Archive of Our Own

Red string of fate, or whatever.

02/05

Dazai Osamu never understood why the concept of having a soulmate was so important to everyone.

To him, it was simply someone with whom you shared your soul. That didn't necessarily mean you were destined to be together; it was more like siblings or something similar—that was how he saw it. He had seen families torn apart because one found their soulmate. He had also seen people who, quite simply, didn't like their soulmate romantically—and those people were judged harshly by society. It was crazy.

And don't get him wrong, he understood that people felt complete with their soulmate. After all, they were your other half, your missing piece. But that didn't mean he was going to go around searching for his own. Many people had died trying to find theirs. Besides, there was no way to know if your soulmate had already died—so what if they had, and you kept searching? Yeah, no. That sounded insane.

However, the red string could appear during the fifteen to eighteen birthday. And unfortunately, all his classmates were turning that age that year, so Dazai was sure he was going to hear about it constantly. Some already had it.

Why did Dazai dislike the idea of soulmates?

Because he found it absurd—just like people who talked about the magic of a first kiss, or whatever. He already had his first kiss, and it was the most normal experience ever. Maybe he simply wasn't into the person, but still, he thought books about soulmates were full of nonsense.

(And, honestly, all of that was a lie. He did like the concept. Truly. He loved reading comics and articles online about it, listening to music inspired by it. The idea of having another half somewhere out there sounded incredible.

But he was also cautious—he didn't want to get too excited and then be disappointed. What if his soulmate was his cousin? Or someone who hadn’t been born yet, creating a giant age gap? What if his soulmate was someone he hated? So many possibilities... He preferred to be one of those people who claimed to hate the concept.

Plus, it was kind of funny—being against something everyone around him openly loved. Though he never said anything hurtful; just dumb jokes...)

"How's the string, ChuChu?" Dazai asked, leaning against the lockers with a smirk. "Did you already find your soulmate?"

(Except if it was Chuuya. Then, he was kind of mean.)

Chuuya had just turned sixteen last Friday. And even though Dazai didn't attend his party—since he wasn't invited—he had already heard rumors that Chuuya had the string. That meant the redhead only had to follow it. Or wait. Whatever happened first, of course.

Chuuya didn't pay him much mind; he kept looking into his locker. Then he shut it too forcefully. But he didn't look at Dazai; instead, he opened a notebook and flipped through the pages. "I'm in the process. Why? Jealous?"

Dazai chuckled. "Why would I be jealous? Chuuya's older, which means he'll be wrinkly first."

Chuuya shot him a glare, closing the notebook with too much force. "You little shit..." he huffed. "Guess what? I’ll probably be better off when I’m older because I exercise and take care of my body—unlike some girl I know."

"Hey! I do take care of myself," Dazai gasped, placing a hand on his chest. "I just don’t need that much care because I’m already pretty. You, on the other hand, need a lot of work to look decent." (He said this while actually trying to look presentable, even though he didn't want to be seen as a girl, and he preferred to be treated as a boy. But changing overnight wasn’t possible, right?)

Chuuya's jaw dropped slightly. Then he scowled and stepped closer, jabbing a finger toward Dazai. "Are you calling me ugly?"

"I never said that. But if you want to put it like that..." Dazai lifted his hands innocently, grinning.

Chuuya’s eye twitched. He took a deep breath and stepped back, clearly annoyed. He huffed—though, as he had mentioned before, he didn’t hit girls, so he couldn’t lay a finger on Dazai. Which, in Dazai’s mind, sounded a little strange—like, why not girls? Yes, that was sexist, he knew, but wasn’t there also something hiding behind that? Because Chuuya often thought about it, and who knew if he might act on those thoughts someday...

Dazai, however, knew Chuuya well enough.

He knew Chuuya never hit innocent people—only jerks. Still, that comment, which Dazai was sure Chuuya repeated because he’d heard it from his older brother or other men around him, was weird.

“Don't fight it, Chuuya. You know girls are always pretty,” Dazai said, playing with a lock of his hair. (Oh, how much he wished he could cut his hair. But no. He was stuck with his long hair because his father told him ‘girls looked prettier like that,’ and Dazai couldn't simply tell him he wasn’t a girl.)

Chuuya scoffed. “Don't flatter yourself.”

Dazai didn’t need to think of a response, because the bell rang. Both of them walked down the same hallway, but they didn’t talk to each other—just like they always did. Chuuya headed to sit on the left side of the classroom, where his friends were already seated by the window. Dazai chose the right side.

The class was painfully boring. All he could think about was who Chuuya’s soulmate might be. Maybe it was strange—that was an understatement. He had more serious things to worry about. But his mind kept circling back to it.

Chuuya’s soulmate had to be someone as loud as him, right? Dazai had seen some soulmates who were opposites, but he didn’t think that was the case here. Probably, Chuuya’s soulmate was sharp, someone bossy like him. Probably annoying too. Someone who liked to chase a ball in the field like a dog. Someone who didn’t get annoyed by Chuuya’s outbursts. Someone handsome—because, socially, Chuuya was attractive. Even though Dazai had his opinions about that...

That made Dazai wonder...

He wondered about his own soulmate. It had to be someone smart, someone who could accept his quirks. Someone who wouldn’t pry too much into his private life. Dazai didn’t want anyone trying to know everything about him—that would be exhausting. But he also hoped his soulmate was funny; he couldn't stand being with someone completely boring.

No.

He wasn’t sure what to expect, though.

(Another reason he preferred to ignore—and kind of hated—the idea of soulmates. Also, because he didn’t feel entirely comfortable with himself. He didn’t expect anyone to accept what he couldn’t accept about himself.)

“Dazai.”

“Yeah?” Dazai looked up, having just finished packing his bag after the bell rang.

“I need to talk to you,” Odasaku said.

Dazai nodded, glancing around to see if anyone else was still nearby. He waited for his classmates to leave—just in case. Though he didn’t expect anything bad from Odasaku.

“First, I have to say you’ve been quieter in class lately,” Odasaku began, organizing some papers. “Are you okay?”

Dazai hummed softly, leaning back on his heels. “I’m fine. I just find debating with these people absolutely boring,” he said dramatically. “I’ve concluded that staying silent is the better option.”

Odasaku zipped up his bag and sighed. “Why?”

“What do you mean?”

“I think the debates are usually very productive.”

Dazai made a face, twirling a lock of his hair—though he wished he could cut it, since it was long enough to reach his waist, it was useful when he wanted something to play with. “I don’t care about their opinions. But some of my classmates take those opinions outside of class, and, as wonderful as that sounds, it’s annoying—because they don’t know how to argue properly.”

Odasaku stared at him for a moment before nodding. “Please, don’t let them get to you. Debates are a good way to reinforce knowledge. If anyone is treating you rudely, let me or another teacher know.”

Dazai nodded. “It’s not that deep. Just tiring.”

“I insist—”

“You said you had something else to tell me?” Dazai batted his lashes, tilting his head with a playful grin.

Odasaku sighed softly. “Yes. I’ve been reading the poetic texts I asked you to write last week. I’m still grading them. But you didn’t submit your homework… May I ask why?”

Dazai looked away, still messing with his hair. “I just forgot. And I didn’t know what to write…”

“The assignment was due on Thursday,” Odasaku pointed out, crossing his arms. “It’s been a week, and you didn’t even try to submit it late.”

“I honestly thought I could put more effort into the next assignment,” Dazai replied with a shrug.

Odasaku nodded, frowning slightly. “Fine. One more thing… During the midterm teacher meeting, several teachers mentioned that your grades have dropped. I just want you to be aware—”

“Yeah, I know, Odasaku!” Dazai smiled brightly. “Don’t fuss over me.”

Odasaku didn’t look pleased with that response, but he let it go. Academic concerns were the last thing Dazai wanted to deal with right now. Not that they weren’t important, but lately, he just lacked the motivation to do much. Nothing weird—he just wasn’t feeling it. Still, he understood Oda’s concern.

It was true that participating in class discussions made things more interesting, since lessons were often dull. But he preferred it that way. Still, he felt drained at the end of the day.

After the last class, he headed to the bathroom to wash his face. He stared at himself in the mirror.

He hated the school bathroom—hot, dark, and with a weird smell. But what made him most uncomfortable was the way the girls looked at him. Not because he was in the wrong place—he looked like a girl, with long hair, feminine (or so people said) features, and he was wearing the girls’ uniform. He was in the right place. But still, it made him uncomfortable—that was the point.

He wasn’t sure what to think.

He didn’t like what he saw in the mirror, but he also didn’t know what he wanted to see instead.

When he decided he’d had enough, he left the bathroom and walked down the hallway toward the school gates. A strange twisting sensation tied his stomach, but he wasn’t sure why.

He stopped when he saw Chuuya—not because he wanted to talk, but because the boy was leaning against the wall, staring at his pinky as if it was the most interesting thing in the world. Dazai didn’t need to think hard to know that Chuuya was looking at the invisible red string hanging from his pinky. But from Dazai’s perspective, it was dumb.

“What’s up, slug?” Dazai teased, stopping in front of him. “Something wrong with your little string?”

Chuuya looked up and simply made a face. “No. Fuck off.” His mismatched eyes shifted down, then back up to Dazai’s face so quickly that Dazai couldn’t tell what he was looking at.

“Fine. Then, is there something wrong with your pinky?”

“No. Fuck off, Dazai,” Chuuya snapped, glaring.

Dazai raised his hands innocently. “What’s wrong with you?”

Chuuya didn’t reply.

Huh.
That meant Chuuya wasn’t as annoyed as usual.

Dazai considered pressing further. It won the yes. “How does it look?”

Chuuya blinked. “It said, ‘Fuck off.’”

“No, I mean—how does it look?” Dazai chuckled, tilting his head. “Is it like in the movies?”

“…It’s shinier,” Chuuya muttered, still frowning, eyes averted.

Dazai leaned in slightly—not invading his space, just enough to be playful. “Shinier?”

“Hm… Not like a light-bulb, just… not as boring as a wool thread,” Chuuya shrugged.

“Oooh…” Dazai stared at him. “Have you felt it tug? People say it tugs when your soulmate is nearby.”

Chuuya crossed his arms. “Yeah. I’ve felt it.”

“Oh, you did?” Dazai blinked. “Do you already know who your soulmate is?”

“No. But I’ve felt it.”

“Oh, then you must be close,” Dazai said, grinning.

Chuuya nodded, still looking away.

Even though Dazai didn’t usually stare at Chuuya that much—at least, not more than necessary—he couldn’t help but notice how his freckled cheeks subtly colored. It wasn’t too obvious, but Dazai could swear the blush was there. It made him realize that Chuuya had more freckles than he had initially thought. Don’t get him wrong, he had eyes; he could see. But those small dots were so faint in some spots on Chuuya’s face that they were hard to notice at first glance.

Chuuya wasn’t exactly uncomfortable to look at.

But Dazai didn’t linger on him much longer.

On the way home, he gazed out the car window at the streets. The driver didn’t say much, and Dazai’s phone was running out of data, so he couldn’t scroll through random things. He let the air hit his cheek until it felt cold; the rest of his face remained warm. He liked it. It was curious—not because he didn’t understand why it happened, but because it felt funny.

He played with his hair. He only did it because he had bitten his nails so much that they were too short to keep doing it without hurting. So, instead, he played with his long hair to have something to do. The only downside was that his hair was weak—weak enough that it fell out now and then when he tugged a little too hard. He divided his hair into small locks and braided them. In the end, he had quite a few tiny braids.

His hair wasn’t that bad after all.

It was barely three in the afternoon when Dazai stepped into his house. He felt his eyes grow heavy and practically shuffled toward his room, instinctively trying to avoid the servants and his parents.

No.
Scratch that.

He almost bumped into his mother.

“Hi. Hi, Mom. How was your day?” His mother clasped her hands and gave him a look.

Dazai rolled his eyes. “Hi, Mom. My day was normal.”

His mother huffed softly. “Good to know. New hairstyle?” She gestured at the braids in his hair.

“Of course. I’m always keeping up with the latest,” Dazai murmured.

“You look pretty, sweetheart.” She smiled and gently cupped Dazai’s chin. “I’ll tell the cook to heat up lunch.” She leaned in closer. “I told the cook to make something special for you.”

Dazai blinked, fighting back the small smile that threatened to spread across his face.

Even though he usually avoided spending much time with her—because she often spent more time with his father, and well, she was nothing like him—he didn’t hate her. Not at all. She was… okay. Sometimes she said weird things, but Dazai understood it was her strange way of making up for not being present in his life. Usually, it was fine.

“What is it?” Dazai asked.

“Oh, no, no. You’ll have to go and eat to find out,” she chuckled. “Your father is out on a business trip, so…” She pulled back. “Maybe we could have a girls’ night…?”

“Yeah...” Dazai nodded.

They only had girls’ nights when his father wasn’t home. And Dazai didn’t mind it. His mother was fun—bad with kids, yes, Dazai suffered through that—but it wasn’t her fault. She was also a kid once, or at least, in Dazai’s opinion, eighteen years wasn’t exactly the age to have a child.

In the end, the special thing at lunch was crab. Breaded crab. Dazai pretended to be completely indifferent as he ate the small pieces, because his mother was—not so discreetly—watching him, pretending to chat with the cook. Dazai couldn’t blame her. It was obvious she had planned this just to see him happy.

The thought made him feel...

Funny.

He went to his room and let himself fall onto the bed. He stayed there for a long while, staring at the ceiling. He felt strange. His mother wasn’t a saint, but she wasn’t evil either. He understood she was human. But still, he didn’t know how to feel every time she did this—every time she tried to spend time with him.

Dazai decided to drown those feelings with other thoughts.

But it didn’t help much.

He stood under the shower after spending, probably, more than ten minutes in front of the small bathroom mirror. He wasn’t sure how to feel—about anything, really. He didn’t feel like he was a girl. He didn’t feel like he was a boy either. He didn’t feel like he was anything. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to cut his hair or if he liked his breasts. He didn’t know if he liked his face.

He just didn’t know anything.

The only thing he was certain of was that he hated the scars on his forearm. They looked ugly. He hated himself for doing that.

He closed his eyes tightly, feeling the cold water hit his head and slide down his arms, his shoulders, his chest—his entire body. It felt like resin washing over him, ready to take his shape and freeze like that.

Like a mold.

Only of his exterior.

Like every P.E. class, there was a very boring soccer match.

It was just the same class, the girls’ team against the boys’ team. Simple enough. But Dazai didn’t see the appeal in running after a ball like an animal under the sun, sweating and yelling. It was disgusting. Not the people—they were fine—but the act itself. The game. Also, he admired the coordination required in soccer or any sport that involved the body. And he wasn’t really good at that.

He often felt like he couldn’t control his body.
Because he felt like it wasn’t really his.

The teacher wasn’t even surprised when Dazai made up the excuse about his period and horrible cramps. Everyone was used to it. Dazai just had to fill out a form about what they did in class. He preferred that. So, he simply sat on the benches under the shade of a few trees. It was calming. From where he sat, he could only see the distant players, but usually, they didn’t come to that spot—it was kind of dirty. Dazai laid a towel on the old bench and leaned back.

He wasn’t even in the P.E. uniform; he didn’t have it in his locker because he never did anything in this class. Sometimes he wished he did. At least, then, the shorts wouldn’t look like… a skirt. A skirt that reminded him that people around him often thought he was something else.

He felt sleepy and tired.

His mother and he had watched a movie last night—during that ‘girls’ night’—and even though Dazai had been on the verge of falling asleep, he’d tried to stay awake for her. He knew she didn’t do it to make him feel like shit in the morning, but he still did it. And the fresh air around him slowly lulled him to sleep.

He rested his head against the trunk of the tree and closed his eyes.

He wasn’t sure how long it passed.

All he knew was something heavy and hot fell next to him.

Dazai opened his eyes to see what was beside him, then yawned. And then he frowned. Of all the places to sit or be, Chuuya had to come and ruin his peace. Chuuya, all sweaty and disgusting. Amazing. Truly…

“Can you move your existence away from me?” Dazai muttered, crossing his arms over his chest.

Chuuya groaned softly, holding his ankle. “Give me a minute… fuck.”

Dazai scowled and leaned closer, inspecting him. “What? Didn’t you hear me, slug?”

“Give me a damn second. Ugh. I hurt my ankle.”

“Because you’re an idiot…”

Chuuya shot him a glare.

“Hey, man! Are you okay?” Tachihara asked as he approached. Sweaty and just as disgusting. “Let me see.”

“I’m fine. Just give me a minute,” Chuuya—stubborn as ever—said, and began to take off his shoe to rub his ankle.

In Dazai’s honest opinion, it looked a little swollen and red, but not too bad. Final verdict? Chuuya was fine—he just needed some ice, though. Or at least, that’s what Dazai had seen Mori do sometimes.

“Dude, you could get run over by a car and you’d still say you’re fine,” Tachihara muttered, crouching in front of him. “Does it hurt?”

“I’m fine,” Chuuya replied stubbornly.

“Go find some water, Tachihara, would you?” Dazai said with a smirk.

Tachihara looked at him, confused. “Why—”

“Just go. Better if it’s cold,” Dazai waved a hand.

The boy hesitated, then looked at Chuuya before sighing and running off. Dazai watched him go, then turned to the injured slug beside him. He stood up and offered a hand.

“Come on. We need to go to the infirmary.”

“What the fuck? No, I’m fine,” Chuuya scoffed, giving him a look like Dazai had just said the dumbest thing.

Dazai clicked his tongue. “Don’t make me beg, because I won’t. Stand up. I’ll help you. It’s a limited offer, tick tack.”

Chuuya stared at him for a long moment before groaning and pushing himself up. He grabbed his shoe and managed to hop on one foot.

“I thought it didn’t hurt, huh?” Dazai teased, then wrapped an arm tightly around Chuuya’s waist, passing Chuuya’s arm over his shoulder and holding his hand.

Chuuya leaned against his side. “It doesn’t… it’s normal, but… ugh.”

“Just accept it, Chuuya.”

Chuuya didn’t.

They made their way into the building. It wasn’t hard—Chuuya was shorter, so he was able to give small jumps on one leg without much trouble. Dazai couldn’t deny that Chuuya was heavier than he initially thought, and he was sweaty enough to be pretty gross, but he tried not to dwell on that. The infirmary wasn’t far, thankfully.

Chuuya pushed open the door. Dazai helped him sit on the bed as they explained what happened to the nurse. She handed them a cold pack. Dazai, however, grumbled when she told him to hold the pack on Chuuya’s ankle. Wasn’t that her job?

“It’s too cold,” Chuuya complained, wincing.

“Yeah, that’s the point,” Dazai replied, rolling his eyes.

“It was Mei’s fault. She did a very weird move.”

“Hard to believe she could move faster than you,” Dazai muttered, resting his cheek on his knee while watching the cold pack. He knew Chuuya could do this by himself. He wasn’t sure why he didn’t leave. “You’re half her size and height.”

Chuuya made a weird noise—half-groan, half-scoff. “Yeah, well, I’m human. I make mistakes, asshole.” He leaned back against the wall.

Dazai nodded slightly, humming softly.

“If Mei can play, why don’t you? I’m sure you’d make a good goalkeeper,” Chuuya murmured, though it was obvious he didn’t mean it.

“Hm, I’d probably get pretty bruised,” Dazai played along, voice flat. “Though she moves a lot more than I do.”

“Well, she probably has more energy to waste. Not like others who would pass out after running for a minute.”

Dazai lifted his head to look at Chuuya, who looked back at him. Neither said anything—they simply stayed in silence for a few moments, and that was okay. They didn't have much to talk about anyway.

Usually, when someone lied enough, things tended to happen.

Of course, it was mostly bad things. Life wasn’t exactly kind. Dazai knew that. It was what happened when he said he didn’t know anything and was going to fail a test. It was what happened when he claimed he was sick to avoid going to a party. Or when he said he had lost his notebook and couldn’t borrow it. He understood that, in the end, lies could become truths—because that’s how the universe worked. Or so he liked to believe.

So, it was only logical that he got his period the next day.

(Dazai was well aware coincidences existed, but he chose to believe it was the universe punishing him. Because it made zero sense that he had his period after six months without it.)

Blood.

That blood made him think—there were only a few that didn't. What did it mean that he bled, not because of an injury, but because his body followed a cycle? What did it truly mean to have a period? Logically, it pointed to many things—biological, social, personal.

But… Did it?

Humans had assigned those who bled as females, and those who didn’t as males. But those were just words. Words—human constructs. And words, Dazai argued, weren’t the absolute truth. What was truth, anyway? Dazai had read that truth was inaccessible to humans—because they were too limited. Sure, humans had a reality. In that reality, Dazai was born female, with a period, with the ability to give birth, with the tendency to have more prominent breasts, longer hair, and to produce certain hormones more.

But wasn’t the way they label it—sex, gender—just interpretation?

Wasn't everything ultimately an interpretation? Didn't it all depend on the person’s perspective? Why did humans feel the need to name everything? To categorize? To impose labels?

(Logically, Dazai knew that naming was a form of knowing. But it frustrated him—so much.)

Naming meant that humans didn’t really talk about the thing itself, but about the label they assigned to it. Language is embedded in everything—culture, society, expectations. And those expectations… Dazai despised them.

He hated how expectations shaped reality, how they limited understanding, how they confined people into boxes.

“Are you alright?”

Dazai looked up from his tray at Atsushi. “Yes. Why?”

Atsushi smiled softly. “You look a little low.”

“I'm fine, Atsushi. Just a headache.”

“I have some pills for that.” Atsushi immediately rummaged through his bag, digging into the pockets.

“Well, if you're so kind…”

Atsushi handed him a small packet of pills with a gentle smile. Dazai took one, washing it down with the—very weird—orange juice from the cafeteria. Then he rested his cheek on his palm, the pills probably wouldn’t do much for his cramps, but at least the headache might ease. That was something.

He didn’t understand why his period had come, honestly. He knew it meant his cycle was functioning—somehow, it was working correctly. But what did that really fix? Because he hadn’t had it in half a year. It was crazy—how unpredictable and confusing the human body was. At least his cramps felt normal now; they weren’t like knives stabbing into his stomach. That was an improvement.

“Can I ask you a very random question, Atsushi-kun¹?” Dazai asked, voice slow and bored.

“Of course.” Atsushi shrugged, taking a bite of his sandwich.

“Do you like being a boy?”

Atsushi frowned at that, chewing thoughtfully before remaining silent for a moment. “Uh, I think I do…”

“You think?” Dazai raised an eyebrow.

“I do. I like being a boy. Why?”

“If you could choose, would you like to be a girl?”

Atsushi’s expression flickered with confusion. “Eh… well, I don’t think I’d care. I didn’t choose my gender, and I’m fine with it. I think I’d be okay if I were born a girl, too.”

So simple. So easy.

Atsushi made it sound so effortless that Dazai felt a strange pang of jealousy—why was it so easy for him to accept, while Dazai tangled himself in knots over it?

He didn’t know what to think anymore. Was he wrong for feeling like a stranger in his own skin? Was he rotten inside for resisting the propaganda that told him he shouldn’t want to be a girl? But what even was that? What did it mean to be a girl? Why didn’t he like being one? He couldn’t understand it at all.

And now that he thought about it, why did he want to be a boy? What was “being a boy” supposed to mean? He didn’t quite feel like that either. Was he something else? Like a third thing? He’d read about that once—somewhere, somehow. Actually, he didn’t want to be either boy or girl, or anything. He felt like he didn’t belong to any of those categories. But what was that beyond the constructs society had built?

What was a girl, really? Beyond all the social expectations? A girl was, then, someone with noticeable breasts, a soft voice, long hair—though no, that wasn’t always true. He knew girls with short hair, and they still weren’t any less girls. He knew girls with deep voices, and they were still girls. Girls with small chests, girls with different features. So, what? Did you have to be born female to be a girl?

And wasn’t that against the very idea that gender was just a social construct? He’d heard about trans people, too. Saying you had to be born female to be a girl was utterly hateful. Because, again, gender was a construct—something society imposed, something words merely described, not defined.

Fine.

And what about boys? How could he describe a boy without falling into stereotypes? And yet, he knew many boys who didn’t fit those molds. Dazai didn’t want to be a boy or a girl—or anything, really. But the problem was, no one really knew what he wanted to be.

No.

What they were.
What Dazai was.

It was so confusing.

“But that’s just me. I—I honestly don’t mind that,” Atsushi quickly added, a trace of panic behind his voice. “But I think it would be interesting to be a girl. Is it interesting to be a girl, Dazai-san? Do you like it?”

“It's certainly interesting,” Dazai replied quietly, voice almost a whisper.

Dazai had a horrible weekend.

Their period cramps had been merciless some days, manageable others, but always lingering. The worst day was Sunday, supposed to be the last day of their period. Still, Dazai felt as if something was tearing their body apart from the inside out, so violently they almost wanted to vomit. But they didn't—puking wasn’t something they liked. In fact, Dazai feared it irrationally, even if they knew it was silly.

And if that wasn’t enough, their mind had been acting strange. They found themselves falling into temptation—literally, in the bathroom—blood smeared across the sink, not from down there, but from the veins in their wrist.

Their days lately had been passing so quickly, so dull, that they couldn’t tell when one ended and another began. Time was a blur—confusing, untrustworthy. In the midst of that fog, Dazai took a pair of scissors, stood before the mirror, and almost cut their hair. Almost. Because something in them, some quiet voice, told them not to be reckless. Their father was still out of town, and their mother was home that evening.

Dazai decided to ask her to cut their hair instead.

Against all their fears, she accepted eagerly. At first, she suggested going to a salon the next day, but Dazai insisted—they wanted her to do it now.

“Sit, sit. Let’s find a haircut you like, okay?” She nodded and scrolled through her phone.

Dazai sat beside her, blinking at the images flickering on the screen, feeling distant.

“Do you like this one? Oh! Or this? How do you want it, darling?”

“I want it short,” they said softly.

“Oh, that’s such a change. I like it. I’m not a professional, but I used to cut my own hair, you know?” She chuckled, leaning lightly against Dazai’s side. “What about this style? Or do you want it even shorter?”

“No… that one,” Dazai replied, voice steady but distant.

She guided Dazai to sit in the chair at her desk, positioning them to face the mirror in her room. She sprayed water onto their hair, combed it meticulously, then watched a few videos on her phone to gather tips. When she felt ready, she began to cut.

It wasn’t extremely short.

Their hair now fell just over their shoulders, layered and wavy, the ends curled slightly, giving a softer look. She wasn’t a hairdresser, so it was a little uneven—yet, she did her best to fix it until it looked decent. The next morning, Dazai made sure to brush it carefully, wanting it to look nice.

When their hair was long, it was usually straight or only curled at the ends. Now, it was genuinely wavy—a change that felt strangely freeing.

Dazai liked it.

“Who are you?”

They looked up from their phone and met Chuuya’s gaze.

“Do you have memory loss? Such a shame…” Dazai teased, voice light but with an edge of sarcasm. “I'm the love of—”

“Dumbass. I mean, you’re unrecognizable,” Chuuya cut them off, studying them with a mixture of surprise and curiosity. He leaned on the desk, giving them a pointed look. “Why the change?”

Dazai blinked, a slow smirk curling their lips. “I felt like it. Why?”

Chuuya shrugged casually and turned away, walking off without another word.

Strange.
(But Chuuya was weird, always.)

They never were close. Usually, they just bickered—over class assignments, trivial things—and that was all. Chuuya had his own group, Dazai had theirs. That was the normal order of things.

Until Chuuya decided to break that order—by breaking into tiny pieces that seemed to just fall to the ground and make everything strange.

“You’re good with games, right?” Chuuya asked casually as he sat down next to Dazai during break. Without waiting for a response, he shoved his phone into Dazai’s hand.

Dazai blinked a few times, trying to process what the hell was happening. “What.”

“Focus,” Chuuya said simply, eyes fixed on the screen.

Dazai frowned, gripping the phone firmly to prevent the car in the game from crashing into a fallen tree. “Can’t you do it, slug?”

“Where’s the boy that always sits with you?” Chuuya asked instead, very bluntly, and without hesitation, grabbed one of the crackers from Dazai’s tray.

Dazai huffed, fingers still on the screen, trying to steer the car. “He’s sick. Why are you here and not with your friends?”

“Because,” Chuuya replied, shrugging nonchalantly.

“I think I’m gonna lose…”

Chuuya clicked his tongue. “Focus. I’m here because I felt like it.”

Wow. Chuuya was applying that now.

“Oh, so Chuuya actually likes me,” Dazai teased, a smirk creeping onto their face.

“Win the game, and we’ll see how much,” Chuuya shot back, ignoring the tease.

And for some inexplicable reason, they kept talking. Not bickering like usual, but actually talking. It felt so surreal Dazai wasn’t sure how to feel about it. They discussed games—because, apparently, that was what they had in common.

And what was even weirder still? Chuuya actually invited them over.

Dazai spent thirty minutes just staring at the wall of their room, processing the fact. It was so far out of the norm, so unlike anything they’d expect from Chuuya. Why had he just decided to hang out with them? It didn’t make sense.

No.

The weirder part was that Dazai said yes.

So there they were.

Chuuya’s house wasn’t exactly small, but it felt different from Dazai’s. It had two floors, though they didn’t seem to go upstairs. Chuuya’s room was on the first floor, to the left, with the kitchen at the back and the living room decorated with soft blue couches and pictures on the walls.

Chuuya’s room suited him perfectly.

Posters covered the walls—though Dazai didn’t recognize the bands, he was pretty sure it was rock or something similar. The room was organized, but dark—walls painted in deep blue. And there was something really cute, despite the darkness—something Chuuya tried to hide by opening the windows quickly. On the ceiling, tiny fluorescent stars shimmered softly in the dark, glowing gently in the night. In front of Chuuya’s bed was a TV, a desk tucked in one corner, a plushie on the sofa by the window, and a closet on the other side. At the very back was a door leading to the bathroom.

Oh—something very important to mention.

Chuuya had a dog.

“Oh! It’s like you. Chuuya, you didn’t tell me you had a twin!” Dazai laughed.

Chuuya blinked, looking at the puppy, then at Dazai with a mixture of surprise and disbelief. “Are you fucking serious?”

Fair enough.

The puppy’s fur was black, which explained why Chuuya looked so puzzled. But, honestly, the puppy and Chuuya were very much alike. People said dogs looked like their owners, right? Dazai was just proving that. The puppy, named Agatha, barked incessantly, which made Dazai’s head ache a little. Chuuya had to carry her upstairs to calm her down.

“Is she like that all the time? Or am I special?” Dazai asked, propping themselves up on their hands, sitting on the edge of the bed.

“She’s like that with everyone,” Chuuya huffed, crouching down to gather things for the game. “Even with people she already knows. Like, she forgets everything.”

“I read that small breeds are very territorial. It must be that,” Dazai commented, watching Chuuya with interest. “How old is she?”

“Three years old.”

“Well…”

“My dad says she’s just spoiled—probably true,” Chuuya muttered, standing up. “We spoil her too much. She even sleeps in our beds.”

“Wow.”

Chuuya made a face and sat on the floor, by the foot of the bed. He handed Dazai a controller. “What do you wanna play?”

They started with Mario Party and a few other games Chuuya had, but eventually ended up playing Mortal Kombat. They didn’t talk much—mostly because it was hard to—though Dazai found Chuuya’s reactions hilarious. He screamed, growled, and complained when losing, which only made Dazai laugh more. Watching Chuuya lose was amusing.

And he was losing a lot.

Not because he was bad—Chuuya was actually good—but because Dazai was better. Chuuya fought against that fact with stubborn frustration.

At some point, Dazai ended up sitting on the floor beside Chuuya. And, oh, boy—Chuuya was burning. It made sense; he was yelling and growling, clearly furious. Still, Dazai didn’t quite know how to feel about it.

They took a break after a long four hours of gaming. It was about six p.m. Chuuya went to grab a snack, and Dazai stayed seated, staring at the screen in silence.

Chuuya wasn’t that bad after all.

“Here.”

Dazai looked down at the cold bottle resting on their lap. “Thanks…” they murmured.

Chuuya flopped down beside them, sighing deeply. He took a long drink from his water bottle. “My dads told me they’re soulmates, and that they found out because they literally bumped into each other in college. But my father didn’t want to get his hopes up, and my dad did want him already... or was it the other way around? Anyway, it was a constant push and pull.”

Dazai didn’t quite understand who was ‘dad’ and who was ‘father,’ but they had seen Chuuya’s parents before. Judging by their first impressions, Dazai guessed ‘father’ was Paul—the more serious-looking one—and ‘dad’ was Arthur. But they could be wrong.

“Yeah, imagine your soulmate is a stranger. What if they’re a serial killer?” Dazai asked dramatically. “Honestly, soulmates are so weird.”

Chuuya hummed in agreement. “If you met your soulmate, what would you do? Say, they’re someone from school, but you don’t know much about them.”

Dazai narrowed their eyes, studying Chuuya for a moment. “Well, considering they can also see the string… I don’t know. It depends on the person. If they’re pretty, I might be willing to accept knowing them.”

“Hm…” Chuuya rolled his eyes. “Yeah.”

“Your soulmate might be someone from school. So, what would you do when you find them?” Dazai asked, taking a sip of water and leaning against the footboard.

Chuuya looked down at the bottle between his fingers, silent for a moment. “I’d probably try to talk to them. I don’t think I’d ignore that,” he finally said.

Dazai nodded. “Fair. Haven’t you tried following the string?”

“I don’t have time for that, dumbass.”

Dazai chuckled.

“Hi, Atsushi-kun! This is Chuuya. Chuuya, this is Atsushi,” Dazai introduced them to each other. “Chuuya is my classmate,” they said, leaning back comfortably in the chair. “Atsushi is in ninth grade.”

“Nice to meet you,” Atsushi smiled, offering his hand to Chuuya.

Chuuya eyed him suspiciously for a moment before smiling back and shaking his hand. “Nice to meet you too.”

Dazai clasped their hands together with a grin. “Chuuya, here, for a very weird reason, decided to join us during lunch, Atsushi-kun. I know we’re used to just the two of us, but, well—what they say? The more, the merrier.”

Atsushi nodded and sat down across from Dazai at the table. “Of course. Also, what do you mean ‘a weird reason’?”

“Well, Chuuya—” Dazai started, but Chuuya cut them off quickly.

“Nothing. I just wanted to sit here,” Chuuya said casually, dropping down next to Dazai. “So, you’re in ninth grade. Do you happen to know a boy named Akutagawa?”

Atsushi blinked. “Yes, he’s in my class. Why? Do you know him?”

“Hm!” Chuuya tilted his head. “We used to go to the same park when we were younger. Do you and he get along, or not?”

Atsushi scratched the back of his neck. “I don’t have anything against him. But I think he doesn’t like me.”

Chuuya nodded thoughtfully. “That boy is complicated.”

Dazai sighed loudly—and dramatically. “I don’t know him,” they complained. “Can someone give me some context?”

Chuuya shrugged. “The important thing here is that he already has his red string,” he said, completely ignoring Dazai.

“What? But he’s not even fifteen,” Atsushi frowned.

“Does he?” Dazai rested their cheek on their palm. “That’s crazy,” they said flatly.

“Well, some people get their string earlier,” Chuuya whispered, leaning in across the table. “He told me he doesn’t want to be with his soulmate because he found out his soulmate is a boy.”

“Oh,” Atsushi said softly. “And he’s straight?”

Chuuya nodded. “He said he doesn’t want to be close because he doesn’t want the boy to have expectations.”

“That’s sad,” Atsushi murmured.

“Completely,” Dazai sighed. “Now, can we talk about anything the three of us actually know about?”

Chuuya rolled his eyes and sat back. “No. Fuck off.”

“…Chuuya-san.”

Dazai pressed a hand to their heart. “Always so rude!”

And even though Dazai didn't fully understand why Chuuya decided to sit with them at lunch every day, it somehow kept happening. Day after day, Chuuya would settle next to them, sometimes with a smirk, sometimes with a shrug, but always with that same casual attitude. Atsushi and Chuuya quickly formed a good friendship. Yes, Chuuya was blunt—sometimes brutally so—and Atsushi was a little shy, often hesitating before speaking, but it all worked out. They balanced each other out.

Dazai liked to listen to their conversations, even if they weren’t always part of them. It was like a comforting background noise—light, easy, and familiar. They’d talk about school, their favorite music, silly jokes, or plans for the weekend.

Eventually, Chuuya, with that mischievous glint in his eye, invited them both over to his house. Dazai, who usually didn’t say no to a good time, found themselves agreeing without hesitation.

And honestly, it was fun. Dazai wouldn’t deny it.

Chuuya only had two controllers, but that didn’t stop the three of them from playing together. They took turns, teasing each other and trash-talking over the games. Atsushi wasn’t much of a gamer—he’d admit it himself—so he lost a lot, which Dazai found amusing. Chuuya kept reassuring him, saying that winning wasn’t important, and that having fun was what mattered most. Still, Atsushi sometimes looked a little self-conscious, like he didn’t quite belong on the same level as Dazai and Chuuya when it came to gaming.

Wanting to lift Atsushi’s spirits, Chuuya suggested they go outside to play. The sun was shining bright, and the backyard was perfect for running around. But that’s where Dazai started to feel out of place.

Both Atsushi and Chuuya were bursting with energy—running, jumping, chasing each other with wild abandon. Dazai, on the other hand, felt the fatigue creeping in after just two minutes of nonstop running. They tried to keep up, but their legs felt like lead, and their breath was getting shallow. Eventually, they collapsed onto the grass, staring up at the orange sky as the sun began to set.

The grass itched uncomfortably against their skin, but their heart was pounding so loudly in their chest, it felt like it wanted to jump out. They watched the clouds drift lazily, feeling both exhausted and strangely peaceful.

“You’re so bad at this,” Chuuya teased, standing over them with that proud grin he always had. “Atsushi! Come back! Dazai is dying!”

Atsushi’s quick footsteps appeared in their line of sight, and soon his face hovered above Dazai, breathing heavily.

“Are you okay, Dazai-san?” Atsushi asked breathlessly, concern evident in his eyes.

“Amazing,” Dazai replied dramatically, voice dripping with sarcasm. “I’m just melting here.”

Chuuya snorted and shook his head. “Come on. Let’s get inside,” he said, waving dismissively.

And so, it kept happening—Chuuya kept inviting them over. Sometimes Atsushi couldn’t make it because he was stuck in a club after school or had other commitments. Sometimes it was just Dazai and Chuuya; and honestly, that was fine. Dazai didn’t mind at all. Chuuya wasn’t that bad—actually, it was pretty fun to annoy him, and Chuuya’s stubbornness made it all the more entertaining.

By the start of June, Dazai had even taken Chuuya’s puppy, Agatha, for a walk around a nearby park. It became a routine, and Dazai enjoyed those quiet moments. They also got to know Chuuya’s family better. Dazai already knew about his dads, Paul and Arthur. Arthur seemed to like Dazai more than Paul, but Dazai wasn’t sure if that was just his impression or real.

Chuuya had an aunt—or so he called her—Kōyō. It was a bit confusing since she wasn’t related to Paul or Arthur, but Chuuya called her family. Dazai even met her and her daughter, Kyōka, through a video call. Kyōka was shy, a quiet girl whom Kōyō had adopted. She seemed sweet, and Dazai was happy to meet her.

Dazai also spent some nights over at Chuuya’s house during June. It was summer holidays, and Dazai preferred to stay away from their own house—mainly because their father was there, and Dazai didn’t want to deal with him. Atsushi sometimes joined, but most of the time, he spent his holidays in Osaka.

So, once again, it was just Dazai and Chuuya.

“Just admit it, you're condemned to be short,” Dazai teased, bumping their shoulders playfully.

They were on the balcony of Chuuya’s parents’ room, taking advantage of the rare opportunity since no one was at home. It was the first time Dazai had been upstairs in this house. The second floor only had two rooms—one belonging to Chuuya’s parents, and another that Chuuya said used to be Kōyō’s. Not much else to see.

The night was dark, with only a few stars peeking through the clouds, and the moon was hidden behind a thick veil. The summer heat had been relentless—annoying and exhausting—and this cool, breezy night was a welcome relief. It was so peaceful, so different from the oppressive days they'd endured.

Chuuya leaned against the railing, clicking his tongue softly. “I’m still growing, dumbass.”

“Hm, lie to yourself,” Dazai replied with a grin.

Chuuya elbowed them lightly. “You’re, like, five centimeters taller than me.”

“But have you seen my parents?” Dazai chuckled. “They’re tall. It’s in my genetics.”

Chuuya snorted, turning his face away, but Dazai kept watching him. They stared at the side of Chuuya’s face—how his hair was tousled by the wind, sometimes framing his face, sometimes just moving it slightly. They watched how his lashes fluttered every so often, and how his profile was sharp yet gentle—the curve of his nose, the slight smile on his lips.

And they liked what they saw.

“If you had the choice,” Dazai began softly, “would you choose to be a girl?”

Chuuya glanced at them, frowning in confusion. “I don’t know.” He shrugged. “I guess, if I could, I’d choose it—just to see what it’s like, for curiosity’s sake. But…” He hesitated. “Why do you ask?”

“Can’t one just ask random stuff now?” Dazai huffed dramatically, then looked up at the sky, pretending to ponder the universe.

Chuuya clicked his tongue again. “And you? Would you choose to be a boy?”

Dazai paused to think—something they’d done countless times before. Even so, the question caught them off guard, making their thoughts spin. “Maybe,” they finally murmured.

Chuuya chuckled quietly. “That’s an interesting image.”

“You think?”

“Hm.”

Dazai hesitated, then blurted out, “Honestly, I don’t feel like a girl or a boy.” The words spilled out before they could think too much about it. And they immediately regretted it—though, really, they already knew they couldn’t take it back.

There was silence.
Thick, heavy silence.

Dazai didn’t look at Chuuya, not because they feared his reaction, but because they didn’t expect anything hurtful or weird from him. Truly. Still, the feeling was strange—like a weight pressing down, a heavy rock lodged uncomfortably in their shoe.

“Then…?” Chuuya murmured, breaking the silence, and gently placed his hand on Dazai’s forearm.

Dazai let out a nervous, almost awkward chuckle. “Uh…” they whispered. They could feel the blood rushing to their cheeks, and they weren’t sure why.

Chuuya got a piercing. Dazai went with him, just for moral support.

Getting Chuuya’s parents’ permission wasn’t hard—well, Paul didn’t want it, but Arthur convinced him. In fact, Arthur was there with them when Chuuya got his tongue pierced.

To Dazai, it sounded absolutely painful, and they hated anything that involved pain. But after Chuuya got it that day, he looked completely bright—so it was probably worth it. Chuuya was given a list of things he had to do for the piercing to heal properly. And Chuuya followed those instructions diligently, Dazai witnessed it firsthand. Chuuya cleaned it twice a day, used mouthwash, avoided spicy and cold foods.

And he made sure to brag about it constantly to Dazai.

“You’re drooling,” Dazai teased, smirking at the way Chuuya was sticking out his tongue.

Chuuya quickly closed his mouth. “Liar.”

Then, suddenly, Dazai’s sixteenth birthday arrived.

Their mother decided to throw a little party, so Dazai had to invite their classmates—even though they barely talked to most of them. They didn’t want their mother thinking they were lonely, which they weren’t. Dazai had Chuuya and Atsushi there, of course. They also invited Oda—yes, their Literature teacher—because Dazai thought he was pretty cool.

And Dazai didn’t feel bad that day.

There was only one tiny problem.

“But you look so cute, Osamu!” their mother smiled brightly.

Dazai frowned. “I don’t like this dress.”

She sighed dramatically. “Fine. Go dress whatever you want,” she huffed, giving up.

In the end, Dazai wore the damn dress anyway.

It was a light blue, off-the-shoulder dress with a ruffled neckline. It was fitted at the waist and had a flowy, knee-length skirt. Dazai had to take off the bandages around their neck because it looked weird with the dress. They used some of their mother’s makeup to cover any scars on their skin, but kept the bandages around their arms.

Their mother brushed their hair and clipped a small, heart-shaped hairpin into it.

Dazai felt…
They weren’t quite sure how they felt.
They didn’t hate it, though.

“Dazai-san! You look amazing,” Atsushi said as he approached. “The blue really suits you. Happy birthday.” He handed Dazai a small box.

Dazai smiled and took it. “Thank you, Atsushi-kun. You look good too—like a little angel in white.”

Atsushi chuckled softly.

Deciding to open the gift right then and there, mostly to distract themselves from noticing Chuuya who had just arrived, Dazai tore off the wrapping. Inside was a watch.

“Oh, it’s so pretty,” Dazai blinked, genuinely impressed. “Thank you.”

Atsushi grinned, clearly proud of himself. “You’re welcome.”

Dazai slipped the watch onto their wrist, admiring it dramatically—using it as a distraction to bury any weird feelings trying to surface before Chuuya approached. When he was right there, Dazai pretended they didn’t notice how Chuuya looked them up and down.

“Happy birthday, Dazai,” Chuuya said softly, pressing a small bag into Dazai’s hand. “Here. Do you have your red string already?”

“Nope!” Dazai shrugged, glancing at the bag.

“You said you wanted it. I hope you still do,” Chuuya said, a hint of seriousness in his voice.

Dazai opened it. “Oh! I said that like three centuries ago—how did you remember?” They laughed, looking at the contents—a book. “Also, I was joking about that, but thanks.”

Chuuya scowled. “So you don’t like it? I can change it. I think I have the—”

Dazai shook their head quickly. “It’s fine. Truly.”

Chuuya huffed and crossed his arms over his chest.

[26th of June]

Dazai:
[03:06] ⟨video⟩

Slug:
[08:30] lol?
[10:03] ⟨picture attached⟩ the nerve

Dazai:
[10:43] your phone is dying
[10:45] ?? who is that

Slug:
[11:00] right. no one, you don't know her.

Dazai:
[11:01] ?????

When they got back to school after summer holidays, something else had changed.

Now, not only did Chuuya sit with them at lunch, but he also sat near Dazai in classes. It was obvious at that point that Chuuya had fought with his friends—because they still sat where Chuuya used to, looked the same as always, but Chuuya wasn’t with them anymore. Dazai was curious—and he asked, but Chuuya only said they were jerks, and he wasn’t friends with jerks.

Chuuya was part of a club, but during the first part of the school year, the meetings had been short. However, from August onward and for the rest of the year, those meetings got very long. Dazai had been avoiding all afterschool clubs, but since Chuuya didn’t leave school until late and Dazai didn’t want to go home until night, they had to pick one.

Well, no.

Dazai had technically joined an art club. Technically, because they never went at all. But now, they had to. The art club was… interesting, to put it into words. The leader—or the captain, as she liked to be called—always had very weird activities for them to do. And even though Dazai felt zero creativity, they forced themselves to do each one.

The art club had some good things, though.

They couldn’t say they hated it. Dazai met some people there. And, well, as they said, artists were always eccentric—that wasn’t a lie, or an insult. It was true. The most talented people in the club were really unique. And that was pretty cool. Also, they were very open-minded. The sessions always focused on expressions, feelings, and thoughts, and sometimes they had to talk about each other’s pieces. During those times, Dazai discovered there were a lot of people who had issues with their gender and sexuality.

By the end of September, Dazai actually started to look forward to the art club.

Then, during lunch, someone else joined them.

That was when Dazai met Akutagawa. He was in Atsushi’s class and, in Dazai’s opinion, very emo. Also, Dazai began to suspect Atsushi was Akutagawa’s soulmate—but of course, they didn’t say it. It wasn’t their business.

October started with weird feelings.

Dazai couldn’t say those feelings were new, though. Since meeting Chuuya, they’d thought about his looks—that’s the best way to put it. Chuuya was attractive, had a nice voice, mismatched eyes, freckles, and ginger hair. Of course, he was handsome. Dazai hadn’t paid much attention to it before. But lately… they did. And it was weird. Really weird. Dazai didn’t want to think about it.

But intrusive thoughts had been friends with Dazai forever.

What if you like him?, they wondered.

And from then on, Dazai had been searching for reasons to deny it to themselves.

Did it work? Not much.
Did they keep trying? Absolutely.

But they didn’t even understand how they truly felt. They didn’t see themselves in a relationship… and there it was—they were actually thinking about relationships. Ugh.

“You cut your hair more,” Chuuya said as he sat next to Dazai at the bottom of the stairs.

“Surprise,” Dazai murmured, giving him a brief smile before burying their face in their knees again.

“What's wrong with you?” Chuuya asked, bumping their shoulders lightly.

“What is not wrong with me?”

“Right. Whatever, spill it.”

Dazai sighed. “Cramps.”

“Ah…” Chuuya clicked his tongue. “Do you want me to see if I can find a pill?”

“I’m fine.”

They stayed in silence for a long, long moment.

“You look good—I mean, with that haircut,” Chuuya muttered, leaning against them.

Dazai hummed under their breath. “Of course I look amazing, slug.”

Chuuya huffed.

“I'm hungry. Chuuya could buy something for me to eat,” Dazai said, batting their lashes innocently.

“Why would I?”

“Because he’s a gentleman.”

That was all it took.

Chuuya came back a few minutes later with a bag of chips and a soda. Dazai kind of liked to use the fact that Chuuya seemed to do almost—almost—everything if Dazai pointed out they were a girl and Chuuya, a boy.

It was funny.

[27th of October]

Slug:
[20:17] ⟨replying to "but it's…"⟩ that's so u
[20:17] her music sounds good, tho

Dazai:
[20:20] your music taste is very questionable, chuuya, you can't judge me

Slug:
[20:22] ⟨replying to "link…"⟩ isn't she from Disney?

Dazai:
[20:25] she acted in sam & cat, that's not Disney, dummy

Slug:
[20:35] i had to look it up. never watched it, but I've seen her.
[20:26] ⟨replying to "your music taste…"⟩ stfu, my music taste is great, mackerel

Dazai:
[20:27] ¬_¬ sure…

Slug:
[22:01] nvm wanna play? i found where to get minecraft free

Dazai:
[22:05] i can buy it for u if you want
[22:05] what if it kills your compu?

Slug:
[22:06] 🙄
[22:07] my compu is just fine so far
[22:08] ⟨replying to "i can buy…"⟩ but if you wanna, i won't complain

Dazai:
[22:11] why don't you ask your dads for it?

Slug:
[22:12] r u crazy? they'll tell me is a waste of money, which is.

Dazai:
[22:14]Fine. i trust u, so i'll give you the card info

Slug:
[22:15] 💛

Dazai:
[22:16] ⟨replying to "💛"⟩ i'm scared, who are u

Slug:
[22:18] ⟨picture attached⟩ where do i click?

Dazai:
[22:20] I should make you beg for it, that would fun.

Slug:
[22:22] son of a bitch

Dazai:
[22:24] ⟨picture attached⟩ there. go to buy and put this info

Slug:
[22:25] 😇

⬅️➡️🔄 ⏏️ ‖ ⌊what does the yellow heart mean ⌋🔍

All  Images Videos Shopping News More ⁛  Tools ⁝

_______________________________________________________________
The yellow heart emoji (💛) generally symbolizes friendship,
happiness, positivity, and care, often representing platonic affection
rather than romantic love. It is frequently used to show support,
cheerfulness, or love for things associated with the color yellow.

🟢wikiHow ⟩Emoticons and Emojis.
____________________________________________________________

November didn't end in the best way.

Most of their class moved on to the next year. The problem wasn’t academic—Dazai had one of the highest averages, and Chuuya and they were perfectly fine. But… there was something that wasn’t. And it had never really been. However, once all the homework and academic stress left Dazai, something else took its place. Dazai felt guilty—they’d been using school to forget what was in their mind.

So now, things didn’t feel amazing.
And how could they?

Dazai felt wrong—completely wrong. There was nothing right in their life, or so they thought. There was no moment they felt at peace with themselves. Every time Dazai looked in the mirror, they felt like they were watching someone else. Not Dazai. Not someone they recognized. But they also didn’t know how they looked then, or how they wanted to look.

And it wasn’t that Dazai hated their body.
It just felt wrong.

Something did.
Or maybe everything did.

Their father kept bringing up the fact that Dazai had cut their hair, clearly disgusted by it. Their mother didn’t say anything at all—though she helped Dazai do it. And Dazai didn’t know how to defend themselves because they didn’t know how to feel at all.

And Dazai was a coward.

So they decided to end it all.

But, sadly, they were interrupted.

“Osamu, dear! The series you wanted to watch is finally out.”

…Dazai was a coward.

They simply left the razor where it was, washed their face, took a deep breath, and opened the door of their room.

Their mother smiled at them. “Come on, come on. It has like ten chapters—we have to watch as much as we can,” she said, grabbing Dazai's wrist. And Dazai let her.

Even though Dazai tried to focus on the show, they couldn’t. They felt like they didn’t deserve to be there, enjoying a series—they should be dead. Their mind raced and raced. But Dazai was scared. They weren’t sure of what. But just the thought of it made their chest tighten. And it hurt.

It hurt a lot.

It hurt to think they didn’t even deserve to think about Chuuya, because that could open the chance of being liked back.

It hurt to think Chuuya would absolutely never like them.

It hurt to think they were useless and should die.

It hurt to think watching a series was a treat.

It hurt to think they deserved pain.

It hurt.

“Oh… Osamu?”

Dazai pressed their face against their mother’s shoulder, clutching her shirt tightly.

“Are you okay?” she asked softly, gently running her fingers through Dazai’s hair. At Dazai’s silence, she paused the show. “Osamu, I’m worried. Talk to me.”

Dazai didn’t want to talk. They just wanted the pain to stop, wanted everything to simply end, but they didn’t want their mother to worry. They didn’t even think this was a good idea.

It was a bad idea.

They didn’t know why they even thought it might be good in the first place.

...But, well.

Mothers were supposed to be there for moments like this, right?

Dazai remained silent for a moment, trying to gather their thoughts. They didn’t want to say much—just enough for her to understand what was happening.

“I want to die,” they finally whispered.

She immediately pulled Dazai away. “What? No. Why would you want that?” she frowned, panic in her voice.

Dazai swallowed hard, looking into her eyes, a little scared. But they didn’t say anything. They just shook their head slightly.

“My little angel,” she murmured, her expression filled with concern. She cupped Dazai’s cheeks gently. “Talk to me.”

Dazai shook their head again, blinking back tears.

She pulled them into a hug. “I’m here, okay? And I love you—I really do. I know I’m not the best mother, I know, but I’ve loved you since the day you were born. You’re the little girl I always wanted to have,” she whispered, pressing a soft kiss to Dazai’s forehead. “You’re so young and beautiful and smart… You have a life to live. And you can’t leave me.”

Her words were soft, a little rushed, as if she needed to say everything at once. But her embrace made Dazai feel like glass—fragile, precious. For a tiny moment, Dazai decided they deserved this. That they deserved to hear their mother’s words, to know they were loved, to know they were seen—even if just a little.

“I know I was bad with you when you were a baby,” she continued. “I was just eighteen, I didn’t want to take care of babies, all my friends were partying… But I love you, you hear me? I wasn’t mature, I was a kid. But right now, I love you. And if you were gone, it would break my heart.”

Dazai hated to cry.

It was horrible. It made their mind feel fuzzy, it made their eyes feel funny, sometimes their nose ran, their heart clenched painfully, and they felt pathetic. Crying was something Dazai loathed, and they always tried to avoid it. They preferred everything over that.

So, it felt wrong to cry against their mother’s shoulder. And Dazai tried to stop it.

But it was useless.

Because they felt horrible. They felt like they shouldn’t have said that to her. They should have stayed silent. They should have just disappeared when they had the chance. They should have died before, in one of their attempts. They should have never been born.

And because they wanted her words to be true. They really did. And that made Dazai feel so pathetic.

Why did they want her love?
Why did they crave her kind words?
Why? Why was she suddenly so important?

Why did Dazai want to die in the first place?
Why did they have to suffer?
Why was their mind like this?
What was wrong with them?

“Osamu,” she whispered and gently pulled back. “I don’t want you to die. I created you—I don’t want you to just disappear. If I could, I would make you immortal.”

Dazai blinked hard, trying to focus their vision. “Heh… that sounds like torture,” they murmured, voice a little wet. “I’d see all my friends die. And I’d be—uh—taken by the government.”

She smiled softly, brushing their bangs out of their face. “You’re right.” She tilted her head. “Tell me, do you feel like that often?”

Dazai made a face, then sniffled softly.

“Okay.” She rolled her eyes fondly. “I just don’t want you to think like that,” she huffed. “I know we all feel sad, but… uh… you have a history. Have you tried to…” She trailed off.

“Not lately.”

“Okay, that’s good. You don’t deserve that, do you hear me?” She frowned slightly. “You deserve love and kisses, and a boyfriend.”

“Mom,” Dazai groaned, rolling their eyes.

She chuckled and pulled them into a hug again. She hummed softly under her breath, caressing their back gently. Dazai always felt nostalgia with her scent—her very unique smell. Was that what people called a mom’s scent?

“Can I tell you something?” Dazai murmured.

“You can tell me anything,” she replied, pulling back and brushing some of Dazai’s hair out of their face. “I might not understand, but you can explain it to me.”

Dazai chewed on their bottom lip, hesitating.

But they’d already told her the worst.

Fuck it.

“I don’t feel like a girl.”

[20th of December]

Dazai:
[03:04] ⟨link attached⟩ that's so you

Slug:
[03:25] wtf that's a fucking bug
[03:26] i'm gonna block you.

Dazai:
[03:27] what? it's a cute cockroach

Slug:
[03:28] i'm fuckin blockin u

Dazai:
[03:28] noooo (┬┬﹏┬┬) who i'm gonna annoy now

Slug:
[04:25] ⟨link attached⟩ u

Dazai:
[04:27] a
[04:28] evil slug. Poor fish
[04:30] ⟨link attached⟩ ಠ⁠_⁠ಠ

Slug:
[04:35] noooooo, why would they do that?! salt kills slugs!
[04:36] WHY U SENT THAT?!
[04:37] I FUCKIN HATE U

Dazai:
[04:28] chuuya?
[04:30] oh, you really blocked me

[21th of December]

 Dazai:
[10:30] chuuya?
[11:40] ooooh, that u got skin to skin oh my god don't you step? boy
[11:40] somethin bout u makes me feel like a dangerous woman
[11:42] uuuuuu, make me wanna do things then i shouldn't
[11:43] bad girls wanna be like that, bad girls only??? don't remember

[13:45] so one last time i need to be the one who takes you home
[13:46] one more time i promise after that, I'll let you go
[13:47] babe, I don't care if you got her in your heart, all I really care is you wake up in my arms

[22th of December]

Dazai:
[15:33] page 12
[18:59] page 24
[20:03] page 44
[23:07] pag 56

[23th of December]

Dazai:
[9:08] page 63
[10:56] ⟨picture attached⟩
[14:44] page 68
[24:33] ⟨link attached⟩
[24:56] ⟨link attached⟩

[24th of December]

Slug:
[18:06] ⟨replying to "page…"⟩: ???
[18:07] wanna come over 2 mine? my dads are goin' to do dinner

Dazai:
[18:07] oooh, you love me again!! (❁´◡`❁) when did you unblock me?
[18:07]♪(´▽｀) i'll ask for permission
[18:10] save me a seat.

Slug:
[18:11] cool.
[18:12] ⟨replying to "ooh…"⟩ no
[18:13] ⟨replying to "ooh…"⟩ yesterday
[18:15] ⟨picture attached⟩: my cousin is here.

Dazai:
[18:16] awwwww, she's so cute! how old is she?

Slug:
[18:16] 12

Dazai:
[18:17] makes sense. she still have life in her eyes

Slug:
[18:17] has*, dumbass. did you forget everything cuz of holidays?

Dazai:
[18:18] didn't know i was chatting with the grammar police ಥ_ಥ
[18:18] considering how bad you type

Slug:
[18:20] fuck you
[18:21] you're the most annoying girl I know

Dazai:
[18:23] ⟨deleted⟩
[18:25] but i'm glad i have that place in your heart

Slug:
[18:30] it's not somethin to be proud of
[18:31] ⟨replying to "i'm not girl…"⟩ wdym
[18:33] ??????
[18:35] why did you delete it?????

Dazai was so full they felt like a whale. Kōyō kept offering them more food, and Dazai felt bad saying no, so they kept accepting it. In the end, Chuuya miraculously noticed their suffering and told his aunt to stop.

Everyone there treated Dazai very well; they were too nice, really. Chuuya's cousin, Kyōka, played with them before dinner and showed them her bunny plushie, which she said was her most precious possession. Chuuya's dads joked a lot during dinner, and Chuuya didn't help matters, so Dazai endured a lot of teasing—which they didn't actually mind. Dazai had picked up a gift on the way; they couldn't show up to a Christmas dinner empty-handed, of course. It was an iron, because Chuuya had mentioned his was broken and his dads hadn't bought a new one yet.

Around midnight, Kōyō and Kyōka went upstairs, Paul and Arthur sent Chuuya to rest, and Dazai decided to spend the night. Dazai had stayed over at Chuuya's house so many times that they already had a pair of pajamas there.

“Four-twenty-nine... Chuuya's so predictable,” Dazai said as they unlocked Chuuya's phone while lying on the bed. “Let's see…”

“Huh?! Give me that, asshole!” Chuuya ran from the bathroom door to the bed, holding a towel around himself with one hand and reaching out with the other.

Dazai scurried across the mattress, now sitting on the edge with their legs pulled up to their chest. “Oh, what's this? Tinder? Why does Chuuya have that thing?”

Chuuya's face flushed. “Give me my phone. I do not owe you explanations!”

Dazai stuck out their tongue. “Oh, how do you use this…?” They tapped the screen. “Uh, no. Too old. Meh. Oh, she's pretty.”

Chuuya climbed onto the bed and placed a hand on Dazai's knee, trying to nudge them aside. “Dazai. Really, give me that.”

Dazai gasped dramatically, eyes wide. “Chuuya! You could ask first, you know? You don't have to force yourself on me.”

Chuuya blinked slowly, clearly confused. Then he pulled back, glaring. “What the fuck, Dazai?”

Dazai laughed. “Let's see what else you have…” they murmured, as if nothing had happened.

“No. Give it to me!” Chuuya grabbed the phone and pulled, but Dazai held on tight. “Dazai.”

Dazai batted their lashes. “What.”

Chuuya pulled again, and again, until he finally snatched it back. “Ugh, you're so annoying.”

“Do you have something to hide? You're being so suspicious,” they teased.

“No. I just don't like people going through my phone.”

Dazai stuck out their tongue before huffing. “Sharing is good for the soul,” they said.

“You don't need my phone; use yours.”

Dazai sighed dramatically and sprawled out on the bed like a starfish. They twisted a little to look at Chuuya, who was rummaging for clothes in the closet. It wasn't the first time Chuuya had been half-naked in front of Dazai—and it wasn't the first time Dazai's mind had betrayed them. In their defense, Chuuya’s back was the only interesting thing in the room to look at.

Chuuya had freckles on his shoulders, very subtle; from behind, they could barely be seen. He also had some muscle—Dazai wasn't going to exaggerate, it wasn't much as Chuuya's figure was lean—but when he moved, it was visible. It would be a shame if it weren't, considering how often Chuuya exercised.

Thinking about Chuuya always triggered two things in Dazai. One: an annoying urge to touch him, because Chuuya's skin looked so… touchable. He always looked so fiery and annoyed, and Dazai found that handsome (a fact they hated admitting). Two: a weird weight on their chest. Chuuya was a boy, and Dazai still didn't know what they were—but lately, there was something very appealing in the thought of being a boy, too.

Dazai didn't know what to feel. They liked to think their gender wasn't important, but… maybe that wasn't so true anymore.

“I was going to tell you something... what was it?” Chuuya mumbled, snapping Dazai out of their thoughts. “Ah, yeah, yeah…” He turned around, already dressed—Dazai hadn't even realized time had passed so quickly. “About what you deleted earlier—”

“We should watch a movie,” Dazai said immediately, pushing down their nervousness and sitting up. “I feel like it.”

Chuuya frowned and sat on the edge of the bed. “If my dads hear noise, they'll scold me, so no.” He paused, his gaze narrowing. “I saw the message. You can't escape this conversation, idiot.”

“I made a mistake,” Dazai said with a nod, flashing a smirk. “I don't even know what I sent you—what was it? My keyboard must have been acting up.”

Chuuya sighed, clearly exasperated. “You texted something about not being a girl... said I was wrong when I called you the most annoying girl I know.” He stared at Dazai, clearly waiting for an answer he wasn't getting. “It’s not the first time you’ve said shit like this, Dazai.” He scowled. “That’s why I’m asking. And because Atsushi told me you’ve said stuff like that to him, too.”

“Traitor,” Dazai gasped, pressing a hand over their chest in mock offense.

“Yeah, whatever. Talk to me.” He leaned closer, jabbing a finger in Dazai's direction.

“Fu, fu. Chuuya is being so weird,” Dazai chuckled, waving it off. “Doesn't everyone say stuff like that sometimes?” They shrugged. “Chuuya is worrying too much. I was joking.”

They stared at each other.

Chuuya clearly didn’t believe a word of it, but Dazai wasn’t going to say another thing.

The rest of December passed too quickly; Dazai barely realized a new year had even started. If it weren't for the flood of messages and his mother coming into his room to hug him and say "Happy New Year," he wouldn't have known at all.

January wasn't any better. Dazai felt time flying by, whereas he was used to it being annoyingly slow. He didn't know what to think of it or why he felt that way. But January ended with a decision.

The relationship Dazai had with his mother was complicated, but he knew one thing for sure: he could ask for things without much of an explanation because his mother always claimed to "understand teenagers." So, when Dazai asked for money for new clothes, he was handed the credit card. Deciding that shopping alone was depressing, he invited Chuuya. And as it turned out, Chuuya seemed to love shopping.

“Am I being used as a dress-up doll?” Dazai whined dramatically as Chuuya adjusted the collar of a shirt.

“What do you mean? You said you wanted help,” Chuuya muttered, narrowing his eyes. “I'm not sure. I think soft colors are your thing…”

“Soft? I wanted to be a baddie like Chuuya,” Dazai teased.

Chuuya gave him a look. “Truly? You could get a piercing like mine, then.” And as always, when Chuuya talked about his piercing, he stuck out his tongue to show it off.

“No, thank you. That looked painful.”

“Did it?”

“Hm, I was literally there when you got it, so I know,” Dazai shrugged.

“Well, it didn't hurt—much,” Chuuya flashed a smirk.

Dazai blinked. “I kind of want to dress like Chuuya, though—not like a rock star, but you know…”

Chuuya tilted his head, frowning. “You want to dress like I do?” He pulled back. “Why would you want that?”

Dazai laughed at Chuuya's confused face. “Don't look at me like that. Let me rephrase.” He cleared his throat. “I want to dress like a boy.”

Because Dazai was almost completely sure that was what he wanted. What he was. A boy. And even though he was fully aware that clothing didn't define gender, he also knew that certain clothes would make it easier for him to be recognized as a boy by society. Also, he simply wanted to. He wanted to look like the idea of a boy—for now, at least.

It was a difficult thought to process—wanting to break stereotypes while simultaneously wanting to follow them.

But he had to make a choice.

He had to start somewhere.

“Ah…” Chuuya blinked slowly, looking even more confused than before. “Oh. Fine. I guess. Sure,” he nodded. “Should I…? I mean, is there something you want to tell me? You know—” he mumbled.

Dazai chuckled nervously. “Just help me with the clothes, Chuuya. I can see the smoke coming out of your little head.”

Chuuya’s confused frown immediately turned into an annoyed scowl. “Huh?!”

“Come on, come on, be a good dog—”

“I’m not a dog!”

Chuuya ended up helping, of course.

Dazai had never tried on so many clothes in his life, but it was all Chuuya’s fault—that little ginger kept suggesting things even when they already had a mountain of choices. They had arrived after lunch, around noon, and didn't end up heading home until six p.m. They barely even took a break, and only then because Dazai complained loudly about being hungry. They eventually had to call a taxi because they had too many bags to carry. And, of course, Dazai bought a few things for Chuuya, too.

Inviting Chuuya hadn't been a bad idea at all.

It wasn't just because Dazai liked spending time with him, but because Chuuya was... Chuuya. He didn’t pry or press for more information; he understood the mission and executed it perfectly.

School started again, and it was as boring as ever. The routine was the same as the previous year—meeting up after classes and clubs with Atsushi and Chuuya, hanging out, and repeating it all the next day. By March, however, the group had grown. Ranpo and Yosano had joined their class that year, and in no time, they all became friends. Both Yosano and Ranpo were loud and funny; it was clear why Chuuya got along with them so well.

Maybe too well.

Not that Dazai was jealous or anything like that. Not at all.

He was well aware of the annoying crush he had on Chuuya, but that didn't mean he was going to tell him. Actually, he was just waiting for the feeling to fade away so he could be free... but apparently, that wasn't happening anytime soon.

Whatever.

Jealousy wasn't the reason Dazai was following Chuuya around.

Jealousy wasn't why Dazai kept making excuses to get Chuuya alone—like distracting him in P.E. class or telling the rest of the group they couldn't hang out after school.

No. Of course not.

And it certainly wasn't the reason why he eventually ended up asking Chuuya such a dumb question.

“How do you imagine your soulmate?” Dazai asked, glancing at Chuuya out of the corner of his eye.

They were on the balcony of Chuuya’s dads’ room, taking advantage of the fact that the parents weren't home yet. Dazai was fairly certain he’d never seen Chuuya smoke before—his dads probably didn't even know—but Dazai didn't mention it.

Chuuya shrugged. “I really don’t know,” he murmured, offering the cigarette to Dazai for the third time.

Dazai shook his head. “Hm, what kind of people do you like, then?”

Chuuya took a drag. When he exhaled, Dazai watched the smoke drift away on the wind. Chuuya looked up at the night sky. “How do you imagine your soulmate, Dazai?”

“I asked first.” Dazai bumped their shoulders playfully.

Silence stretched between them for a while.

Dazai let it linger because Chuuya was wearing that specific frown he always got when he was thinking hard. Dazai didn't know what he was actually expecting, but the question had been haunting his mind lately—not because he was checking to see if someone fit the description. No... definitely not. (Yes).

He let the silence stay because Chuuya was comfortable to look at. And because, even though the smoke smelled weird and made Dazai’s nose itch, watching Chuuya do it made Dazai’s stomach flip—butterflies, he decided, because Chuuya just looked hot.

“I certainly don’t like annoying people,” Chuuya said finally, shooting him a look. “Like the one I’m looking at right now.”

Dazai pouted. “I have so many good qualities, and you focus on that one little detail?”

“It makes the rest of you invisible,” Chuuya teased.

Dazai gasped. “I'm offended.”

“Talking about soulmates... what if your soulmate is a gender you're not into?” Chuuya asked.

“Friends, then,” Dazai shrugged.

Chuuya raised his eyebrows and nudged his chin in Dazai’s direction but said nothing.

“Me? Oh, I think I’m gay,” Dazai said, smirking.

“You like... girls?” Chuuya tilted his head, tapping the cigarette so the ashes fell to the ground meters below.

“No, boys.” Dazai turned around and leaned his back against the balcony railing.

Chuuya blinked and stared at him for a long beat. Then realization visibly washed over him. “Oh. Ah, yeah? Fine. Hm... I thought you liked girls, though.” He looked away, taking another drag of his cigarette.

Dazai sighed softly, feeling a massive weight lift off his shoulders. “I’m not sure. I said I think, Chuuya. Maybe I’m bi, who knows?”

“Women are so pretty, though,” Chuuya said, smirking slightly. “How could you not like them?”

“Ah, Chuuya isn't so dumb that he thinks people can choose what they like.” Dazai wrinkled his nose slightly, smiling. “Wait a minute…” His smile faded dramatically. “You thought I liked girls. Why?” He raised an eyebrow.

Chuuya took a drag of his cigarette and huffed, the smoke curling out of his nose. “Cuz, back before we really started hanging out, I noticed you liked those kinds of clothes—and… you know.”

“You thought I was a lesbian because of that?” Dazai pressed a hand to his chest in mock scandal.

“I didn't know you then,” Chuuya said, rolling his eyes. “And when you told me you wanted to dress like a boy, I thought it was just that, since you didn't want to talk to me about it.”

Dazai's lips parted. He stared at Chuuya for a moment, then burst out laughing. “Pff! Chuuya, you're so funny!”

Chuuya's face flushed. “Huh? What are you laughing at, idiot?”

“But I wore a dress... at my birthday party!”

“Yeah, and that was the first time I’d ever seen you in one,” Chuuya scoffed.

Dazai laughed once more, truly amused. “And? Clothes have nothing to do with who you like.”

“Shut up, dumbass,” Chuuya scowled. He was still flushed as he looked away.

Dazai leaned closer to him, grinning. “It's crazy that Chuuya thought that just because of the way I dress. In that case, should I use your logic against you? Because I could say Chuuya's not straight, then...”

“Because I'm not,” Chuuya shrugged.

Dazai blinked. The laughter died in his throat. “Oh. Good to know.”

“...What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Chuuya asked, glancing back at him.

“We should've bought a new uniform,” Dazai said, pouting dramatically as he walked backward, watching Chuuya. “Wait—should we, though? Maybe I should just transfer to another school and start over. Would Chuuya come with me?”

Chuuya’s mismatched eyes flicked up—for some reason Dazai couldn't fathom, Chuuya had been staring down at the floor. “Huh? Don't be dramatic. You should just get the right uniform. No need to go anywhere; these idiots just have to understand.”

Dazai sighed theatrically. “I should simply give up and die,” he hummed playfully.

“No.”

“You didn't hear the rest! I—”

“No, Dazai.”

Dazai groaned, rolling his eyes. He stopped suddenly, and Chuuya barely caught himself in time, ending up inches away. Dazai pretended his heart wasn't fluttering like a trapped butterfly as he continued. “Do you think I'll get my red string this year?”

Chuuya blinked and stepped back, creating distance between them. “Maybe.”

Even though the closeness made Dazai nervous, he hated the fact that Chuuya moved away. Rejection was truly one of the most annoying things. “Maybe? What if I don't have a soulmate? Did you stop thinking about all that before you got your string?” Dazai asked, tilting his head and taking a step back into Chuuya’s space.

“Yeah, I think we all did at some point,” Chuuya shrugged, looking away. “But I'm sure you have one.”

Dazai raised an eyebrow. “Oh, yeah? Why?” He smirked, hands behind his back as he swayed slightly on his heels.

“Because, uh… everyone is supposed to have one, yeah,” Chuuya muttered, clicking his tongue.

“Ah, I thought you were going to say I was too amazing not to have one,” Dazai sighed. He leaned in a little closer.

Chuuya’s eyes narrowed. “As if… anyway, come on. Akiko told me she wanted to show me—”

“Actually,” Dazai cut him off, grabbing Chuuya’s wrist as if the ginger might simply bolt. “Actually, I—can we not stay in the cafeteria?”

Chuuya looked genuinely confused. “Huh?”

Dazai pouted. “I'm not in the mood for talking to everyone,” he said. “Could it… be just the two of us?” He felt his face burning, but he tried to sound sincere—which was a lie; this was just an excuse to have Chuuya to himself. “Or is chibi too hungry?”

Chuuya clicked his tongue. “Ugh, you're so weird.” But he agreed.

They wandered until they found a quiet spot at the back of the school. They sat by a tall tree, leaning against the trunk in silence. It was amazing how easily Chuuya believed him. Dazai felt a twinge of guilt for taking advantage of that trust... but he was scared.

Dazai didn't know when his string would appear, and he wasn't sure if he wanted it to. He didn't hate having a crush on Chuuya. It made him feel real.

Sometimes he woke up and didn't feel like a drifting leaf; he felt a flutter in his chest just because a thought of Chuuya crossed his mind. Sometimes he’d be doing nothing and Chuuya would appear in his thoughts, leaving him with an urge to doodle on a piece of paper until his heart felt full. When he saw couples, he could actually imagine himself with Chuuya—it was pathetic, but he didn't hate it. Sometimes he felt like he was nothing, but Chuuya reminded him he existed, because Chuuya made him feel.

He didn't want a dumb string to decide who he was supposed to love. Even if he wasn't forced to follow it, it was the Red String of Fate. It meant something. He didn't want it, because he was certain Chuuya wasn't on the other side.

Chuuya already had his own string, and Dazai wasn't the one waiting at the end of it.

But a part of him still wanted his own, simply because everyone else had one. He didn't want to be left behind.

“…Is it true you can feel your soulmate's emotions through the string?” Dazai asked, glancing at Chuuya.

“What? Ah,” Chuuya cleared his throat and lifted his pinky. “My dads say you can usually confuse your soulmate's feelings with your own…”

“It's a yes or no question, Chuuya.” Dazai bumped their shoulders.

Chuuya stayed silent for a moment. “…It's hard to tell.” He clicked his tongue. “Sometimes I'm fine, and then I feel so sad out of nowhere. I guess it’s them, but I can't be sure.”

“Sometimes?”

“...Hm.”

“Maybe your soulmate is going through a rough time.”

Chuuya hummed but didn't elaborate. He stared at his pinky in silence, and for some reason, Dazai did, too. He wondered how far away Chuuya's soulmate was. He wondered if he could be fast enough to win Chuuya over before he ever met them.

Winning Chuuya Over.

That was Dazai’s goal for the year. It was the first time in his entire life he’d had a goal like this. Of course, he’d wanted things before—to win a game or finish a series in a week—but never anything like this. Dazai was utterly determined, even though he knew it would take time.

To Dazai, love was an abstract, philosophical concept. As such, he was sure he could understand it, or at least attempt to. Making someone fall in love shouldn't be that hard... okay, that was a lie. But he had to try.

In the time he’d known Chuuya, Dazai had concluded that the boy was a romantic at heart. It was a major lead for his plan. The problem was executing it without being too obvious; they weren't exactly that kind of friends.

Dazai had an idea.

The goal was to make Chuuya feel special.

After reflecting on his own feelings, he concluded that one of the most effective ways to spark interest was to make someone feel truly seen.

Step one: Create a code for just the two of them. It didn't take much, as Chuuya already understood almost every little gesture or expression Dazai made. Dazai just pushed it further, bringing up inside jokes in front of others to leave the rest of the group confused.

Step two: Give Chuuya gifts. Dazai started small, cutting out class doodles and handing them over. Then he began buying skins or game passes for whatever they played together. Eventually, he started buying every silly thing Chuuya mentioned wanting—a keychain, a ring, a jacket—always using the excuse that Dazai "wanted one too." Chuuya found it weird at first, but visibly grew used to it.

Step three: Open up. This was the hardest part of the plan, Dazai admitted. Making Chuuya feel special meant letting him in, showing him that Dazai trusted him. It took days of mental preparation.

“You don't even need that, you know,” Chuuya said, eyeing him.

“What do you mean?” Dazai asked as he finished buttoning his binder.

“You're flat as fuck—no offense.” Chuuya shrugged and crossed his arms, leaning against the bathroom sink.

Dazai gasped dramatically. “I am not that flat, which is why I have this now.” He tapped the binder, checking his reflection in the mirror.

Chuuya raised an eyebrow. “Sure. If you feel better that way…”

“I do.”

Chuuya blinked. “Fine, then.”

Dazai looked at him, tilting his head, but said nothing.

It was late; Chuuya’s dads miraculously hadn't noticed they were still awake, otherwise, Chuuya would have been scolded. But Dazai had waited until Chuuya was there to try the binder on. It was part of the plan, sure, but it was also because he felt more secure that way.

“…What am I to Chuuya?” Dazai asked, forcing himself to maintain eye contact even as his stomach twisted with nerves.

Chuuya blinked. “What do you mean?” He scowled. “In what sense?”

Dazai just stared at him in silence.

“…You’re you. My friend?” Chuuya shrugged helplessly, looking away.

“Not even best friend?” Dazai asked with feigned disappointment. “And here I thought we were closer.”

Chuuya looked back at him and shrugged. “I don't know. Are we?”

Dazai smirked slightly. “Chuuya’s right! We’re not best friends, because Chuuya is my dog.”

“Oh, you idiot!” Chuuya glared, slapping Dazai’s arm lightly.

Dazai whined dramatically, clutching his arm. “Oh, you wound me!” He huffed. “What else am I to Chuuya?”

“What do you mean? Do you mean, uh…?” Chuuya trailed off, scratching the back of his neck. “You’re a boy to me, if that’s what you’re asking.”

It was hard to ignore the warmth that flooded Dazai’s chest. He grinned. “Aw, really?”

“That’s what you are, isn't it?”

Dazai chuckled. “Yes!” He nodded. “Sometimes I wonder why Chuuya didn't even look surprised when I told him.”

“Well, there’s nothing to be surprised about.” Chuuya crossed his arms over his chest. “You let me know. Simple as that.”

“But how could you know?”

“I didn't. But then you told me. End of story,” Chuuya clicked his tongue.

“Why does Chuuya think I'm a boy, if I was born a girl?” Dazai asked then, his voice softening as he hugged himself.

Silence fell for a moment.

Chuuya bit his lower lip. “Because you told me you are, and I’m no one to tell you who you are,” he said quietly.

Dazai blinked. “But…” He paused, chewing the inside of his cheek. “Does Chuuya truly believe I’m a boy? I’m not like him.”

Chuuya frowned. “No one is like me.” He shrugged. “Look, I don't know what being a boy is exactly, but it sure as hell isn't just about being born male.”

Dazai let out a soft, little chuckle. “Heh… what if this hypothetical partner is disappointed that I wasn't born with a dick?”

It earned a scoff from Chuuya. “What the fuck? You don't like genitals, Dazai.” He made a face. “If that were the case, we’d all just be walking around naked.”

“You know people are so sexual, Chuuya,” Dazai pouted, his tone dramatic.

“Yeah, but still, it's not only about genitals. Stop being weird,” Chuuya glared at him. “Take that thing off already; it's late and I want to sleep.”

Dazai sighed softly.

Step four: Address it. Of course, not out of nowhere. Dazai waited for Chuuya's birthday, which was just a few days later. He’d bought a pair of high-quality friendship bracelets engraved with each other’s names. After the main celebration at Chuuya's house, when Chuuya led him to the back of the property to sit on an old bench, Dazai decided to make his move.

Chuuya’s dads were finishing up the cleaning when they sneaked out. Chuuya had made sure to tell them they were going to be in his room, and since his dads rarely went in there, they were perfectly hidden. Apparently, Chuuya thought this was the perfect moment to smoke again.

“Why do you smoke?” Dazai asked quietly.

“Picked up the habit from a friend,” Chuuya murmured, exhaling smoke as he spoke. “Albatross—you don't know him.”

Dazai nodded, pressing his lips together. “I barely ever see you do it.”

“It helps me relax,” Chuuya shrugged.

“Are you… stressed?” Dazai tilted his head.

“Just a little. It was the wine—and the noise,” Chuuya clicked his tongue and took another drag.

Dazai hummed under his breath. “Do your dads know?”

“Take a wild guess.”

Dazai chuckled but fell silent for a moment. Then he took a deep breath, mentally preparing himself. “Chuuya, do you think your dads think we’re more than friends?”

Chuuya turned his head to look at him, letting the smoke drift slowly from his mouth. “What?”

Ignoring the heat surging to his face, Dazai forced a smile. “I mean, they tease us a lot about it. And I think they still think I’m a girl… you know what people assume when a girl and a boy are friends.”

Chuuya blinked slowly. “…Oh. Well, yeah, they're annoying with the teasing, but, pff—don't worry. They don't take it seriously.”

Dazai nodded, forcing a nonchalant expression. “Good… but would it be so bad if they did?”

Chuuya took a long drag of his cigarette and gave him a look.

Those mismatched eyes made Dazai's heart skip several beats. This step was supposed to lead to a silly, lighthearted conversation, but Dazai feared he had chosen the wrong moment. Generally, Dazai wasn't a person ruled by fear—he didn't mind heights, enclosed spaces, or even the idea of failure. Fear existed in him, of course, but it was usually a quiet thing.

Rejection, however, sounded terrifying. It was a loud, echoing panic in his chest. He didn't want to be rejected before he'd even had the courage to say the words directly.

In moments like this, he truly hated how easily Chuuya could read him.

Perhaps the "plan" had been a disaster from the start. Maybe he never stood a chance. Maybe Chuuya was such a hopeless romantic that he was stubbornly saving all his love for a soulmate he hadn't even met yet.

“Here,” Chuuya whispered. He reached out, his fingers brushing against Dazai’s as he took Dazai's hand and offered him the cigarette.

This time, Dazai didn't refuse. He was desperate for any kind of distraction. He hesitantly took a small drag, but the acrid smoke immediately curled in the back of his throat, making him wince and break into a fit of coughing.

Chuuya’s soft, melodic laughter rang out in the quiet night air, making Dazai’s brief suffering feel worth it. Chuuya took the cigarette back, his eyes fixed on the glowing orange cherry at the tip. He took a slow, deliberate drag.

“…Did we just have an indirect kiss?” Chuuya murmured. He didn't look over, but a sharp, knowing smirk played on his lips.

Oh.

The world seemed to stop.

Dazai blinked slowly, the sound of his own pulse thumping in his ears. He swallowed hard, feeling his heart lodge itself firmly in his throat. “Hah… did we?” he managed to breathe out.

What did that mean?

Was Chuuya teasing him, or was he testing the waters too?

“If they thought we were more than friends, it would just be annoying, that's all,” Chuuya finally said.

“Annoying…?”

“Hm. You know who actually thinks so?” Chuuya bumped his shoulder against Dazai’s. “My aunt. Ever since you two met, she's been so annoying about it!”

Dazai laughed. “Really?”

“She says we try too hard not to let it show—and even though I tell her it's not like that, she never listens to me,” Chuuya shrugged, a small smile still lingering on his lips.

Dazai tried his best to hide a very pleased grin, but he failed. “I guess we just have chemistry.”

Chuuya tossed the cigarette to the ground, crushing it with his shoe, and made a face. “Well, we do have chemistry together... in school.”

“Aaah, why would you ruin the moment like that?” Dazai leaned back against the bench, his voice reaching its usual dramatic heights.

“I guess you've rubbed off on me.”

“Excuse you?! I never ruin moments!” Dazai gasped, placing a scandalized hand over his heart.

Chuuya gave him a look, but ended up laughing.

I hope Chuuya laughs like this more often.

The fifth step was complicated.

If all the previous steps had been successful, this one should have been easy. But Dazai feared rejection, and he only had one shot. It was either a "yes"—potentially the best moment of Dazai's life—or a "no," leading to a lifetime of awkward friendship with Chuuya.

Step five: Confess.

Dazai was slowly starting to regret not planning a sixth step; perhaps a six-step plan would have worked better. In the meantime, he kept the other steps in motion. He maintained the closeness and the gifts; he continued opening up about small things and dropping hints until Yosano and Ranpo started teasing them about being a couple. He’d bought himself time, preparing his confession for two months—two months that felt far too short.

The plan was simple: on Dazai's birthday, after the party, he would take Chuuya to a quiet spot in the house and say it. He’d even bought a ring, but after reflecting on it—realizing it looked too much like a proposal—he decided to write a letter instead. Dazai was a coward, after all. The plan remained the same, but instead of speaking, he would hand Chuuya the letter and disappear, claiming his mother needed him while Chuuya read it.

Easy.

Chuuya had given Dazai every sign that the plan was working. Dazai had spent days and nights analyzing every interaction to make sure of it.

This had to be amazing.

He could barely sleep the night before. He kept playing out Chuuya's possible reactions in his head. Was it too early? They’d only been friends for a year. Maybe it was too soon... Whatever. He was going to do it.

The only small, tiny thing Dazai hadn't considered was that he could get his red string at any moment. And as if fate truly hated him, when he woke up that morning and walked to the bathroom, he noticed something strange. It wasn't until he washed his face that he saw it. Tied to his pinky.

The red string.

Dazai stared at it for a long time, frozen.

Finally, it had arrived.

It was shiny and thin, surprisingly pretty. He could touch it, but he couldn't pull it off—it had a strange texture, like wool but not quite.

He had a soulmate.

Someone out there was connected to him, someone who probably wanted to meet him... and he didn't want them. He didn't want anyone but Chuuya. He wanted to save himself the drama; he didn't know what this other person was like, and he didn't care.

Dazai didn't say a word to anyone that morning. His mother tried to bring it up—she always reminded him how strange it was for a string not to appear by age seventeen—but he stayed silent. He helped prepare for the party and got dressed in a white suit. He wasn't wearing dresses anymore, and he was profoundly thankful his mother understood that.

And even though there was a heavy, suffocating lump in his throat, he decided to proceed with the plan anyway.

Slug:
[14:50] i'mma be late
[14:51] have some issues at home
[14:51] i'll be there probably at five

Dazai:
[14:59] oh, oki!
[15:00] I'll save you a piece of cake!

Slug:
[15:01] thanks

Even though Chuuya had warned him he would be late, it didn't make Dazai feel any better.

The nervousness was killing him. Truly. Dazai couldn't even manage more than a few bites of cake; his stomach kept twisting uncomfortably. Even though his friends were funny and the party was pleasant enough, he couldn't stop thinking about Chuuya. Maybe choosing his birthday for the confession had been a mistake. If Chuuya rejected him, the day would be ruined forever—a grim anniversary every year.

Chuuya had texted saying he’d be there at five, but it was already half past five and there was no sign of him. Dazai had bitten his nails so much over the last few hours that he’d actually made his thumb bleed.

At six, Dazai began messaging Chuuya to ask if he was still coming, but there was no reply. Worry began to set in. Chuuya had mentioned he had "issues" to deal with, which was why he couldn't come earlier. Dazai tried calling him, and his friends tried too, but no one could get through.

Maybe it wasn't just a bad day.

Maybe it was a sign.

Dazai began to resign himself to the silence.

“Yeah, yeah, where’s the birthday boy?”

Dazai heard the voice while he was in the kitchen, eating strawberries alone. He had never stood up as fast as he did in that moment. It was almost seven, but he didn't care; he didn't care that Chuuya was two hours late.

Dazai wiped his mouth with a napkin, smoothed his suit, and took a deep, steadying breath. He felt something strange—a phantom tug at his pinky. But he didn't see anything wrong, so he chose to ignore it. He took the letter, pocketed it, and walked into the living room.

“Chuuya certainly took his time!” Dazai said, forced a grin.

“Sorry, not my fault,” Chuuya muttered, walking toward him with a gift box in his hands.

Dazai froze.

He would love to say it was because Chuuya looked handsome—and he did. He looked gorgeous, as if he had made a special effort just for today. But that wasn't why Dazai’s breath hitched.

When Dazai’s eyes finally took Chuuya in, he saw it. He saw Chuuya’s red string. And that shouldn't have been possible. You weren't supposed to see anyone else's string, only your own. It didn't make sense; for a long, panicked moment, Dazai thought he was hallucinating.

It was just the nerves. It had to be.

Then he felt that sharp tug at his pinky again. He looked down at his own hand, saw the red string... and followed its path.

It wasn't a long journey.

Because the string ended right there—tied to Chuuya’s pinky.

It didn't make sense.

Chuuya had possessed his string for a year now. Dazai was sure of it; Chuuya wouldn't lie about something like that. Dazai had watched him look down at his hand countless times over the past twelve months.

Chuuya didn't say a word.

Dazai couldn't think; his thoughts were drowned out by the thundering of his own heart.

Chuuya knew this whole time, didn't he?

Chuuya had known. And he hadn't said a single word.

But then, Dazai realized with a pang of guilt, he probably wouldn't have said anything in Chuuya’s position, either…

And…

Dazai felt a wave of warmth rushing through him, a silly laugh bubbling in his throat. He knew exactly why he felt so happy—the fact that his soulmate was actually the person he loved. He was happy enough to abandon his plan entirely; he took the box from Chuuya’s hands, set it on the table, and immediately cupped Chuuya’s cheeks.

He almost leaned forward and kissed him right then and there.
But then he remembered that neither of them had actually said anything yet.

“What…?” Chuuya blinked, his mismatched eyes wide. “I—I know I took my time, but… are you alright?”

“I have my red string,” Dazai whispered, grinning as he leaned closer until their noses brushed.

“Oh…?” Chuuya’s lips parted. “Oh. Oh…”

Dazai wanted to say it—the words were so simple—but he couldn't. They caught in his throat. He could hear the murmurs of their friends in the background, but he didn't move. He didn't pull away.

“…You know… the string doesn't mean we, uh, we have to date,” Chuuya murmured.

“Don’t you want to?” Dazai asked softly.

Chuuya blinked, flustered. “Huh…?”

Dazai giggled. “Chuuya can't tell me he's truly this slow.”

Chuuya frowned and poked Dazai’s side, earning a sharp little yelp. “I thought you were messing with me all this time!”

“Oh, of course I was. Messing with Chuuya is the best part.”

“This is the worst confession I’ve ever gotten,” Chuuya groaned, rolling his eyes.

“Give me some credit, I’m your soulmate,” Dazai pouted, squeezing Chuuya’s cheeks. “Hm?”

“I'm doomed. From the moment I saw it, I knew my life was a comedy,” Chuuya muttered, making a face. “What do you mean my other half is this annoying?” He sighed deeply, but his cheeks were flushed a deep red, and Dazai loved every second of it.

“You’re annoying, too,” Dazai whispered.

“Let’s talk about this later, hm?” Chuuya glanced toward the living room. “I feel everyone's eyes burning into my back.”

Dazai closed the door and leaned against it, looking at Chuuya, who was sitting on the edge of his bed. He was nervous, though he knew Chuuya wouldn't reject him now. The realization made him feel fuzzy inside. Chuuya looked up, raising an eyebrow, before patting the spot next to him.

After taking a deep breath, Dazai walked over and slowly sat down.

“…So,” Dazai cleared his throat.

“This is only the third time I’ve been in your room,” Chuuya commented, looking around. “And it’s the first time it’s actually organized.”

“Hey, that’s a lie!” Dazai bumped their shoulders playfully. “It’s the fourth time.”

Chuuya huffed, rolling his eyes. “Fourth, third... same thing.” He glanced at Dazai out of the corner of his eye.

They stared at each other for a long moment.

It was clearly the moment, so Dazai leaned in, slowly closing his eyes. His heart was beating so fast it was all he could feel.

Then he felt something press against his mouth. It wasn't a pair of lips, though.

Dazai opened his eyes to find Chuuya wearing a big, silly smile, his hand held over Dazai’s mouth. Dazai didn't know what to think, but he felt like he was going up in flames.

“I’m not gonna make it that easy for you,” Chuuya teased. “You have to say it.” He pulled his hand away.

“Say what?” Dazai sighed theatrically.

Chuuya shrugged, feigning ignorance.

Dazai took a deep breath, searching for the right words. “Okay, listen closely,” he cleared his throat unnecessarily. “Chuuya is such a little boy—so little that he crawled into my heart and messed everything up!” He gestured vaguely. “Though I’m still deeply offended you didn't tell me we were soulmates.”

Chuuya huffed, clicking his tongue. “First: I’m not little—”

“Sure.”

“—And second: what was I supposed to say? ‘Hey, Dazai, we’re soulmates. I know we barely speak, but now you know?’ When I got my string, we barely even knew each other’s last names.” He elbowed Dazai’s side.

Dazai whined and let himself fall back onto the bed. “Fine, you might be right.”

“I am right.”

Dazai grabbed Chuuya’s arm and pulled him down to lie next to him. Chuuya groaned, but he let it happen.

“…I like Chuuya. He must date me,” Dazai said finally.

“Your confession gets worse with every passing second…” Chuuya rubbed a hand over his face. “I should rethink this. I don’t deserve this suffering.”

Dazai whined and turned onto his side, resting his head on Chuuya’s chest. He felt the ginger tense for a split second, but Chuuya didn't push him away. Instead, one of his hands found Dazai’s hair, his fingers beginning to play with the strands. It made Dazai’s heart skip several beats.

“So… will you date me or not? Do you even like me?”

Chuuya huffed. “Sadly, I like you.”

“Sadly? It’s the best thing in the world, Chuuya!” Dazai complained.

“I think it started with the fact that I didn't want to like you,” Chuuya murmured, his fingers still running through Dazai’s hair. “Then I thought I was just confused, but I felt all weird... and then you started being so fucking annoying, and…”

“Wait, my annoying self won you over?” Dazai teased.

Chuuya pulled at Dazai’s hair just enough to make him whine, but not enough to hurt. “…I think it was... cool that you opened up to me. That I was the first to know. It was cool that my soulmate wasn't a total jerk in the end.”

“Hm, a great compliment.”

“It wasn't.”

“So, is this Chuuya’s way of saying he’ll date me?” Dazai sat up just enough to look at him.

Chuuya blinked, then rolled his eyes and sat up slightly. “No.” He leaned closer. “This is Chuuya’s way…” He pressed his lips against Dazai’s.

Dazai held his breath for a second before his brain finally processed what was happening. Then he kissed Chuuya back, smiling so much that the kiss was mostly teeth.

“Stop smiling… I'm trying to kiss you,” Chuuya muttered against his lips. He tangled his fingers in Dazai’s hair, tugging just hard enough to make Dazai's head tilt back.

Not only did it work, but it earned a sharp little hitch in Dazai’s breath. Dazai felt himself burn with a mix of heat and embarrassment, but he didn't have much time to overthink it; Chuuya was kissing him again a second later, pulling him closer as he sat up. Dazai sighed softly into the touch, cupping Chuuya's cheeks.

The kiss didn't last long, but they remained inches apart, foreheads pressed together in the quiet of the room.

Everything had gone better than Dazai expected. Ten times better. Maybe his life wasn't as bleak as he’d once thought.

“Isn't this very cliché?” Dazai asked quietly, his voice barely a whisper.

“What the hell do you mean?”

“We're soulmates and we’re together. It's very cliché.”

“The word you’re looking for is ‘lucky.’ Not everyone gets to meet their soulmate,” Chuuya muttered, pulling back just far enough to look him in the eye. “You’d better be less annoying now that we’re official.”

Dazai grinned, his eyes sparkling with that familiar mischief. “I can’t promise anything.”

[30th of June]

Slug:
[20:45] [link attached]

Dazai:
[20:45] oh?
[20:47] awwwww, you're so corny!

Slug:
[20:50] is the pride moth, no?
[20:51] [replying to 'aww…'] i won't send u anything else.

Dazai:
[20:53] [replying to 'is the prid…'] yup!
[20:54] [replying to 'i won't sen…'] no! Chuuuuuuuuyaaaaa
[21:00] is this our first argument as a couple?

Slug:
[22:12] [replying to 'is this our…'] no, wtf?

[25th of September]

Slug:
[21:05] [replying to 'chuuya is…'] how would you know

Dazai:
[21:06] I just do 🤭 i tend to be right

Slug:
[21:06] well, you're not this time

Dazai:
[21:07] no proof, no believe.

Slug:
[21:08] i'm blocking u, just know that

Dazai:
[21:10] WHAT
[21:11] CHUUYA
[21:15] SLUUUUUUG
[21:12] aren't you into sexting?

Slug:
[21:17] [replying to 'aren't you…'] no????? we've been dating for three montsh
[21:18] go away
[21:20] don't text me again

Dazai:
[21:25] (┬┬﹏┬┬)
[21:27] rejected
[21:30] neglected
[21:31] while i'm suffering

Slug:
[21:35] no one told you to start t
[21:36] i warned u

Dazai:
[21:37] i hate u

[15th of November]

Dazai:
[03:01] chu

Slug:
[03:40] go to sleep

Dazai:
[03:41] you're awake! o(≧▽≦)o

Slug:
[03:42] w you want

Dazai:
[03:45] [deleted]

Slug:
[03:47] [missed call]
[03:48] pick up
[03:49] [missed call]
[03:50] Osamu
[03:51] [call]

[03rd of January]

Slug:
[10:00] [picture] second piercing

Dazai:
[11:05] WAAAAA
[11:05] WHY DIDN'T YOU TELL ME
[11:06] I SAW A PAIR OF EARRINGS
[11:10] [link attached] THIS, i'll buy them for u

Slug:
[11:30] ok?

[07th of March]

Dazai:
[08:33] where are u?

Slug:
[08:38] got bitten by a dog
[08:39] [picture]

Dazai:
[08:40] 😭
[08:40] does it hurt, looks like it

Slug:
[08:41] my hand is numb… i'm waiting for the doctor to see me
[08:42] hopefully i'm fine

Dazai:
[08:44] see? dogs are dangerous

Slug:
[08:45] someone was annoyin it, it's not its fault

Dazai:
[08:50] 🧐

[12th of January]

Dazai:
[04:24] [replying to 'ily…'] marry me

Slug:
[08:10] what

Dazai:
[08:10] what

[30th of August]

Dazai:
[01:37] [picture] marry me

Slug:
[01:55] what

Dazai:
[01:57] [link attached] you should do this to me

Slug:
[02:01] I'm not gonna do that

[27th of December]

Slug:
[22:05] [5 pictures]

Dazai:
[22:10] wow, it's beautiful there!
[22:11] you should've taken me to london

Slug:
[22:12] hm
[22:13] i have a gift for you, be sure to be there on saturday

Dazai:
[22:15] is it a ring?

Slug:
[22:18] no

[10th of February]

Dazai:
[23:04] [picture] you were right, it suits me
[23:05] you should give me a right too

Slug:
[23:10] [replying to 'you were righ…'] of course

Dazai:
[23:11] 🥀

[23rd of January]

Dazai:
[12:05] [replying to 'link…'] I want a romantic wedding, chu
[12:05] nothing simple. I'll marry once

Slug:
[12:06] [link attached] look at this
[12:07] my dads say it's a good spot

Dazai:
[12:08] I guess France is cliché enough
[12:11] i'll have a veil

Slug:
[12:12] [replying to 'i'll have…'] ok?

[29th of July]

Dazai:
[17:05] a profe asked, and i'm the only one married in the class, besides the profe ofc
[17:05] I bragged as much as i could, mind you

Chu love:
[18:34] what
[18:35] you're unbelievable

Dazai:
[21:12] when will we move together?