though the only acceptable way for me to be a better person like Odasaku wanted would be to take over the mafia and fix all the harm I’ve done, I’m so sorry, augh! I’m happier like I wanted but not- agh! Not more meaningful- maybe?”
Dazai chokes, Chuuya grabs the antidote out of her breast pocket-
“Fuck, fuck! I’m dying, aren’t I? I don’t deserve the relief, I never let myself die in the end, I make it hurt but never end my life, but it’s not enough for me to suffer, I need to make people happy, but I’ve been awful at that-”
Chuuya shoves the antidote down Dazai’s throat. Dazai chokes again. Sitting back where she leaned into Dazai’s space, Chuuya breathes to calm herself a bit. “Shh, it’s almost over. The effects will wear off soon, it won’t hurt anymore. You did great, okay? You did amazing. I’m- I’m so fucking sorry, I didn’t know it’d fuck you up like that. D’you want a hug?” After all, Chuuya may have caused this, but she didn’t know, and Dazai isn’t innocent, this isn’t unprompted- which makes two wrongs, which means a right is in order. Even if Chuuya doesn’t love hugs, Dazai needs comfort like anyone else.
Still managing to control her breathing but irregular heartbeat breaking in Chuuya’s ears, Dazai scrunches her face, bites her lip, shakes. “Chuuya can’t be serious. I’m awful, I should never get a hug.” A fear, is it? A worry Chuuya will pull the rug from under her, and of course a heaping pile of self-loathing. Undeserving, Dazai thinks herself. She kind of is, with a past like hers. Good thing Chuuya doesn’t give a shit what people deserve. She’s a utilitarian, not an idiot.
She huffs. “I asked what you want, not what should happen. Stop fucking weaselling, you unbearable bitch.”
Dazai breathes, shaking. Eyes shut, crumpled into a ball, small. Vulnerable. If she doesn’t respond in the next five seconds, Chuuya will ask again- Dazai nods. Seems the bitch knows what’s best for her. Good.
Cocooning Dazai into her arms, Chuuya squeezes, holding, caring. Someone so human on her doorstep, someone so beautiful, who hurts so much; forget how useful Dazai could be, Chuuya would hold her anyway, her heavy, stale scent and slightly musty clothes, her.
Maybe Chuuya needs to get her emotional needs in check, too, taking care of puppies is clearly not cutting it. Her underlings generally don’t need her as much anymore, makes sense she’d get a void in need of filling. Humans are fascinating, of course Chuuya would fold into obsession the second she gets half a taste of that enrichment.
Anyway. “Good fucking job acknowledging it, asshole.” Mirroring Dazai’s breathing, Chuuya holds her, “And, ‘bout what you said… D’you know how many people I killed? D’you know the kinda shit I’ve done to end up where I am? To do my noble fucking mission of making the world better? D’you know why I’m doing this? Because I’ve been betrayed, and then shown goodness, not ‘cause I’m good. I didn’t become a damn-near paragon overnight, you won’t either. But if you want to, you will, no matter how much trauma you dished out. You’re not that special, darling.”
Dazai shudders. God, she’s humanity incarnate, the underbelly of the human experience not many ever show. Chuuya wants her, wants the Demon Prodigy who could and did destroy organizations single-handedly. She wants to hold Dazai, wants to help her find joy, wants to set her free and have her choose to stay, or at least choose to remember Chuuya, keep Chuuya in her mind forever.
Admittedly, wanting to play with the goddamn Demon Prodigy like that is not Chuuya’s brightest moment, but she has every advantage so she’ll probably be fine.
Shuddering again, Dazai bleeds out tension, boneless in Chuuya’s hold. “I’ve always been exceptionally special, Chuuya. How can you know that?”
Ah, damn. She’s not wrong about the thesis, but by god is she missing the antithesis- let alone the synthesis- by a mile. Chuuya snorts. “‘Cause you’re human, dumbass. That’s obvious about you, in your guilt, in your desire to be better, in your goddamn depression, hell, even in your teasing. Even in what you choose to present to the world.” Flirting again might help Dazai find her footing better, “I bet the reason you heckled me is ‘cause you were intimidated by how hot I am, too. Very human.”
Dazai’s heartbeat- which has already calmed, are the rumors of the Demon Prodigy controlling his heartbeat true?- skips, and Dazai nuzzles into Chuuya. “Maybe.”
Maybe Chuuya shouldn’t be going there, but it seems it’s doing what Chuuya wants it to, bringing Dazai to heel, comforting her.
Fuck it. “Good. You know, I might’ve been made in a lab, don’t remember. But it doesn’t matter if my soul is just code- it matters that I feel, shit like that. I’m real to me, and no one else’s opinion matters unless I want it to. Make sense?” Rubbing circles into Dazai’s back, Chuuya asks. She may be shortening it by a lot, but… Even if she’s not human, that doesn’t make her any less deserving of her feelings. Albeit ‘deserving’ is a fake concept anyway, especially when it comes to feelings.
Whatever.
“I’m not real to me.” Dazai shrinks in Chuuya’s hold.
Chuuya’s chest squeezes. Painfully human.
Chuuya has to have her, even if just for right now. Chuuya has to hold her. “‘Course you’re not, you’re a dumbass. D’your students like you?” Bringing a hand up to the back of Dazai’s head, she rubs, gentle but firm. Feels way better to do than to receive, at least to Chuuya, but works wonders on Kyuu-kun, for example.
A breath. “Some say they do.”
“Means you’re real to them. Means you’re good to them, you make them happy. How’d that feel?” Massaging Dazai’s back and head, Chuuya asks. If she can’t see her own value, Chuuya can at least turn her toward other people’s perception of her, force her to see she matters.
“It’s not the real me.”
Sharp, a pain shoots through Chuuya. Empathy, compassion, pity; whichever it is, and it’s probably mostly the latter two, Chuuya squeezes Dazai closer to soothe it. “Damn. So you work to be good to them?” It’s kind of like what Chuuya does. Can’t be exact; no human is like Chuuya.
Still like a heavy pillow, Dazai breathes. The only trace of a panic attack in her body and breathing is the exhaustion, which doesn’t sound very deep, but, compared to how she was when Chuuya came in, might as well be the Mariana Trench. Beautiful. Tragic. Chuuya hates reading tragedies, she doesn’t get them, doesn’t get catharsis from them; she loves the feeling, though, so she immerses herself in recovery media instead.
Dazai is walking, talking repression. Chuuya can help her feel Chuuya’s favourite feeling. Chuuya can care for her. She seems to crave that care. Her usefulness is just a bonus, a big one, sure, but even if she refuses to help, Chuuya will want her. Check mate, everyone who says Chuuya only thinks about her job.
Never mind that Chuuya’s current need for a new hurting human to pick through could become a problem if she doesn’t channel it properly.
Dazai shifts, almost imperceptible. “Say, Chuuya, why are you doing this?”
She evaded the question. Hm. Will she be comfortable knowing Chuuya would ideally bring her to this state over and over again? Chuuya hugs her tighter. “Mainly ‘cause you’re hurting, and I wanna help, care for you, you know… Hold you, if you’ll let me.” She shouldn’t say more on that. She hums, “But honestly, another thing is that I want you on my side. If not in the mafia, then available for a chat every now and then to help advise me. Maybe for a stealth mission here and there, if you’re down. You’re fucking skilled, and rumours will creep out about some rando who got interrogated by the Boss herself and then walked free, so it’s not like you have the option to keep your life as it is.” The last bit is a lie. Dazai probably knows that, too.
Silence. Dazai breathes. “I could disappear.” She nuzzles into Chuuya. She could definitely do that, if she wanted to, either just off the mafia radar or in general.
Chuuya hums. “D’you want to?”
Silence. Dazai sits still, her breathing gets quieter. Silence, whatever thoughts running through Dazai’s head too heavy to pass quickly. If Dazai says ‘yes’, Chuuya will let her leave. Chuuya doesn’t have a say in the matter, and Dazai… Dazai should know her own skill well enough to see that like second nature. Silence, stillness.
Dazai shakes her head. “I’d rather not.” Impassive, her voice betrays nothing about what she’s feeling.
Humming, Chuuya rubs her back. “So don’t. Let the mafia protect you. You won’t have to kill, or torture, or destroy anyone; all I will ask of you is gathering intel, advising me and maybe negotiations, sometimes.” And her hurt, her feelings, but that’s not that relevant, “You know what the mafia is working toward, and I think it aligns with what you believe, so… Why not?”
Easy, Dazai weasels her arms from between them and around Chuuya. “Okay. Only thing I ask for, get me my mask back, and don’t tell anyone who I was.” She’s smiling again. How easily she slips into a mask of calm joy’s annoying, it’ll make Chuuya’s job harder in the worst way.
It’ll balance out. “Consider it done.” Chuuya nuzzles Dazai’s cheek, no one said she couldn’t make sinking into numbness harder for Dazai, “We’ll do the proper ritual later, but for now…” She draws away, away from Dazai’s feverish warmth, and cups Dazai’s face, “Welcome to the family.” And she kisses Dazai’s forehead, “I’ll communicate with my executives ‘bout this. Let’s take you to a more comfortable room than this, mm?” With that, she leans back in and picks Dazai up, bridal style. The bitch’s tired, making her walk right now would be cruel. Plus, Chuuya wants to. Giving comfort feels nice, sue her.
Wonderfully adorable, Dazai squeaks and latches onto Chuuya.
Cute. Smirking, Chuuya holds her, holds because Dazai is letting her. Dazai must know the power she has, the power to do whatever she wants no matter what Chuuya thinks of it; still, Chuuya can remind her. “Don’t try to run, darling, or there’ll be a headhunt.” A roundabout way for most, but… Dazai can evade like no one’s business and she knows it. Chuuya couldn’t catch her. That sense of safety will do wonders to get Dazai to open up.
“Mori couldn’t headhunt me.” Dazai pouts and pokes Chuuya’s chest, bratty, adorable, Chuuya’s. It’s ridiculous how fast Chuuya fell for her, in the only way Chuuya knows how, obsessively and patronisingly, inhumanly. Sucks for Dazai, shoulda thought before being so interesting.
Light, Chuuya huffs. “Mhm, you’re damn weaselly. Think you can leave me in the dust? D’I look like that old piece of bloody shit to you?” She teases. Big, black hole eyes bore into her, a little uncomfortable.
Dazai looks away, hums, and returns to Chuuya, face open and honest. “No. You look like a forest fire. Wild, untamable, powerful and terrifying.” She nuzzles Chuuya’s arm, “Warm.”
Fuck, Chuuya already loves her. It’s not quite real love, more like obsession mixed with adoration of a clever pet, but either way Chuuya has no choice in the matter. Ridiculous, fuck yes. Feelings are so fun, so interesting, so challenging, they add so much dimension to life, they’re all there is that makes it worth living. She’ll show as many to Dazai as she can.
Staring ahead, she hums. “You look… Like oil paints. Reflective, gorgeous. Perfect at creating any image people want of you, but stunning in your raw form, too. Smooth and slick, or some pretentious shit like that. I’m not very good at metaphors.” Up to a staircase, she calculates the angle and takes off, her ability a familiar lightness.
“That was very good, actually. I’d give you eighty nine points, with negative one for swearing and negative ten for not bringing up another key aspect of oil paints- they’re toxic.” Dazai says. Self-loathing and a hook for comfort packed into one. Cute.
Chuuya grins, looking down at her. “Only if you use them wrong. With proper precaution, they’re just beautiful.” Gotta let Dazai know Chuuya will happily let herself be manipulated for the particular purpose of giving Dazai reassurance.
Dazai nuzzles Chuuya’s arm before worrying her lips and looking up, pouting through her lashes. “So Chuuya wants to use me?” She needs to stop being cute before Chuuya squeezes her to death.
Licking her lips, Chuuya watches Dazai. “Something like that.” Really, Chuuya would be using Dazai, using her for emotional fulfilment, enrichment, Chuuya’s the furthest thing from a paragon, but does it matter where a helpful impulse comes from? Is it actual selfishness if what Chuuya wants is the ultimate well-being of another even to her own detriment? Honestly, that’s too close to philosophy for Chuuya to care.
Dazai blushes, throws a hand over her forehead and drops backward, pretending to faint. “The horror! Chuuya is after my innocence!”
Chuuya smirks, jousting Dazai a little. “Mhm, ‘cause you’re such a maiden pure, sure. Which one of us was ogling who first, you bitch?” Better let Dazai know Chuuya can play at least close to her level, so there’s no trickery on either of their parts.
Bratty, Dazai pouts again, looking up at Chuuya with one eye and without pulling her hand from her forehead. “That’s just because I’m a winner.”
Oh, what a bitch. Laughing, short and loud, Chuuya tosses Dazai up lightly. “Bet I’m gonna win something from you in a second.” Though saying it is a good way to lose the race toward who asks who for sex first; well, sue Chuuya for wanting to have fun over wanting to win in this particular case.
“Chuuya, please fuck me. I’ll die otherwise!” With zero respect, Dazai proclaims, black hole eyes intent on Chuuya. Fucking cute, good lord.
Just to cement she’s nothing like Mori, she doesn’t care about disrespect, Chuuya laughs, holds Dazai closer. “Stolen right from under my nose, damn. What about me being Boss? Not scared I’ll punish such an unruly underling, you little shit?”
“That just makes it hotter.” Serious, Dazai nods. What a damn baby, a precious, cute, bastard baby.
Despite herself, Chuuya smirks with way too much sincerity. “You know what, sure. Whatever you say, sweetness. You seem like you’ll be fun to break down and rebuild, I deign to agree.” She shouldn’t let Dazai know that want of hers so soon, but fuck it, Dazai shoulda thought before being so own-able. Plus, it’s good to communicate in relationships.
The way Dazai blushes, it seems she doesn’t mind either way.